Tilgoreth

Here I wrote this thingy:

I approach, pulling up a chair on her left side. It’s quiet, the room is lit by low-power artificial light. Why does that bother me? It’s all so clinical…

I place my hands on her left hoof. She grunts a little, turning her head to me. A weak smile spreads across her lips.

“Hey...Spike…” she says, with effort.

Tears form in my eyes. “Twilight...I’m so sorry…”

“Spike,” she’s saying, the pain makes her close her eyes, tears squeezing through, “oh, Spike...Please, please…”

I grip her hoof tightly. I try to control the flow of tears from my eyes. I can’t. I can’t stop crying. Rarity’s right, I can’t regret what happened in the past. But Twilight’s still hurting…

I see the brace on her right wing. I didn’t know she hurt her wing…

“Your wing…” I say. We’re both still crying. She sniffles.

“Yeah, I sprained it when I fell on my side, it got bent pretty badly.”

“Twilight, I’m so sorry…”

“Spike,” she’s saying, wiping away her tears with her right hoof, “it’s okay. It was an accident.”

“I know,” I’m saying, “But you’re still hurt. I hurt you.”

She smiles, pitifully, really. Her eyes are bloodshot; I know she’s still in pain.