<|> 1 <|>

---

The Imperfect

Chapter 1

---

The pale glow of the streetlamps did little to extinguish the gnawing feeling of dread creeping up her spine. She shivered lightly as the memory played over in her head, the little details she memorized recalled and re-performed by mental recreations of both herself and of her... of Bon-Bon. She shut her eyes, trying to wipe away the recollection, to no avail.

"You need to grow up, Lyra!"

She couldn't feel the tears building up in her eyes, maybe due to the almost constant presence of them since that night. Her breath was labored as she quickly trotted down the street, a familiar little household coming into view. Her eyes opened briefly, golden irises flitting as she focused on the building. She could feel the individual grooves of the cobblestones underneath her hooves, similar to the cold she felt as a filly, exploring the house in the early morning hours or during winter. She moved towards the door, intent on getting inside immediately. Before she could even fumble with her keys, another fraction of that night seeped into her mind.

"I can't keep cleaning up after YOUR mess! Every time I come home I see this, this reliance on me!"

Almost as soon as it came, it went, but the effects of it lasted much longer than desired. She could feel her muzzle begin to pull and shift, her brow moving as well. Pushing the doors open almost frantically, holding her breath, she shut the door behind her. Not a second later Lyra was against the wall, sobbing. Her mint green coat becoming darker as the tears trailed along her face, eyes screwed shut once more. It had been quite a while since she had last been here, and while it had been her place of residence for a long duration of time, it didn't feel like home. Home was... gone.

Her family owns this house, a vacation home when her parents in Manehattan wanted to come visit, and a for a time, the house of a Lyra Heartstrings. She was having difficulty with her career in music, and even though she would live in this crazy town for as long as she could, her income was not exactly the benchmark of success. She found it exceedingly frustrating, and had been contemplating the at-the-time horrendous idea of moving back in with her parents, but then she met a certain sweet maker. Bon-Bon and Lyra had been friends for a long time, and Lyra had to occasionally borrow sums of money from her, but it was nothing too big, and Bon-Bon said she didn't mind. Lyra felt guilty having to resort to that kind of thing to keep going, but she kept telling herself that she would repay Bonnie some day.

Six months had passed after their first meeting at Sugarcube Corner when Lyra finally told her that she didn't want to be friends anymore, and that she felt a deeper connection between them. Bonnie felt the same way, and Lyra moved in not long after. The first four months had been great, wonderful moments between them littered throughout the days. But Lyra had frequented the park where she had played less and less. It didn't help that Bon-Bon was having financial issues as well. Eventually, the bubble burst and a heart was hurt. They had a heated conflict, with Lyra taking her things and leaving the apartment at Bon-Bon's request.

It had been less than a month. Less than a month, but what felt like an eternity of loneliness, self-loathing and guilt. Berry Punch hadn't been a positive influence in that time either. Lyra had tried to turn to alcohol, but found that the preservation of her memory, for what little good it did, was more important.

Lyra slid onto the couch in the foyer, the only real piece of furniture in the house aside from the cabinets and nightstands, and buried her head into a pillow. She was alone.

Being alone sucks, she concluded quite elegantly.

Aside from Bonnie growing ever the more hateful of Lyra's presence, Lyra knew that all of the trouble spouted from her own destructive tendencies. She let sloth take charge of her actions, or lack thereof, and the stem of all of these issues had grown from that little seed. Lyra pulled her head from the pillow, little wet pools where her eyes were, and sniffed as she looked out the window. She lifted her body from the comforting embrace of that musty old red monster, and sluggishly opened the pane with her hooves, introducing it to the cool of the air outside. She looked at the moon, sniffing once more.

'I wish I could start again, and...' the thought died off quickly, similar to the many others like it throughout the past three weeks. It was killed by a tear. She shuffled back over to the two-seater couch, and collapsed once more, thinking of better nights. Near by her friend, her best friend and lover.

Her anchor.

She had tried to socialize again, on numerous occasions but Berry Punch and Carrot Top weren't exactly great ponies to be around. Not that they were bad ponies but... Berry Punch can't tell who she is talking to or hanging out with unless you make it abundantly clear and repeat your name over and over again, if she is not staring down another bottle. Carrot Top is sweet and curt, but tends to be... boring.

'You know what? Buck it, let's have another, nopony can judge me anyway.'

She pulled herself up once more, groaning involuntarily, and made her way over to the fridge, looking for a particular beverage. The door to the cool contents within open, she eyed the occasional can of fruits, nuts, bags of cold tofu, butter and the jug of bad milk. Then, her eyes settled on a prize, a slick, green bottle with a screw cap, dark blue contents within. She grabbed the bottle and poured herself a glass on the counter beside her. She set the bottle down beside it.

Looking into the glass, she found solace in the swishing liquid within. A moment of peace. It went away with the reminder the fridge was open. She went to close it, but grabbed three ice cubes in her magic and dropped them in the drink. The golden aura faded as they hit the dark blue, and the sound of the ice cracking in it came to her ears. She sat in the seat near the counter, sitting in what would normally be considered an awkward position to sit in, analyzing both the bottle and the glass.

She then grabbed the bottle and drank as much as she could in one go, the contents drifting now to the halfway mark before she finished. Taking the glass as well, she drank the night away.

Memory be damned.