It's good to have my sister back, not the least because I have my evenings off now. I stand out here on the balcony and have a chance to look over the town. Yes, I do during the day, but it's all work then; in the evening, I can appreciate it.
For instance, look at that adorable little white unicorn. She's under the zap-apple tree, glaring up, her bump of a horn barely glowing. That won't stop her. She's determined, and she'll stand there until she gives herself a headache. The apples won't pop out on command, but she doesn't know that yet. I'm not going to tell her. She has to find that out, the way her great-grandmother did.
She looks so much like Spun Sugar. I remember watching her come out to the field the first time, all knobby knees and stubborness. Her poor mother kept trying to comb that fluff of mane. Sugar didn't like being all white-which a lot of unicorns are. She liked my mane, and she thought a good dose of zap-apples would turn hers into a rainbow. She tagged along behind me a lot, galloping along on the ground, and we d talk, and as she grew up she was my friend.
I didn't have a lot of time for friends back then, working both jobs, but I kept up with Sugar. It's the same story, always; before I know it, they re full-grown. Next thing I know, I get the wedding invitation and the birth announcement, then there's a piece in Equestria Daily ever so often about their careers, then there's a retirement article if they were really good at what they did. I watch them run around in retirement for a few years, then they come out less and less, and then there's one more article.
This is the absolute worst part of being an alicorn; I'm a thousand years old and I'm young. If it weren't for the way things happened, Luna and I would just be getting used to taking charge. There's time for us; I wonder whether it seems to run more slowly for the rest. I hope it does. I hope these sunny summer evenings seem to last forever.
If that little one could have known Sugar...oh, I still miss her. If alicorn tears really fixed things, she would have lived forever, but I knew, that last time... By that time, she couldn't come outside much, even on the good days. She was standing at her window, leaning her chin on the sill, when I dragged the sun across, and I stopped. If she felt even that good, sunset could wait. She was so proud of the nice young couple who had bought her bakery, and she had a couple of their donuts. I knew they were the last ones we would share, so we ate slowly, and we talked about stupid ordinary things and were happy. She was gone when I came back with the moon.
I remember her wishing she could tell her great-grandkids the stories about her going to Ponyville, about the way the town was when it was barely a dot on the edge of the Everfree, about being afraid to move from Canterlot but the colt she loved wanted to be here, where he saw so much opportunity. She thought she would start a little pastry shop to keep them going while he got the paper established. Oh, my, by the time he retired they could have bought the town! She had the bakery, he had the newspaper, they had an air yacht and a house on the edge of Canterlot for winter, and they had the four fillies and five colts. It was a good life, no doubt. It was just...so...short. One minute she was playing under that same tree, when it was barely more than a sapling, and the next she was having that last donut with me and mentioning that Newsprint was waiting for her on the other side. "The worst thing is," she said that evening, "these kids have always had everything, and I don t think they had half the fun News and I did. Theirs won t know that we were ever young and silly, and oh, weren t we young and silly, Celestia?"
That does it. Alicorn tears can't stop time, not even for ourselves. I am going down to Sugar Cube Corner right this minute and get a couple of donuts and see how the Cakes' twins are getting along. On the way, if it's all right with Sweetie's parents, I'll see if she wants to take a walk with the friendly local princess, and I'll tell her zap apples won't even come out for me until they're good and ready. I won't mention that there are easier ways of getting bright colors in your hair if you want them; she'll figure that out soon enough. And then I'll tell her about a white unicorn filly with a snow-white mane, and a handsome dapple colt, and how much fun they had when they were young and Ponyville was new. If Sugar isn't here to tell her, I will, because I remember.