Rarity got up, her full stomach gurgling as her meal digested. Wiping some of the mess away with a hoof, she trotted upstairs to her sewing room. As she climbed the stairs, she felt a little lightheaded, but chalked it up to the difference in altitude, and swung open the door to the workshop.
Idly scratching her flank, which felt slightly softer than before, Rarity stared blankly at the assembled supplies, then to her sketches, then back at the supplies, and felt distinctly unprepared for anything so difficult. Of course, being the persistent pony she was, she knew that she could accomplish anything if she put her mind to it. Not to mention all the other dresses she'd made over the years.
"What the hay, I'll get this done in like an hour!" She declared. Her voice had changed from a refined high society accent to a rough and tumble Northern girl, though she paid it no mind. Instead, she picked up a sewing needle and began trying, and failing, to properly thread it.
Her horn ignited, and the door slammed shut, as various bizarre and unlikely sound effects emanated from the room.
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Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually more like forty five minutes, she had completed her masterpiece, and declared triumphantly:
"This is the worst dress ever!"
Her work, a mess of mismatched colors, warped shapes, and shoddy blanket stitches, looked almost nothing like her original plans, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was hideous! Who would wear it, Fleu... Flow... Floor... The skinny one? Bah! She swept the failure off the table and stormed out of the room, brooding over her failure
Actually, it fit perfectly with this season's style in Canterlot, but that thought never crossed her mind. Instead, she decided to...