Friendship Is Mind Control

Past Sins

Twilight was quietly losing her mind. It had been three days since the arrival of the letter, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. There was still two days left before the second letter was due to arrive - she'd have to send Spike out of the house on some pretext before the post arrived just in case, though she was fairly confident past Twilight would have found a way to disguise what it was again - and she'd run herself ragged trying to think of what to do next.

She couldn't trust her own thoughts. At first she'd wondered why the other had been so generous as to just wipe her memory of finding the charm and send her home. Eventually it had occurred to her that there could be any number of other changes made to her that she was forbidden to perceive. That had seriously damaged her tentative hypothesis that the other wasn't necessarily malign.

What if the next package was late? What if the next package had been intercepted? What if it simply never came? She couldn't imagine trying to live the rest of her life with this uncertainty hanging over her.

Fortunately, that probably wasn't going to happen. Sooner or later, the other would notice that she had realised what was happening. Then that knowledge would be removed, along with who-knew-what else.

Assuming the other even existed.

She'd come up with a new hypothesis yesterday, and it wasn't comforting. Hypothesis c), where the 'c' stood for crazy. It was inevitable that it'd occur to her sooner or later. It was simple enough; she'd had some sort of mental break, posted herself a letter of paranoid rantings in a delirium, then forgotten it had ever happened. It was a far more straightforward explanation than taking her letter to herself at face value.

She didn't believe it. Altered as her mind might be, her ability to think straight was still intact, just skewed. Definitely. It was just a coincidence that the letter had demanded she hide everything, suspect everyone and not tell anypony about it. It made sense, according to the letter's own logic. It also made sense as the self-protecting mechanism surrounding a partial breakdown of her capacity to reason.

There was nothing else for it. She had to test it. She knew it was a risk. She knew it was contravening the letter's instructions. But she needed some external confirmation, something, anything, to corroborate the story of the charm.

That was why she was at the entrance to Sweet Apple Acres.

An unfamiliar lump weighed in her throat as she surveyed the crimson farm buildings, so familiar, yet feeling so far away. With an effort of will, she galvanised herself into movement, and headed for the large barn.

She could do this. She could. A small part of her kept waiting for hidden memories to surface, and was disappointed over and over as she walked down the dirt path. Nothing. Nothing unusual at all.

The sounds of movement came from within the main barn as she approached. That was a good sign. Maybe the pony she'd come to see was in there, and not ranging out on the far reaches of the orchards. It was hard enough to have made the decision to have this conversation. The quicker it was over with, the better.

Tentatively, she knocked on the open door, and called into the gloom, "Hello?"

A clattering answered her call, then the sound of booted footsteps.

"Why howdy there, Twilight! Ah didn't know you were calling by!" Applejack emerged from the barn's shadowy recesses, a bale of hay resting on her shoulder as though it weighed nothing. The sunlight struck her hair as she stepped outside, turning both mane and tail into gold. Her scent was that of growing things, and her denim shorts showed off her tanned thighs.

Twilight felt nothing. Applejack was her friend, and that was all.

She, Twilight, had been in love with this pony. Passionately. She tried to imagine stepping forward and kissing her, now that Applejack was standing right before her. Still nothing. There was no reason for her to do that. They were just friends.