Lover of the Light
Just a few miles outside Canterlot, a young colt smiled daintily to himself as he held the book high over head. His quick eyes scanned over the honeyed words of Honest Flemingway and his new tale, The Old Stallion and the Sea. In the opinion of the youth, the tale was one of pregnant boredom. Well, most youth; Cris was the exception. With bated breath the young colt flipped through the pages. Wide-eyed and attentive, he read the final paragraph.
Up the road, in his shack, the old stallion slept again. His mind was empty, as for sleep was still on his face. The colt sat beside him, watching him. The old stallion dreamt of lions.
He snapped the book shut with his magic. Smiling and holding the book close to his pre-adolescent chest, loving everyone of its nuances. His mind was now full of new style of writing. One that he surely add to his own. A voice chimed out from behind him. “Cris! Honey! You're father is home!” Cris jumped up from his spot near the cliff, and raced towards his house. I hope it came! He set hoof on the patio of his home, where his father and mother sat both with wry grins. His eyes turned to pinpricks at the realization.
He giggled loudly out excitement. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks! His father's horn flared, retrieving the scroll from his satchel. Promptly passing it off. Cris hastily undid the seal, his eager eyes were finally able to gaze upon what he knew to be a glorious acceptance. No different from the others he had received prior. The smile of his face continued for a few more seconds. Then disappeared. All breath quickly left his moist lungs as his eyes glazed over staring at the letter. He read it over and over.
He didn't understand! What was wrong with it? Why didn't they like it? It was no different from what he normally wrote. I'll write them back, He thought. I'll get them to elaborate. Yeah, perhaps an explanation with shed some light on the debacle running its way through his head. Cris sat the parchment down beside him. Turning his back to his parents, and set his, now adherent, gaze upon the distant mountains that sat south of, the near, Canterlot.
He huffed to himself, dismal feelings now weighed upon his young heart. The merciless moon now arise, nothing left he's come to realize. Only the desolation he feels, the cold distance inside. Cris stood from his lamenting position, and moved towards the forest. Muttering in a low voice that he was taking a walk. The sound of heavy sighs, mixed with the rush of wind was the music of a wayward soul.
The light above was milky white, gleaming through the fluorescent leaves of the trees. His mind wasn't as quite as it usually was. His thoughts were now lost within the babel of his own head.
Am really going to let this one loss define me?
No! But...
But what?
It's just... How am I to the find strength to continue? I love this more than anything. How am I ever to get invite to Budapest to mingle with the most prominent of the Equestrian Authors?
Get back on the damn horse!
Easy for you to say... That letter crushed my spirit. I'll regain strength soon. I hope... His mind went eerily quiet. Young hooves brushed through the old grass of the forest as he brought a hoof to rub the sleep from his eyes. Soon within the beneath the pearl light of moon, a blackened figure lay strewn about the ground. Cris approached, mind filled with youthful ignorance as he notice the pony-esque figure outlined by shadow. He tapped whatever it was with his hoof. A hard knocking sound echoed out into the world.
Which greatly puzzled the young colt. With raised eyebrow, he examined all else. Only to be startled by the consequences of his actions. The figure jumped up quickly, successfully knocking, said colt, onto his rear end. Its horn was instantly aglow with a sickly green aura, shrouded with malice. The young colt cowered for a second. His fore-hooves relinquished his eyes from their cover and stared at the being with wonder. In between the moments of silence and heavy breathing, the being finally spoke up.
“Who art thou?” It asked, in a tri-tone voice. It was definitely female. Which came as a definite surprise. Cris stared up at the being, his eyes were set upon the translucent waving hair, and wings that stood erect, just in case of need.
“My apologies,” Cris choked out. “My name is Crimson Link, milady.”
She seemed rather odd. Mostly due to that fact that it seemed her fur was some sort of artificial chitin. “What is it thine desires?”
“I desire nothing, milady.” He said, continuing to stare.
She seemed rather unconvinced. “Then what? Why hast thou disturbed my slumber?”
“I thought you were dead. And why is that thou art sleeping in field?” The weird pony's eyes widened quickly. Her eyes glanced from left to right as the removed a transparent lock of wisp-like mane from her face.
“Thou can understand me? And speak as I do?” She asked.
“Aye.” He responded, this time more relaxed. “As one of humble birth and as a stallion of letters, I believe tis my duty to familiarize myself with all manners of speech. Archaic, definitely. How else am I to understand the words of Shakespeare?”
“We were wondering, why is one such as thou wandering the deep wood beneath the light of Luna's moon?” The creature asked. “Surely Celestia's son would be well looked after.”
“Celestia's son?” Cris raised his eyebrow high. “And who would that be?”
The mare felt it necessary to facehoof, but with held such an action. “Why you, young colt.” The creature hissed. “Surely thou knows of thine mother.”
“Celestia's not my mother. I've never even met the mare.”
“Truly?”
“Truly, I live not far behind me. I am here to tame the ghosts in my head, they run wild and wish me dead. Shake my ash to the wind, lady forget all my sins. Or let me die where I lie, 'neath the light of Luna's night.”
“Thou speaks with such poetry. Thou truly must be a stallion of the pen.” She said, her gaze wandering to the arid surroundings for a bit. “Tell us, young one, how many winters art thou?”
“Twelve.”
“Thou art young for an alicorn.” He gazed back at his wings. He sent them aflutter, and looked down dismally. “Can thou fly, young one?”
He shook his head. “Why not?”
“Both my parents are unicorns. They're afraid of letting other ponies know I'm an alicorn, so they have never looked for a flight instructor.” Cris sighed. “You know how political everything is, and I don't want to end up one of the princesses suitors. I just want to make my spread as writer. No servants, no lavish lifestyle, just me, my thoughts, and my fountain pen.”
“Fountain pen?” She questioned.
“Oh, it's these awesome new things the neighponese make! You see, ink is stored within a plastic cylinder and the tip is made of gold. You press the ink cartridge into the pen's well, by the influence of gravity, when pressure is applied to write the ink leaks out and streaks the paper.” Cris explained.
Though despite his best attempts to make her understand the creature blinked her demon-like eyes and shook her head. The night's wind swooned around them, and Cris smiled as the cool autumn winds brushed through his blue and red mane. “Can you fly, milady?”
“We can. Why dost thou ask?”
Cris hesitated a bit. “Could you teach me?”
The creature tapped her hard hoof against her chin. “What will thee offer us in return?”
“What do you want?”
“Well, We would greatly appreciate if thou would allow us to sample thine oeuvre.”
Oeuvre... Oeuvre... Oeuvre... Oeuvre... Oh right, prench for work. “Verily, milady, I'll bring my opus tomorrow.”
“We shall see thou anon, yes?” She asked.
“Aye.” Cris responded as he went to leave. But he stopped suddenly.
“Why dost thou hesitate?” The creature behind him asked. Cris turned back to face her, an expression of nervousness had taken over his visage that was once calm.
“If you don't mind me asking, milady.” He sighed aloud. “What is your name?”
The wind blew quick. It's howl came and went as the creature spoke its name. “We, young colt, are Chrysalis. Queen of the changelings.”
xxxxxx
Cris emerged from the top stairs of his house for breakfast. The young colt carried his satchel filled with scrolls upon scrolls of things he had written. He sat them down gently near his seat at the table. His father was nose deep in todays newspaper, and his mother tended to the eggs frying in the skillet. He levitated out something of his own: an empty scroll he had yet to mark, and his fountain pen. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, as he began to work.
xxxxxx
“Alright, so,” Chrysalis spoke. “What thou wants to do is ready thine wings.” Cris flared the appendages. “Now flap!” He did so. He put massive strain on the un-used muscles. The young colt huffed and puffed as he managed to get lift. Smiling in victory, and with raised hooves, the young colt came, comically, back down to earth. Cris grumbled and sighed in defeat. Looking daintily toward his instructor. Though he did not meet her gaze, for she was invested heavily within one of his scrolls.
“Which one are you reading?” He asked.
“Um...” She stopped, eyes squinted searching for the title. “Theres no title, but its about the traveler whom won't accept love for himself.”
“Ah, you're reading Babel then.”
“We must say for someone as young as you, the talent you possess is unfathomable.” Chrysalis said. “Then again, your lack of showing is a bit of a nuisance. The over all wording is great to an extent, you may want to sharpen that pen of yours a bit more.”
“Well thank you!” Cris chimed. “I'll take that into consideration.” Chrysalis looked up from the scroll. There eyes met, and then she, rather abruptly tore away from his gaze as she noticed the appalling state of his wings.
“My word, colt.” She sat, calling him, over with her hoof.
“Yes?” He asked. Chrysalis still said nothing, she merely patted the ground beside her in silence. Cris wondered to himself what she could possible want. He now rested beside the changeling queen. The young colt looked up at the regal bug. As she smiled with both her mouth and cat-slit irises. With her magic, she extend his wings to their full, unrestricted length. And then she did something Cris had not expected. Chrysalis ran her pointed teeth across the disheveled and bent plumage. The action alone shocked Cris. She was, now, preening him. And its not like he knew how to preen himself, so better her that nopony.
“Other wing,” she cooed. Though later sighed in annoyance at his constant fumbling. After about half an hour later she was done. The young colt's face was flushed with blood, to point of which you could see it beneath his coat.
“I-I need to g-go.” He stuttered, politely standing from his position. “Bring back my opus when your done.” Cris said quickly darting off towards his home.
xxxxxx
Dammit. Cris thought to himself. Because of my own haste, I left my pen with Chysalis. Sighing in defeat, he levitated one of his old quills from his desk drawer. By candlelight, the colt sat as his desk. Gazing out, his eyes laying upon the night sky, as he unstoppered a bottled of ink. He gingerly cast the tip down into the blackened well and then withdrew. The sound of unrelenting tapping filled the room. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. The smell of ink wafted towards his nose as he left an ever deepening black dot on the page. His mind subconsciously wandered elsewhere.
“Ahem!” That caught his attention. Cris returned from the world of his own creation. Eyes flicking to the left. And his gaze was met with the gaze of another. A familiar face no less. “I've brought back your oeuvre.” She said quietly. “And your little pen, too.”
He graciously thanked her and retrieved his items. “We shall see thou anon for thine lesson, yes?”
“Aye, Chryssi.” He said jovially, watching as the mare flew off into the distance. Leaving Cris to his thoughts.
“And in the middle of the night as I watch you go... There is no value in the strength in the walls I have grown. There'd be no comfort in the shade of my shadowed...throne.” His eyes glinted at the words that had just left his lips, and proceeded to write them down. But as the meaning of the words were caged by the ink of his pen. He realized something. “Lover of the light, I'd be yours, if you'd be mine.”
He was in love.
