Sweetie Belle paced around the dressing room, the butterflies in her stomach threatening to burst out in a prismatic maelstrom. I have to be brave. For Rarity, she said to an invisible audience. Shes relying on me. With the bits shell make from this, she can finally open up a boutique in Canterlot and be able to pay for my singing lessons.
 
The filly stole a glance at the posters proud display, its colorful letters detailing the who, what, where and why for the world to see and, more importantly, to come and see her. Underneath them stared back a mirror of herself, frozen and immortalized by flash bulb and film. The dress her copy wore was stylish and unorthodox in equal measures with all of its frills, tassels and bright pastels. It wasnt a dress made for her in the sense that it would ever be worn outside of the shows butand she could not deny this, as much as she wished she couldit had been made for her and, in some ways, she for it.
 

 
A very old commission I got from Fillyscoots, intended for a story I finised 90% of and then burned out on. The first few paragraphs supplied here suffice for setting the scene; the rest is up to your imagination.