Pinkie sat in her apartment atop Sugarcube Corner, staring into her open closet. On the left were all of her costumes and dresses, bright and bubbly, just like her. On the far right, separated by a space, was a single black suit. Her ‘formal wear’, just like the invitation had said.
It was the formal wear that had her attention at the moment. A frown was set upon her face. Pinkie hated wearing black. Wearing black meant that something bad had happened. It was the color of sadness. She’d only worn the suit once to her father’s funeral. Why had she kept it? It would only remind her of him. She should have burnt it when she got home.
But what she wore had no bearing on the event’s overall mood. This time, it wasn’t a funeral. It was a wedding. It was a happy time. There would be no tears, no matter what she wore. It was just a coincidence that the wedding called for black suits. It’s not like funerals were the only time ponies wore black.
It’s just the only time you’ve ever worn black, she reminded herself.
Let’s change that, she thought.
She pulled down the suit, quickly put it on and briskly walked to the train station. The ten-twenty to Manehattan would be leaving soon, and it’s not like she was going to miss her own sister’s wedding.
A sweet, poignant story. I really feel for Pinkie here. But there’s something uplifting about her wearing a dress that had seen her family at its worst at a wedding where they would now be at their happiest. Short, but sweet.