AGC

Slow, sombre notes escaped the instrument as Octavia strummed, the velvety tones mixing with the other musicians’ notes, forming a single, immaculate valley of sound and feeling.  Her eyes were closed as she played, letting the melodies and rhythms overtake her senses. As various nuances in the piece flowed and ebbed, the music grew in power and intensity, straining the musicians’ skills. Finally, the piece reached its crescendo, bombarding the audience with raw, heartfelt emotion. The decrescendo brought with it an air of respect, as the musicians brought their instruments to a grinding halt.

As the piece came to a close, Octavia opened her eyes and gazed upon their cheering audience:

A flat white surface, roughly five feet from her face.

Damn. Every night she had the same dream: dreaming of success, of getting away from Ponyville.

Oh well. She rolled over in bed. She had a show to play tomorrow. Maybe this one would be her big break.

“What do you mean, cancelled?” pleaded Octavia.

“There’s simply no interest in contemporary music anymore,” the stallion explained. “Everypony is more interested in ‘modern’ music: the electronic and dubtrot scenes, specifically. Your show has been usurped by a certain DJ... Pon-three, by popular demand.”

Her heart sank. Her profession - her livelihood was going out of style?

She walked away, cello case in tow. She didn’t bother going back home: she’d never make the rent without this concert. She sauntered towards the Pawny shop.

“G’day, Octavia! You got another violin for me?”

“Cello.” she corrected.

“You… you’re celloing your sello? I mean—”

“Da, that I am.” she interrupted. “Equestrians have collectively lost their good taste, and thus put me out of a job.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How much did you want for this?”

“Enough to pay my rent, at least. 500 bits?” The number was way too low, she knew, but nopony nowadays would appreciate a genuine Stradimarius like this. It was just scrap wood.

“Okay then… I’ll get the paperwork.”

Part of her was missing. The instrument had been her work, her passion, her life; she’d been robbed of her sole reason for living because ponies nowadays didn’t like appreciate her talent. Didn’t appreciate her.

She looked apprehensively out of the window: in the distance, against the dark horizon of the Everfree forest, a small window burned beneath the night sky.

Something within her longed to be away, to distance herself from her pains.

Yes, a night-time walk would do me wonders.

Fluttershy gazed wearily into the cage.

“Now, Angel… if you don’t eat now, you’ll be hungry all night.” She offered him a carrot. “We don’t want that, do we?”

The rabbit turned his head away from the vegetable offering.

“Come on Angel, you need to eat. Don’t make me get upse—”

She started, dropping the carrot. Hoofsteps. Outside.

She poked her head out of the door.

“Can... Can I help you?”

The intruder jumped upon hearing a voice.

“Nothing that I’d feel right bothering you for. I’m really just going going for a walk, спасиба!”

Though it struck Fluttershy odd that somepony would be going for a stroll here, at this time of night, she didn’t push.

“All right then. Don’t go too far into the forest, though: there’re nasty things in there.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Inside of her, Fluttershy felt something die: she was letting a lone mare go, in the middle of the night, into the Everfree forest. As if it would be her fault if - when - something happened to this one. Not again.

“Octavia! Wait! Don’t—” she tried to protest, but the mare was long gone.

She allowed her mind to wander as she walked down the dark path. This is actually very soothing...

She let the sounds of nature wash over her, her hoofsteps keeping time for the rustle of the wind and the birds...

Why was she alone? This was so peaceful, so beautiful. Успокаивающий…

She noticed something glimmer beyond the shaded weeds. Following her curiosity, she came upon a resplendent rectangular stone, dug into the side of the cliff.

It was carved with majestic geometrical figures: a triangle set into the center of a circle, arrows radiating to and from the common center of these two figures. Around the edge of the circle blazoned an Old Equestrian shibboleth: Constantia per Vicem, Vicis per Constantiam.

She reached out to touch the slab. As her hoof made contact, the world around her melted to white.

“Где... Где я... Where am I?” she moaned as she came to, unconsciously speaking in her native language.

She tried to open her eyes, but it was too bright. I must have fallen asleep.

As she allowed her eyes to adjust, the nature of her surroundings struck her. Specifically, the lack thereof: instead of the dusty ground she’d collapsed on, she stood now on... nothing, it seemed. Everything seemed nothing. As far as she could see, a flat whiteness stretched without hint of starting or stopping.

And then she saw it: from what must have been an infinite distance, approaching at what must have been an incomprehensible speed, a dot appeared. In the time it took her to comprehend its existence, it had grown from a grey speck on the horizon to an impossibly tall, sapphire-eyed stone owl.

Thou hast been unhappy/art unhappy/willst be unhappy: what hast made/madest/makest/willst make thee mourn?

The voice came form the very air around her, insofar as it could be called a ‘voice’- foreign meanings were presented to her in a pure form. She immediately understood the cryptic message: Why are you sad?

“Well…” She fished for the right words. “Society itself has put me out of a job.”

And in doing so, thou hadst created/hast created/createst/willst create opportunity for another.

“Yes, but—”

But all that has been/was/is/will be destroyed has cleared/clears/will clear the way for another to have taken/took/to take/will take its place.  Without end, nothing could have come/could come/would come into being.

“So—”

So in having lost/lose/will lose thy job, thou hast opened/open/will open opportunities for another.

“What does that have to do with—”

Thou were chosen/are chosen/will be chosen for something much greater:  shed thy mortal coil. Thou hast propagated/propagate/willst propagate the cycle for ages to come.