Lyra Heartstrings's day began as usual. She woke up, ate her usual breakfast of oats, and proceeded to Ponyville's town square, where she played her lyre until lunch. As passersby tossed shiny, golden bits to her, she would nod and give them a smile. She met with Bon Bon for lunch. The two were assumed to be best friends, but in reality, their relationship went much deeper. Indeed, she loved Bon Bon with all her heart.
Returning to the town square, she played more on her lyre, levitating it magically in the air and plucking the strings. The later it became, the less ponies were around to hear her music. Gradually, the sun began to set and she packed up for the evening. It had been a good day, earning her more than enough bits to purchase some new strings. Bon Bon had arrived home a little before her, having finished her day at the sweets shop, and had begun to make dinner for the two.
It was a good life. Indeed, Lyra was more than just content. A pleasant swelling engulfed her heart, a warm smile taking over her face as she greeted her mare-friend. She wouldn't change a thing about it. Every last detail was perfect and she never wanted anything to change.
Such a shame that everything would, without her willing.
The next day was very different. It wasn't a usual day in the slightest. She woke up in the same bed she always did, but something was different. The sheets felt strangely rough and an odd coldness gripped her from all sides. She kicked her legs, wrapping herself up in the blankets a bit more. Expecting the resistance of Bon Bon's body next to her, she was surprised to find the covers slide so easily. She turned and opened her eyes. Bon Bon was not there. Of course, Bon Bon always left for work before Lyra would leave for the town square. Perhaps she had just woken up later than she had expected.
As her eyes began to focus on her surroundings, confusion sprouted. She was sleeping in moth-eaten sheets that smelled of mildew. The wallpaper was peeling, where it was visible and there wasn't just a huge chunk of wall missing. The window to her left was broken and soft morning light drifted through it, pollen clearly visible in the rays.
Her throat grew tight and only a whimpering noise came out of her as she took it all in. It's all a dream, she told herself, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. Look, you'll open your eyes and be right back next to Bon Bon. She opened her eyes, and of course, she wasn't. She threw the sheets over her head, denying what couldn't be. What had happened? Could she have sleep-walked into an abandoned house? No, that was silly. There were no abandoned houses in Ponyville. There had to be some explanation. All she had to do was get up and look around. Surely there would be answers nearby. But try as she might, Lyra couldn't get her legs to move. A deep feeling of helplessness grew in the pit of her stomach. It was sickening and eventually, she stopped willing herself to get up and fell asleep again.
When she woke up a second time, she found herself in the same rotten, smelly bed, alone and cold. Somehow, all the sheets and blankets couldn't make her warm. A tear rose in her eye that she could not explain. She felt so alone, like the world had been emptied of all its occupants except her. She came to a realization that there were no sounds from outside, not even the birds.
Finally, and reluctantly, she rose from the tattered sheets, one hoof hitting the old, warped floorboards one at a time. Looking up, she gasped upon realizing that it was indeed Bon Bon's and her house, aged and uncared, that she had woken up in. She rushed to the stairs and galloped down and out of the front door. Around her was the remains of Ponyville. It hadn't been destroyed, but it hadn't been allowed to live. The town had withered and died. Weeds had sprouted up in a coating all over the ground. Moss and vines covered houses.
Questions filled the mare's mind. Out burst “Where is everypony?” in a shout that filled the quiet, echoed once, and was gone. Panicked, all she could do was gallop. Gallop as fast as she could, away from this nightmarish place, shouting as she ran. “Hello?! Is anypony there?! I think I'm lost.” But no voices responded.
Exhausted, Lyra collapsed to the ground, rolled onto her back and began panting. She had run through the outskirts of Ponyville and down the road to Canterlot. She hadn't gotten very far; The mountain hadn't appeared to grow any closer since her sprint began. She didn't know why she had begun running down this path. Perhaps it was to get to her old home up high in that beautiful, eternal city. Even if Ponyville was gone, surely nothing could touch Canterlot. It would be still pristine and perfect, like it always was under the supervision of the Princesses.
Whilst staring up at the leaves of the tree she had collapsed under, she noticed that it did, indeed, have leaves, whereas many of the trees in Ponyville were gnarled and dead. That was a good sign, at least. Not everything in the world was like the remains of that once-peaceful, but now dead town. Suddenly, she heard a voice that was not her own. It was that of a little filly.
“Momma? I think I see a pony over there.”
Hope leapt into Lyra's throat. She, like the emotion, sprang into the air and landed on her hooves. There, in front of her, stood a tiny pink filly and a purple mare, presumably her mother.
“H-Hold it! Stand back, right there,” the purple mare warned.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that I've been searching for somepony – anypony, really, and -” She stepped out from the shade under the tree.
“Momma. Look at her coat.” The filly's eyes grew wide. “And her mane. She looks like...” They both gasped upon seeing Lyra's cutie mark.
“Y-You think that's funny?” The purple mare stretched out her hoof and pointed at the lyre symbol on Lyra's flank. “Dressing up like that. Painting the lyre on yourself. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Turning to address the filly beside her, “Come on. Let's go.”
Lyra protested, “What? I don't understand. What are you talking about?”
The pair quickly trotted along, ignoring Lyra's questions, the mare spitting at her as she passed. “The nerve of some ponies today.”
Muttering to herself, Lyra asked, “What was that all about?” Pondering this question for a few moments, she eventually decided that the pair must have been mistaken about something, or just crazy, and continued down the path to Canterlot.
Soon, she encountered a traveling merchant. As she drew close, he began to talk to her in a raspy voice. It was clear that he was trying to hide an Appleloosan accent. “Hello there. Interested in some supplies? 'S a long road to Canterlot.” He flung open part of the black trench coat he was wearing. A magical device sprang into action, emitting a low buzz as it held up the flap and dropped a net, covered in nonperishables and... weapons. That caught Lyra's attention most of all, and she stopped to address the stranger.
“What are the weapons for? Surely, the road isn't that dangerous?”
The question seemed to be taken as a joke, as the grey stallion chuckled a little before answering, “Only if you don't consider impending death a danger.”
A look of confusion covered Lyra. She didn't even try to hide it. “But I just saw a mare and her filly traveling this road. They didn't look well armed. In fact, they weren't carrying anything for protection.”
“I don't see much of a problem for them. They're just ordinary citizens, goin' about their daily lives. No reason to assume they'd come under any harm.”
“Well then, what makes me so special?”
“You're kiddin', right? People will take one look at you, 'specially with that cutie mark, and want you dead. Now, it's not my place to judge, but if you want to go around lookin' like The Mare of the Machine, that's your decision.”
“'The Mare of the Machine?'”
“Don't tell me you haven't heard o' her. Why else would you make yourself look exactly like her?” He muttered something under his breath that she could not make out.
“What are you talking about? I haven't made myself look like anypony. I'm just... me.” She lost her train of thought for a second. “And what about my cutie mark? The two that I passed also mentioned it.
“Well, all right then. You must be from outta town. Let me clue you in. You just happen to have the same cutie mark as one o' the most hated individuals this side o' the Badlands. An' the same coat. An' the same mane.”
“I can't help that. Sometimes ponies just look the same.”
“Right you are, Missy. But if you do want to walk around without being hated instantly, I'd suggest some 'o this.” He reached into a pocket on the other side of his coat and pulled out a small glass bottle with a pump, resembling that of perfume. “This should change your appearance: mane, coat, and cutie mark.”
“What will it make me look like?”
“Well that depends on what kind of personality you have.”
“So I won't just look like anypony who's used one of these?”
“Shouldn't.”
“All right. I guess I'll take one. How much -” Her face froze. She didn't have any money. And none was certainly available when she'd woken up.
This did not concern the merchant. “Haha,” he laughed. “I'm guessin' that you don't have any money. Tell ya what, I'll give this to you for free. If'n you do somethin' for me.”
“And what would that be?”
“I've got this customer in Canterlot. Now, he wanted somethin' special. He's already paid me for it, but I didn't have the opportunity to give it to him while I was there. If you'd be so kind as to give said individual this here package, I'd be willing to let you have this bottle, free o' charge.”
This sounded like an excellent deal. “I'll do it,” Lyra proclaimed.
“Excellent. Here you go.” Once again, he reached into a hidden pocket somewhere on the inside of the unrevealed side of his coat. He pulled out a withered, brown paper package, wrapped in a string and an address printed in neat hoofwriting on the top. “The address is already on there. I planned to just mail it when I reached Nightshade, but you'll save me time, and the expense o' shipping it.” He also gave her an equally withered, unmarked saddlebag.
“You don't have to worry about me. I'll get it there safely,” Lyra said dutifully.
“Very good. An', one more thing.” He leaned in close and whispered into her mint green ear, “If this package doesn't arrive, I'll know.”
Lyra recognized the veiled threat and gulped.
“Happy travels.” He placed the bottle that resembled perfume on top of the package that Lyra held in one hoof before packing up his trench coat and moving on.
As he was walking away, Lyra realized something and questioned loudly, “How do I use it?”
Without turning around or stopping, the merchant replied, “Just spray yourself once. You'll stay transformed for a whole day. Be sure not to forget to apply it again tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she called, but he did not reply.
Okay, she told to herself. One spray and... She pressed the pump and held her eyes shut as she felt an aura of magic working itself over her. Soon, she would not be Lyra Heartstrings anymore.
