Sweetie Belle stared at the hand held out to him, not to shake, no, but to take wholly. A disembodied, blue-green hand held to him by the grasp of a young man. Of his successor, protege, and sometimes, his son.

Dismond Tiara held out the hand of his dead father, fastened, taxidermied, and cold.

And Sweetie Belle, his new parental unit, took it.

He took it, turning the limb over in his hand, staring at how dainty they were compared to his own, and how broad compared to Mash Buttons's.

"Thank you." He finally said to the boy before him, the Villain King himself attaching the gripping hand to his arm.

"I know how hard it must be to hand this over… But I assure you, Mash Buttons. I'll have it back in even better condition than before.

_

Sweetie Belle stared at the hand once more, this time on his desk. The boy would be in his own room by now, playing whatever video games his heart desired.

But he? He must sit, and stare, and read over the files.

This man… the man whose hand now lay lifeless on his desk, and the despicable things he had done…

Trixie. Son of Rarity, Father of Te-...

Father of Mash Buttons.

This hand held so much within it. Blood from the old, genes to the new… A stepping stone for all that is great and terrible in this world. In such an ordinary man… such an ordinary man was the boundary of two great ages.

And Sweetie Belle thought it was far too much of a shame to have him miss out on so much. Such a cruel, unloving mother made him into a cruel, unloving man to his son…

Should he pay? Did he need to? Was having a lonely, tortured life enough? Or should he see the horrors that awaited, see his son transform into the next age of blight…

These questions stayed in his mind for too long… Memories of Her, Goals for Him..

This hand was too well connected to stay a dead husk… This hand was the event between two worlds.

So, once again, the king of villains held this hamd, in no way of affection or tenderness, but with an iron grip on the wrist as he took it deep down their base. Till all natural light was absent, and light came from a soft green-blue glow.

In this light, the hand looked almost healthy, and eyes were once again fixed onto it, almost succumbing to a trip as he descended even further.

Now… Where is he…

There.

The Nomu doctor stood over his operating theatre, once again messing with the dead corpse of a failed nomu, a lanky, spaghetti armed thing who's muscles had clearly ruptured and exploded.

"Twilight." Sweetie Belle finally spoke, causing a sharp look up from the Doctor, goggled flashing in the harsh, unnatural light.

"Master- '' He nodded back, peeling off his heavy gloves to descend his stepladder and bow before the tall villain king.
"What can I do to serve you."

Sweetie Belle grunted. Twilight's affections were duly noted. He had seen the Doctor go from nervous, to indifferent, to loyal, to obsessed, and now to completely in love with his boss.
And He paid it no mind. So many underlings had fallen for him, and he supposed it was an aspect of slowly manipulating all of them to perform his whims.

Ah, well. Occupational Hazard.

Still, he had indeed come here for a reason, and held out the decrepit hand to the Doctor, glaring down with such a force that one could think he inhaled the expressions of Sir Nighteye in that short sharp moment.

"You've reanimated the dead before, Twilight. I want it done again, but to a much higher degree of quality. No mist or quirks or lost memories like Kurogiri. I want an exact replica of this man, down to his memories. I also want you to clone a new, identical hand that I can give back to young Master Mash Buttons." He ordered.

And, judging by how the Doctor's face slowly fell with each passing word, it was going to be a very difficult task.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Doctor. I just want it done. I can give you funds, I can give you a new team, a new lab, whatever you like… But you must get this done."

…

There was a small silence as the Doctor's mustache twitched, clearly about to try and give an insufferable excuse, before simply giving a nod.

"Of course, Sweetie Belle, Sir… Anything I need to complete the reanimation, I'll let you know."

"Good."

With that, the man was gone. He had nothing more to say to his loyal underling. Only thoughts of times gone by. Only thoughts of the stepping stone.

-

Sweetie Belle stared at the hand in front of him- directly eye level. Floating in a green tube of liquid, was the hand, white and red tendrils sprouting from the wrist like it was a seed, searching for nutrients to grow.

"-but, of course, the nutrients are all around it- him. The entire tank is filled with an artificial amniotic fluid, and each day a steady stream of consumable nutrients are pumped in. In essence, we have created a womb in which a body can grow and thrive." The Doctor explained, droning on to the deaf ear of his boss.

"I took inspiration of both plant and mammalian life, creating an artificial environment to 'grow', and-"

His words were cut off by the taller man turning, looking down at him with… a smile?

"Well done, Twilight. I don't need the explanation. I'm simply proud of you for doing well so far."

He watched the Doctor flush, his eyes visible and wide behind his goggles.

"Don't Fuck It Up."

Ah, no more blushing. Good.

"Of course, Sir. I won't let you down."

"Good."

-

Sweetie Belle stared at the hand.

Then an arm.

Then a shoulder and a chest… and a head.

In front of him, in the tank, was the floating head, torso, and left arm of Trixie.

His appearance so far matched with the records, so the Doctor wouldn't be under any scolding anytime soon.

Skinny body, skinny arm.. The darkest black of hair that floated around his head… just like Hers did…

He looked so much like her, Sweetie Belle realised, leaning into the tank with a hand on the glass. That dark hair, those high cheekbones… that… Shimura mole, just below his lip.

There were no remains of Rarity. This was her living legacy. This was her, as close as he could get…

-

Sweetie Belle stared at Trixie, fully grown in a vat of human brine, floating elegantly within it.

Twilight stood on the platform atop of the vat, holding a live, sparking cable.

"This part… Isn't elegant, Master. You might want to stand back." The Doctor called to him. And Sweetie Belle complied, taking a fair few steps back to watch this happen.

When he was far behind the… splash zone, Twilight nodded, plunging the live cable into the vat and standing back, watching the water hyper conduct the electricity, spreading and sparking through it.

The body undulated, jerking and seizing violently in the water, tubed being ripped out of his hand as he convulsed.

Slowly, the movements became less of a dead body being galvanized, and more of a man struggling to escape the pain, veins starting to pop up against the skin, the chest rising and falling, and the hands curling into fists and trying to beat against the glass limply.

Twilight rushed down, slamming his hand against a button on the vat and shielding himself as the water poured out of a panel that had opened in the bottom, straight into the drain, emptying hard and fast.

The body was left in a crumpled heap on the base of the vat, the cable hanging over the brim and sparking uselessly against nothing.

…

A silence hung through the air as both men stared at the human that they had grown, unmoving, on the wet ground of the tank.

…

And then… the sound of crying.

Like a baby, like a newborn, the man cried, curled into himself and shoulders shaking.

And Twilight breathed a sigh of relief. It worked… It was alive, at least.

And Master was smiling.

Sweetie Belle walked to the tank, taking hold of the handle and opening the door, letting the remaining liquid spill over his shoes. He didn't care. He was staring down at the body. The man, the-

"Trixie."

The body twitched, trying to raise its head.

Sweetie Belle smiled.

He remembered.