Of Jealousy and Affection
Pirouette lay in her comfortable, soft bed. Her home would be just like her bedroom, and, of course, it is granted one minor problem. It was massive in size, her work of art of any kind was plastered basically everwhere, but...what was that feeling? She moved her hooves on the silk to get a feel of its soft quality more. It was something she didn't have, but the bed had. She frowned to herself, forcing herself up one time. What was the term for this? She had everything and anything-but it felt...
Pirouette narrowed her eyes and scrunched her nose. What could a bed possible have that she didn't? She kicked off before heading over to the vanity in the corner. It was large and wood cut. She could remember a mare gave it to her as a gift.
"'Giving' is a very loose term," She gave a smirk to the mirror as company, but it didn't feel...it didn't feel right to her. To look at her gorgeous looks, to pamper herself up would usually do the trick to heal her soul of this...emotion she had no idea the name of. Yet, it didn't work. She sighed as she touched the edge of the glass to what appeared to be her face in the reflection.
"Is..it regret?" She whispered softly, looking down at the contents of the vanity in the process. Some make-up coated the vanity along with strange objects that didn't seem to belong to the vanity. Violin rosin touched the glass of the vanity, a heart carved into the orange substance as a reminder. She glared at the rosin in disdain briefly. "Fiddlesticks..."
Ah, yeah. It has to be regret. Fiddlesticks stuck into her mind as she levitated the rosin up, ignoring the mess it would give her fluffy redish-pink mane if it touched. Such a strange, strange mare! Pirouette nearly drooled at the images she perceived, even when she was so angry. She had a 'thing' for music ponies-ponies who can create music with seemingly just their hooves. Fiddlesticks wasn't different, but was.
"You stayed by my side for the longest time..." Pirouette remarked bitterly. Oh, how true that remark! "I..I thought..." She briefly looked towards the other oddity of the vanity-a stitch work doll of a blue-maned mare. The small doll in question had a violin cutie mark-her talent country music. She levitated it next to the rosin for several moments in time. Relationships grow stronger-friendship can turn to lust and exploration. Fiddlesticks was the start of the exploration.
"I had to keep you from leaving me, Fiddles..." She stroked the mane of the doll carefully before placing it back. She..no, it wasn't it. How can beds have regret? "I don't regret my bed." She glared back at herself in the reflection. She looked clearly stupid for talking to a vanity set, and worse for holding dolls and forgetting that..that...term. That stupid, Celestia's sake, term! Yet, it was very right. It felt right to confide.
"No..its not that..." In the back of her mind, she wished it was regret. Just how much manure happened in this very set? The touch of silk aroused her-ah, it was the same silk and bed the punishment was held. Reminiscing about Octavia wasn't great at all. No-she didn't want to. She remembered the harshness and the lashes she gave her youngest there and the love she basked her in. The touch of love that made everything right. It wasn't wrong-it was taught that way. "It was love, I taught her love."
The word was so close to her-the term was very close, but she couldn't say it. She felt instinctively that she knew the term, but the word wouldn't leave the tip of her tongue. She decided leaving the room was best, the emotion overwhelming her. She walked herself down the hallways, but not a pony peeped. She cringed-it was empty like always save for the work she possessed. She noted some other work was there, but it didn't belong to her. She took a look at the work that was not her own for closer inspection.
She smiled when she had. "Pick Pocket was always the charmer, that mare couldn't stop hopping around mare to stallion. Persuasion she got from her mother, I might add." Admitting this was one thing, telling it to her face was another. Pirouette was a proud mare-the looks, the popularity, everything simply counted. She was nothing like the 'Silver' (she couldn't help but cringe knowing the name belonging to it-her punishment back lashed and went out of bounds. Its the only regret she ever had.) family headmare. No, nothing like High Society-that new wife of Golden Watch's. Even Pirouette new her standards. She wanted to show roots meant nothing, that was all. Pick Pocket had had it all. She was just like her. She touched the glass. She was the first too, love lessons were taught fast for her. So smart she barely skipped a beat, even graduating high school at a young age like a prodigy.
"Where is she now..?" Pirouette replied bitterly again. Ah, she wasn't here. She was on her latest match, and this time, it was permanent. She could almost feel that she had animosity towards her save for the other numerous visits. Even so-it wasn't common that she came home. It was never even when Scatenata was around. "I swear, that lawyer is never there when you need her." It was a sad fact, but the mare in question was much different then expected. While not thrilled (her little foal was with a mare of her status!) about the mare's status-she didn't surprisingly care. The cream colored mare with light blue mane and eyes was the perfect match for her, but she would never admit it. She would never admit that the mare was sweet as butter and was envied silently, even while she was pregnant with her child's foals. She was not perfect like Pirouette, but she was. That bugged her.She huffed away. The feeling wasn't subsiding. Again, the term fluttered around. She had to ignore it.
"Apple Bloom!" Scantenata giggled sweetly, her words dancing with each soft moan. She bit her tongue. Pirouette wasn't upset with her daughter's relationship (if she called it that, of course. She hid her relationship pretty well.) one bit. No, she really wasn't. She couldn't shake her disbelief off, though. "I-I..never did this before...I..." Scatenata was a proud pony too, Pirouette knew she lacked certain assets (clearly) but she knew pride wasn't something she lacked. This..no, Scootaloo, was never shy.
"Of course, Scootaloo, "Apple Bloom's voice carried its own as well. "Relax, I'll do all the work." Pirouette didn't need to stick around long to hear the moans that echoed the hallways. She carried herself prideful and strong, but that feeling could not leave.
"What is that feeling?" She frowned to herself as she walked closer to the doorway of the next room. Suddenly, the knowledge hit her like a ton of bricks. She lowered her head, ears down as she plopped him on the floor.
"Comfort.." She whispered. The bed had comfort, it was never lonely. It had everything, and she loved it for that. "I'm missing comfort..." She touched her orange coat, just above the heart. A tear slipped from her eye without permission, but it was removed immediately. No use destroying good eyeliner. Her children were growing and, while she deed tried ridding them of anypony else because they were hers only, she couldn't do that. She was gaining grandchildren and losing her own children in the process. Yet, she was losing them too.
Scatenata refuses to be near her, even with only instincts telling her that. Pirouette grew guilty, but pride overshadowed guilt, right? Intentions made the pony-good ones were better than bad ones, and most ponies forgive depending on intent. Pirouette categorized her intentions.
Protection. She needed to protect her foals, her precious foals anyway she can, even if it meant hurting them. She looked at the secret behind the wall next to her like she could actually see it there. Her children didn't see her intentions though. They...ignored her...they..ignore her..hating her..
"I'm..I'm sorry Scatenata.."She tapped the wall before looking back, the moans getting gradually louder. "but..Mommy's going to make everything better. Nopony will take you away from me, even if you don't want me." For the first time in a while-this lack of 'comfort' paining her so granting no ability to check, she looked at the calender. Mother's Day, its so ironic.