i did it for you

It had been a dark, stormy night when Fluttershy’s funeral took place, Twilight remembered. 

If her mind hadn’t been consumed with grief, she might have thought many different things that day. Might have thought Rainbow Dash would have never allowed such weather on such a day; that Pinkie would have made it a bright, happy affair, meant to celebrate the pegasus; that Applejack would have given a beautiful, earnest speech, and somehow a dark day would have a light shining through.

But all she could think about was that out of six, only two remained.

And out of two, one was next in line to die soon.

And she should have.

Gods, she should have.

Moonlight guided her way through the winding roads of a town that hadn’t felt like home for longer now than it actually had been. Maybe, in a different time, if the dominos had fallen in another direction, maybe coming back to Ponyville would feel like coming back home. 

Maybe she wouldn’t always have to come in the dead of the night, when it was harder to see how it had changed, and when it was less likely others would bother her when visiting the local graveyard. 

But this wasn’t about things long gone. Quite the contrary, really. 

This, Twilight reflected as she looked up at Carousel Boutique, was about things that refused to die. 

It looked the same. That was, perhaps, the worst part of having to go there, that it looked just the same as it did in memories she avoided revisiting. Every inch of it, from the colorful blue walls, to the decorative pillars and pony sculptures lining the bottom and upper floors—it was almost too easy to pretend for just a moment that if she knocked, if she called out a name she’d not said in so long, the door would open and… 

The monarch forced herself forward, shoving away distracting thoughts. She dealt with the locked door easily enough, only just noticing the spark of magic that flickered and died at her action. Probably one of the alarms the puppet had mentioned. Good. 

Much like the exterior, the interior of Carousel Boutique was exactly as she remembered it, which was impressive considering it had been destroyed centuries ago. The walls gashed with dark magic had been painted over, the furniture ripped to pieces by a creature who was barely in control of her own mind had been perfectly repaired, and all the rest, framed pictures and sentimental decorative objects Twilight remembered shattered on the floor, well, they were there too. 

She wished they weren’t.

Stepping forward and picking up a framed photograph of a unicorn who wasn’t dead but was certainly no longer there, Twilight Sparkle thought it would have been better if Carousel Boutique had burned down that stupid, fateful day. Better for it to be rubble than a shadow of its former self. 

Speaking of which. 

“Well, well, well,” purred the final charade of her friends as Twilight turned around to face her, the grand master couturier herself. “If it isn’t our majesty, Twi-light Spark-le.”

Rarity had been beautiful.

Lady Singularity, however, was sublime. 

Sublime like arctic cliffs, like dawns that promised storms, a great and merciless vista that hooked into Twilight’s hindbrain and promised destruction with style. She was in a league of her own, entirely by dark magic design.

Her eyes – her eyeline on a par with Twilight’s – ablaze a pale blue aura, could have been stars set in place, and they were in a way. Two stars set against a coat as black as night, the inversion of its color from long ago. Her dusk-dark mane, drifting behind her and fraying at the edges into designs beyond sight, curled and slithered and all but seemed to stalk Twilight. 

The only things about Singularity that recalled a charming unicorn from so long ago were the following three: the silver streaks she’d acquired as an older mare, forever a condemnation that she had violated the sacrosanct law that all things must live and must die; the Element of Generosity clinging to her neck, the dark magic pouring out the cracked gemstone the reason Equestria’s most powerful defense had been crippled for more than a century; and finally…

The triple diamond cutie mark on her flank, forever a reminder that this… this creature had once been her best friend. 

“Singularity.”

Singularity had the audacity to smile pleasantly. 

“Why, your majesty, what are you doing in this old place?” she said, stepping into the boutique, the door closing behind her with a wisp of magic. Her voice was the same. Twilight wished it wasn’t. “Don’t tell me you came to reminisce.”

It had been a long day for Twilight, on the back of a longer couple of months, on the back of a long, long life. So, she got straight to the point. 

“What are you doing to ponies?”

Singularity blinked and then recognition filled her gaze. “Oh. This again. And here I thought we might have a nice chat for once. Ah well. Would you like some tea?”

“What are you doing to them?!” Twilight demanded once again, eyes burning into Singularity as she walked past Twilight and into the kitchen. “Tell me now.”

“I think I still remember your favorite!” her voice exclaimed from within the kitchen, followed in short order by her head peeking out, eyelashes fluttering. “Apple cinnamon, two spoons of sugar?”

Twilight stormed in after her. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Mmm? What am I doing to ponies?” Singularity looked away from the simmering pot of water and levitated over two cups and some tea, the once pale blue magic now a crackling, sizzling purple. “I can’t say I know what you mean, my liege, unless you mean constantly save them from their own taste in clothes.” Her gaze met Twilight’s, and again the insolent smile returned as she poured water into the cups and floated one towards Twilight. “For you.”

Twilight did not budge an inch.

“Or not!” Singularity poured the drink down the drain and then turned back to Twilight, sipping from her own drink. “Mmm. I do love tea.”

“Two ponies came to see you a few months ago. A couple,” Twilight said. “I know they did, and I know you did something to them.”

Singularity tilted her head to the side. “Did I? You’ll have to remind me of their names, I’m afraid. If I kept track of every trivial little pony that had come to me wanting something, well.” She sipped her tea. “We’d be here for ages!”

“…Trivial little pony?” Twilight asked, the bile forming in the pit of her stomach burning the rest of her. 

“Mm. Is that too harsh? But it’s not untrue, is it?” The empty cup floated towards Twilight. “Are you sure about the tea? It really is very goo—”

She did not flinch in the slightest when a flick of raspberry magic flung the cup against the wall, and when she looked up from the shattered pieces towards the glowering Twilight, her nose was lightly scrunched up in distaste. 

“Well! Really? Did that make you feel better, your majesty?” She clicked her tongue. “ I thought you were the Queen of Equestria, not Yakyakistan.”

“Their names were Turnover and Oakewood,” Twilight hissed. “The mare was dying.”

Singularity’s eyes narrowed, and then widened innocently. “…Oooooh! Oh, them. I remember now, yes, yes.” Cup of tea floating behind her, she walked past Twilight out of the kitchen and into the foyer. “They wanted a dress, that’s right. One of her dying wishes, I believe, for which I can’t blame her. I made her a beautiful blue gown with—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Twilight snarled, pursuing the unicorn into the next room. “They didn’t come to you for a sundamned dress.”

Singularity spun on her heels. “But they did. I made them a dress, and it was beautiful, and if you’d visited me at my proper boutique rather than playing these silly little games, I’d show you the sketches myself. I can have them delivered to you, if you want. Oh, why, I might even sign them.” She winked at Twilight. Winked. “A singularly Singularity original.”

“Stop. Playing. Games! I’m sick of them!” Twilight’s hoof slammed against the floor. “Before they went to see you, she was dying. She was terminally ill! And then she went to see you and suddenly she’s not dying?”

Singularity laughed, and it was with genuine delight. “My! Really? I’ve always known my dresses were to die for, but this is the first time I’ve been told they’re to live for.” She put the cup down on a table and stepped towards Twilight. “And why are you upset, then? Even if I did do something, it would seem that it healed this pony. Is that not good, your majesty?”

“They were in love when they left!” Twilight exploded, her wings flaring. “They’ve been married for most of their life, but then they come back from meeting you to get a divorce? Because they fell out of love?” 

Singularity looked at her as though she were an idiot. “Who do you think I am? A changeling? Waltzing around, extracting true love out of married couples? Stars, I wish I were a changeling, then I could do something about my horn. It could be a little longer, I think.”

“You took something from them! I know you’re doing something to them!” Twilight stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “I have hundreds of records of dozens of ponies going to see you, and every single one coming back wrong.”

Singularity blinked, looking vastly more curious than threatened. “…Hundreds of records, you say?”

“East Ridge,” Twilight began, “an architect, went to see you and then came back to leave his entire family, change his name and move to the undiscovered west. Ruby Rose, from Fillidelphia, went to see you and then lost her eyesight a week later for no reason that made any kind of sense. Knowledge Quill! One of Equestria’s most respected academics! Went to see you and a month later was kicked out from the academic board of Trottingham for spreading conspiracy theories. I could go on and on.”

If Singularity had anything to say to that, it was this: 

“But she got married.”

“…What?”

Singularity smiled politely. “Ruby Rose? Wasn’t she that rags-to-riches story of a mare from a downtrodden family who ended up marrying one of the richest nobles in Canterlot? I assume that’s why you know of her. I made her wedding dress, and believe me, your majesty, she seemed happy I did. She may be blind, but she will never want for anything ever again! Ah, ah!” She’d raised her hoof when Twilight’s mouth opened. “I’m not done.”

“Granted,” she continued, “I don’t know what happened to East Ridge after I delivered my most fashionable explorer’s outfit, but Knowledge Quill comes to see me regularly, and you know what, your majesty? He may be disgraced, but from what his wife tells me, his daughter has never been happier than with her father home all the time.”

If looks could kill, Twilight bitterly thought. If looks could kill. 

Singularity raised an eyebrow. “Really, you disappoint me. I’d expect this from anypony else, but from you? If you’re going to accuse me of—whatever it is you’re accusing me of? Controlling reality and pony’s fates, apparently?—then at least have the decency to include all the facts rather than cherry-picking the ones that serve your narrative.” 

“I’m not—You—!”

“Where did you even get this information from?” Singularity interrupted.

“What? Why does that matter?”

“These ‘dozens’ of ponies I’ve supposedly altered for the worse. How do you know of them?” She blinked at Twilight. “Did they come to you? Because, you know, a satisfied customer will recommend your services to maybe two or three other ponies, but an unhappy one will tell everypony and their dearest mothers how your services are atrocious, so…” She gestured vaguely. “If you have all this information on my clients and my proceedings, then I assume it’s because they came to you directly to complain? 

“No,” Twilight said through gritted teeth. 

“Nooooo?!” Singularity gasped. “So none of these—not a single one—has complained? My dear, I do so love having such an impeccable track-record, but I can’t deny I’m curious as to how you would know so much about my dealings.” She paused, and when she smiled, it was predatory. “Unless these hundreds of records are ones you gathered yourself?”

At Twilight’s expression, she screeched with delight, her voice a ram battering at gates Twilight was struggling to keep shut.

“You did? Oh, your majesty.” A hoof landed on her chest, right over her heart. “Oh my.”

Twilight stepped back, horrified, mortified, arrested by all sorts of appalling emotions, but before she could even open her mouth, before she could say a single word…

“Your majesty!” Singularity’s eyes were radiant, sparkling diamonds, thirsting for blood. “But you’re OBSESSED with me! My stars!”

“No,” Twilight shot back, the desperation in her own voice enraging her all the more. 

“But you are!” Singularity continued, bathing in Twilight’s every emotion. “Keeping tabs on anypony who ever sees me? Keeping tabs on everything I do? Why, I’ve had my fair share of stalkers, but none as dedicated as you!” 

And there she was—in the way she fluttered her eyelashes, her tail practically swishing behind her, the wide grin—the ghost of Rarity the unicorn. 

“That’s exceedingly deranged of you,” she said, “but your majesty, I am flattered.”

Twilight slammed her hoof against the floor, her horn crackling with magic. “No,” she thundered, sick to have her intentions twisted so. “I’m protecting ponies from you!”

Singularity nearly choked on her laughter. “Protecting them? Protecting them from what? My dresses? Or is it maybe these dark magic services you insist I offer, which, may I remind you, are apparently done with full consent and zero complaints from these ponies you claim to protect? Oh, darling, dearest, please.”

There was nothing Twilight could say, for though she was one of the most well-read ponies in Equestria and beyond, there was not a single word in her entire vocabulary that could encompass how she felt. 

So, Singularity continued. 

“I really am flattered. To know that the Queen of Equestria spends her time completely devoted to me? Pouring over records she wrote herself, documenting my vast influence in this land? And here I thought that Coeur de Couture was my grandest abode, but it seems your brilliant mind is my one true home.” She stepped forward, drawing so close, purring her words as much as she was hissing them. “Tell me, Twilight Sparkle, when you go to bed at night and close your eyes, do you fall asleep thinking of me?” 

A thundercrack of magic flooded the room, and when it died, Singularity was several steps away, grinning behind the translucent barrier that had absorbed Twilight’s attack. 

“My, my, my!” She lifted a hoof and wagged it to the side, back and forth. “Temper, temper, Twilight.” 

“You’re intolerable,” Twilight hissed. 

“Absolutely unbearable?” Singularity suggested. “Insufferable, even?” 

“There is no word for what you are. I could spend a thousand years in a library looking for it, and I would come up short. It does not exist,” Twilight snarled. She advanced on the barrier, horn aflame with magic. “Everything about you, Singularity. You are the worst thing that has happened to this realm, bar none.” She smiled wryly. “Of course, I don’t know what I was expecting. I don’t know what I have ever expected from you, putting the entire kingdom at risk by corrupting the Elements of Harmony, dragging me and the rest of Equestria into your sunforsaken games, I—” 

She cut herself off, three words gnawing at her throat. 

“Oh, Twilight,” said the grand couturier herself. “You don’t know what you expected? But don’t you see? Nothing has changed! It’s just like old times. Me, being dramatic. You, driving yourself into a ramble over my theatrics. Look at us!” She tilted her head to the side, eyelashes fluttering as she giggled. “Exactly the same as we have always been, you and I. Oh, but I’m getting sentimental!” 

Twilight’s wings bristled at this, venom poisoning her soul. “No. There is nothing about you that is the same. How dare you—” 

“But I do! I do dare,” Singularity cut off. “And, Twilight, really, I would dare some more, but it’s late and, personally, I’m done with this conversation.” She covered a yawn with her hoof. “You should leave. You have absolutely no evidence what-so-ever of me being responsible for anything beyond dressmaking, and though some need it more than others, we should all try and get some beauty sleep, mm?” 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell it is you’ve been doing to ponies.” 

“Fine.” The barrier dropped, and after offering Twilight a most polite smile, she stepped off towards the hallway leading to the old workroom. “Suit yourself, your majesty.” 

“Just tell me.” Desperation for this to be over, for this hell to be done, soaked her words as she followed the unicorn, the last vestiges of hope rearing their mangled head. “There has to—There has to be some part of you still in there.” 

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Singularity replied, disappearing inside a room, and then adding with the slightest bit of a tone. “On both accounts.” 

“Just tell me. Tell me what you’re doing,” Twilight demanded, stepping into the workshop, the place just the same as it had been before… before… “I can’t even—! I don’t even care about stopping you, I just want to KNOW! Why are you—!” 

A tongue of purple magic lashed out from Singularity’s horn, and a horrifying symphony of metallic roaring and clattering and whirring assaulted Twilight’s ears as every single sewing machine in the room turned on. Machines once used by a talented seamstress to create some of Twilight’s most precious memories now used to silence her. 

“Whaaaaaat?” Singularity yelled over the noise. “So sorry, your majesty, I simply just can’t hear you over the sound of my beautiful work!” 

And as if to drive the point home, to plant her disdain like a banner in Twilight’s heart, she casually turned her back on Twilight, and slowly, deliberately, began to peruse the bolts of fabric piled high in a nearby cabinet. 

Another blaze of magic, raspberry now, and the mechanical whirring came to a sudden stop. Every single sewing machine spat sparks, dribbled smoke, and died.

A moment of silence, the unicorn’s eyes roaming the machines, and when her gaze met Twilight’s, for the first time, anger shone through. 

“…I made the gala dresses with those,” she said. “I made your coronation dress with those. I made Applejack and Rainbow’s wedding dresses with those.” 

“They’re dead,” Twilight said, “no matter how many fucking puppets you make of them.” 

“I see.” A glacial smile thinned her lips. “I’m invoicing you for all those, by the way. And they were antique, too. That ought to cost you a pretty pen—” 

“Shut UP!” Twilight boomed. “Shut the HELL up! I’m tired of this. I’m—!” 

And then she said it. 

“Rarity.” The name burned her soul, decayed and rotting from disuse. “Please. I know you’re somewhere in there inside this monster.” 

“No.” 

For the first time, Singularity’s voice was raised. Offended and indignant, and when she stepped forward, she was seething. 

“There is no other me. There is only me, only has been me! There isn’t somepony else in front of you. I am exactly the same pony now as I was when I was damned to meet you.” Another step forward. “This is me, Twilight. Sin-gu-la-ri-ty. Chic!” 

Another step. 

“Unique!” 

And a final one. 

“And ma-gni-fique!” 

There they stood, at the edge of a gaping cliff, and yet. 

“No,” Twilight hissed. “I can’t accept that. If that’s true, then Rarity is dead, because you’re not her.” 

“No? Then kill me, Twilight.” 

“…What?” 

“If I’m not Rarity,” she said. “If I’m really somepony else, then you should have no issues killing me. So do it.” 

When Twilight did not budge, Singularity continued. 

“Come now, your majesty! Do it! It would be easy! You really could just do it.” 

“You know,” Twilight growled, “I just might.” 

“Ooooooooh? Really! Here then, use this.” Scissors levitated before Twilight, snapping open and shut. “You are the queen, are you not? No one will question you, it would be easy. You could even lie, say that, oh, I don’t know—” She raised a hoof against her forehead. “I went insane! Completely out of my mind, and I tried to kill you. Everypony will believe you. Twilight Sparkle, you could kill me and get away with it. So do it.” She tapped her neck, right on the carotid artery. “Right here.” 

When Twilight did not budge, Singularity laughed, the chiming of her voice so gentle one would have a hard time separating disgust from pity. 

“Ah yes,” she said. “You were always one to hesitate when it came to matters of life or death, n’est-ce-pas?” 

For all she was, as powerful as the corrupted element had made her, Singularity was not quick enough. The sound of her body slamming against a wall with a sickening thud came first, and Twilight came next, their bodies inches away from each other as Twilight’s magic held her against the wall, Singularity’s head turned slightly to the side, the hoof pressed against it merely a show of force. 

“You’re right.” Twilight’s voice, low and precise, felt entirely beyond her, like some other version of her was speaking. Hers but not quite. “It would be fast.” 

For once, Singularity was quiet. Eyes on Twilight and only her. 

“Oh? No remark, Singularity? Nothing to say? Huh!” The scissors floated up from the floor, its tip brushing a spot on the unicorn’s neck, right above where Twilight’s hoof was. “Scissors are messy. Imprecise. Actually, I think magic should be enough. Quick and easy, and I wouldn’t have to waste more time than I already have. Hm.” She tapped the scissor’s blade on Singularity’s neck twice, like a quill on parchment, thoughtful. “Nopony knows you’re here. Do they?” 

Singularity’s eyes widened. “No,” she said, “they do not.” 

If Twilight felt something, it was not just satisfaction at the very real fear filling Singularity’s eyes, but surprise at something else entirely. Twilight Sparkle, you see, had lived for quite some time now, a couple of centuries in fact, and with age comes a numbness of emotions. When things happen over and over, they don’t feel quite so raw. 

But here? There and then, in that moment, when you’ve been pushed beyond reason, caught in that singular space at the edge of no return, well…

She felt thrill. 

She felt a terrible perverse sort of thrill, heady and intoxicating and consuming, but she only barely acknowledged that this emotion had been there all along. It had been there, from the moment Singularity arrived, putting on different outfits—hate, fury, contempt, pain, and now thrill—each one and the same because, in the darkest part of her soul, in this moment more than ever, she felt things like she hadn’t in a very long time. 

Felt alive like no one else could make her feel. 

“Why did you do this? There’s no point in not telling me. It’s over no matter what you do, so you might as well just tell me.” 

“I wasn’t going to do it,” Singularity replied, her voice subdued and quiet. 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“But it is. When they came to me, months ago,” she continued, every word precisely woven, “I was too busy. I had more important matters than to help a stallion and his wife, and I only considered it because she was dying. Because I know what it means to be helpless to save somepony you love. But that’s not why I really did it. Do you know what made me finally agree? It was because they mentioned working for you. I did it,” she said, “because I knew it would make you mad.” 

Twilight’s magic grasp loosened on her, and she continued. 

“Look at that,” she said, lifting her hoof to brush back Twilight’s bangs, just like before, just as they once had been, the worst of friends, you and I, “I guess I’m a little obsessed with you, too.” 

The whole entire world came to a spinning stop around Twilight.

“I would do it. I would kill you if I could, and oh, the thought has crossed my mind.” As much as there was malice in her voice, there was desperation. “I have thought about killing you so many times. I have wanted it, thought about it, for being a coward, for being too afraid and caught up in your sunforsaken ethics when you couldn’t do what had to be done, as we were dying one by one. But I can’t, because if you’re gone, darling,” she said, “then the only audience that matters will be gone, too.

“So, do it. End it,” she finished, “and when we meet in hell, you’ll have to tell me if it’ll fill the void in your chest, because I’m dying to know.” 

Silence. 

There was not a single sound, nothing but the breathing of Singularity and Twilight both intermeshed, only broken when the scissors clattered to the ground, followed shortly by Singularity herself, landing on the floor with a thud. 

“No,” Twilight whispered, stepping back. “It’s over.”

“It’s over? What do you mean ‘it’s over’?” Singularity hissed, completely thrown off whatever precarious balance she existed on. “Do it, Twilight! Do it!”

“No,” Twilight repeated, every word out of her mouth calm. “I won’t.”

“You—! You—! Coward! You—!” Deranged was not an apt word to describe her, and neither was insane or maniac. She was everything and nothing, appalled, arrested, indignant. “You have vanquished monsters beyond measures, you were our leader! Kill me! You—!” Singularity stood up, seething, demented. “You let them die, but you’ll let me live?”

“Yes,” Twilight replied. “I will.”

“Why?!” 

Twilight looked at her and thought about the answer. One could say it was penance, what she had to live with because of the role she played in creating Singularity, starting with creating the spell that enabled her to exist. Both would have to live with the consequences of their actions. 

One could also say Singularity was right, and Twilight was no different than her, the two of them locked in a demented duet that made them feel alive just as much as it killed them, the two performing only for each other, the rest of Equestria unwilling spectators. 

Maybe both were true at the same time. 

Ultimately, however, the why did not matter. 

“Because I don’t care enough,” she said. 

“What? Yes, you do,” Singularity insisted. “Who are you trying to kid?”

“But I’m not,” Twilight said. “I’m done. I don’t care what you do. Go. Go and do whatever the hell it is you do to ponies, again and again, but I’m done caring. You’re right. I don’t have evidence, and you apparently have their consent, so.”

“You’re lying. You do care.”

“I guess we’ll just have find out,” Twilight replied, turning on her heels and walking away. “But I don’t think I am.”

And maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. This, too, mattered little. All that mattered was the anguish in Singularity’s voice signaling that she, at least, certainly did not think Twilight was lying. 

And that? 

That felt good. 

“Twilight.” Singularity chased after her, anguish bleeding into hate, the two one and the same, Twilight stopping by the door. “You’ll come back. You will like you always bloody do, every single time.”

And maybe she would. She probably would. Maybe in a week, maybe in a month, maybe in a year or ten or a hundred, but right now? Right then? 

Twilight Sparkle glanced back. 

“Goodbye, Rarity.” Drinking up Rarity’s wide eyes, the expression on her face, Twilight opened the door and stepped out. “I’d say I’ll see you in hell, but it looks like you’re already there.”