Heart and Soul
Girls,
If you’re reading this, then one, or all of you, have noticed, and subsequently taken it upon yourself to investigate my seclusion in the library. I implore that all five of you be present within the Golden Oaks library before you continue, as what I’m about to tell you should never have to be repeated to anypony.
You girls have been amazing friends; and not just because we share a bond via the elements of harmony. Ever since I arrived at Ponyville, I’d never thought my life would change to what it was. Before I met you five, socialising scared me, but you all taught me everything and more about friendship; Honesty, Loyalty, Kindness, Generosity, and Laughter. Each and every one of you I cared for so much. Some, more than others.
And that became my undoing.
I suppose I should start at the beginning.
Seven years ago, almost to this date, I came across a problem that I didn’t know the answer to. A simple life conundrum, but held major importance about the rest of my life. It scared me, scared me so much that I even refused to speak to the Princess about it, should it backfire. It plagued my every thoughts, every action was judged around it. It was a burden, but a part of me at the same time.
I didn’t know who I was.
Every filly grows up, understands more about themselves as they age via socialisation and living life. I, did not. Under Celestia’s tutelage, I became a social outcast to many, even to a point where I defined myself as a reclusive hermit, always turning down a cool summer’s breeze over a dusty old tomb about some long-forgotten spell or enchantment. Those who I did talk to could be classified as acquaintances at best, and I only talked with them outside of studies either under Celestia’s direct order, or after a very rarely gruelling project. Back then, ‘friends’ were distractions, and were only good friends if they could assist in some way with my study; which many failed to do.
And this is how it worked for years. From the moment I was taken under Celestia’s metaphorical wing, I wasn’t introduced as ‘My friend, Twilight Sparkle’, but as ‘Celestia’s protégée’. Because of my disassociation with the outside world and its wonders, I was behind, biologically, with the rest of the world. So it wasn’t until I was sixteen, four years before I first met you all, that it finally happened, and that I wasn’t prepared for.
I came into heat.
They say the first season’s always the worst. No matter what stallion you find attractive or not, many were shut away, protected from the bi-annually pheromone-fest. Being skilled in magic though, I cast a simple dampening spell on my libido, saving any colt that I might pounce upon. Fortunately, my first season still was in time with Canterlot’s ‘season clock’, and that meant that, should I wish to, I could still walk the streets of Canterlot, unafraid of my body reacting to the faint smell of a teenage colt.
Oh how wrong I was.
It was near the end of my first season, and for the first time in my time in my life, I had decided to favour the company of friends over that of inanimate books. I remember it so clearly.
It was a summer afternoon, and the sky was cloudless. Spike had gone out for the day, leaving me in good company with three of my closest friends back then. As soon as they arrived, my body felt weird, as though it was trying to pull me to something. Thinking I knew the answer, I accounted it as my heat reacting with the others, and that I was nearing the end of my cycle anyway, which is usually the hardest part to get through. However, throughout the afternoon, weather we were eating ice-cream, or lounging out in the palace gardens, my eyes and brain kept pulling back to one of my friends. Sugar Rush. She was a simple unicorn, and I don’t mean that offensively. Plain white coat, a crimson and turquoise mane, and a cutie mark of three grey sugar cubes, denoting her talent in confectionary. See, this is how I’d view her any other day out of a cycle, uninfluenced by the physical and biological heat that surrounded us. But on that day, I saw her completely differently. Her coat gleamed angelic-like in the sunlight. Her mane seemed like it had a mind of its own, flowing around in the minute breeze through the city. Every time her silver eyes locked with mine, time would have no meaning, and soon my friends became worried with my vacant staring.
I realised that this was something more than just influenced emotions. The harsh, yet slightly comforting reality came crashing down upon me in that moment, so much so, that right then and there, I fainted.
Thankfully, I came to only seconds later, but to my horror, I woke with Sugar’s worried-filled eyes inches from mine, and the wanting, pulling feeling within me yearned to be set free. It took every ounce of my willpower to make up some hastily excuse, and rush off back to my dorm, locking the door, and sealing the room in darkness with the curtains around the chamber. A hastily casted sound-proof spell on the doors and walls, and I collapsed on to the bed. The yearning, burning feeling still dominated, and between choked sobs and hiccups, I began to touch myself with a hoof, my head a mess as every single feeling possible tried to battle for dominance. I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself and what I was, apathetic towards my current state, confused at what this meant, angered that I had been made to live this life, and swimming in confused and emotional ecstasy as my hoof did it’s work, thankful that I cast the sound spell as I cried Sugar’s name over and over in primal pleasure, yet interlaced with sobs. By evening, I was a broken mess of burning limbs and ruined sheets, stained with a combination of tears and other fluids.
The heat left me two days later, yet I remained in complete solitude for a further four. I feigned illness, and food was brought to me twice a day, the voice of Princess Celestia or Spike speaking softly from the other side of the locked oak door, near-pleading with me to talk, to share my burden.
But I ignored. I denied the helping hoof offered so freely to me, being stubborn enough to try and blindly find my way around my own head. During the rest of the heat season, I remained near immobile on the bed, only moving to collect food, or go to the bathroom. The tears stopped flowing soon enough, and for once in my life, I didn’t have the answer. That scared me most of all, the thought of the unknown, thrust upon my in a single moment of shocking truth.
On the third morning, I awoke, and something felt different. The heat had left me. But the excitement was short lived. Even though the season had passed, my mind kept drifting to Sugar, her body, her eyes, and I knew, I knew that this was no simple phase. Fear, guilt, and a strike of determinism coursed through me. If I was destined to live my life like this, then I was going to embrace it. And to do that, I’d need knowledge.
So I hit the books.
Throughout the following four days, I slept in total of six hours, and food was consumed as quickly as possible. I still remained in solitude, fearful of the outside world at that moment, so I searched through my own personal library, smaller, yet was thankfully stocked with such books on the subject. The realisation had dulled down, turning into a dying ember compared to the fire of fear that had taken control days ago. It had got to the point where I could freely speak it out aloud. ’I was Gay.’ I held little comfort in that, as with by bringing up, the term Gay was commonly associated with negative things and unethical movements.
I learnt many things on the subject, ranging from illness’, to political views and historical movements. The fact that homosexuality was illegal even twenty years ago at that time scared me, and even more so that it had only been declassified as a mental illness in the last five. Politically, there were no historical reports of homosexual members of authority, and in modern text, the few that were openly gay, were shunned and kicked from their respective board within six months, commonly from pressure of repeated protests and ignorance of their political opinions, even if they coincided with the same idea of a straight pony.
At some point, the thought of foal-bearing came to mind, and I was disappointed, yet slightly relived, that Homosexual adoption was currently not in effect, although many members of the public were beginning to protest this current stance, although it appeared that any decision, if they could agree to one, would not be decided for a few more years at least. But one thing I was searching for didn’t exist. There was no documentation, throughout the last eight-hundred years, of Celestia’s opinion on the matter. Though the little texts I could find, she didn’t support the Gay Pony movement, but neither did she oppose it. And lastly, it appeared that the populous was split in its opinion on Homosexuality. A large proportion agreed or accepted the movements, allowing a modern world to take them into a modern time. Others… some just couldn’t get their head around the idea of two stallions or two mares being physically attracted to one another; the idea that two North’s on magnets shouldn’t be attracted to each other. Then there were the activists. Protests, picket lines, rally’s, all aimed at stopping this ‘barbaric perversion of nature’. Whist the protests had dwindled in the last few years as the pro-gay movement was becoming more accepted, they were still numerous, and there were still reports of ‘hate crime’ enacted by those who oppose the movement.
And that’s when I came to the conclusion. I knew I was gay, I knew it was a part of me as much as magic was, but I decided, for the time being at least, that I should remain closeted, and wait for both myself, and the anti-movement, to mature. I left that room on the sixth evening, assured both the Princess and Spike that everything was okay, then promptly fell asleep, waking up a following two days later, beginning my new life as who I now was.
And that was how it went. From that moment, to that faithful day when I came to Ponyville, I lived my life with the knowledge of who I was, yet afraid to share it with other ponies. Every heat season, I would follow the methods of the stallions, seeking seclusion from the outside world. Princess Celestia showed concern, but never brought it up, possibly thinking that I was only scared to grow up. I could sense that an important conversation would soon turn up, but for now, I lived a normal life, every day walking past ponies who would judge me differently should they know, but for better or worse, it was unclear. My friendship with Sugar and the others soon dwindled, up to the point where I’d see them, at most, once every month, scared that my feelings would make themselves apparent around Sugar. When I finally moved to Ponyville, I hadn’t spoken to them in over six months.
Then I came to Ponyville. Then I met all of you. I was nervous, nervous of what everypony would think of me, how they’d react, yet… I felt as though I could start a new life here, somewhere where I could be accepted, somewhere where I didn’t need to hide behind a mask, and live my life truly. You five, each and every one of you, gave me the courage to eventually come out, and within our group, your acceptance couldn’t be better.
Pinkie; I remember, the first time you saw me, I couldn’t make out half of what you said, and a part of me panicked, thinking you had seen through my mask so quickly. Of course, those fears were unfounded, yet I always had a sneaking suspicion that you truly knew, yet you were such a great friend, that when it was time for the world to know, the first think you wanted to do was throw a party.
I think that’s one think I’d truly miss in this world. Whenever any one of us were down, you would always try your best to cheer us up, even if you were down. Admittedly, your tactics did work, but there came a point where any party, surprise party, prank or joke would have no effect into the downhill spiral caused by those infernal ponies.
Fluttershy. Innocent. Cute. I’m sorry to know that this would probably effect you as much as rainbow. Death isn’t something anypony should have to deal with, not less of close friends or family. You we’re always so comforting to be around, like the world’s troubles would be blocked by an impenetrable shield rivalling in strength of that of my brothers.
But like all things, cracks appeared in the shield, Spa trips would be excruciatingly uncomfortable, and I became distant to you and everypony else. Know that this wasn’t your fault; you tried almost as valiantly as Pinkie, but it never worked.
Applejack. Hardworking. Honest. And it’s time for me to be honest. When I came out to you girls, you were the one I feared would reject the new me, scorn and mock every time you saw me. This thought made me a nervous wreck; the notion that you, or any of my close friends, would turn down my outing, for whatever reason.
But you were honest. You were uncomfortable about the idea, yet you grew relaxed around me eventually. I’m not angry at you for this, and don’t think you’re the cause of this letter, but some ponies took the same approach, yet fell the other way.
Rarity. Always one to gossip, a grand member of the rumour mill. I could see in your eyes, on that faithful night, that the first thing you wanted to do was spread this information around as much as possible. But you didn’t. You saw the pain and fear in my eyes, and you denied your own nature to comfort me, knowing that if I was placed into that mill, falsehoods and accusations would ruin my life. And it didn’t… for a time.
And Rainbow. My dear, sweet Rainbow. Words cannot describe how distraught I am to do this to you, to put you through this, someone I’ve loved, and now lost, over the last four years.
That first day we met, when you collided with my from above, I’d thought you were a demon of my imagination, to taunt me with something I always wanted, but never have. I felt as though this was a similar situation to Sugar, that I would do something to turn you away from me, and become socially reclusive again. For the good part of six months, my head and heart were battling each other; debating whether I should come out, and hope, a shimmering moment of hope, that you’d feel the same way.
And you did.
That night, after the tears, the condolences, the questions, when everypony had left, you remained. You remained for the longest of times, not talking, doing nothing, just sat there on the threadbare rug in front of our fire, staring into its depths.
I was scared at that moment. The silence was deafening, worried that at any moment, you would lash out, attach, hit or punch any part of me. But what I saw within your eyes was not mistrust, but hope, and happiness.
That night, no words were needed. We knew what we had found, and although I was worried for the future, worried about our future I was prepared to walk through it, as long as I had you by my side.
And we did. For a while…
Always, one thing I could never do, was share a burden with another one of you. Any problems, I would try to solve or manage myself, and if not, would sink into a temporary depression, until one or all of you came to see me, usually with Pinkie throwing a party.
When we became an official couple not long after, you and me, Rainbow, always, I could feel the eyes of other ponies watching us; judging us, but nothing ever was said. I assumed that the community was tolerant of our relationship, accepting of Homosexuals. But I should have read the signs. Before I came to Ponyville, you told me, on a cold winter night in front of the fire, that you were the only open Gay in town, something that you were both sad about, yet strangely proud of. When you met me, you admitted you deliberately crashed into me, both out of supreme curiosity, and a mutual attraction. No matter what you say, I don’t believe that any gay pony had a ‘gay-dar’, no matter how many times you’ve accurately judged to sexuality of a pony in Canterlot and Appleloosa.
I should have known that your reputation from flight school would have given you a persona that not many people would go up against, even if they were against you basic instinctual lifestyle. Scorns, mutters, and sideways glances came our way, and for a time, I was afraid to leave your side, afraid of how I would be judged.
I found out soon enough.
It was near our second anniversary of a couple, 24 months since our lives had changed. You had already moved into the library months back, and had grown an immense attraction to literature in that time, even if your reading scope consisted solely of Daring Do. We were sat there, by the fire, on a cold winter evening, enjoying each other’s company and a good book. Snow was falling slowly outside in the darkening sky, and Spike had retired early to his room.
Spike. I never would truly understand his viewpoint on me. He saw me as an older sister, and a mother, a close friend, and a tutor. He’d been brought up in a fairly neutral lifestyle, although when I had to explain it to him, I don’t think he truly understood the situation. Confusion and curiosity was evident, although in the few years he’d lived, he’d developed an uncanny poker face, not giving away much more than that. I worried that you moving in would be too much for him, but thankfully, he took it well enough, although made a simple yet reasonable request for his own room, which we obliged. When you’re reading this, Spike would be somewhere with the Princess in Canterlot; being a dragon ambassador for royalty made a habit of him leaving Ponyville for longer and longer periods of time.
But on that night, just us two, we received the letter. A letter that held so much importance to both of us, yet also a dark lining in a silver cloud for me.
You had been requested to join the Wonderbolts. Your, and in connection, our dream, was for you to fly with the greats, part of your foalhood dream. To receive that letter then was probably the greatest moment of your life, and you couldn’t be more joyed.
But under that, there was a problem. Something that I told myself ‘It’s nothing, you’ll be fine’. I wasn’t worried of you getting injured or falling for another pony, but I was worried for myself, and the problems I would face against Ponyville. Alone.
So the day came, a few months later, after try-outs and acceptance, that you were going for your first ever tour with the Wonderbolts; with Soarin’ and Spitfire. Two weeks away, and you promised to get hurt, which I believed. I came, to see you off at the train station headed for Canterlot. So soon, the whistle blew, and I waved you off as the train left, and I soon followed suit, but back to the Library. Alone.
It was fine the first few days. Nothing of importance happened bar a small collision involving Derpy and a tree. My fear was subsiding, even though I had remained in seclusion in the Library for the first 48 hours. But on the third day…
I never told you, because I didn’t want you to worry. As usual, I woke, showered, and went downstairs to collect the mail. What was waiting for me was not one or two letters, but a small mound of envelopes, every single one addressed to me.
You can guess what they were. Many were just idle threats creepily made with cuttings from newspaper. Single lines such as ‘go DiE’, or ‘KilL yoURsElf’ were predominant, although some… They’re still here, every last latter. Stored in a small green tin in the back of the spare room cupboard. Why I kept them… I don’t know. Perhaps some perverted realisation that ‘I was a freak, a perversion of nature’. Some kept me awake at night. Threats of broken windows and night-time lynch mobs, pulling at my worst fears.
Out in the streets was worse. When not in the company of you, Rainbow, sideways glares grew to downright hostility. Overly loud whispers, sounding like a swarm of angry bees, followed me where ever I went. And it only grew worse. I started to get refused service at market stalls and whatnot, so much so, that the only true place I could happily buy things were Applejack’s. I became sleep deprived, scared, and hating myself. Spike, again, had gone away during your leave, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I began to hate myself. You noticed that I went through bouts of near-starvation, and then approaching obesity, all because I didn’t know what to do. Nothing I did was right, everything I did was judged, rated, and used against me. In that two weeks, they all nearly drove me to insanity.
Then you came back. You returned, and I forgot of your return. So you came to find me in the library, a mockery of a pony. And I made up some excuse. I said I was too worried about you, that I was scared. And you did something so drastic I knew you loved me. You offered to quit the Wonderbolts.
But I couldn’t let you do it. Your dream, over my problem? No; we argued, and eventually, you agreed to stay, as long as I didn’t worry.
Which I did. But every time you went away, every time I was left on my own, the abuse started. And it only escalated. Smashed windows, graffiti on the walls, even obscene murals created on our own porch overnight. I repaired the glass, removed the paintings, but the hurt was still there. The abuse, the pain. And I never talked to any of you.
And for two years this happened. Over the two years, you went away a total of eight times. By the sixth time away, it was then I began contemplating ending it all. Giving up. None of you knew, you all thought that I was busy with projects with the Princess. But it wasn’t. It was a warm evening, when the realisation came to me; I couldn’t be bothered living any more.
I didn’t go and jump off a cliff straight away; I still cared for you, even if I didn’t care for my wellbeing any more. So for the last week, I’ve been making arrangements, in secret, with those who I could still talk two, who took an oath of secrecy to say nothing until this letter was discovered.
Rarity, this next bit you may have to explain to the others in a little more detail. I didn’t want to end this all with a short drop and a sudden stop; I wanted at least one small comfort in leaving; that you could remember me. Tell them about the ‘Final Flight’ spell. Every unicorn knows of this, and very little have done it, because as you get older, it is harder to do. But that’s how I’ve gone. The tallest point on the mountain that holds Canterlot. No ceremony. Nothing Spectacular. Just one uttered spell, and... nothing. At least, that’s what I hope. For me, there is no afterlife, no ‘happily ever after’ for me. Just… nothing.
But it’s not over yet. The spell has one final ability. Something merged with the spell agaes ago to give the user one last request. 24 hours. One whole day. This day is spent neither alive nor dead, but in limbo. Their soul taken to who-knows-where, but a physical body, seen only by those whom they care for, to talk and say goodbye with. And that’s what I’ve done. Although I’ve tweaked it a little.
This letter is enchanted. Hence why I want you all within Golden Oaks. I put an activation spell on this letter, to begin the 24 hours as soon as a hoof comes within contact with the paper. At this cost, I cannot leave Golden Oaks, but I’ll see you soon. To say goodbye.
“And this is ‘Goodbye.”