Rarity groaned as another box of fabric threatened to topple beside her. Silk, velvet, chiffon—every surface of the boutique seemed buried beneath a colorful mountain of textiles.

“Why do these boxes multiply when I'm not looking?” she huffed, struggling to steady a wobbling crate. “And not the velvet! Anything but the velvet!”

A loose spool sent her stumbling into a stack of satin. With a dramatic sigh, she slumped against the nearest pile, mane slightly disheveled and coat dusted with dye.

“Honestly, the sacrifices I make for fashion.” She eyed one particularly stubborn box, then glanced around hopefully. “Perhaps,” she said with a weary smile, “somepony might be willing to lend a hoof?”