"Mummy! Mummy!"
Cadence ran to her mother's study, her pink hooves clattering on the marble floor, a paper flapping in her mouth. She tried to stop as she rounded the corner, but her skidding hooves found no traction on the smooth floor. Her small wings sprang open, trying to slow her slide. Instead, she managed to propel herself forward into a bookcase at the end of the hallway. Books rained down on the young Pegasus as she curled around her paper, trying to protect it.
"Mi amore? Is that you?"
Her mother came out of her study, looking around curiously. She walked over as Cadence sat up, tears welling up in her lavender eyes. She gave her a small smile. "Mi amore, what have you done? Why are they angry at you?"
She helped Cadence up, a gentle hoof wiping away a tear. Cadence shook herself, her tri-colored mane falling into her eyes. "I wanted to bring you something I drew, Mummy." Cadence said shamefully.
Laughing, her mother pulled her in close and wrapped her wings around her in a tight hug. "Mi amore, never be ashamed of art. It is a work of love, and love is the most precious thing in the world." Letting Cadence go, she picked up the rolled piece of paper.
Cadence hung her head while her mother inspected it. She knew it was just terrible; it was pitiful compared to what her parents could produce.
"This is beautiful, mi amore!" Her mother exclaimed, turning the paper around to show her the crudely drawn crayon stick figures of her and her parents. Cadence's wings perked up in excitement.
"Really?"
"I would be honored, Signorina Cadenza, if I could hang your masterpiece in the Gallery."
Cadence jumped up and down exuberantly. The Gallery was where her parents kept all their works of art, ranging from Neighanardo da Vinci and Troticelli to their own works. It was the pride of their home, and Cadence loved to sit in there for hours, just studying the lines and colors.
"Yes! Absolutely!"
"Help me put away these books, and we'll hang it up together."
Cadence hurriedly started shelving books while her mother proceeded at a more stately pace. The last book that Cadence picked up was Mi Dolce Vida by Storia d'Amore, her mother. It was one of Cadence's favorite bedtime stories; it was Storia's memoir of her wild early marehood. She traveled all over Foalrenze, staying in hostels with friends, struggling artists and writers and musicians, flirting with the strong quarriers in Carrara, traveling to Ropa, the very heart of Bitalia. They lived freely and simply, enjoying laughter and song, wonderful wine and wonderful stories, delightful food and delicious dreams shared generously in the soft blackness of perfumed Bitalian nights. Carnivale season came, wrapping everypony with a frantic sense of joyous delirium. It snaked through the very air like chain lightning, filling the veins with electricity and the heart with lustful excitement. Storia was wandering through the crowd when a chance encounter brought her a romance that caught and burned as brightly as a Carnivale bonfire.
His name was Cuore Sinfonia.
He was a talented violinist, hired for a private party. He was charming, he was handsome, and his kindness and razor sharp wit dazzled Storia. They romanced each other with the passion of new lovers, and sealed their pledge with a kiss over the bonfires while revelers caroused and made merry in the streets. Their love blossomed afterwards; they showered each other in gifts and affections, lavish meals and tours of the city until, one night, Cuore surprised Storia with a beautiful sky diamond and asked for her hoof in marriage.
Their wedding was a fairytale to Cadence. Both her parents had wonderful friends who assisted with every aspect of the wedding, from the dress to the decor to the food. Cadence always listened with starry eyes as her mother wove an enchanting web around her of a softly-lit Bitalian night full of rustling silk, delicious scents, airy music, and the promise of forever.
Cadenza had been sired that night.
Cuore was a semi-successful violinist, and played wherever he could to ensure that his wife and his unborn foal were taken care of. Storia spent her time writing and selling her stories, or with the sisters at the Abbey of St. Matthias. It was in this Abbey that Storia gave birth. She would often tell Cadence how she decided her name.
"They brought you to me, small and pink and perfect. I could hardly believe that you were mine, that I could take you home. As I held for the first time, I could hear our hearts. They were beating together as one. Yours was tiny, but strong. A little rhythm. Mi candenza."
* * * *
They got the books reshelved and started walking down the hall. Well, Storia was walking and Cadence was bouncing, her small wings fluttering. They were approaching the tall stately oak doors that led to the Gallery. They were thick and broad, covered in carved climbing ivy and roses. Storia pushed gently on the engraved surface, and they swing inward with a soft creak.
The Gallery was a large rectangular room with one wall completely made of glass. It was extremely expensive to have that much glass, but her parents believed that viewing art in natural light made it easier to appreciate the fine lines and raw brush strokes. One wall was covered in a giant stucco painting of the Bitalian ocean dotted with small white boats and the faint shapes of seagulls. One wall was lined with paintings; some that were left as mere sketches, others that were half-finished, and others that were beautifully complete. Another wall had small alcoves that housed diminutive sculptures. Candence didn't think that they were very good, but her parents liked them, so she tried her best to like them. She didn't understand why ponies would want to play with dull rocks instead of bright paints or instruments that made pretty sounds, but she figured that if it made the sculptors happy, she didn't really have anything to say about it.
Storia walked to the small desk tucked into the far corner of the room. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small metal tack. She brought it over with her to a blank space on the wall. She held the unrolled parchment up to the wall and placed the tack with her mouth. Cadence fluttered a little bit off the ground the hold the parchment in place while Storia nailed in the tack with her hoof. Once it was hung, they sat back and looked at it. The childish lines of Cadence's drawing hung in stark contrast to the more polished portraits, but she loved it all the same.
