The pristine spires of Canterlot rose high into the night sky. Somewhere in the candle-lit streets sprawling below the tremendous towers, a child with nowhere to be made angels in the snow.
An old mare leaned out her balcony, sending a pile of snow falling onto the colt. The burning pang of the frozen railing ate into her leg.
A small, dark dot stared into the sky with wide eyes. The colt – but a little ant in the depths – could not see the mare set against the stars. When another lump of snow crashed into his eyes, he decided to stop looking.
Go on, run away, the mare thought. Run like timberwolves are chasing you.
That colt never learned not to play there, right under her balcony. And on any other occasion, he would get away with it, loitering and littering the tight alley a thousand steps under her home. For the mare, that was the same as doing it right under her nose. She despised that colt; his charcoal coat protected him in the dark.
But not tonight. Not when the city dressed in white to bring out the black.
And yet he kept coming back, after every Hearth’s Warming, tempting fate with his insulting little display. He made three angels this time. That was one more than he did last year. Come to think of it, the mare pondered, he started with one, three years ago. She had to wonder whether this was a joke aimed at her. How many angels will he get to before she finally drops?
Did he call those crude figures wings? Wiggle as he might have his hooves in the snow, he could never make an angel like the pegasi kids. No wings, no magic; all there was left was the audience’s imagination.
The frost stung the mare’s foreleg, making her step off the rails. Her old bones could not handle it any more. A shame. In her time, cold was her element. A smile appeared on her face as memories surged.
Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns was famed to be the hardest and most prestigious of schools; one that only those possessing the most finely refined skills, genius talents, and greatest ambition could finish. Through all her years there, she had been at the top of her class, unchallenged.
When she had covered half a wing in hoof-thick ice for her graduation exam, she was immediately expelled. Not a day passed before she had received a letter from Cloudsdale Weather Control, asking her to oversee snow production for all of Equestria. She made more a year than three of her ex-classmates combined.
And there, at least, she had been respected. Admired, even. But now that she was wrinkled and ugly, nopony cared about her.
Even the snow did not like her any more. She sighed. The small white cloud was blown away by a gentle wind. The tiny frozen droplets shimmered in the starlight before dissolving into the night.
Rubbing her hooves together, she stepped back inside.
Within the room, the mare was blind. She liked it that way. Curtains down, noise out. She refused to give her eyes the time to adjust – at their age, it would have taken too long – fumbling over to the bed. Once, she almost knocked her favourite vase over like this. Almost. Once. She had learned, early in her childhood, to be careful with such things.
Her hooves finally touched the blanket, laid out for her, by her, exactly how she liked it. It was getting late. She should not have been awake at this hour. But that damn colt… she just knew he would be there, did she not?
Then there was a knock on the door.
Not again.
The knocking continued.
With much irritation, she walked away from her bed. Not for the door, but for the window. It was right next to the balcony. That always made her wonder. What was the use of putting the two side by side? Maybe she should have become an architect. Then she could have righted such wrongs. Ice and snow have existed long before her, after all; they still would after she passed.
The mare pulled the curtain up over the window, gazing out into the night again. Between the ridges of the breaking clouds that blanketed the sky, the stars could shine through.
Oh, please, she begged the stars. Please, just make them go away. She never asked for them to come here.
“The fire of friendship lives in our hearts,
As long as it burns we cannot drift apart!”
Always with the singing. The mare was tired of it, tired of listening to the same old songs for weeks on end. A month before Hearth’s Warming, the kids have already been roaming the city, blowing the same, tired tunes.
She could, perhaps, understand that. There was a time when she, too, was captivated by the holiday season.
Why these children continued long after Hearth’s Warming, though – or why they picked to harass her, of all ponies, with their unbearable caterwauling – she had no idea.
“Yes!” the mare yelled to the door. “My name, I get it. It’s very funny. Now leave me alone!”
“Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few,
Laughter and singing will see us through!”
“It’s New Year’s tomorrow!” she screamed. “Don’t you think it’s time to stop?!”
“We are a circle of pony friends,
A circle of friends we'll be to the very end!”
They dragged out that last sound needlessly long. They always did. But that was the end of it. She thanked the stars for the shortness of the song. The apartment rumbled. Amidst high-pitched giggles, uncountable tiny hooves rushed down the spiral stairs around the tower.
Hit and run, the mare thought, that’s what these insufferable pests did. The stairs were really slippery this time of year, too. One of them was going to slip one time, and that was not going to end well. Hardly her fault, though.
She closed the curtain over the window. She could see a little better now, at the very least. She walked to her bed, and ran her hoof over the blanket. The soft warmth it seemed to radiate reminded her why she liked the New Year Celebration. Or why she used to.
She turned her head to the side. In the room’s darkest corner, as far from the bed as could be, was a little commode. On that little commode was a small frame, and in that small frame a tiny, faded photograph in black and white.
The mare’s eyes were far too weak to make the picture out in the darkness. In her mind, however, the image was crystal clear.
A petite unicorn mare, on the right, put her tongue out in a cheeky smile. The handsome pegasus stallion, foreleg encircling her shoulders, grinned proudly at the left.
The blanket grew more inviting with each passing moment. The mare yawned. Climbing into the bed would be quite a maneuver, but she was sure she would manage.
And then they knocked again.
They never knocked again. The mare ground her teeth, waiting, hoping that somepony merely had the wrong apartment. Stars know they all look the same from outside. The stallion one floor above always has “friends” of, suffice it to say, a more intimate distinction over in the wee hours of the night.
More knocking. It was the kids again, coming for round two.
The mare hated round two.
She walked, silently on the tips of her hooves, to the door. She had never opened it for them. Maybe she would surprise them this time. Scare them so they did not come back again. The least she needed was a round three.
Gently, carefully, she placed her hoof onto the doorknob. Now she waited until they knocked again…
At the first shake of the door, the mare tore it open, unleashing her tirade.
“Enough is enough! It’s late! Can’t an old mare… sleep…?”
Before her hooves, she saw no terrified expressions frozen onto the faces of startled children. There was only a set of legs, slender and dark blue. The silvery regalia that decorated them shone bright even in the night.
The mare gulped. Her gaze followed the legs upwards until it met the eyes of her visitor.
“P-Princess Luna?” the mare stammered.
“Your eyes do not deceive you.” Luna’s expression was stone cold, bearing no hint of emotion. “It is I.”
“W-what may I… help you with?” she asked.
Luna smiled. She then lifted a hoof, pointing the tip behind the mare. “May I?”
“O-of course.” Stop stuttering, she told herself. “Please, come in.”
Luna wiped her hooves on the doormat before stepping inside. “Thank you.”
As closing the door shut out the outside light, Luna’s horn glimmered. The darkness was replaced by an eerie, yet soothing glow.
“You should not strain your eyes,” Luna said. “Staring long into the darkness does them no good.”
The mare shrugged. “I’ll die sooner than cause serious harm.”
Luna raised an eyebrow.
“I mean,” the mare said, “it’s just the reality of life. We all have to deal with it, sooner or later.” Only saying that last word did she realise who she was speaking to. But it was too late to retract her words. Oh well.
“That is true,” Luna said. She wasn’t looking at her, however. She held her chin high, her gaze moving slowly from place to place, scanning the room.
“Not much to look at,” the mare said. “I could get more, but I’m fine with how everything is.”
She couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. To have her humble home visited – judged – by the Princess of the Night herself! Luna eyed her long bookshelves, stacked full of tales of great adventures and stories of other worlds. How mundane these fantasies must have seemed to her. How simple she must have seemed to Luna, to read such things.
Luna’s gaze lingered on the picture in the corner for a while before she turned back to the mare. The mare waited patiently, but Luna said nothing.
Suppressing her nerves, the mare spoke up. “To what do I owe the honour?”
“I accompanied the children,” Luna replied. “I find their songs warm my heart.”
“Well, they are… they are rather lovely, aren’t they?”
“Tell me, child, what is your name?”
Had she forgotten to introduce herself? First impressions have never been her forte.
“Carol,” she answered.
Luna tilted her head curiously. “Carol who?”
“Carol,” she repeated. “Just simply Carol.”
Luna eyed her up and down. “May I ask another question, fair Carol?”
“Certainly. Anything, princess.”
Luna nodded in the commode’s direction. “Is that you in the picture? The funny mare?”
“Yes. It is.”
“And who is the stallion?”
“He is… he was my husband.”
“Is he dead?”
The question stumped Carol. No, not the question, but the simplicity and detached nature of its delivery. Then again, she did just say it’s part of life, death. She shouldn’t have been so surprised.
“No,” Carol said. “Not as far as I know.”
“Why is he not here with you tonight?”
“He broke my heart. A long time ago.”
Luna’s slender legs carried her to the picture in a few steps. Carol followed on her own frail hooves.
Luna stared at the picture, making Carol wonder what it she possibly saw in it. There was nothing to it. Not to the princess, anyway. Still, looking at it now, even Carol saw things she hadn’t noticed in years.
Minute cracks raced across the surface of the photo; Carol had carried it with herself for far too long before framing it. The lower right corner of the picture was folded and stuck out distractingly. On the left, there was a small tear that stopped just short of the stallion’s neck.
It was better, thinking of it, that the picture was monochrome. Any colour would have faded through the years. Black, however, always stayed the same. True enough, there was a little yellow in the white by now. But what could you do?
“He broke your heart, you say.”
“He did.”
Luna looked into Carol’s eyes with a sincerity she hadn’t expected. “Then why is his picture still here?”
Carol pursed her lips. What kind of question was that? Did Luna expect her to break down, crying for love lost? No. She had it all wrong. Carol hated him.
“It’s so that I can look him in the eye,” Carol said. “To show him that he hasn’t won.”
“Hm.” Luna nodded. “Please tell, do you know what day it is tomorrow?”
Her constant questions were, truth be told, making Carol rather uncomfortable. Still, she couldn’t very well tell the princess to leave her alone; she’d have to play along.
“The New Year Celebration is tomorrow night, as I recall.”
“Do you know why that day is special?”
“It marks the new year, as the name clearly states. On this one night, the Sun and the Moon move across the sky together.”
“But do you know why we do it, my sister and I?”
“I believe I do.”
“Will you be watching?”
“No.” Carol glanced towards the balcony door and the window right beside it. “The apartment’s facing the other way.”
“You could come out and see it with the rest of us.”
“I’ve lost count of how many years it’s been since last I’d seen it. With all due respect, it simply does not move me.”
Luna’s answer was raising a brow again. Carol found that irritating. Condescending.
“Please,” Carol said, failing to disguise the impatience in her voice. That always shone through with her, somehow. “Please, dear princess, you haven’t told me why you’ve decided to pay me visit.”
“I have come because of the children. I have seen them be driven off, yelled at, even bullied. From a lady of your calibre, however, I would have expected better.”
“I’m sorry,” Carol said. She wasn’t being honest. “Would you like me to apologise to them? Is that why you’ve come?”
“I have come because I am concerned.”
“If what you said is true, princess, then the children are used to mistreatment by now. If their constant giggling is anything to go by, it doesn’t seem to affect them at all any more.”
“No, fair Carol, you do not understand. I have come because I am concerned about you.”
“About… me? Why?”
“Do you really not know?”
Carol knew. She knew exactly where this was going. She had heard rumours of the princesses – Luna, in particular – meddling with the personal affairs of their subjects. Once they decided that somepony was in need of a life lesson, they, high and mighty as they are, descended to “guide” them onto the path they saw fit.
Carol had been just fine all her life without their help, though. In her childhood, Luna – Nightmare Moon – was no more than a cautionary tale told to children to scare them into behaving. And now Luna presumed to teach her about the meaning of kindness. As if.
“Are you here to convince me to open up?” Carol asked. “To unthaw my heart by showing me just what kind of a compassionless old hag I’ve become? And when that doesn’t work, will you tell me that I’ll die alone and unloved? If that is the case, you’re late, princess. I know that already. You’re wasting your time here.”
“What makes you so convinced?” Luna asked. Her soft voice patronised Carol, serving only to aggravate her further.
“I just am, princess.”
Luna eyed her up and down slowly, chastisingly. Carol awaited her lecture.
But the princess stepped back.
“Good night, fair Carol,” she said with a smile and a nod.
Carol was too confused – too furious, too surprised – to respond with any sort of tact. She looked, flabbergasted, as Luna walked out the door, closing it without a noise. The uncanny light in the room faded away, leaving Carol blind once again.
Pah, Carol thought. As if she knew anything.
She climbed into bed with bothersome thoughts swirling, teeming in her head. They wouldn’t let her sleep. To shoo them away, Carol thought back to simpler times, to younger, pleasant nights and to days long lost.
Such it was that dreams overcame her.
❄
The pristine spires of Canterlot cast long shadows over the mountainside. Behind them, the horizon was aflame with the light of a receding Sun. Somewhere in the lands below, among the woods that surrounded a small town, a child with nowhere to be chased a friend through the snow.
The cool air pierced her throat. It had been several days since she had last breathed properly through her nose. That didn’t stop her from chuckling heartily as she ran after the colt.
She could never catch him.
The colt touched the side of the lone tree at the crest of the hill, proclaiming his victory. “Come on, Carol,” he said. “You’re not even trying!”
“No fair,” Carol replied. “You’re too tall, Meadow.”
Shallow Meadow towered above the blanket of snow, lumps of ice hanging from his black wings. Of course he won.
He dropped down onto his back, laughing gloatingly at his tiny friend. But Carol would surprise him. She could barely stick her head above the snow, anyway; she only had to lower herself a bit to turn entirely invisible. Being white all over had its advantages.
After his bout of laughter ended, Meadow scanned the hill. Carol stalked her prey like a wild cat. When the pegasus least suspected it, she fired up her magic and pelted him with a faceful of snow.
Meadow reached into the snow as well, looking to return fire. Before his clumsy hooves could finish a snowball, Carol had flung two others at him. Meadow then threw his own, only for Carol’s magic to catch it mid-air and throw it right back.
“Cheater!” Meadow exclaimed, already making another snowball. “I got no magic!”
Carol wiped her nose with a hoof, and shaping two more snowballs with the tuft of a spell. “And I’m half your size.”
She shivered. It was unusually cold now, even for her. She hadn’t noticed how fast the Sun vanished. The clear, starry sky accompanied the Moon.
Meadow sighed, letting his snowball fall to the ground.
“What?” Carol asked. “Giving up?”
Meadow looked up into the sky. “I’d rather we didn’t miss it.”
Carol’s magic dispersed, and her snowball fell from the air as well. Shen then sent Meadow a questioning look. “You sure about this? How come nopony at school ever told me?”
“‘Cause I never told them,” Meadow said, clearing snow from a patch of ground around him. “You’re the first. Come here.”
Carol sat down next to him, under the tree at the top of the land. At the foot of the hill, the hundred tiny lights of Schneeberg twinkled in the darkness; the town seemed at once comfortingly close and terrifyingly far away.
Meadow pointed at the apex of the mountain of Canterlot. “There,” he said, stretching his leg further. “Right there, above that spire. That’s where they’re gonna be.”
“That one?” Carol asked. “That’s tiny.”
“No, to the right. The other right.”
Carol still couldn’t see it. She wanted to ask, but she choked on her word. The Moon began its descent.
On the last day of the year, Equestria celebrated. Once the Sun set, the Moon would linger a little longer. When the time came, the Moon, too, disappeared from the sky. Princess Celestia would then raise them again, in perfect unison, to mark the beginning of the new year.
Slowly, inch by inch, the Moon hid under the horizon. The stars that were the farthest from it went out first. Carol remembered seeing this five times now, but never like this. With all the sky’s lights extinguished, a sense of dread crept over her. She could still see the the town down below, albeit barely; the darkness had engulfed most windows, letting only the strongest lights of the town square permeate through.
Save for that haven of brightness, so close yet so distant, Carol floated in a sea of blackness.
“Boo!”
Carol jumped. “Meadow!”
The colt chuckled. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here.”
“So, you got it yet?”
“What?”
“Got your resolution yet? You won’t make it if you don’t figure it out before it ends.”
“Of course I made my resolution.” Carol was lying.
“What is it?”
“What’s yours?”
“A secret.”
“So’s mine.”
“Mine’s better.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
Light broke over the horizon.
“Why does she do it, anyway?” Carol asked. “Celestia, I mean.”
“To remember her triumph over Nightmare Moon,” Meadow replied.
“Nightmare Moon doesn’t exist, stupid,” Carol said.
“Oh yeah? Maybe I can have your candy next Nightmare Night, then.”
Carol pouted. “She already has the Summer Sun for that. To remember.”
“Maybe she’s really proud of herself.”
“I bet.”
The Sun rose on the west. The Moon ascended on the east. The faraway mountains silhouetted in the shower of light. Their shadow stretched across all the land. Then the shadows shrank, withdrawing their inky curtain so that Equestria could bask in the radiance.
When the tides of light flooded over the hill, Carol found herself closer to Meadow than she remembered. The winds carried the sounds of the singing town. Meadow hummed to the tune. “The fire of friendship lives in our hearts....”
Carol smiled. Then she sneezed.
“Did you get sick?” Meadow asked.
“Am not sick,” Carol replied with an unconvincingly nasal voice.
Meadow inched away from Carol. Her first instinct was to scoot closer, but timidity got the best of her. She hung her head.
“Aren’t you watching?”
Carol looked up. The Sun and the Moon danced gracefully in the sky, coming together right above one of Canterlot’s tallest spires. So that’s the one.
“So,” Meadow said, “best view, or best view?”
Carol was too enraptured by the sight to respond. To Meadow, her open jaw was answer enough.
In a flash of light, the Sun shone brighter than it ever had. Carol had to look away. When the light subsided, the Sun was gone. The Moon had also rolled off Canterlot and was, now, exactly where it should have been at that hour. One by one, the stars blinked into existence.
It was always over too soon, Carol thought.
“But seriously,” Meadow said, “are you sick?”
“No!” Carol reinforced that statement with another sneeze. “I’m… allergic.”
“To what?”
“To stupid.”
Meadow yawned. “Yeah, right. I think I’m gonna go home.”
“What, little running’s got you tired?”
“No,” he said, standing up. “But mum makes the best cookies for New Years.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No, I… I think I’ll stay a little longer.”
“It’s dark. You gonna get lost on the way back. You know the way back?”
“I know the way back.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Meadow walked a few steps, then looked back at Carol. The filly was too busy pretending to not pay attention to notice how he repeated that three times before disappearing into the woods.
Carol should not have been shivering. She liked the snow, more than any other filly. There was no amount of chilling air that could make her sick. She did not need to go home. She was fine. She was well. She swore to the full Moon that she was well.
She sniffed.
Walking inside, Carol’s coat was drenched with melted snow, making her shake head to hoof. She wanted nothing more than to dry herself up and climb into bed.
Mum was not home. She was out with friends again, Carol thought.
Dad lay slackly, sideways, on the stained old couch. He had apparently pulled the table closer while she was gone. Carol could just barely make out a stack of dark bottles on it. The aura of Dad’s magic flickered weakly around the cap of one of them.
“Hi, Dad,” Carol said through chattering teeth.
The bottle floated closer to Dad’s eyes. The bottle’s neck sparkled brighter.
Carol felt another sneeze nearing. As she closed her eyes and the tingling mounted in her nose, her tired legs swayed sideways, and she bumped into a leg of the table. The itch disappeared in an instant, driven out by the oncoming fear.
The table rumbled. A bottle rolled off, hitting Carol on the head before shattering against the floor.
Her legs froze in their place. She would have screamed, but her breath could not leave. She stood there, trembling and jaw agape, eyes fixed forward for fear of turning.
After a few seconds, she gathered the courage to look down, moving her eyes alone; she didn’t dare move her head. Glancing at the broken bottle, her body slackened, and she exhaled in relief. It was alright. The bottle was already empty.
“You gone retarded?” Dad asked. The yet-unopened bottle was now in his hooves, the cap between his teeth. “What’re you lookin’ at the wall for? Clean it up.”
That was okay. She was used to cleaning up for Dad when mum wasn’t home. She carefully stepped over the scattered shards of glass; the broom and dustpan were in the other corner.
“Wait,” Dad grumbled.
Carol could barely catch the bottle flying for her.
“Open it!” Dad snapped at her.
The cap was soaked with drool. Carol didn’t have to physically touch it to feel dirty. She gulped, and her magical aura accumulated around the neck of the bottle, pushing upwards at the cap. She didn’t have much practice with opening these things; Dad had only recently discovered her talent.
She had to close her eyes to pay attention to the magic. Tension mounted in her horn. Before her blind eyes, the image of the bottle was still vivid. A drop of sweat rolled down her forehead.
Then the tingling sensation in her nose returned. At the moment of greatest magical exertion, as the bottle’s cap came popping off, Carol sneezed. Her magic flickered away and the bottle fell to the floor.
Nothing was spilled, though. The bottle, and all its contents, were frozen solid.
At first, Dad was surprised. Then he was furious. He picked the chunk of ice up already yelling.
“No,” Carol whispered, backing away. “Please, Dad, I’ll be a good girl. It’s my, it’s my resolution. I’ll be a good girl. I’ll be a good girl!”
When Carol next went to school, the teacher noticed two things: that Carol limped on a leg, and that she had the picture of an icicle on her flanks. The second came as a surprise even to the filly.
That was how Carol came under state care, and, eventually, into the home of a wealthy Canterlot couple.
The crystal sparkled in the light. Its form, they said, was a testimony to the perfection of nature’s design.
Carol would do better.
She looked up from the magnifying glass, putting the snowflake from her hoof back onto the tray.
“Not good enough,” she said.
“Oh, come on!” the stallion standing in the doorway protested. “We worked on that design for three weeks.”
“A cloud above the Everfree can create this in half an hour.”
“Oh yeah? Can that cloud also reproduce it enough times to supply half of Equestria with it?”
“No. It will instead make a billion more that are just as complex, however.”
“Nothing’s ever good enough for you, Carol.”
“Nothing you do, Meadow, that’s for sure.”
In the Cloudsdale Weather Factory, Shallow Meadow worked as the leader of Workgroup #13 in snowflake design. That Carol was put in straight above him – above all the groups – came as a surprise to both ponies.
Once a group was finished with their newest design, a sample would be sent to Carol for a final pass.
Carol heard plenty of terrible things murmured behind her back; the Cloudsdale pegasi didn’t like having a unicorn to boss them around. They made fun of her frail leg, and their stares made Carol feel they were waiting for her to fall through the clouds and plummet to her death.
Her leg carried her just fine, though, and the cloud-walking spell held firm. And, of course, Carol never forgot to have it renewed. Still, the unceasing aura of hostility put a strain on her nerves.
Ah, but Meadow was different. It had been over a decade since the two last played together. Carol’s memories of the colt she used to call her friend were few and faded. Meadow, on the other hoof, didn’t seem to notice that time had passed at all. Every time he looked at her, he wore that same, beaming smile that had etched itself into Carol’s memory.
Whenever Carol caught her colleagues making unsavoury remarks about her, Meadow would step up, and bravely keep his mouth shut as he nodded along. Carol could only shake her head at him.
Still, she knew Meadow would never hurt her, and – although she would have burned in shame to say it aloud – she liked him for that.
Even so, Carol – and Meadow – had a job to do.
Carol picked the snowflake up again, and pulled up the magnifying glass over it.
“Say,” she began, peeking into the glass, “I thought I told you to fix the arms. Didn’t I tell you to fix the arms?”
“You did, Carol,” Meadow said with a sigh.
“So why are they blunter than they were, last I’d seen them? I sent them back specifically for sharpening, and you went and cut off the tips.”
“Well, I... did you? Did we? Sorry.” He rubbed the side of his head. “Brain ain’t workin’ right these days.”
“Has it ever worked right with you?”
“Hey!”
It was such a shame, Carol found, that much like his youthful happiness, Meadow’s innocent idiocy remained even in adulthood.
“Only two months until Hearth’s Warming, and your group’s far behind schedule. It feels like you don’t want to get this done. Like you want to keep bringing these things back to me.”
Meadow looked suspiciously to the side. Is his face red underneath that black coat? Carol had to wonder.
“You know, Carol,” Meadow began, “maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Maybe then you wouldn’t feel the need to be so hard on others,” Meadow scoffed, turning around. “I’ll tell the guys our special snowflake needs better snowflakes.”
“You’d better.”
Meadow slammed the door shut behind himself.
Carol swirled the spoon in her soup, her eyes following the bits of fruit and vegetables swimming around. Her thoughts were elsewhere. What was that about, ‘being hard on herself’? Carol didn’t know. Or if she did, she refused to admit it. It was true: she always strived to do the best she could, to be the best she can. But that was hardly a bad thing, was it?
Yes, she had made mistakes. Who hasn’t? Maybe if she did things right, ponies wouldn’t be on her back about everything. She was a clumsy filly when she was little, and that stallion who called himself ‘father’ punished her for that enough. And maybe if she hadn’t got herself kicked from Celestia’s School, she wouldn’t even be in Cloudsdale. She’d be away from all the judging stares and cursing words. If only….
Oh, there she went again.
Cloudsdale wasn’t bad. Maybe it was better, the way things turned out. Meadow was nice, at least. Was. Carol pondered about his earlier outburst. She had not meant to offend him. He did not deserve that. All she wanted was for him to do his job properly. Was that too much to ask?
“Too good for the rest of us?” came a voice from above.
Carol jumped, looking at the stallion hovering above. “Meadow!”
He chuckled. “What are you doing here?”
Carol wondered whether Meadow was blind. She was eating her lunch. She always ate here, at restaurant what’s-it-called, out in the open, in the pleasant Cloudsdale air. She didn’t understand how everypony else managed to eat in that stuffy cafeteria back at the factory.
“Well, I was just… what are you doing here?” Carol asked. “Why aren’t you with ‘the guys’?”
“I always make a fly by to pick some stuff up for them.”
“I’ve never seen you here.”
“I’m pretty fast about it.”
“And your hooves are empty.”
“I haven’t picked anything up yet.”
She just couldn’t place him. He was outraged just a few hours ago, and now he was here, making smalltalk. She just wanted him to go away.
Carol leaned onto the table, placing her chin on her front hooves. “You haven’t been following me, have you, Meadow?”
Meadow fidgeted in the air uncomfortably. “Yes. I mean, no.”
“Because, see, that would be okay. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Or maybe she wanted him to stay. Perhaps that would be for the best, she thought, to talk things over with him. Carol had never seen him angry, much less flip out and calm back down so quickly.
Maybe he was just crazy. Somepony so happy all the time couldn’t possibly be right in the head. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him to talk. Oh well; it was too late now.
Carol motioned at the opposite end of the table. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
Meadow lowered himself from the air slowly, pulling up a cloud-chair. “What?”
“Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. About—”
Meadow’s ear twitched, and he rubbed its base. “What’s that? Didn’t catch that.”
Carol sighed. “I said I was sorry.”
Meadow leaned back, grinning up at the sky. “Mighty Miss Snowflakes is sorry,” he chortled. “That’s new!”
“Listen, if you’re going to—”
Meadow leaned forward, putting a hoof on her mouth. “Hey, if you want to make it up to me, I have a suggestion.”
His hoof was still on her lips. Carol was too stunned to do anything about it. She sent him a small nod. Dear, was she blushing?
“Why don’t you let me show you around sometime?” He pulled his hoof back. “I mean, surely I know more about the city than you do. Some wonderful sights here and there. It’ll be just like old times. What do you say?”
“S-sure,” she mumbled before even fully processing his words.
“Perfect,” Meadow said, springing from his seat. “We’ll talk details later. Right now, gotta get back to work. We need those snowflakes done for you, aye?”
The pegasus stroked Carol’s head playfully, making an awful mess of her mane. He flew off before she could call him out on it.
It took Carol a good minute to realise what had happened. Did she just agree on a date? With Meadow, of all ponies?
Or did she just think of this like a date? Meadow never said that word. Why would she even think that? What if, hypothetically, he really was aiming for a ‘date’?
She was technically his boss. And they barely knew each other. It has been so many years since they had been friends. Now they were just co-workers. He was working for her, really. This was wrong on too many levels to count.
Heh, butterflies in her stomach. Carol hadn’t felt that in a while.
“Ready?” Meadow asked.
The vast expanse of Equestria spread out before Carol. A single step forward, and she would fall from the cloud. Meadow’s forelegs were wrapped around her chest; he could probably feel how fast her heart was beating. Carol wanted nothing more than to step away from the edge, and return to the peace and safety of her home. But she had come this far. She could not have turned back now.
Carol looked up at Meadow and nodded.
Meadow’s grip on her tightened, and the two rocketed into the air.
An explosion tore open the sky. The city shook with it, the layers of clouds slipping and sliding on one another. Carol gripped Meadow’s chest, holding on for dear life.
“Stars, Carol, you’re choking me!” Meadow said. “And don’t touch the wings, or this’ll end badly.”
Carol was too afraid to speak, but nodded, mustering all she had in her to stay cool. Or look cool, anyway.
The strength Meadow had in him amazed her. They were now high above Cloudsdale, gliding through the air dangerously – beautifully – close to the thousand brightly burning sparks of the yearly fireworks, and the stallion looked no worse for wear.
To give him more space, Carol loosened her hold. Then she realised the absurdity of her action.
“This is insanity!” Carol screamed, shedding any semblance of calm. “Put me down this instant!”
“No,” Meadow said with a devious grin.
To her further protest, Meadow spun around in the air, coming into a steep descent.
Carol’s mane whipped against her back as they fell. “You are so fired!”
“You’ll want to reserve judgment on that until the day’s over.” Meadow pulled her closer. “Hold on now.”
Meadow pulled up, and for a split second Carol truly felt his hooves slipping. Now they were rising high, faster even than they fell. Meadow spun her around again.
Then she didn’t feel his hooves any more.
She was still spinning, flying freely through the sky. At one moment, she glanced at distant Schneeberg. The festive lights were already aflame. Then, as she turned away, Canterlot appeared before her, its monumental spires straining against the horizon above snowy slopes. She had reached the apex of her path.
Another explosion suspended her in time and space. In that one, infinite instant, she floated weightlessly, motionlessly, beholding the cavalcade of colours before her.
She slammed into something soft. Black forelegs slid under her own.
“Gotcha.”
Meadow brought her down slowly, carefully, gripping her tightly. The colours in the sky burned out. Others burst to replace them.
Carol’s hooves touched something solid again. Well, not solid; it was a cloud, and she could sit on it, so that worked. Even so, she was shaking heavily. She genuinely feared she’d bounce off.
Above, the fireworks continued. Below, Cloudsdale stretched out, bathed in decorative lights that reflected and refracted through the cottony walls. When the blast of fireworks didn’t suppress them, the voices of countless singing ponies ran with the winds. The city of clouds had become one of rainbows and music.
“Besides, you can’t even fire me.”
Carol shook her head. “What?”
“You’re just a supervisor. You know what you have authority over? Snowflakes. Not me.”
Carol didn’t answer.
“Oh, you liked it up there, admit it.”
“Stars, no,” Carol said, looking not at him but the city below.
“Yes you did. Wanna know how I know? You were grinning the whole time. You still are.”
Carol putting a hoof on her cheek. She really was smiling. Meadow batter his eyebrows. What, was he expecting her to tell him he was right? She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
Swiping her tail over the cloud, she noticed something; something she could use to change the topic. She looked down, digging at the cloud. When she pulled her leg up, the patch dispersed, but something else remained on her hoof.
“Is that snow?” she asked. “Did you powder a cloud with snow?”
“I thought you’d like it.”
She squinted her eyes, scanning the thin layer of snow carefully. She counted five different designs of snowflakes; ones that Meadow’s team made, ones she had approved herself. She had to give Meadow credit for his attention to detail. Very well, Meadow, she thought. You won, just this once.
“I do like it,” she finally said.
“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”
And what a liar he was. He was not blushing at all.
“You went through all this trouble, just for me?”
“Well, somepony had to air you out a little. Don’t you ever have fun? Ain’t there no stallion waiting for you, planning to kick my ass right about now?”
“No,” Carol answered, quicker than she wanted.
Oh, great. Now she was blushing. She didn’t have to look for her next distraction, though; it found her soon enough. As she uncomfortably shifted her weight from one leg to another, a sharp sting pierced bones, making her hiss in pain.
“What’s wrong?” Meadow asked.
Carol pulled up one of her hooves. “My bad leg. You were pinching it the whole time, you know.”
“Was I?” Meadow gaped. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, really—”
“No, it’s alright. It’s fine.”
“No, really, I’m sorry—”
“I said it’s fine.”
Meadow put a hoof under hers, and another onto it. “Where does it hurt?”
“Meadow, I told you…” The pegasus looked at her with the irresistible stare of a begging puppy. Carol rolled her eyes. “Right there, at my fetlock.”
He rubbed his hoof softly over the base of hers.
“Lower,” Carol said. “Bit to the left. The other left. H-hey, ouch! Watch it.”
“Sorry,” Meadow said, doing his best to massage her pain away. “There. It’s already better, isn’t it?”
As the tip of Meadow’s hoof traced its careful paths along her leg, the pain did indeed dissipate. It hurt even less than usual, perhaps.
“Yes,” Carol said, quite amazed. “Thank you, Meadow.”
“Well, it’s the least I can…” Meadow looked to the side, still rubbing Carol’s fetlock. “Look, it’s starting.”
The fireworks died down. The singing below fell silent with them. Every single pony in Equestria was waiting with bated breath for what was to come. Pegasi across the land cleared the skies to ensure nopony missed the sight.
On these nights, the Sun always set so quickly, so early. As it disappeared, and the red sky turned dark, Carol shivered. Not because of the cold, but because of the event’s haunting nature.
“A new beginning,” Meadow said. “That’s what it’s about. Moving on, striving forward, putting the past behind you, all that stuff.”
“I know,” Carol replied.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just, you know, you asked me? That one time, on the hill? Don’t you remember?”
Of course she remembered. It was one of the few concrete memories she cherished from her childhood.
“I don’t recall,” she said.
Stupid, stupid.
“Come on,” Meadow said. “Is that why I’m doing all this now? So you can forget it all in a few years?”
“I do believe I’ll remember this one, don’t you worry.”
“Okay, for the record, I let go on purpose. I had that under control. Alright? And I said I was sorry about your leg. Focus on the good parts, okay?”
The good parts… a smile crept over Carol’s face again. The harder she tried to make it go away, the firmer it held.
A chill ran down her spine. The stars were already going out, and the Moon was descending. Carol sat a little closer to Meadow. He extended a wing, covering her back like a warm blanket.
As she sat there, her hoof in his, his wing on her, she couldn’t help but turn from the sky to look at him. He returned her gaze. As the Moon sank beyond the horizon, the two ponies on the cloud inched closer and closer. As the last beam of moonlight passed over them, Carol closed her eyes.
Only their lips touched, at first. Carol was frightened. She wanted to pull away. But then she would not have found him again in the darkness. And you know what? She did not want that. Then she wondered why she was even thinking about this. Why was she even thinking right now? She should have been concentrating on the task at present. By the stars, she just wanted to get through it without messing up and embarrassing herself.
She was terrible. So was he. Such went the tale of their first kiss.
Even through her closed eyelids, Carol saw the flash of light that signalled the end of the Sun and the Moon’s dance.
But she and Meadow were still going. She wondered if she should open her eyes. Just a little. Just to see whether he had opened his or not. What if he had? That would have been awkward.
There was another flash of light. She hated all these distractions. She hated herself for even paying attention to them. Wasn’t she allowed to enjoy anything in peace?
Wait, she thought. Two flashes? There had only ever been one flash.
She pulled her hoof back, pushing Meadow away and looking to the side. She was greeted by another pegasus with a camera in his hooves.
“Wow,” he said. “I was just going to take pictures of the lightshow up here. Didn’t think I’d find something like this. No, no, keep going. You’re perfect. Adore the contrast.”
To hide her redness, Carol sunk her face into her hooves. So much for not being embarrassed.
Meadow chuckled, putting his hoof over her shoulder. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”
“Don’t call me that,” Carol mumbled through her hooves.
“Bit shy, she is,” the other pegasus said.
“Tell me about it,” Meadow replied. “Hey, Carol, tell you what. Let’s get another picture, however you like it. Would that be better?”
She lifted her head from her hooves. Guess she wasn’t getting out of this one. The pegasus was already aiming his camera. But she wasn’t ready! She hasn’t even answered!
Carol made the silliest face she could think of, trying to pass the whole thing off as a joke. Putting your tongue out while you’re smiling, who does that? Oh well. The camera flashed and the picture was taken.
“So,” Meadow began, “I assume we’ll be getting these pictures gratis, right?”
“Absolutely. Hey, look, here’s my card. Have a good one.”
With that, the pegasus flew off, leaving Carol and Meadow alone under the Cloudsdale Moon.
❄
Carol woke up with a headache. The clock ticking away on the wall showed it was past noon.
Carol stretched lazily, reeling in the memories of her sleep. She had dreamt of her childhood, of Meadow… she hated that. She shouldn’t have been thinking about him, after all these years.
She turned around in her bed.
Strange, she thought. She had almost forgotten how it began. How happy she was. But all that was long gone now. Meadow wasn’t the stallion she fell in love with.
She turned the other way.
The more she thought about it, the less she seemed to recall her dreams. The hurtful memories drove them out. At the opposite end of the room, Meadow was grinning back at her. That stupid picture. She hated to admit it, but Luna had asked a good question that previous night. Why did she still keep that trash around?
She turned her back to him again.
That cheating bastard. Meadow ruined everything. But she should have seen it coming. The way he talked to her. The way he looked at her. She should’ve noticed the flame was dying.
Was she blaming herself for what Meadow did?
Oh, no. No, no, no.
When she caught him with that… little bimbo… that he ‘seduced’ with her money. After thirty, forty years! He wasn’t even sorry. He dared curse her. He had the nerve to put it on her. To say she did not love him enough.
There was no excuse for it. Was she not good enough? Was she not good enough to talk to? To even mention how he felt? Hot-headed, insane, that is what he had always been. She should never have played nice with him.
But she did love him. What did that say about her?
How could she look into her children’s eyes after that? What kind of example did she give them? She couldn’t remember the last time she saw her children. Not even a card on Hearth’s Warming.
She was certain they would be fine. They would never become like their father.
Right?
Carol couldn’t think straight. Her anger swelled by the minute. Tossing, turning in her bed, she pulled the pillow over her head. The darkness helped her calm down.
The sounds of singing woke Carol from her dreamless sleep. It was getting late.
She stretched, again, cracking her old, tired bones. She was at peace, now.
She turned to look at the picture in the corner. Getting up, she took a deep breath. She walked for the commode without taking her eyes off Meadow. She knew what she must do.
She took the old picture out of the frame.
She threw on her warmest, blackest coat. She hadn’t done that in a while. She wasn’t used to leaving home long enough to need it. She walked out the door resolutely.
The spiral stairs outside, frozen over, were an accident waiting to happen. How terrible it would have been, Carol thought, if she had slipped now. She took her steps carefully.
Angels in the snow greeted her when she reached the bottom. How has nopony cleaned these up yet? She hurried past them quickly.
Carol may have been old, and perhaps her memory wasn’t what it used to be, but she knew where to go. The maze of the city couldn’t confuse her. All she had to do was follow the singing.
For one night, once a year, every year, all the mighty nobles of Canterlot cast off their haughty guises. They gathered together, in simple merriment, to share in their common appreciation of the new year. Ponies from throughout the realm also made their yearly pilgrimage to see great Canterlot, to meet the princesses, and to take their fantastic tales of the event back to their families. Bonfires burned in the sky, and a million bells provided the rhythm for their joyful singing.
Before the Palace of Canterlot, a golden staircase led to a massive podium. Carol had arrived at the heart of the city.
As the bright sky turned red, Princess Twilight Sparkle stepped onto the podium. The bells stood still. The children stopped scurrying. The crowd fell silent.
“Citizens of Equestria,” she began. “It is my honour to be standing here before you tonight.”
The crowd cheered.
“I am, just like all of you, excited for the new year. To see what it might bring. To see what I can do.” She leaned forward a little, looking behind her back for a moment. Then she tilted her head, putting a hoof to her mouth as if whispering to a friend. “And although the bureaucrats insist on my title of ‘princess’...” The crowd laughed. “I have never, for one moment, considered myself to be more than just another mare, looking to do her part to make the world a better place.”
She opened her mouth, taking a breath, but then closed it before saying a word. She scratched her head. When she spoke again, her voice sounded much less formal.
“It’s at this point in my speech that I was going to say how we’re all ponies, and how we all need to stick together. But that wouldn’t be true. Equestria is proud of its multicultural heritage. Ponies, griffins, buffaloes, donkeys, horses, and countless more species live together here in harmony.”
She stretched her neck, looking through the audience.
“Is that a changeling I see? Don’t be shy. Instead of saying that we’re all ponies, let me say what I know is undoubtedly true: that we are all friends.”
As the crowd once again erupted in applause, Carol couldn’t help but keep her eyes on the sky. The Sun still hasn’t gone completely. She didn’t remember it taking so long.
“Now,” Twilight Sparkle continued, “if I may introduce to you the Princesses of the Night and Day….”
Princess Celestia appeared at the top of the nearest tower. As she leapt from her place, gasps and cheerful whistles spread through the crowd. Princess Luna sprung from her own spire of the palace, dancing with her sister in the sky as the two glided gracefully onto the podium. The crowd applauded louder than ever before.
Celestia bowed before her subjects. Luna held her chin high, her eyes scanning the crowd. When her eyes met with Carol’s, Luna smiled. Then she, too, bowed deeply.
Twilight Sparkle continued her speech, stopping at proper in proper intervals to give an opportunity for her audience to cheer and laugh.
And Carol had enough. Enough of the noise, and the constant shoving and moving about. Enough of Luna. She turned and pushed out of the crowd.
Making her way through the wide, deserted streets of trampled snow and mud, she considered going back home. She has been just fine all these years. Why would she need to go through with this now?
But no. This time, she really meant it. She would look up at the dancing sky, and she would tear the picture for good. She has already failed once. She would not fail again.
She trudged through the untouched snow of a narrow alley. The steep mountainside towered above her. Her legs felt weak. She would not let that deter her. She put her hoof onto the highest rocky outcrop she could reach, beginning her ascent.
By the time she reached a proper height, the Sun had gone.
A small patch of a relatively level snowy slope looked out onto the palace and the podium; soon it would be the perfect box-seat from which to view the beginning of the new year. No others like it. Carol had to wonder why there was nopony else there.
She sat down into the snow. She reached into her coat, for the picture that had caused her so much joy and grief. Soon, it would all be over.
Her horn sparkled, and the photograph flew up before her. The sounds of applause rumbled in the city, echoing from the white walls. The Moon began its descent.
She turned the photo to its side, left edge up. The tear that almost reached Meadow’s neck – the mark of her first attempt – taunted her. Her magic pulsed along the tear, pulling softly back and forth, trying it, playing with it. But the tear didn’t grow.
It would be easy to rip the picture in two. It was just a piece of paper.
Carol had not even noticed how the Moon disappeared. Canterlot glowed; a bastion of light in the darkness that befell the land. Her own shining magic, focused on the neck of Meadow, held Carol’s attention.
When the Sun and the Moon began their dance, Carol had to look up. She had forgotten how beautiful it was.
This was the moment. The perfect ending. A new beginning. Carol clenched her teeth. She had to close her eyes. She has come full circle. She would do it.
She would tear it.
Rip it to pieces.
“Don’t.”
Carol jumped. Her magic died, and the picture fell into the snow.
“Meadow?” she asked. She rubbed her eyes.
The stallion stood not far from her, his black hair covered by a white coat that shimmered in the dancing celestial light.
“In the flesh,” Meadow replied.
As the dropped photograph floated up again, Carol turned the other way. “I do what I want. Leave me alone.”
Meadow took a step forward. Carol stepped farther.
“No,” Meadow said. “Don’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll regret it.”
Carol gaped. “Is that a threat?”
Meadow stepped up to her, and before she could react, he grabbed her weak leg.
“What are you doing? Let go.”
“No.”
“Let go of me!” she screamed. She tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the more her leg hurt. “Let go. Let me go!”
With his other hoof, Meadow reached into his coat. After some searching – slowed by Carol’s fighting – he pulled out a photograph of his own.
Carol froze. Meadow let her leg loose.
In the photograph, a young stallion and mare shared their first kiss, entirely oblivious to the pegasus taking their picture. “I regretted it too,” Meadow said.
“What do you mean, you regretted it? Regretted what?” Carol took a closer look at his picture. Only now did she see. Down through the middle, where their lips met and he held her hoof, the picture had been torn in two. Now it was held together by transparent – and incredibly visible – tape. How could she miss that?
Carol didn’t know how Meadow got here, or what he hoped to accomplish. She didn’t care.
“Well, guess what,” she said. “I won’t.”
She turned her back to him, and her photo floated closer to her.
The insult! How dare he! What does he think?!
But she would show him. She would.
A flash of light blinded her for a moment.
The picture was still not torn.
Meadow stepped up beside Carol, and reached for her frail leg again, gently this time. He wasn’t looking in her eyes; his gaze was on her leg. Carol most definitely did not notice that detail.
Meadow rubbed the base of her hoof, massaging it where it hurt the most.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Carol looked at him. His gaze was still cast down.
“You’re… sorry.”
“I am sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“You ruined my life.”
Meadow looked up at her. Then down again.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I really am.”
At an incautious moment, Meadow’s shaking hoof pressed a little harder than it should have. Carol hissed in pain.
“All these years,” she said, “and you still can’t do it right.”
“All these years…” Meadow sighed. “Look at our hooves. We have old pony hooves.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I was young and stupid, Carol. I can’t change what I did. I wish I’d known better.”
“Meadow…”
The stallion look up at her.
“Don’t you live in Cloudsdale?” Carol asked.
“I do.”
“So why are you here?”
Meadow shook his head lightly. “I had the strangest dream last night.”
Meadow let Carol’s hoof down again, reaching for the photograph floating beside her. She had completely forgotten about it. He plucked it from the air before tucking it into Carol’s inner pocket. Then he allowed himself a careful smile.
“Oh, Meadow.” As Carol’s tears began rolling down her cheeks, she extended her hooves to embrace the stallion. “Meadow, Meadow, why do you do this to me?”
Meadow put his hooves on her back. “Guess I’m still a little stupid.”
Carol managed to blink her tears away for a moment. Over Meadow’s shoulder, she could look up at the sky; there was the full Moon again, like an old friend winking cheekily back at her.
So it was that fair Carol and Shallow Meadow rekindled their spark of friendship.
And friends they stayed to the very end.
❄
