The thin brush applied a touch of deep red on the doll’s porcelain lips, shaking slightly in the magical grasp of the unicorn.
“Here we are; the last shade of your mouth.” He muttered for him alone, his voice echoed through the cluttered room, disturbing a half-asleep parrot. The bird flapped its sick and mangy wings.
The piece was a dusty basement largely occupied by unrefined furniture and a huge kiln, prototypes of legs and bodies in wax scattered on the parquet while the walls were adorned by little porcelain masks and a collection of surgical-like tools. The only source of light in the room came from a poor candle put on a stack of books, while a tiny window near the celling was blocked by a curtain and a few planks. A piece reserved for creation.
Dust glittered in the light; the over present musty smell didn’t seem to bother the unicorn as he focused on his work.
“Hmmm, hmmm hmm hmm…” He began to hum a melody. Minutes passed until he finished his task, and observed it with a critical glance. He wasn’t happy with the result. The little pony head in porcelain stared at him with its empty eye-sockets, a rigid smile plastered its face, as if it found the situation funny.
He turned furiously the head and engraved his signature “Snow Ash” on its back. He never truly felt satisfied with his dolls, they always had something missing. But this one was a commission; he didn’t have the time to tergiversate.
The manufacturing of dolls was all his life; it was his mark, his passion and his reason of living, because Snow Ash wasn’t a “lucky” unicorn. Since he was 6, he has contracted a disease knew as Gunther’s sickness, or vampire illness. It was rare because only hereditary and the symptoms were disturbing for most of people, forcing Snow to reclusion.
He took the candle and exited the room. As he crossed a long hallway, he closed all the curtains to not let the sunbeams affect his skin.
“Time to sleep” Snow had taken the habit to talk to himself since he lives alone. He arrived to his chamber, a modest room as dusty and gloomy as the rest of the house, and sighed. Here on his nightstand waited for him the dozen of medicines he needed to take -most of them were painkillers, near a broken mirror and a rather more personal object: a photo describing a family of unicorns, stuck in gray suit and tie, rigid expressions plastered in their faces.
Snow Ash was the older son of his family, an aristocrat house of Cantelot. They lived wealthy, possessed two manors in the capital and, for the sake of nobility, a summerhouse deeper in the country. At the beginning, they had tried to help their son and had taken care of him assiduously, but as his little brother had arrived they had given up on Snow. Now he lives alone in this empty manor.
Some other pony would have felt betrayed but not Snow Ash. He understood them. His parents just wanted a family, not a deranged colt nearly dead. When his full of life brother –the joy of the family, was born they had seemed so happy…They just couldn’t look at all the painful years they had supported before his brother, so they slowly turned their back to the elder son.
He had decided himself to move in the second manor, he couldn’t support the atmosphere that reigned at that time; he had become a dead weight. The only sign of life they gave to him was the lot amount of money he found at the bank every month. As if they tried to apologize.
Yes, he understood them, but he not forgave them. He let his parents live the life they always wanted and disappeared in the dark.
He rubbed his eyes and observed his reflection in the mirror. The light of the candle gave an ever more tormented expression to his features. His condition worsened over time. He used to be a sandy colored stallion with a thick, badly cut, white mane. Now his skin was as pale as death, so much that he could see his veins through it. He wore a tired face with onyx eyes accustomed to a work of precision, in accord with his nose and eyelashes which were soiled by hideous scabs and dried blood. It gave him a pitiful air, but it remained something more or less normal, in regard of his sickness. More strange were the red brown fangs that sprouted from his upper jaw. Gunther’s sickness cursed its bearers with an abnormal intolerance to light, strong crisis of abdominal pain, growth of the pilosity, neuropsychiatric disorders and a reddish coloration of the teeth, lips, gums and urine.
Life with them wasn’t great every day, but in the end it was Snow Ash who made it more difficult.
Maybe it was a remnant of self-punishment but isolation transformed him in another type of monster - his physical condition was just the immersed part of the iceberg, creating a comfortable world for him where his only contact with the outside world was his rare visits to the bank and the hospital: his manor became his castle. All the things he needed to survive were brought to him by a specialized organization; even the rare customers who were interested in his work have to come to him.
Sometime he considered the opportunity to give up and spent hours to return the question in his head. He then remembered his passion, the flame that warmed the frozen carcass of his own, and the desire to create something perfect. If he succeeds he would let the death pick his soul, he would never feel pain again, he would be proud of himself for leaving behind a treasure to the world, something beautiful stemming from a ruined life.
Snow Ash began to run. He was late to his appointment to the hospital. And he didn’t want to be late, or he would be stuck for hours in the waiting room, the type with air-conditioned and just old and uninteresting magazines for company. Alas, he wasn’t in fond of physical effort and he arrived not on time, sweating and coughing. He didn’t notice the royal guards posted at each side of the entrance. Arrived to the hospital, he calmed himself, breathing slowly, and after showed some papers to the reception, made his way to the waiting room.
It was almost seven a.m. so when he arrived to the little piece he was surprised to not be alone. In the corner of the room was a purple unicorn. Snow stayed chocked a few second, her apparition seemed so unnatural, like a crack in the time itself. He regained his composure and stuck to the wall, trying to reach the closest seat without warning her. It wasn’t difficult as her head was completely buried in one of the magazine. He wiped away the sweat that started to moisten his forehead and observed the mare through his sunglass. She wore an oilskin -which was comprehensible since it was raining hard outside, her fur was a much more pale shade of purple, almost lavender, and her mane was common dark blue adorned by violet and pink strips near her horn. The colors matched perfectly in harmony. Snow surprised himself staring at her soft features, contemplating the way she frown or smile as she read the magazine. The mare was an immense devise of sincerity, so real and so untouchable… Snow Ash waited breathlessly, scrutinizing all of her act. Until she abandoned her reading and glanced at him. An awkward silence followed.
“S-sorry…can I have a magazine?” That was stupid. But Snow would do everything to be more close to her; he needed to understand the strange interest he developed so quickly for the mare. He forced a smile.
“Yeah, come in!” She spoke in a natural tone, a welcoming expression in her face. It seemed almost as forced as his fake smile. Snow Ash trotted hastily toward the stack of review and took one at random. He read the title. Fluid Mechanics. Huh? What’s that?
“Oh you’re interested in that? I thought I’ll never find a pony to talk about! I even read some essays about the Navier-Stokes equations and the proportion between the rate of variation of the speed and the tangential load!"
Snow Ash ticked. What the hell I do?! He began to panic. His first friendly attempt in nopony know how years would fail soon if he didn’t react logically!
“Err not really, it just seemed interesting…I’m more an artist than a physicist” He stopped when he saw the despairing look on her face. In a way, it hurt him to see her unhappy. “I’m a doll manufacturer…name’s Snow Ash”. He offered a hoof to shake.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Snow Ash!” She shook his hoof but slows down when she noticed the abnormal rachitic and pale limb. “Oh, sorry.” Why did she apologize? It wasn’t her fault if he was sick. The rain continued to tapering against the window.
“Don’t be, I’m used to photodermaty since I’m small”. He talked with a calming, forgiving voice. He wanted to attract some condolence; compassion is a more friendly emotion. He removed his sunglass then his hood. The mare gasped and held his hoof more tightly, her soft eyes tainted with pity.
“It must be horrible! And so interesting! ” She grimaced at her hitch. “Hum… I mean it’s an unusual sickness”. Snow Ash laughed frankly at the unicorn embarrassed reaction, she seems so real! Not like me…is it a crime to wish to be like her?
“You’re the one who is unusual. Most of ponies fled when they notice my teeth and injuries…or beg for me to not take their blood”.
If he could just lightened the mood and encourage her to talk more comfortably maybe it would transform their little exchange into a veritable conversation, in spite of the fact that a subject as his illness isn’t the most joyful topic in earth.
“But it’s not so bad, because I know somepony like you exist”. Arg…I’m a poor flatterer.
Snow Ash needed to control the conversation and the image he gave to himself, or he will not be able to handle it. Because of his self-imposed exile -and the way of life his curse forced, he found himself deriving from the criteria of normality, creating a gap between him and the society. Now he just couldn’t figure how to comport with another pony without seeming too insipid and despondent. He picked references in the personality of his favorite characters and observed the reaction of the ponies when they talk to each other. The way they frown, grimace, smile, become sad, surprised or anxious, everything was mysterious for him; like a forgotten memories box he would discover years after.
“Thanks…You said you were a doll manufacturer? How curious!” I thought this profession had disappeared she added for herself. “Actually I’m interested in one, a present for a friend.”
Snow Ash grinned like a Cheshire cat. “It would be an honor, milady, but can I ask you your-”
He was abruptly interrupted by a nurse who burst into the room.
“We just finished your Majesty! The equipment is ready!” The nurse panted and opened the door for the purple unicorn.
Majesty? Snow Ash stayed shocked. Then he glanced at the jacket the unicorn was wearing, noticing it curious shape at the level of the midsection. Oh, so she’s a princess. He pondered this new and astonishing information, but didn’t have the time to come to a conclusion.
“It’s just a simple medical examination! I came here the previous years and you never did such a mess!” complained the now alicorn.
“But your highness…” the nurse gave a confused look.
“Arg...Anyway, send your location to the Golden Oak Library of Ponyville, I’ll reply as soon as I can, bye”. She addressed to Snow and followed the auxiliary.
He stayed alone in the now silent room, gathering his thoughts. He didn’t believe what he just done. He never really talked to somepony for a so long time in years; it was his truly first conversation since his move to the second manor. Even with his doctor he just contented to nod. And he wasn’t aware of a coronation these previous years! It reminded him of his condition of assigned to residence. Then his thoughts returned to the mare. If she didn’t said him that she was royalty and hid her wings then he would not point it out, it was also a gift from the heaven since he would be able to gather information in order to predict her reactions more easily! And lord, she was so perfect! So…fresh! Snow Ash couldn’t waste his first interesting link with the outside world in unpleasant conversation, right? Why he just didn’t stay hided in his house? He almost unnoticed his doctor who was pocking him on the shoulder.
“Sir? Snow Ash? The papers for your removal of the spleen are ready”. Snow Ash sighed and followed him to his office.
He floated in a sticky but warming liquid. It waved and pressed against his body, an annoying sensation promising security, well-being and warmth. He felt a certain affinity, alone in this aquatic surrounding, but his perception of the world was limited -urging him to test it and deduce finally that this environment was nothing more than a traitorous mass of fluid, as it put his mind in a forced rapture. His deduction opened his conscience: he struggled fiercely for opening his eyes, brewing the liquid with his limbs, a feeling of claustrophobia compressing his chest. I shouldn’t be here; his presence seemed a shameful usufruct of the heaven, but the idea of leave it didn’t crossed his mind as his vision adjusted to the luminosity. Curiously, the whole world was separate in two sides, the most opulent composed of blackness and the second ordered by a subdued light, pouring from a benign fissure in what seemed to be a shell. It radiant halo attracted his gaze like a beacon a bug, as he became aware of the dull pain in his lungs and constricted throat. The urge of air terrified him; he tried to reach this way out, bucking frenetically and contorting himself in despair, but his pointless effort deteriorated his condition much than it helped.
Nonetheless, the prospect of die alone like a fool frightened him, a fear and a primitive instinct which boosted his will and forced him to execute repetitive movements and calm his panicked heart, but it was too late. He could now saw the reddening edge of the crack and noticed the veins stuck in the chitinous carapace that formed the walls, a pure moment of contemplation before his race against the time come to an end. He watched the last bubbles of air fled from his lungs, his vision darkened, he abandoned, letting his body relax. A feeling of impending danger rung out in his brain like the distant noise of an alarm clock.
Snow woke up bathed in sweat, panting and coughing. His stomach made him suffer. He rolled his tongue in his dried mouth, did he forget his medicament? Or ate garlic? It can be comprehensible since the not so normal excitement he felt after his visit to the hospital. He got up to four hooves ruefully and attempted to reach the kitchen, but didn’t felt woken at all and stumbled several time before arriving in the room. He filled a glass with fresh water and washed his mouth. The city was still sleeping, lit up by scattered street lamps; they lightning reflected the blue grey mist occupying the empty boulevards and avenues. Through his window, the landscape took a fairy-like tone worthy of a pony tale.
He wasn’t surprised to found blood when he spited out the water. Snow obviously dreamed of something disturbing…but what? More he tried to remember more the sensations he pursued slipped between his hooves like sand. Maybe it was the fault of his doctor and his eagerness to remove his spleen. He threw the glass against the wall.
“BASTARD! All you want is a new subject for your FUCKING THEORY! You don’t care one second for your patient *cough*…would snatch the heart of your mother *cough* for *cough*…more money”. His cries of rage disappeared as quickly as it came, in a loose cough. Calmed, he put back his attention on the blood in the sink, contemplating the liquid fusing with the water. There were days he scorned the ponies as much as he envied them. They were mocking birds, they looks at him with compassion for is deplorable condition but the sadist part of their mind laugh with relief for being a branch higher than him, being normal and in due form. Neither are truly nice, the one who pity him or the others who never seem to see. Here is the pony nature, such delightful creatures but not even sincere with themselves.
“Enough! This kind of thoughts makes me depressive…now I have something much more important…” He smiled blissfully and takes the direction of his basement.
He observed some time the photo of Twilight he had cut in a newspaper, then the technical drawing he had done for the doll. She would love it. After all, she was the inspiration for the toy! At the beginning, he had tried to come with a girly and cute model, which he supposed will be more worthy, but whenever he had wanted to materialize it on the paper, she had poisoned his intention and monopolized his thoughts. The result, after hours of work and innumerable failed sketches that now filled his bin, could be misunderstood with a child’s drawing, but Snow Ash distinguished skillfully the general curves of his masterpiece. It didn’t matter the drawing was awful, he looked at it with greatest pleasure for shut his eyes mere seconds later. And then to look again. It seemed always too good for him, and he was afraid it would change and became underwhelming in the next look.
Snow squealed and pressed the sheet against his chest. He was so excited by the whole project! Instead of having been a problem, re-draw the head of the doll had given him more ideas, increasing his imagination’s boundaries! His satisfaction materialized in a shape of a sudden happiness pressing against his rib cage.
Frightened by the probable explosion of his chest, he left the drawing and leaned against the back of the chair; his gaze wandered over the room, strewn with whiff of his precedent failures. All the years he passed in his « studio », so isolated from the world that he would forgot to eat, paid finally for something. The most important project of his life began now, it would take time but he would try to reach perfection in reproducing the most realist face he can make with porcelain, which isn’t known for his malleability, use finest fabric for the dressing and even insert a music box in the chest of-
He noticed the accusing stare his parrot was giving him.
"What? Oh yeah, food."
Anatole was its name. He had bought it four years before, in a moment of weakness. He had figured that a pet would help him through his loneliest days, and it had revealed to be a source of joy as of anger. But now, and since months, the beloved bird was slowly dying. This agony pained Snow, who tried everything he can to stop it, but Time isn’t somepony you can control and his sister, Death, waited patiently at the end. He now let desperately the door of the cage open, begging for a consenting act of life from the bird. Anatole never left its aviary.
He grabbed the packet of seed and filled the feeding dish.
It was two days since he send his location to Twilight. He began to worry. Did she really wanted a doll or just said it by kindness? He couldn’t be mad if it was the case, not against her. Or maybe it’s because Ponyville isn’t the nearest place? Did the mail travel by train or Pegasus?
“Hmm whatever, the only thing I can do is waiting.” But it didn’t prevent him to do some cleaning! He was aware of the state of dirtiness his house was, it wouldn’t be polite to invite somepony in this nest of cockroach! And the shame!
He rushed to the cupboard and grasped all sort of brooms and bottles, not used to deploying so much energy.
“Ah! Mr.Clean! We’ll spend marvelous time together!” He uncorked the bottle of cleaner and began his task.
Snow Ash made efforts to clean everything he saw, and, leaded by the repetitive movements of the brush whistled some notes. What he wasn’t aware in the other hoof that his ignorance in the art of properly cleans a house led him to mix a little bit anything he found in the cupboard. This work was really enthralling for the stallion as he goes along, passing a feather duster on the old furniture, and drawing face of smiling ponies with the cleaner before passing the floor cloth. He even discovered trinkets and bibelots which revealed their presence to him, hide in a drawer or fell behind a wardrobe, little statues and frames belonging to an ancient life.
As he passed a rag on a window, a silvery fragment drew his regard. It came from a little crack in the parquet. One of the slats had been move conscientiously and a hard thing was staved-in the hole under the board. Snow grasped slowly the mysterious object, wiping the dust from it, his eyes widened when he discover a replica of a sled car. Unnoticed tears rolled on his cheek as he observed the compartment, red and in an ovoid form, with a hole on top for the driver. The facture was precisely recreating the second model car of the most popular pilot of time, the sponsors, the wheel, the pedals and even the brakes whom allowed controlling the cradles. It had been an estimated winter sport when he was young. The competitors used to glide from the top of the trail and pass the different obstacles of the race, reaching impressive speeds on the snow.
Nostalgia found him, a diffuse and warm pain stuck in his chest. He began to weep, unsure why. He knew the toy wasn’t him, and it burned Snow to remember the true, but what really finished him what the tiny feather connected to the car by a thread, decorated by colored wooden pearls. Grey feather, a tiny feather, the feather of a colt…
“Snow! You’re so slow~ I could finish the race three times before you reach the line!”
A joyful grin and a wave of the hoof, grey hoof, like the wings, and a reddish golden mane. Warm feeling, happiest sentiments, hot light and pink ice cream. It felt so good to be accepted.
A knock at the door interrupted brutally his reverie.
He wiped his tears and trotted to the entrance. The door opened and the face of a delivery pony appeared in the frame.
“How nice to see you, Snow!” greeted the stallion, Fedex, as the label in his blue shirt showed it. Snow wasn’t as glad as him. He groaned in response.
“You seem particularly happy today! And you clean your house! What’s happen? You’re moving?” Fedex tried to force the passage, as every time. He was the type of stallion who loves to put his muzzle in the business of others, with brown coat, the little eyes of a stone marten and a strong jaw. Typical.
“Fedex, give me my food and go bother other costumers!” Snow ragged, narrowing his eyes.
The stallion continued with his over joyful tone, so much it hurt to listen.
“Hmm oh I know! You invited your mother! Or it is your special somepony?” He grinned widely. Of course, he knew Snow didn’t have a lover, he said it deliberately.
“You’re crushing my flowerbeds.”
“You don’t have ones. They’re dead for years!”
Snow began to close slowly the door, staring directly at Fedex.
“Roh, you’re not fun! Here’s the pen, sign!” He waved the paper under the muzzle of his client. The unicorn hurried to complete the document and grabbed the box of food with his magic, staying in the shadow of the entrance.
“Good day!” He slammed the door. Snow hated being interrupted in important matter. After having deposed the bow in the kitchen, he returned to his cleaning, hiding the toy in a drawer.
Twilight arrived at the huge manor that was the residence of the doll maker. She stayed some time in front of it, admiring the renaissance style of the house. Some nobles have the money and cheek to adorn their houses with ancient standards, but this one seemed particularly well made in the light of the setting sun.
Getting into the square, she noticed the obstructed windows and poorly maintained garden. A lizard stared at her, and then ran under a shutter. It was comprehensible, since his occupant was sick, but more she approached the house, more it seemed huge and menacing, and Twilight couldn’t repress an awkward shiver as she pressed the doorbell.
She waited some time. Nothing came. Nervous thoughts occupied her brain as she rehearsed the gesture. Maybe he wasn’t at home? Didn’t he precise his hours in the letter? A word returned from her memory, “any time.” She began to turn back when she felt something in her back. Somepony was looking at her. Slowly, she turned her gaze at the house.
Sighing, Twilight noticed a movement at one of the window, and some second after, Snow Ash appeared at the door, panting.
“S-sorry, the bell doesn’t work since years.” He rubbed one of his forelegs with a hoof, the regard evasive.
“Come in, I made some tea…”
Twilight accepted gladly the invitation with a nod and followed him in the manor.
They crossed a short hallway before arriving in the living room.
“I’m afraid it’s cold now, let me fix this.” The unicorn seemed more confident than before - as if the fact of not being outside affected his personality, slipping in the calming tone he used at the hospital.
As Snow warmed the beverage with the help of magic, Twilight allowed her curiosity to examine the piece. In two word, simple and spacious. The whole floor of the house seemed to be pine parquet, the kind which perfumes the room with a pleasant smell of Nordic forest and sap. Lustrous chandeliers diffused the light of about ten candles, reflecting in the furniture garnishing the walls, which were dressed in a crinkled wall paper. The entire house breathed the dust of ancient time -despite the fact that somepony most probably tried to clean the mess recently, and Twilight felt suddenly relieved to be able to see the cloudy sky through one of the obstructed windows. The delicate smell of white tea pierced her examination.
“Oh, I didn’t know you have this kind of taste!” Twilight smiled, staring at the enthralling tea. Snow gave her a cup, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he savored the compliment.
“I couldn’t serve a mediocre tea to a lady like you, but I admit I have a weakness for this one. True, it’s very expensive, because of the harvest which took place only two days by year, and it’s only after a long infusion that you can really appreciate it aroma.” He plunged his lips delicately in the tea and took a mouthful, closing his eyes. Twilight imitate him.
“So, you’re here for a doll. You’re lucky I don’t have commissions this week; I’ll have all my time for your present and even, maybe, finish it before the end of the month.” This one was a lie, he just push them aside.
“I thought of a musical design for your doll, it’s very popular because it’s not aim at a specific age, everypony can appreciate it. If you gave me precision about the pony you want to offer the doll, like his or her character, color, favorite music, occupations or food, I would be able to fix a design which will suit with him and get a bull’s eye.” Snow began his work with a now serious and focused tone.
The discussion continued like this for one hour, until Snow exit the room in direction of his basement, promising the plan of the doll. Twilight waited patiently for the stallion’s return. She had been totally dragged in the conversation and found herself arguing with all her heart in certain point, for receiving a warm laugh from Snow and a nod of agreement. Even the tea had made his work in appeasing her anxious mind. She noticed the now empty cups and decided that a little of kindness couldn’t be bad.
Twilight took the service with her magic and went on a quest for the kitchen. She passed a lot of closed door, the parquet creaking under her steps, smiling simply. This house is really huge! And the hallways aren’t different… She began to panic after her four passages next to the same chest of drawers with the same stylized oil lamp. The object, darkened by the fire, represented wolf hunting. The alicorn hurried her march, which changed rapidly in a jerky trot.
Don’t panic Twilight, I’ll eventually find the kitchen! Ow, why these kinds of houses have to be so sinuous? In her panicked state, she took hallways and stairs at random; shooting quick glares over her shoulder. She trotted deftly before the obscured portraits of dead ponies, avowing their eyes, as she knew they were staring at her. Finally, one of the corridor resulted in a curious green door, different from the others.
Panting slightly, she stared at the door handle. What was this one different? No, no, I’m not at home! I just can’t open all the rooms just to satisfy my curiosity! Twilight shook her head, what a princess she is if she upset one of her future subject? But if behind the door she found the kitchen?
Already knowing the answer, Twilight opened the door. The light of the hallway lit a part of the piece, leaving the rest in the shadow. Her heart beat strongly in her chest. It wasn’t the kitchen. First, it was too small. Second, she can see a bed. And a very beautiful broken mirror.
“Oh my! I think it’s a real polished mirror!” Twilight exclaimed. A mirror crafted with an ancient forgotten technique; they were so rare nowadays! She advanced toward the object, despite the nervousness of her mind. The manor had to be very old; Snow Ash probably bought it…She played with her reflection, chuckling at the deformed face in front of her, the service and the kitchen now completely forgot. Her irrational fear gone, she found silly to be afraid of some shadows and empty corridors.
Her gaze wandered on the rest of the piece. This must be his bedroom…hum, too gloomy for me… She noticed the tablets. Poor thing, I read somewhere his sickness gave painful stomachaches. Snow Ash seemed to be a very kind, calm pony. The one you would entrust with your problems or secrets and receive sensible advices, always supporting and sincere. He really showed kindness during the discussion, never stopping to smile… Her mind ticked as she saw the more personal object at the right of the mirror. What it is-
“They seem very happy? Aren’t they?” His calm voice brush against her ear, his eyes never leaving the beautiful, inlayed with shells and semiprecious stones, but desperately empty wooden frame.
Author's Note
I apologize for the numerous grammar errors you'll unearth here, but I couldn't found a prereader.
