The sound of hooves clip-clopping across the floor roused me from yet another attempt at trying get some beauty sleep. It had only been a few minutes since I was finally able to tune out all the distractions and doze off, only to be woken up again by Rarity's incessant pacing. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I glowered at the source of the interruption, ensuring that my annoyance couldn't be any more apparent. However, my discontent was the last thing on Rarity's mind, and neither was anything else but the task at hoof. She raced from one side of her workroom to the other, frantically grabbing fabrics and other materials for her latest ensemble that sat half-finished on one of her ponyquins.
This wasn't the first time I'd seen her like this; she had a tendency to bite off more than she could chew and usually ended up running herself ragged trying to meet whatever demands she was expected to fulfill. Sweetie Belle would occasionally pop in and bring her food, but because Rarity was the sole cook in the house, or the only competent one anyway, everything was usually burnt to a crisp. That didn't stop her from trying though, she inherited her sister's tenacity, and whether or not that was a positive thing... well, I'm still unsure. She once brought Rarity a charred piece of carrot cake and a glass of water that I swear to Celestia was also burnt. Rarity never complained though, it was all she was going to get, and she would momentarily pause her work to take small bites of whatever black substance happened to be crusted on the plate.
Suddenly a white-hot pain ignited in my tail, eliciting a screech of agony from me as I scampered under the bed.
"Opal! I'm so sorry, darling! I didn't even see you there!" Rarity called after me. Her voice was heavy with guilt, but apparently my well-being wasn't a pressing enough concern for her to halt her work for even a second.
With a hiss, I swept in my tail, wrapping it tight around my body. My fury never lasted long though; she'd done this so many times before and I knew it was never on purpose. I decided it would be best to stay out of harm's way and simply watch her work with the same aloofness every cat observed others with.
As the hours ticked by, my indifference gave way to concern as Rarity became more distraught the more time slipped away without much progress on her part. Her impeccably styled mane was disheveled; her curls still held their shape, but stray strands of hair were sticking out everywhere. Behind her glasses I could see bags under her bloodshot eyes. Her going without food never really worried me, but when she neglected her appearance this way, that's when there was need for concern. Usually Rarity's work bored me and I never had any interest in assisting her. The only assisting I did seemed to do was against my will. I couldn't help her even if I wanted to, paws weren't meant for anything but walking and batting yarn, but this time, I found myself wishing there was something I could do. But again, I wasn't really interested, and I've seen what Rarity is capable of when she puts her mind to it. She could handle things just fine on her own, and now that she had settled down at her work bench, the soft hum of the sewing machine being the only sound in the room, I was able to finally fall asleep.
When Rarity finally ceased her work it was several hours later when Luna's moon shone brilliantly in the sky, and only because she had exhausted herself to the point of collapse. I'd woken up from my cat nap completely famished and I could hear salmon calling my name from downstairs. When I'd left the room she was toiling away at her sewing machine, humming a little tune to herself as she often did to try and stay awake. It was the same song that I'd had the terrible misfortune of being in center of when she'd sung it as one of her impromptu musical numbers. I never minded when Rarity took so much joy in her work that she felt compelled to burst into song, she had a spectacular voice, but when it involved getting rolled up in fabric and being tossed about like a ragdoll, I had more than a slight problem with it. I am not a Ragdoll, although one my mentors in Canterlot was one and she was always pleasant to me, I am a Persian, and I wished to be treated as such.
After five minutes in the kitchen enjoying a midnight snack, I returned upstairs to find her fast asleep on the floor beside her workbench in a pile of gabardine and taffeta. The sewing machine was still on and punching the same stitch into the bunched up fabric over and over again.
Rolling my eyes at Rarity's inability to know when to quit, I approached her sleeping form, careful not to step on her glasses which were lying a few inches from her muzzle. The impact of hitting the ground had caused a small, hairline crack to appear in one of the lenses. I could only imagine how upset she was going to be upon finding it. Rarity bought them in Canterlot at the same price everything there was: very high.
Wind blew across my fur from an unseen source and I shifted my gaze around the room, trying to locate it. I spied an open window a few feet above me, the curtains billowing out each time the wind blew past them. It had been a lovely spring day and Rarity preferred to work with the windows open. She said it was refreshing and helped to keep her focused, but she hadn't remembered to close it when night fell and a chilly breeze was wafting in. A faint shiver swept through Rarity's body and not being able to close the window, the only thing I could do was climb onto her soft, lavender-scented stomach, and curl into a ball to try and keep her warm. I watched her carefully for a moment to make sure my movement hadn't disturbed her slumber, but she seemed to be deep in a dream and mumbled something about gold embroidery. Even asleep she was still fussing over details, but at least she was getting some much-needed rest. I knew Rarity well enough to know that come morning, she'll be right back at it and fretting about the time she'd lost by falling asleep.
The thought brought a smile to my lips and a twinge of affection warmed my heart as I gazed down at the slumbering unicorn. Even though I was content, I didn't dare purr out of fear that it would wake her up, Rarity tends to be a light sleeper. Despite how much she aggravates me, however many times she steps on my tail or pokes with a sewing needle whilst using me as a makeshift ponyquin, I had to remember what it was I saw in her all those years ago. I had to remember the lengths we'd both gone through to ensure we would be in each other's company again. Rarity was many things: witty, creative, generous, loving...an over-dramatic fussbudget. But above all, she was tenacious. She never gave up, and there was a time in my life when I didn't either. We were two stones, or if Rarity had her preference, diamonds, cut from the same block in countless ways. She would never know what secrets I harbored from my past, and even if there was some way for me to tell her, I would probably still choose to keep it to myself. Some things are best left unknown.
But that doesn't mean I can't tell you, now does it? After all, just like how I see all those ponies with their snouts buried in Cosmare magazine, it's obvious that reading about flawless, goddess-like creatures brings enjoyment, and who am I to deny you?