A name.
I need a name.
Something to hold on to.
It was another failed attempt.
I grasp at the shadows. Endless, dark void around me.
A name. It is all I need to start over. Just a name.
Pages float past. Scrolls go up in flames and turn to ash. The smoke blinds me.
I need a name.
My hoof touches something. A large tome spreads itself.
"Equestrian Music Theory."
Melodies. Octaves. Songs.
Music.
Notes coalesce into symphonies.
Symphonies form into stories.
Stories that find ears.
Music.
Octaves. Melodies. Notes. Harmonies. Rhythms. Compositions. Voices.
Music.
Music lasts forever.
...
Perhaps this is a way out...
"Miss Melody!"
I freeze and slowly turn around. The fan gallops up to me with a wide smile on her face.
"Miss Melody!" she exclaims. "Please, may I have your autograph?"
There's a muffled squeak, followed by a low drone. I hear the pipes in the walls humming from the flow of their contents. Somepony nearby is using the restroom.
My admirer is shuffling her hooves in excitement. She holds up a piece of paper. Sheet music from a textbook I just barely recognize. I'm lost in another memory while my hoof moves on its own. The quill in its grasp leaves faint lines. It's almost out of ink.
"Thank you so much!" she says. "By the way, your concert was absolutely marvelous. You have no idea how inspiring it is for me."
My eyes focus on a face, but I see right through it. I feel no presence around me. A response forms in my head: vague concepts related to "proper speech" shape my thoughts into words. They ascend from my lungs and emerge from my lips.
"You're welcome."
She giggles and prances about happily, saying all sorts of "thank yous" and good wishes before trotting off. I feel an odd ache growing in my chest. Something inside me tells me that I made a mistake. It urges me to call out to her. Tell her to stop. Turn around. Come back and listen to me. Remember something important.
But I don't move or speak. The filly eventually disappears around a corner, along with the rest of the crowd. I can't even hear her giggling anymore. She is being erased, like so many other things.
I sigh and glance at the large mirror on the wall. A broken image stares back at me. The limbs are missing or in the wrong place. The mane is old and decaying. Dry and full of cracks, much like the fragments of an ancient scroll. White words take shape and dissolve all over a blackened skin. The eyes are the only thing I recognize, but I do not want to see them. They frighten me.
There's a poster next to the mirror. It shows a blue background, and stamped on it in large yellow letters is the announcement of tonight's performance.
TONIGHT:
OCTAVIA MELODY
AT THE CANTERLOT GRAND OPERA
PERFORMING:
The Sun Also Rises
A voice echoes at the edge of my mind. It keeps repeating a word. A name. One that I recognize as my own, yet cannot remember as well as the one that I use now, which is not mine.
I can feel it again. I can hear the grinding sound. Rusty metal gears biting into each other. My skin tingles as though it were trying to crawl off my flesh. The sound of paper and velvet ripping apart. Smoke and ashes burning my nostrils. Fire and acid in my veins.
The image of the filly is in my mind again. I curse her for what she did. She was just a distraction. More lost time.
I don't want them anymore. I don't want anyone. I just want my music. It's all I have left.
My bones will turn to dust, but my music will still be heard. My flesh shall dissolve to feed the earth we all came from, but my name will be eternal. If I can't go on or come back, then I'll just leave a piece of myself behind.
I don the heavy case at my feet and walk through the door that leads behind the stage. The assistants take the instrument from me and offer me a seat while they set everything up. The murmuring of the audience outside seeps in through the walls. It reminds me of waves breaking on the shore, gradually becoming louder as the storm approaches.
Minutes later, I'm standing behind the curtains, waiting for the organizers to silence the crowd. The velvet walls are pulled apart. Blinding light pours upon me from every direction, accompanied by a tremendous roar. A thousand voices and a thousand sets of hooves pound the air in my honor. Their sound is louder and more powerful than anything I will ever perform.
But nopony will ever remember it.
Head held high, I calmly walk to the front of the stage. My cello and my bow are prepared for me on a stand, along with a small book containing my latest work. I pick up the instrument and open the book to the first page. I hold the bow against the strings and wait patiently for the audience to pipe down.
The storm clears, and the sea of eyes in the darkness goes quiet. I take a deep breath and gently pull on the bow. The first notes ring out.
Darkness.
Why am I here again?
Light all over me, but all around is darkness.
Music.
I hear noises. Not musical, but living.
I am not alone this time.
Not alone.
Drifting on a melody.
Guided by a resonance.
The light blinds me.
Music.
I fear the darkness.
Nothing returns from there.
The music anchors me. I feel calm.
The burning fades. The noises disappear.
No more pain.
Music.
Who is watching me?
Why are they here? What do they want?
Eyes in the darkness.
Music.
A pause. A new melody.
Change in speed. Change in vigor.
Change in meaning.
Why do I need this? What does it mean?
Why can I not remember?
Notes coalesce into words. Messages.
Memories.
Music.
Melodies. Messages.
Memories.
Who do they belong to?
Messages.
Who are they for?
Melodies. Messages. Memories.
Music.
...
Who am I?
It's always perfect. Not a single false move. Not a single note out of place or at the wrong pitch. My bow carves the bed where the river of music can flow, feeding into the sea before me. Though the shadows veil their faces, in my mind, I can almost see the admiration written on them. The beauty and power of the piece mesmerizes them, allowing me to play with their thoughts and emotions just as easily as I play on my cello.
A smile tugs at my lips. I no longer find beauty in this work. Not since it's creation. I've played it too often, and if tonight is a success, it will have served its purpose. But this part is always a joy for me. To see the audience surrender themselves so easily to my music is almost ecstatic.
I shake my head. It takes all the discipline my training has given me to keep me focused. No matter how much I enjoy it, the performance cannot suffer in return.
The final notes ring out in quick succession, and the chamber goes silent. I close my eyes, exhale, and bow before them. The sea erupts once more. The stage beneath my hooves trembles from the intensity of the storm. For a while, I stay perfectly still. Then, just to adhere to necessary customs, I walk off and come back on again a few times. Each time, the storm renews its fury.
The organizers of the event come up to congratulate me. I satisfy them with a smile. They shake my hoof and bring me flowers. Colors burn in the strong light. I cannot smell them. I cannot feel the thorns that bite into my skin. All I hear is the roar.
Finally, the lights go out. Now that they've had their fill, the audience marches away as well. The storm is no more, but I can still hear them.
Voices. Whispers. I hear my name. Awe, praise, and even terror. Comparisons to past performances. Other works. Other artists. Murmurs that mention odd sensations. The music reaching out to grab them and stir up their hearts, penetrating their very souls.
Another successful piece. It won't be forgotten.
I'm back on stage. My cello sings in its deep voice again.
I asked them to let me stay. I cannot pass up on this opportunity. This chamber has excellent sound. Perfect for me to work on my next composition.
My hoof weaves back and forth, dragging the bow across the strings as though I were caressing a child. An unborn being with primordial limbs, still growing in the womb that is my mind. The melodies I perform now are its very first movements.
Only now can I find beauty in my work. I feel a special kind of love. Perhaps this is how parents feel about their children. Mine grow up too fast, but while they are still in infancy, they are the most precious things I own.
Something stirs at the edge of my mind. It's the first sign before my love begins to wane. An urge grows within me. A goal that I've forgotten, yet the fragmented memories still drive me toward it. They compel me to finish the piece. They take over, forcing my hooves to reshape it. I enter a new place, forming melodies that speak of things I cannot understand, yet I know I must deliver.
Pages in an endless library. A book with a voice. A mission. No time left. Spells to release that which is forbidden. Worlds sealed off to contain beings who crave mortal souls.
I must remember...
Memories rise up for a moment, only to fade away again. This is the moment when I am no longer free. When my child is taken from me, and the life is sucked out of my music. It becomes no more than a tool for a purpose I do not know. I despise it, but I cannot stop. What I lose in appeal, I gain in will. My music is what fills me with life and drives me to go on.
I will leave a mark on history...
Pain.
I tense up and give a low hiss. My limbs tremble, and I feel something piercing my chest.
"Please..." I whimper. "Not yet. Not yet!"
But it won't stay back. The music can no longer soothe it enough. With every breath, a burning spreads through my lungs.
"I have one more song... Just one more song!"
My forelegs fumble with the instrument. The bow slips in my hoof, and the note rings out false. It sends a stab of agony into my head. It flows down my spine and spreads through the rest of my body like a swarm of tiny glass shards. I grit my teeth and clench my eyes shut. Something wet stains my face.
I will my hooves to keep moving. The piece must not stop.
The noises return. My eyes grow wide as I watch the crowd take their seats again. Unblinking and unmoving, they all stare at me. I try to stop, to understand what is happening, but my limbs move on their own now. The new piece wishes to be born. It will not be contained.
The agony in my chest grows stronger. What once kept it at bay now seems to feed it. As the notes rise and fall in pitch, so does the fire course back and forth within me.
I try to stop. I want to stop, but I can't. Not anymore.
I can see her in the shadows, tucked away in a corner behind the crowd. A white shape among the shadows. A flash of vibrant blue mane. I can see that smile etched into her face. Purple shimmering circles. I can't see her eyes, but I know what they speak to me.
Her identity is a facade, just like mine. Her profession is her passion, and her passion is the same as mine: music. Only our tools and our voices differ. Our works say different things. They are in a conversation, and I dare not think of what we discuss.
She is my eternal audience. When nopony else is around to hear me, she is still there, swimming in the music that flows from my instrument. I know her name, but I dare not mention it. I want to call out to her, but my body will not respond when I try.
The piece comes to an end. My hooves drop to my sides.
Silence. A sea of eyes unblinking. A sea of ponies unmoving.
I turn to look at her again. She raises her hooves and slams them together. Again and again. The sharp sounds echo throughout the chamber.
I scream as the heat and pressure become unbearable. The bow clutters to the floor, and I fall to my knees, my forehooves clutching my chest. The lights are blinding. The roar is in my ears. The music is gone.
Fire erupts from my chest. It spreads all over me, consuming everything it touches. My cello burns along with me. I can hear it whine and crackle as it succumbs to the flames. My own body breaks apart as an echo of my instrument's destruction.
The last thing I hear is her laughter.
Darkness.
Shadows everywhere.
No light.
No thoughts.
No memories.
No sensations.
Alone.
...
I need a name.
"Would you like to hear some music?"
I give a deep sigh. "Well, I'm dead tired, and my head hurts. Do you have anything relaxing?"
"Hmm... Perhaps this?"
She picks up one of the records and places it onto the turntable. The needle drops onto it with a loud popping sound. Moments later, the gentle hum of a cello flows out of the speaker.
An odd tingling spreads through my body. The pain and fatigue both vanish. I'm paralyzed, my mind focusing on every single note.
"Do you like it?"
Her voice feels like it's coming from miles away. I ignore her. Everything around me is tuned out. All I hear is the music.
"Heh..." She grins. "Yeah, Octavia has that effect on ponies. I even get a bit of deja vu from it sometimes..."
I know who it is.
Author's Note
For Chained Marionette.
If you have any questions, send them to him. Be polite, to the point, and precise. Check his blog in case he has already posted answers there. DO NOT SPAM.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Pale light flows in through the windows. The first sign of the monthly cycle starting anew.
It's time...
The light creeps across the floor toward my unmoving limbs. With every inch it gains, I feel more of my strength return to this shell. The moment the light first caresses my skin, a jolt runs through me as I fully awaken.
I sense a soft embrace all over my back. My bed, which may as well be my coffin. The air in the room is stale and motionless. The walls are a monochrome gray. No sounds but my own breathing. The perfect environment for my mind to work.
But my time is short. She has been out of my sight for too long now. I must make another leap of faith.
I step outside, take a deep breath, and open my eyes. The smoke had cleared away hours ago, leaving just ash and barren gray husks. But the screams still linger. The unholy lullaby I need when no other warmth can soothe me. I see shadows of ponies rushing for the safety of their homes. They gather their friends and loved ones. I see them trying to escape once the flames spread there as well. Now these barren and crumbling walls are all that is left of them.
Taking another deep breath, I make my way toward the outskirts. My hooves leave deep prints in the thick layer of gray dust. In the absence of wind, they remain long after I left them, much like the depressions on the bright silver orb above. They mark my path as I approach the edge of the monochrome dead settlement. Colors and noises appear in the distance, setting off an unpleasant tingle in my head. I close my eyes again and savor the silence for a bit longer.
Beyond the threshold where the fire had stopped, the rest of the world returns. I feel the soft touch of grass beneath my hooves. The sound of birds and the scent of morning dew await me. I look to the horizon, where a dull red glow is growing fast, though the moon is still the one to reign in the sky.
Sighing, I unfurl my leathery wings and take to the air. My search begins anew. I feel restless, for it is a risk every time. Towns, homes, wanderers, beasts of all kind cross my path. With every new sensation, I feel the pressure returning. With every face, sound, or conversation, every piece of news or new sight, every task to perform every day, the burden grows a little more.
I must find her soon...
Time can allow for respite, just as the universe expands, but not fast enough. Not if I am not careful. And time itself is the one thing we both have in short supply. I have all of eternity to work with, but only get a small ration on every occasion. She can move the endpoint however she desires, but has no idea how or why. Let her linger for too long, and she will be lost forever.
My flight lasts the entire day. The sun touches the horizon by the time I decide to land, ending my search for the time being. I decide on a small town close to the infamous dark forest as my resting place for tonight. Most of the inhabitants ignore me, their minds set on getting home as quickly as they can. In the distance, I can see the capital, its towers and walls stretching gracefully to touch the sky from the side of the mountain.
Like most others nearby, this settlement flourishes thanks to how close it is to the heart of the nation. Vibrant colors bombard me from every direction, forming loud expressions of harmony, happiness, and love. One probably could not find a more blatant statement about what these ponies are, or at least what they aspire to be, anywhere else in Equestria.
Such a waste it will be, all things considered. I take a long look around and glance at the castle again. At least the gentry will get to see a fancy light show...
The view of what is to come already forms in my mind: bright red flash in the darkness. Bells, whistles, and screams. Smoke. Flames spreading with the wind. Hooves, wings, and horns fighting back desperately. Unstoppable blaze. All-consuming. No survivors.
All for a good night's sleep...
My morbid thoughts are interrupted by an odd noise from behind me. I hear a loud crackling sound, followed by a constant, low buzz. Turning around, I notice that an old mare had set up a gramophone on her front porch before sitting down to continue knitting her sweater. Moments later, a soft melody emerges from the speaker on the device.
My eyes go wide. I gasp, and my limbs are frozen in place as the deep notes seem to seep right through my flesh and resonate with my bones. Just beyond the icy grip all over my body, I feel the tiniest spark of warmth caress me. I can barely comprehend it, yet its source is undoubtedly the music coming from that speaker.
The sensation is mesmerizing. I cannot find the will to move away. The old mare even gives me an odd look when she realizes that I have been staring in her direction, mouth agape, for several minutes now.
"Everything all right, dear?" she asks.
"That music," I mutter. My hoof trembles as it points at the gramophone. "What is it?"
"Oh, that?" She chuckles. "I'm not surprised you enjoy it. It has that effect on most ponies." Leaning back in her chair, she gives a pleased sigh and looks at the machine as well. "That, my dear, is the magnificent Octavia Melody, the latest up-and-coming classical player in Canterlot. Oh, I wish I could go see one of her shows, but my no-good husband always..."
I do not get to hear the rest of what she has to say. My wings move as fast as they can, propelling me straight toward the city in the distance.
"She came out of the blue." The pony at the door scratches his head thoughtfully. "And I'm not just exaggerating. Nopony ever even heard of her until a few months ago. No music schools, private teachers, anything to trace her to. She just did that one show at an amateur festival, and the next thing you know, she's the next Rostroponich. She's like a..." He shrugs. "Like a comet that fell out of the sky."
"Is she now?" I give a small grin. "Yes, I can imagine..."
The stallion glances around nervously. "Would you like to see her? We're officially sold out, but... Well, since you're new here, I think I could squeeze you in. No seats though."
"Perfect. I would be eternally grateful."
"Very well. One hundred bits, please."
Each time I sleep in a settlement, I am always left with a little "allowance" when I wake up. It sure is a good thing that gold does not burn. Reaching into the purse hanging from my side, I count out the coins and place them into his hoof. Satisfied, he nods and steps aside.
The headache grows stronger the moment I enter. A cavalcade of fancy dresses and elegantly speaking rich ponies surround me. I wander between them, hoping to eavesdrop on further details while making sure to keep a low profile, since the pony at the door had no ticket to give me. It has been a while, so I am not very good at mingling in this environment.
"Did you get to see her last week in the Alicornia ballroom? It was like a piece of heaven for the ears..."
"I heard a rumor that the princesses themselves requested a personal performance. Perhaps even a personal piece from her. I'll have to ask my sources inside..."
"With all my friends going on and on about her, I just had to give a listen. Some have told me she can drown out an entire orchestra by herself..."
The same kind of detail over and over again, though at least I am sure now that this is no mere "passing phase" among them. The nobility often gives praise out of a thinly-veiled intent to improve their own image. But their tone here suggests that whoever performed for them had a much deeper influence on their spirit.
A bell rings, prompting the crowd to flow toward three large doors nearby, which I presume lead to the auditorium. Waiting for the moment when the herd is at its thickest, I slip in among them and veil myself in the shadows while they are preoccupied with pushing and shoving one another.
I find myself in a giant, semi-circular room with a brightly-lit stage at the far end, a cello and a bow already laid out upon it. Multiple levels are filled to the brim with seats covered in deep red velvet. The ponies emerge from the doors and calmly spill onto them, taking up every single empty seat.
I retreat to one of the faintly-lit corners and curl up, not wanting anypony to stumble over me. My eyes clench shut, and I do my best to shut out the non-stop murmuring of the audience. Minutes pass with my headache growing ever stronger.
Where are you?
The bell rings again, and I risk another peek. Everypony sits down and goes silent. The spotlights focus on the stage, while the rest of the chamber goes dark. The deep blue curtains slowly pull apart.
An earth pony mare emerges from the darkness. She has a grey coat and a luxurious, though modest black mane, her cutie mark a rather unimaginative purple treble clef. She wears a pink bow tie with a white strap, as well as an expression of utmost calmness and concentration, with little regard for the roar of voices and hooves that greet her. She struts up to the edge of the stage, gives a small bow, and picks up the cello.
A grin tugs at my lips. I see her new shape. I see the identity she builds for herself. The delicate caress she gives her tools, and the whole facade of professionalism. But I see through it all. Beneath the calm exterior and the expressionless face, I can see the fire burning. Pages curling up in flames and turning to ash.
I feel her warmth beckon me.
The bow touches the strings. I hear the marvelous notes emerge from her instrument. I feel them engulf the entire chamber. They soothe me, but not through mere beauty. With every new melody, I feel the pressure within me ease a little. I feel as though the sun had broken through the clouds and touched me once more. And after what seemed like an eternity of struggling against the cold, the relief this brings is ecstatic.
But the realization is even better.
"So this is your plan?" I whisper to myself and chuckle. "Most amusing... And not at all foolish..."
The piece comes to an end. The ponies around me stand up, stomp their hooves, and cheer wildly. "Octavia" puts down her instrument and bows humbly to her audience. It takes me a moment to realize that the noises no longer hurt. Her warmth still lingers. Grinning, I join in and slam my hooves together a few times as well.
"...but not something I can just let you get away with."
I glance around me. The once prudish ponies now empty their lungs and bang their limbs with animal-like vigor. Through playing just a few pleasant melodies for an hour, she now has them all wrapped around her forehoof. A tactic worth trying myself, if nothing else.
"Would you mind if I joined in?"
The mare sighs as she fumbles with the lock. She does not notice the shadows around her shifting slightly. I wait for her to step inside and close the door first. No need for witnesses.
She is the perfect choice: dweller of the night. Little fame. Few admirers. Even fewer friends. Decent talent and plenty of energy. I would even compliment her looks, at least as far the standard with ponies goes.
She freezes when the floor creaks behind her. I let her stare into my eyes for a moment. This is the last face she will ever know.
My form collapses into a pool of darkness and swirls around her. She gives a panicked cry before I pounce on her, choking her voice.
We struggle for over an hour. The mare convulses on the floor. She just will not give in. I am well past her outer shell, but the defenses inside hold fast.
No! she begs me. Stop! Please!
The brightest apparitions in the universe are created by its darkest entities. But to do so, they must first consume the stars around them.
Please... Why are you doing this? Let me go!
The ugliness of what I am about to do makes me hesitate again. This is the only thing that gives her time now. Her voice reminds me of those lost in the fire. The cries from when I traded life and happiness for sleep. Time borrowed through damnation.
No, there is no joy in this for me. But it must be done. And besides, what exactly does she intend to protect? Her endeavors have ended in nothing but failure or half-successes so far. I saw how she spent every night looking down a bottle or crying over her unfinished works. Let her keep going, and she would steer herself into a far more meaningless doom.
Perhaps I can do better.
Her eyes widen once it dawns on her. She knows what I plan to do. Her whole body thrashes violently. She throws herself all around and bangs her hooves against her head, trying everything she can to force me out. Anything just to delay the inevitable.
I press against the mental boundaries without mercy. She pushes back against the pressure, but I can feel her strength running out. Cracks appear on the wall between us.
I don't want it! Please! Stop! Don't take it from me!
They always cry toward the end. Once they feel the end drawing near, they break. They give up active resistance and try to appeal to my conscience. They pray that I have compassion.
I do. But those born in darkness have a way to silence it.
She lets up for but a moment. The wall collapses immediately. I flood into the innermost parts of her mind and soul, akin to how a ship drowns in the unforgiving sea. She lets out one final, desperate whine before her motions slowly come to a halt. Her eyes flutter, tears still streaming from their corners, and her limbs twitch as I settle into them.
The room goes silent and still. The mare does not move for a while. Then, after what seems like hours, she gives a deep sigh: her first breath that is not of her own will.
My new hooves push me off the floor. I stretch my limbs and step in front of the mirror to inspect my reflection. The mane is the same electric blue, the coat pure white. But the eyes have changed slightly: calm lavender gave way to a vibrant red. Appropriate, but also not very conspicuous.
I light my horn, lifting up the shades from the shelf next to me with my magic. I place them over my eyes, adding a faint purple tint to my vision.
"The mare whose eyes you never see," indeed... I grin and adjust the shades a little with my hoof. And no longer just to be "mysterious"...
I smile and breathe calmly. Her essence slowly dissolves into my own. I see images. Old memories and dreams. I feel new ambitions. New ideas. My plan gains a new perspective, and a whole array of new options are revealed to me.
The agony I feel fades into a cool embrace. Her skin shields me from it. Not comfortable, but bearable. But the pressure grows a great deal as well, her essence adding to my burden.
This is the cost of what I had to do: take over a life in exchange for refuge from the cold.
I'll make sure not to let it go to waste...
My horn lights up, and I approach the console nearby. The galaxy of buttons, switches, and controllers upon it were an incomprehensible mess to me before. Now I see constellations. Orbital paths. Nebulae that have yet to form into stars.
All of it at my hooftips.
CAREER COMEBACK OF THE YEAR?
Young electronic music artist releases new album, makes stunning career turnaround.
Chances are that if you are in any way familiar with the Equestrian popular music scene, you have come across a certain mare with blue mane and eyes veiled behind purple shades. Like for countless others, your first question might have been "where did she come from, and why does everypony care?" Perhaps you listened to her music next, and the latter part of your question gained a new perspective.
But until two months ago, the name meant little to anypony beyond those in a couple of run-down nightclubs in Canterlot, and even they would have had a hard time saying anything informative. The artist in question had produced three records during the past two years, none of which had seen any kind of acclaim, let alone financial success. Even this fact is only known well after their release, as ponies throughout Equestria now rush to unearth every available work related to her.
So what is the reason for this sudden surge of interest? How did this mysterious mare claw her way to fame?
Weeks after the annual ElectroTech Festival in Baltimare, the music scene is still abuzz from the debut of a new array of songs by this, now almost mythical musician. The label Crush Records had announced earlier this week that they are about to sign a five year contract with her, which is an unprecedented move from the corporate giant. Few other artists, especially in her genre, have made such a quantum leap in such a short time.
Some have taken to nicknaming her as "The Mare Whose Eyes You Never See." A few others are aware that her real identity is Vinyl Scratch, once a humble unicorn from Canterlot. Most could care less, since they are obsessed with the massive hits she is about to release on her new record.
She herself now goes by the name DJ PON3.
Dozens of eyes surround me in the darkness. Everypony holds their breath. My hoof presses the button on the console, and the speakers blare to life as the next song begins.
A loud cheer passes through the crowd. The neon lights flash and dance about all over the walls and the floor. Everypony bursts into motion once again, tireless despite the intense activity during the past hour.
The deep notes pound my ears non-stop. My whole body moves to the beat, vigorously but with discipline, and I give a wide grin, letting myself drift with the same current.
The vocals come in once the intro finishes setting the tone. I decided not to use my own voice for this song. Instead, I persuaded a fellow artist to collaborate in this project, whose vocal ability seemed the most fitting. She was a bit puzzled by the unusual nature of the song and the lyrics, since her most comfortable genre is jazz, but the material she provided far exceeded expectations.
From the looks on the faces of all the ponies that thrash about before me, I can tell that it was not a mistake.
And now for the "guest of honor"...
The doors at the far end of the chamber slide open, and a fresh hoofful of ponies enter. Though she tries to keep low, I immediately notice her as she trots in nervously. The loud and unconventional melodies that bombard her, not to mention the sight of such a large crowd dancing wildly to them, are no doubt unsettling for her.
Her company smiles at her and gives her a few tugs of encouragement. She stumbles into the throng, doing her best to stay on her hooves and make sense of it all. Step by step, she approaches the stage. Her gaze eventually lands on me, and she stops dead, the frustration on her face giving way to shock.
My grin widens. I had to pull quite a few strings to make this happen, but I am certain it will be worth it.
I stare right back at her, reveling in her horror as, in her vision, my red eyes pierce the purple tint of my shades to let her see what I truly am. My hoof turns a knob, and the music becomes even louder. The waves of air pummel every inch of both our skins. The ponies around us cheer and dance more furiously.
She deserves my gratitude for the inspiration. That is why I dedicate this night to her.
She can see the night flow from me. I can see the sun behind her eyes, slowly burning out of its paper prison.
I know who you are.
I want her to know. I want her to feel it in every waking moment. I want this to haunt her for the rest of our little game.
She does not linger for very long. Within an hour, the atmosphere of the club is just too much for her. She excuses herself in front of her companions and leaves in a hurry. From the tension written on her face, I can tell that my music has had its effect.
I would stop the show at this point, but the cheers of my audience somehow compels me to do a few more songs. I change the disks on the console and let the rest of my compositions loose on their thirsty ears.
A smile tugs at my lips. Through the numb shell that protects me, I feel a spark of warmth caress me from the crowd's trance. The same kind that I felt at her performance, only less refined.
A deep shudder passes through my body. I can feel the heat collide with my numb exterior and seep under it. It is different now. The music changes things. Instead of basking in warmth, I feel the pressure in me shift around. It fills me with vigor instead of weighing me down.
Focus, Vinyl. Focus!
Their ecstasy seeps into my limbs as well. I feel compelled to join them. To experience what drives them to act this way. I slam my hooves against the console and the floor with every downbeat, and my mane flails as my head follows the rhythm of the song. I mouth the words silently, imagining that I were out there, singing with the others.
Deep inside, a part of me screams to snap me out of my reverie. I use it as an anchor and let myself enjoy the ride for a while longer. Once the song ends, I turn the equipment off and leave as swiftly as I can.
The crowd roars, but I refuse to even look back lest I become addicted to their sound.
TRAGEDY AT THE CARNIVAL CLUB
Rave turns into rampage as the audience at DJ PON3's performance goes out of control.
Investigators are still questioning witnesses of the tragic conclusion to the up-and-coming musician's latest show in Canterlot, which was meant to be the grand finale of her recent tour of the nation. Though the previous performances were all enormously successful, perhaps the young mare was a little too eager to celebrate last weekend. After about an hour into the show, the motions of the crowd became erratic, and the lack of security staff meant no intervention was possible. On top of that, many of her audience recall DJ PON3 herself actively taking part in the excessive activities, and it is alleged that at one point she urged them all to "think nothing, abandon everything."
While most of these accounts remain unconfirmed, and the artist herself refuses to comment, the scene of the incident speaks for itself: destroyed equipment, broken scaffolding, bloodstains, and even some fire damage. Over a dozen ponies are in critical condition, while lesser injuries have been sustained by...
I watch her from the back, veiled within the shadows. Only a faint purple shimmer betrays my presence, but that is more than enough.
I witness the bright light pour out of her chest. I can feel the warmth pour out of her hooves to caress her instrument.
Her music is the sun itself come to sing for us.
The clubs and arenas give warmth in exchange for sanity. This is the only place where I can find true respite. The melodies soothe the madness raging in my veins.
So isn't it time for us to sing in return?
I give a deep sigh, once again able to focus. My ears tingle when one of the notes rings out false. I notice a twitch of frustration on her face, and her limbs hesitate for a moment, but she quickly rights herself.
"It was a fun game while it lasted, 'Octavia Melody'," I whisper to myself. "Your plan is excellent. After so much failure, this might just work for you."
She always finds me. Her gaze seldom reaches out, since she focuses on her music above all. But whenever it does, she finds me again, waiting for her in the dark corners of every place she performs.
"But I'm afraid it just won't do. I need you the way you are."
I can see the fear in her eyes. A deep and abject terror that no other pony could discover through her facade.
"You wanted to give a sign to the ponies of the future? Then I will give my own. Wherever you go, you will hear me just as often as you would hear yourself."
My hooves fiddle with the silver tickets in my pocket. The darkness that helped me before no longer works together with this body, but an added perk of having influential fans is that they can offer me other ways to enter. I intend to make sure only she knows that I am here.
"Perhaps one will never drown out the other. But you will not escape me. We are destined for this. The moon will chase the sun no matter how long it takes to catch it."
Her piece comes to an end. I pull my cloak tightly over my body and exit the chamber while the crowd applauds. Nopony notices. A stallion in the lobby smiles and leads me to a side door.
The moment I see moonlight, and the cold wind hits me, it all comes back. I feel the urge to return among them. To hear the loud amplifiers and feel that warmth. To watch the ponies dance and join them in their throes of lunacy.
Memories of mere minutes past fade away, and the desire to sleep is gone. A lust for the fire and screams is the only thing left. I adjust my shades, swallow a few pills, and make my way back home. Back to the dark corners of the night where I am free to practice my new art.
I've spent too much time in the cold. Let the sun come. Let it fall, and the whole world can burn for all I care.
The spotlights reflect off the purple shades. The ponies before me hold their breath. My hoof shudders in anticipation as it reaches for the console.
This is my home now.
Author's Note
So Ineffable and I recently explored the idea in the first chapter a little more. This was the result. Apart from satisfying my own desire to experiment, I figured I'd make Regidar happy by writing a fic inspired by the song "Volcano."
Hope you enjoyed it, you magnificent bastard!
In retrospect, when mentioning Octavia's piece, I probably should have dropped the title of this chapter instead of that Hemingway novel. One can never make too many Swans references...
