Echoes sounded through the dark empty halls, the only light cast by the candle held by the lonesome pony walking on like she had done numerous times before. The dimly lit candle held in her mouth flickered with each step she took, but she was prepared to abandon it if she needed to, as her replacement was hidden somewhere in the bags hanging by her side. The cello and it's bow was haphazardly balanced on her back, teased with sliding off and landing on the rough, peeling wooden floor. She did her best to keep her most prized possessions from tumbling to the ground fearing that she would disturb the ones lurking in the theater.
Octavia quickly brushed her hair from her eyes, watching the surrounding shadows with extreme apprehension. They told her that before she entered the double doors, she would have to continue with caution. If her candle failed her now, she'd only have ten seconds to get to the nearest light source.
She didn't want to know what happened if she didn't.
Octavia approached the double doors with caution, still watching the shadows. Her eyes were trained on the decaying doors in front of her as she stepped closer to it. Forms shifted in the corners of her eyes, though she tried to ease her mind by claiming they were just parts of her imagination running wild. With two deep breaths, Octavia reached a hoof forward, and pushed the door open, the rusted creaking like the tortured souls that haunted Octavia's mind were all screaming at once.
She shivered upon taking her first step through the doors, feeling the damp air fill her lungs and the sudden cold breeze that coursed through her and dug through the her skin, down to the bone. She entered the backstage area.
Or what was left of it. Tattered scraps of old velvet curtains littered the ground. Rusted metal steps leading to the catwalks above where the abandoned remains of old theater equipment lay, strewn about like a child had recently played with them and had not bothered putting them back. The rotting wooden floor was stained with various liquids, some of which Octavia hoped weren't natural. Incoherent writings had been sprayed on the walls, speaking of vulgar obscenities and anarchistic ideals. No doubt the work of some of the city's more 'colorful' inhabitants.
Octavia placed her candle upon a decaying table, allowing herself to rest before she continued any further. Her cello landed on the ground with grace, the bow easing its way down with Octavia's help. The stage was a little further ahead, but Octavia had to prepare herself before continuing any further. Her heart was pounding; her mind reeling, trying to dismiss the shadows that had gathered around her. They glared angrily at her, their lifeless accusing eyes making her cower in fear.
They weren't part of her imagination, nor were they going to go away. The shadows of ponies that have long since abandoned this plane of existence had all gathered to watch. And Octavia was in too deep to leave, because she knew that if she did, a fate worse than death itself would befall her. The shadows seemed to be approaching closer, their angry glares becoming more intense as they did so. Octavia looked back at her candle. It was flickering; almost going out completely. Octavia reached into her bags and started a match, lifted it to the dying light, illuminating the dark backstage area.
The accusing glares became that of what Octavia could only identify as sympathy; all the figures probably realizing her fear and anticipation. The shadows retreated back into the darkest corners of the theater, waiting until it was time for Octavia to begin. Which was now.
Octavia hauled her cello and bow on her back, and carried the candle to the center of the stage, where a chair sat. It was completely spotless, as though it had been recently brought into the building by some unknown being. However, she would not be needing the seat. To play the cello, she was required to stand.
Moths had covered most of the spots of the velvet curtains that had opened as soon as she set her cello down, undisturbed by the sudden movements. Octavia gazed down at would she could make out to be the seating area. Her candle had tried its best to extend its light down, but was met with little success. Octavia wasn't sure if they were truly there watching her, but she swore that she could feel eyes of apprehension watching her every move. Crimson seats that weren't filled on this plane of existence were filled in some other plane. Not a single spotlight shone on the lonesome pony on the stage, other than the light of her faint candle that was teased by the cool breeze that swept in, threatening to blow it out.
Octavia set her cello upright, gripped her bow tightly and stood on her hind legs, leaning on her instrument for only slight support. The voices had began in mere whispers, speaking incoherent words. Octavia's ears twitched slightly at each audible word she managed to process. Sweat had dampened her coat as she remembered what they had told her before she decided to enter the theater.
The perfect song will please them. Octavia remembered faintly, her mind still focusing on her task. Then you'll truly be free of their hold.
Pressing her bow against the string, and pressing her hoof on the broad chord, she began to play, slowly allowing herself to ease her way into the song. She hadn't a single clue what she was playing, but she knew that if her creative mind failed her now, Octavia would be among them.
A low C note resonated through the theater, hushing all the voices. She continued her slow song, letting her mind make up everything as she went along. The voices were still hushed, the unseen forms only letting their eyes do the talking. Octavia managed to make eye contact with various shadows that paced through the rows, unknown to her whether or not they were impressed. She could only feel their stares that were cold and sent chill down her spine.
She struck a high D and shut her eyes. Her body and mind were in tune with each other, guiding each other to create the beautiful song, despite her shut eyes. Images of what had happened before her arrival to the theater flashed in her mind. Her eyes accumulated moisture as the images raced through her head.
Vinyl's twisted form flashed in her head. Octavia faltered mentally, but continued the song. Another flash of her friends blue mane tangled on the floor, mixed in a pool of crimson liquid corrupted Octavia's mind, but she continued. Vinyl's body struggling to cling on that last string of life before the ambulance ponies arrived. Octavia had run after the pony who had harmed her friend, but gave up. She returned to Vinyl's body, tears in her eyes.
Octavia opened her eyes, watching the seats as her candle flickered beside her. Hot tears ran down the mare's cheeks, but she never stopped playing her cello. She continued with a new-found determination. The last time Octavia saw her friend--her lover--she was in the hospital, barely hanging on to the threads of life. Octavia had to finish this song. Even if it meant her own life would end if she failed. She would not allow the one pony who cared about her most die because of a mistake she made.
Octavia stretched out the last note on her cello, a lump caught in her throat as she did so. She dropped her bow on the ground as well as her most prized instrument. The whispers started again, drowning out the silence. Octavia allowed her mind to drift back to her life-long friend. Vinyl laying on the hospital bed, kept alive by unicorn magic.
Octavia huddled close to her cello, clutching it tightly as she cried. Her song was completed, and now they were judging. Octavia allowed herself to wail in sorrow before the wind swept in through the cracks of the walls and blew her candle out.
