Quiet. Windy, dark, cold...but quiet. That was what stood out the most; the eerie, wrong quiet. Perhaps it was the solitude, the seclusion of the place that did it. The long, curving dirt path of Whitetail woods was serene and peaceful, being far away from the town. So far, in fact, that no light reached it whatsoever. The only light here came from the few iron lampposts that dotted the trail, and even they were muffled by the encompassing darkness of the nighttime forest.
But it was, perhaps, the snow that did the most. The tiny flakes sauntered down from the expansive grey clouds above, landing gracefully on the untouched mounds that rolled across the forest floor. It stacked high on the lampposts, crowning them with little caps of whiteness. It was with the help of this cold blanket of snow that the path was so well lit. The light reflected off of the snow, almost as if it had been sucked from the moon and placed on the ground.
A whispering breeze hummed as it wafted through the thick tree line, blowing the loosest snow about, and creating a pale haze across the ground. It had no bite tonight, no sting and no lash. Instead, it only had a sound, the soft, soothing hum that marked its presence. It was the wood's song - the wood's breath. For to any who listened closely, it sounded like the calm breathing of a sleeping pony.
Yet it was not the only thing breathing here; down the long trail, surrounded by the thicket upon thicket of silent trees, Rarity was sauntering along the barely-visible path. The light shone off of her white fur just as it did the snow, making her radiate the faux moonlight. Around her neck was her lone article of clothing: a small violet sweater that's tussles blew in the wind. She winced not once, though the breeze blew flake after flake of freezing snow into her glazed eyes. No, she kept walking.
As she stamped her hooves in the fresh snow before her, a little piece of paper - tucked curtly between the cold scarf and the mare's neck - crinkled as the wind brushed over it. Beside it was a patch of cloth, dark and scarlet like blood. It was tattered, torn, with holes covering splotching it. It too blew in the breeze, solemn and silent as ever.
Rarity continued onward. She was not by any means still; often, the wind would ruffle her fur the wrong way, bringing about a twitch. Or, a flake would drift down to an opportune spot on her nose and tickle it, causing her to scrunch up an strain herself to suppress a sneeze. But this was her body. Her mind was much less active. This shone in her glossy, empty stare. Her eyes rarely blinked, and yet, seemed strained. They were empty, and yet, in the dim lamplight, seemed so full they were about to burst. With what, not even a trained pony could know, for their depth reached down to the deepest part of her - the unknown darkness of a pony's very mind, covered only by the shallow black pupils that stared at the path ahead.
Please? Please, Rarity?
The words drifted along with the wind, flowing into her ears and chilling her mind. Her fur stood on end as the chill ran down her spine, ending on her diamond cutie mark. She ignored the feeling, trudging deeper into the woods. The song of the forest was soft, but bitter. The words it sang stung deep, even if the wind itself was only slight.
I'm sorry dear, but no. Enough is enough.
There was a fork in the path, and she instinctively took the left. Before her was a long, straight path with a bend at the end. It was surrounded by trees, but now, seemed a bit clearer. The wind came from behind now, pushing her neatly styled mane forward. The paper and cloth were secure though, untouched by the both the wind and its snowy mist. The lamps here were brighter, illuminating the place with a golden glow.
But-
She pressed onward still. The snow gently settled down, replaced by more and more. As the night progressed on, so did the snow, piling higher and higher.
No. I'm tired of this.
It seemed that everything did. The night went on, the snow grew higher, the wind blew faster...
Tired? I'm tired of this! Do you have any idea what it's like?
Time progressed, and things inevitably stacked.
Do I know what what's like? Being strenuously annoyed each moment of my waking life?
And it seemed that, with the night - and with time itself - what was at the bottom of those hills of snow was forgotten, but a mystery to be left in the past. But just like night would turn to day, the snow would eventually melt, and soon whatever was beneath it would appear again, be it dark or beautiful. Or perhaps, in some cases, both.
Rarity sighed as she reached the bend. She took its curve with grace, following the path of light before her. Just around the corner was another long stretch snow between two thick rows of forest. The wind now licked her side once more, whispering its haunting melody in her flattened ears.
No...what it's like to be ignored by somepony you look up to.
The unicorn began down this path. At its end was a gate of sorts, though its condition was less than admirable. Covered in snow and thick with ice, its bars were ruined and rusty. It's hinges, which were attached to two iron lampposts, were creaky and worn. What was once a shiny black, was now an orange and white memory of what used to be. Had time done this? Had time turned a finely crafted gate to a pile of rust and bolts? Or had the gate been neglected? Forgotten? It had to have been. Time was only doing its job; moving forward.
I don't ignore you.
Beyond the gate was a clearing. Despite the lack of lights in it, and the constant haze that was fluid just above the snow, Rarity could define it almost perfectly. An oval shape clearing with not one tree in it. In the center, a rather large body of water sat still, with not even a water spider skidding across its surface. The silence and calmness of the water brought a jealous frown to her lips. The lake was untouched by time, simply freezing and thawing whenever it was time to do so. The lake did not have to make time for anypony. The lake did not wither with the passage of time. Time had no jurisdiction here.
You do! You always do! I bet you don't even want me around anymore!
She winced at that, doing her best to push the wind from her ears. Little by little, though, it only pervaded farther into her, eventually singing to the deepest part of her thoughts.
Well I would if you didn't get in my way!
At the gates, she leaned hard, letting the bite of the ice pierce her skin at its own will. Her teeth chattered as the cold burning worked its way through her shoulder. But, with determination, she managed to get the reluctant hinges turning. The gate swung in, pushing the snow from its path, and opening the silent grotto for the unicorn.
I knew it...I knew it! You don't love me! I'm just a distraction to you and your precious 'work'!
The light faded behind her, draining her fur of its glow. Now she was alone, no light, no sound, and for the first time tonight, now wind. It was dying, falling from a breeze, to a whisper, to a whimper.
Fine. Leave, see if I care...
It was gone. She approached the lake, the uneasy silence about her, sinking into her with every little crunch of the snow. Peering down into the ice, she saw her reflection. It was distorted, swirled; this was not her. It was time. Time had frozen the lake. Time had brought her here. Time had turned her into this distorted thing. And this was the first time she was seeing it.
"Time," she whispered, a little plume of steam puffing forth from her lips. It sunk in that time had always been in control. It was only a matter of time, and thus, time was all that mattered.
She backed away from the lake shores, turning and looking off in the distance, to a not so far away headstone. She walked up to it, the chill of the air now replacing that of the wind. Yet the air did not breathe, nor did it whisper. What took that job was the small, rectangular stone that sat on the lake shore.
Rarity bent down and inspected it. Carved into its granite were small calligraphy words, that of a master artisan too. She could feel the heat of her body flee her, being quickly replaced by a cold, chilly emptiness that had been there from the start. She bit her lip as she continued reading the stone.
One year. That was how long it had been. One year of cold, chilly emptiness. One year of layer upon layer of freezing guilt to stack. One year of not being able to let go. But letting go, she learned, was not a matter of time. Letting go was the hardest thing to do. And like the lake, time had no jurisdiction on letting go.
A tear trickled from her eye, crawling down her cheek and falling to the snow. It was followed by another, and soon another. The reservoir of pain reached its bursting point, and her pupils opened to reveal the suffering that was laden beneath them.
She collapsed to the snow with a thud, burying her face into her forelegs and weeping. Muffled sobs filled the void left by the wind, and tears began carving holes in the snow below.
The memories flooded her throbbing mind, pushing more tears forth. One year ago she had been here, like this, clutching the icy filly in her hooves. The filly she had pushed away, the filly she had let freeze in the night...the filly she loved most in the world. She could still see herself there, her friends desperately trying to pry her off the blue filly as dawn finally crested over the trees.
And here she was again, at the site where she lost what she truly held dear. If only she had gotten here sooner, if only she had more time. But time stops for nopony. And now, it was time to understand that. It was time to let go. Wasn't that why she came here?
It was all a mess in her mind. The tears kept flowing, the sobs kept echoing, and the pain never stopped. Even still, she stood, reading the stone once more with blurry eyes.
In memory of Sweetie Belle,
Beloved sister of Rarity,
Loved by all,
Crusader to the end.
With her magic, Rarity slid the little cloth from her scarf. It's golden fabric shone, even with the light so distant. She folded the tattered thing into a neat little square, resting it gently in front of the stone.
One year. In that time, she had learned something. She gave a soft, teary nod at that. Yes, she had definitely learned something. It wasn't that she loved her sister - she already knew that. It wasn't that she had been wrong - she knew that too.
It was time. She had learned time. Time was everything. Time had frozen the lake, time had frozen the ground, and time had frozen her sister. All time needed was help. For the lake, it was the temperature. For the ground, it was the snow. And for her sister, it was the icy heart that was so contradictory to her element.
Perhaps if she had lent some time to that dear little filly, instead of taking the time to push her away. And now, because of it, she was out of time with her sister. That was the sick joke of time, however. You use time, but never change it. Every action made, every thought thought, and word said all used time. But they never changed it. Nothing ever changed time.
So now it was time to let go. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled the last article from her scarf. It was a piece of parchment, with but three lone words scribbled on its wrinkled face with black, smeared ink. The tears of a year flushed down her face faster now, and her sobs grew louder as she read what she had written.
I love you.
Why didn't she take the time to say it? How had she been so obtrusive as to not take the time to say it before? These words were the only ones she had left, and she would trade everything for the time to say them.
But that time was gone. And now they were here, on this parchment. Nothing would change that. She laid it down atop the folded crusader cape, tucking it into a crease in the fabric with her magic.
Now she slowly spun around, facing the distant lamplight. It was time to leave. Time to finally, once and for all, let go.
As more tears fell, she took note of something new. Letting go wasn't a matter of time; time was a matter of letting go.
And in one year's time, she finally felt ready to let go. She was ready to forgive herself, with the knowledge that time was all she had left. Time with her friends, time with herself, time for her work and time for her play. Time to regret, and time to let go.
So, as she slipped past the creaky iron gates and back onto the snowy, glowing trail that ran through the somber woods, she actually felt a smile tug up at her lips. Tears still slid down her cheeks, dripping to the snow. But she felt relieved, almost happy in a way.
She paused. Now, for this moment in time, she felt happy, relieved even.
It was time to be happy.
Down the path she went, taking the curve, heading back past the fork, and soon, out of the woods altogether. And the whole way, she smiled. There was time left, and she knew what to do with it. It was time to be happy, to have fun, to live and to love. And one day, it would be time to leave. Yet, on that same day, it would be time to finally say those three delicate words to her sister. It would, in time, be time to apologize. She would see her sister again, wherever she was. She would apologize, say the words, and finally have a sister once again.
In time.
All of it would happen in time.
The End.
