Setting the Rift

by Taialin

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Original Character, Octavia
Length: 7770

Octavia and Viola have been colleagues for years, and they've known each other for longer. But familiarity does not imply understanding. You can be friends with somepony all your life and not understand a thing they do . . .

Octavia and Viola have been colleagues for years, and they've known each other for longer. But familiarity does not breed understanding. Viola's stoicism and invariable impassivity are enigmas to everypony, including Octavia. Why doesn't she seem to care about anypony? And why is Octavia the exception?

Cover art by tiger51.

Published 2015-08-11 04:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-11 04:40:01 UTC

1. While Cool as the Rain

"What was that?" Octavia exclaimed to her friend while opening the door to their mutual apartment.

"What was what," her friend returned. Despite the question, she didn't quirk an eyebrow or cock her head or otherwise betray any signs that she was even vaguely interested. Rather, she entered the apartment without a further word, a carefully crafted neutral expression on her face.

Octavia stifled a huff and entered the apartment behind her friend. Once inside, she began to drop her load, grunting with exertion: cello, saddlebags, and music binder. "You know what I'm talking about, Viola. That man, Midnight Melody. How could you simply brush him off like that?"

Viola, too, dropped her burden, though she curiously had two viola cases strapped to her back, rather than the one she normally traveled with. "I don't know what you mean, Octavia. He was a suitor. There are hundreds like him."

Now free of her heavy baggage, Octavia collapsed onto a nearby chaise lounge, failing to stifle a groan. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the soreness that came with lugging a cello around all day long. "There are not hundreds like him, and you should know that," she said, exasperated. "How many stallions do you know would gift a Stradivarius from his collection as a gesture of appreciation?" She gestured to the extra viola case Viola had propped up against a wall.

Viola glanced over at the case, but only for a second. When she returned her gaze to Octavia, she did not look impressed. Then again, she never quite looked impressed. "We are taught to be cautious in picking our suitors, for fear that they have alternate intentions," Viola said levelly, turning to the kitchen to set up a pot of tea.

"Yes, we should be cautious, but do you really think that Midnight had any malicious alternate intentions with you?" Octavia said. "He said he appreciated what you do, and that you do it better than he ever did. He's a former member of our orchestra, Canterlot Philharmonic, but he quit and moved to Fillydelphia because he lost his passion for music. And you inspired him to start playing again. If that isn't genuine, I don't know what is."

Octavia slouched back in her chair and sighed, bringing a hoof up to a shoulder in an attempt to ease the tension in it. "I just don't understand why, Viola. He was courteous, kind, respectful, and generous. He practically pushed that viola into your hooves when you refused at first. You must agree that he was all those things, right?"

"Yes."

Octavia blinked. " . . . Yes? That's it?" she cried, throwing her hooves up into the air. "Then you must agree that he deserved a chance, or a lunch, or a more open-ended response, at the very least. Not something like . . ." Octavia straightened up in her chair, chin high, and donned an utterly neutral and proper expression, the same that Octavia adopted when facing more obvious sycophants, and the same that Viola had on all the time. "Thank you for the gift, sir, and thank you for your patronage and support of the CPO. We hope to see you in the future."

Viola looked at Octavia making a caricature of herself impassively and merely returned her attention to her tea when she was finished. "Perhaps. And perhaps I should search him out and offer him out to lunch," she said.

Octavia dropped her imitation and studied Viola more closely. Cocking her head to the side, she said with a skeptical look, "You don't really plan to do that, do you?"

"Not really."

Octavia sighed again, rubbing her temples. "At least bring me a cup of tea."

"Of course."

Octavia slouched back in her chair again, splaying out her limbs haphazardly against the ample cushions. It had always been like this, really. For as long as she had known Viola, she had always been something of an enigma, showing little to no emotion, no matter the circumstance, no matter the pony. She was always—and had always been—infuriatingly indifferent.

Octavia's colleagues in the orchestra asked her questions as well, and every time they asked, she could answer with nothing but a "yes, she's always been this way. Don't ask me why; I don't know, either." She still didn't know why Viola seemed to get along with her but didn't choose to associate with anyone else.

"Remember back in high school, when there was that classmate of ours you were giving math lessons to?" Octavia said, half to herself, half to her friend. "He tried to speak with us a few days out of every week, sitting at our table rather frequently. By the end of the year, he and I had become good acquaintances; we still speak occasionally. But if you talked to him now, I wouldn't be able to tell if it was the first or the hundredth time it happened."

"I was his tutor, not his aunt."

"That doesn't mean you needed to be so cold and brusque every time you met him." Octavia shook her head, irritated. "You know, I don't even remember the last time I saw you smile."

Viola looked back at her from the kitchen. She pointed a hoof at a picture on the wall. Octavia followed the hoof and saw a group picture of their entire orchestra, taken at their last holiday concert. Viola was a few rows back in the picture, but indeed, the corners of her mouth were curled upwards.

Octavia looked back to Viola. "You know as well as I do that you weren't smiling in that picture. No one was. We had just finished our longest concert of the year, and everypony wanted to go home. Including us."

Viola only stared at Octavia for a moment more before returning her attention to the tea she was preparing. "Does it matter that I prefer not to smile as much as our peers," she said. Her intonation suggested it was a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, it does," Octavia insisted. "Not just because you don't smile, but because I've never seen you moved by anything. You're never happy, or sad, or angry, or irritated. Just . . ." She gestured helplessly to Viola and her perpetually impassive expression. ". . . that. You can't keep bottling things up like that. It's not healthy."

Viola did not answer. Instead, she silently finished steeping the tea and brought out a kettle from the kitchen to the living room on a tray. She poured two portions of tea into two cups, but instead of immediately drinking her own, left it on a table in the center of the room and moved behind Octavia's chair instead. There, she placed her hooves on Octavia's shoulders and began massaging them gently, working out the tension caught in them far more effectively than Octavia herself could.

Octavia failed to stop a groan of relief from escaping her throat; it felt good to be pampered, at least a little, after a long day. Nevertheless, she also knew that Viola's day had been just as long as hers. She said, "Thank you, but you don't have to massage me. I'm fine."

"You're first cello of the orchestra. I don't want you getting hurt carrying yours around."

Octavia shook her head. "You know I've been doing this for years, and I've carried my cello for longer than today without injury. I'm just feeling a bit sore right now, nothing more. I'll be fine," she reasserted.

"We have that concert this weekend, and you need to be in top form. Soreness will inhibit your ability."

Octavia opened her mouth but closed it a moment later, instead leaning back in her chair and letting Viola knead her muscles without protest. It was yet another one of her friend's facets that was difficult to comprehend: while she was cold in words, even with her, she was warm in action and spirit. Viola was always looking after her well-being like a big sister. A quiet, confusing, refuses-to-acknowledge-herself-as-anything-of-the-sort kind of big sister.

For the umpteenth time, Octavia sighed. "What is it about me that you would be my friend but no one else's?"

"I'm not your friend."

Octavia rolled her eyes. "Fine, my 'not-friend,' then answer me this: who else would massage another's shoulders when they're a little sore, or buy her a new endpin when hers snapped off, or be the first to volunteer to cover her when she breaks her hoof and insist that she stay home and rest?"

There was a long pause before Viola responded. "I don't know. A concerned colleague? Someone looking out for the greater good of the orchestra? Anyone who had an interest in keeping you performing would do those things."

Octavia turned back and looked at Viola's face. Once again, it was impassive, as if the only thing she had said was "yes, I would like a cheese sandwich for lunch." She shook her head and pushed Viola's hooves off her shoulders. "You are just . . . incomprehensible sometimes, do you know that?" she groused.

Seemingly ignoring her, Viola stopped her massage and returned to the tea tray, retrieving her cup and taking a sip from it. Shaking her head, Octavia heaved herself from her chair and took hold of her own cup. She sat down in front of the table and slowly nursed her tea.

Several minutes passed, neither of them speaking. While they drank, Octavia started to silently muse on her "friend." At least, "friend" in the sense that she believed it was so, even if her "friend" seemed adamant in not using that term to describe her or anyone else. Octavia would use the word "friend" to describe Viola, though she'd also use the words "confusing," "unemotional," and almost contradictorily, "compassionate."

Viola had a very strange, dichotomous way of showing that she cared for Octavia. She would buy her gifts or do her favors, but always under the guise that it was for business purposes. For as long as she had done that, Octavia still couldn't tell if she was just making excuses to her or if she actually believed them herself.

Octavia's memory of her foalhood was foggy, but as far back as she could remember, she had always known Viola, and she had always been confused by her. It was impossible to explain their relationship to others, given that Octavia couldn't really explain it herself. So unexplainable that Octavia often introduced themselves to others as nothing more than roommates—it was just easier that way.

Octavia sipped her tea. It was still steaming, but she didn't think it was overly hot. Regardless, Viola probably wouldn't have reacted even if the tea were boiling straight from the kettle. Pain was an emotion, after all.

"Goodness me. Your parents must have had a wonderful time raising you," Octavia mumbled her thoughts aloud. "You probably never cried, or laughed, or anything."

Octavia took another sip and glanced up from her cup. Viola was looking down at her own tea, eyes averted, her lip pulled downward a little.

Octavia blinked a few times and slowly put her teacup back on the table. It was something that few other ponies would notice and nopony would comment on. But Octavia had known Viola for years, and she knew what was and wasn't uncommon for her. Viola never frowned.

Perhaps she had struck a nerve? She didn't even know that Viola had any. For any other pony, Octavia would have stopped before upsetting them further, but in this case, she was, in a perverse way, glad that she managed to eke out some emotion from her friend, no matter how slight and negative. Maybe it was time to dig a little deeper.

Octavia spoke up, this time making sure that Viola could hear. "No crying, but no giggling or laughing or any love of the sort? How would they have treated you, caring for what seems like somepony else's foal?"

She felt awful, throwing around vitriol and thinly-veiled attacks as she was. She didn't want to upset her friend, she really didn't. But "upset" was an emotion. And judging by her friend's lips that had curled down further, she was feeling it. "Feeling" and "Viola" were mutually exclusive concepts that only seemed to join very rarely, and Octavia wanted to know why.

"I mean, you never call me 'friend,' and I'm your friend! They're your parents! If you're so cold to me, I can't imagine how cold you were to them. Did you even care for them at all?"

Viola brow furrowed downwards visibly, and she intensified her gaze on her teacup. She squared her jaw like she was clenching her teeth together.

Octavia pressed harder still. "No, I'm sure you didn't. How could you? You don't care for anyone, least of all me, or Midnight Melody, or anyone else. Especially not your pa—"

A sharp bang stopped Octavia's words. At her own hooves was a teacup knocked over, leaking its contents on the table. At Viola's was a teacup slammed down, clenched tightly by a hoof now stained by tea. Octavia looked up and saw a pony she had never seen before, one she'd much rather back away from than call a friend. Her breath caught in her throat.

Viola's brow was angled into an sharp "V," and her eyes were narrowed dangerously. They glinted with something Octavia never saw before, and something she never wanted to see again: an anger so deep-set and immense that Octavia, for the first time, felt scared of Viola. Her nostrils were dilated and her teeth clenched and bared, audible breaths coming from between them. "Don’t. Bring them up again," she growled.

Almost unconsciously, Octavia got to her feet and backed away from the table a few lengths. "V-Viola?" she squeaked, her voice choked with fear.

Viola's glare softened, and a dozen different looks flashed through her eyes at once. She closed her eyes for several seconds. Her mouth closed and she leaned back as her body language cooled. When she opened her eyes, they were back to their usual impassivity, but they were pointed off to the side, away from Octavia. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Slowly, cautiously, Octavia shuffled back up to the table with the pony she knew she didn't know. "It's . . . alright?" she said. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn that there was a bit of regret in Viola's eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"No, no, it was my fault," Octavia said. "I shouldn't have needled you on like that, and I really didn't mean any of those things I said."

"No. I shouldn't. Have done that," Viola insisted in a way that bespoke of far more than her words suggested.

Octavia opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when she realized she didn't know what she could say. Viola had always been incomprehensible, but this episode of hers only proved to her how much she didn't know about her.

Once again, the silence stretched on, this one far more uncomfortable.

". . . Fine. Do you want to know why I don't care?" Viola said. Her eyes were pointed to Octavia's again, and they betrayed nothing of the acid she had for her only minutes before.

Octavia was going to respond with a "no." She didn't want to put Viola through any more distress than she already had. But this was her chance to finally understand. Octavia had broken through the impenetrable walls, and now Viola was offering her heart to her while the wound was still open. She wasn't sure how far she made it in, but it would be folly not to explore while she had the chance.

"Yes . . . but only if you're comfortable with it," Octavia replied carefully.

Viola glanced around the room, as if checking for bystanders, then sighed and gestured to the chair Octavia was sitting in earlier. "Have a seat. This will be a long story."

2. Spurning Her Love

"Happy birthday, Viola!"

"Thank you, Mother!" Viola cried, a big and toothy smile on her face. "This is the best birthday ever!"

"Of course, honey," Mother said, smiling like a big bowl of sunshine at her daughter. "Six years old! You're becoming a big girl now." She walked away for just a second. Then she came back with a weird shape wrapped in brown paper. "And now I think it's time for our big girl to—"

"Presents!" Viola cheered. She started hopping around the room, bubbling with want for whatever was hiding in that package.

Mother giggled and put the present down on the floor. Viola didn't ask permission. She rushed up to the package and tore off the wrapping. After that was gone, she saw a black case with the same shape that Mother had in her room, just smaller. "You got me a one just like yours?" Viola said, eyes glittering.

Mother said, "I think you're old enough to have your own, don't you?" She took off the latches on the front of the case and opened it. A brown violin was inside.

"Wow . . ." Viola looked at the instrument with wide eyes. Mother had been teaching her how to play the violin for a little while, but it was always on the scratched-up too-big trainer she had in the basement that sounded bad and always went out-of-tune. This one was smaller, had shiny pegs, and looked brand new. "Is this mine?" she asked, never taking her eyes off the shiny violin.

"It's yours. You're an Amati, Viola, and I think it's time that you owned a stake in the craft that our family has nurtured for generations."

"Ooh . . ." Viola leaned a little closer, seeing herself in the shiny wood. She didn't know what "nurtured" meant, but what Mother probably said was that she could play her new and shiny violin all day long. Looking away from the violin for just a second, she went up to Mother and hugged her leg. "Thank you, Mother. You're the best mom in the world."

Mother leaned down and hugged Viola back with her other leg, pushing Viola's face into her breast. "Of course. Anything for my little songbird."

"I want to be like you and Father when I grow up," Viola said into Mother's fur.

Mother's hooves hugged a little tighter. "Yes. Yes, of course. You will become a wonderful musician someday."

"Guess what I got for my birthday last week?" Viola asked her friend.

Octavia didn't say anything, but she made a few sounds that weren't words. Viola was one of the biggest foals in the weekend daycare, but Octavia was still little. She didn't go to kindergarten and she didn't know how to talk in big girl sentences yet. But it kind of sounded like she was curious.

"I got a violin! A new one, and it's all shiny and sounds so pretty!" Viola answered with a grin she couldn't wipe off her face. "I wanted to play it today and show it to everyone, but Mother wouldn't let me bring it. She said I might break it, but I won't break it!"

Octavia bubbled a few more sounds before wandering off to the blocks. She went there lots of the time, even though there was drawing, and xylophones, and lots of other things to play with. But Viola followed after her friend to the building blocks.

There were lots of other foals around in the daycare, but Viola liked Octavia the most. Mother and Father didn't want a babysitter, so Viola went to the daycare. The first day Viola came, she didn't know any of the other foals and didn't really want to play with them. She started practicing (why did all the teachers call it banging?) on the xylophones by herself. But then Octavia went up to her and started practicing on the xylophones, too! And she was really good at it!

The other foals were nice, too, but Octavia was the nicest. She didn't try to push her off the xylophones like the other foals sometimes did. They just practiced together!

Viola followed Octavia to the blocks, where she started trying to stack them. Octavia couldn't stack them very high yet, but she was getting better. Viola picked up her own blocks and helped her with the tower. She kept talking about her new instrument.

"The violin is so shiny and it sounds so good. It's just the right size, too! The practice one is a little too big, and Mother's violin is even bigger. I played on it all night yesterday until Mother told me to stop and go to bed."

"Daddy?" Octavia asked. It was one of the words she knew how to say, and she said it a lot.

Viola screwed her face up in thought. "Oh. Father wasn't home that day. He said he was busy and wouldn't be back until tomorrow. He's really busy. He doesn't pick me up from school because he's too busy. He comes home late. Father used to bring me here on the weekends, but then he got busy, so Mother brings me here, instead. I don't know. Father has been really busy." She rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "I kind of miss him."

Octavia's mouth made the shape of an "o," and then she started building her tower again. It was almost as tall as her, now. She grabbed an orange block and tried to stand up on her hind hooves to put it on top, but she lost her balance and fell. Blocks went everywhere as she fell on the tower. She hit the ground with a loud thud.

Viola's eyes got big and scared. "Oh no!" She pushed the blocks that landed on Octavia off and looked at her friend's face. Her eyes were big and scared, too, but they also looked a little bit wet. Then they closed up tight, and Octavia started to cry.

Now even more scared, Viola got up and ran to the nearest adult. "Mrs. Dandelion, please help! I think Octavia is hurt!"

Mrs. Dandelion got up and quickly walked over to Octavia. She crouched down and looked at her to make sure she wasn't hurt too bad. Then she picked her up and started rocking her.

Viola kept staring at Octavia, still worried. "We were playing blocks, and she fell and started crying."

Mrs. Dandelion rubbed at some spots on Octavia, probably where it hurt the most. "I know, Viola. I saw what happened. I think she just took a little bump in the rump. Give her ten minutes, and she'll feel better, okay? Then you can go play again!" She smiled at Viola, which made her feel a little bit less scared.

It was nice that Mrs. Dandelion said Octavia would be better, but she was still a little worried. She didn't want to go back and play when her friend was still hurt. "Can I stay here and wait until she feels better?" she asked.

"Of course, Vio—"

Mrs. Dandelion was interrupted by the creak of the front door. Viola turned around to see who came in. It was Mother.

"Or, why don't you go home with your mom, and I'll make sure your playmate feels better, okay? She'll be right as rain when you see her again next week!" Mrs. Dandelion said with a smile.

"Oh. Okay . . ." Slowly, she walked to Mother. Before going out the door, she turned around and said, "Bye, Octavia." She was still sitting in Mrs. Dandelion's arms, but she was just sniffling now. Maybe she didn't hurt anymore and she was feeling better. That made Viola feel a little better, too. She turned around again and started the walk home with Mother.

"Are you alright? You look worried," Mother asked.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. "Octavia just got hurt today, but Mrs. Dandelion is taking care of her."

"Octavia is that little playmate of yours, right? I wouldn't worry about her. Karen Dandelion is a very good caretaker."

Viola nodded. A grown-up was taking care of Octavia, and Mother trusted Mrs. Dandelion. That meant that Octavia would be okay for sure. She nodded again and stopped looking at the ground, not dragging her hooves as much.

Mother smiled. "That's better! I hope you had fun with her."

A smile grew on Viola's face as she remembered. "Octavia is really fun to play with! We didn't practice the xylophones today, but we played blocks instead. And then we talked about my violin and—" Viola stopped as she remembered her other worry for the day. She slowed down a little again. "When is Father going to be back?" Viola asked.

"I'm sure he'll be home tomorrow, dear."

Viola frowned. "But you said that yesterday, and he isn't back yet!"

"Oh. Well, ah . . ." Mother didn't say anything for a long time. "Well, I'm extra sure today, Viola. I'm extra sure that Father will be home by the time you come back from school tomorrow!"

"Oh. Um, okay!" Viola's smile came back, and she started bouncing a little. Maybe Mother was wrong once, but she was extra sure this time. She wouldn't be wrong if she was extra sure.

Viola sat in her room, head down. Mother said she was throwing a temper tantrum, but she wasn't doing that! She was just in a bad mood. It was Monday night, and Father still wasn't home yet. Mother said she was super sure that he would be back home today, but he wasn't! Mother was here, instead!

"I'm extra super sure that Father will be here tomorrow."

Viola looked up at Mother, frowning. "But you said that yesterday, and yesterday-yesterday!"

"But I wasn't extra super sure, dear. This time I am extra super sure that Father will be back tomorrow, and he will be here, bright and early, to make you breakfast."

Viola snorted and looked back to the ground. Viola loved Mother, but how sure did she need to be before Father would come back? It didn't seem like "super sure" was really that "super sure." She was smart enough to know that "extra super sure" wasn't that much more sure than "super sure."

"But why is he so busy that he can't come home? I want to see Father again! I want to see him now!" Viola stomped her hoof on the ground, mad.

"Don't stomp, or you'll put holes in the floor. I'm sure that Father is simply caught up with a few projects at work that he has to work on. He'll be back home when he finishes everything up, okay?"

Viola shook her head. "But why isn't he back yet? He's never gone for this long!" She crossed her hooves in front of her and pouted.

"I . . ." Mother bit her lip, and she didn't say anything for a long time again. She did that a lot, now. "Your father is simply out relaxing with his friends, and he wanted to stay with one of them for the night. That's why he hasn't been back, dear. He will be back soon. I'm sure of it."

Viola was still frowning. "Do you promise?" Maybe her Mother wasn't that sure about some things, but nopony broke a promise. If Mother promised that Father would be back, he would be back.

Mother nodded. "Yes, I promise that Father will be back soon. He'll probably come back late tonight, when you're sleeping. So why don't you go on to bed, now, and Father will be here to make breakfast for you when you wake up?"

Viola kept pouting for a little bit, but then she bounced up and grinned again. "Okay!" Mother promised, so she really couldn't be wrong this time. Nopony breaks a promise, especially not Mother! "But can I still practice my violin?" she asked.

"Of course you can, but don't stay up too late. You have school tomorrow, and you need to be ready for it." Mother got up and closed the door to her bedroom. "Goodnight, Viola. I love you."

"I love you, Mother," Viola said back. Then when she heard Mother's hoofsteps go away, she got out her violin and bow from its case, sat on the bed, and started playing some Paganini. She fibbed a little when she said she wanted to practice. She did want to practice a little bit, but she really just wanted to stay up late. She was tired, but she wanted to keep playing until she could see Father come back home.

Viola woke up slowly. She was curled up on her bed like a snail, and her violin was on the bed next to her. She might have been a little too tired to stay up late, after all. The sun was bright and shining through her window. She might be a little late for school now. But that didn't matter now because Father was back home!

Viola hopped off her bed and walked around the house, not brushing her teeth or her mane or anything. Mother probably wouldn't be very happy, but she really wanted to see Father first. She looked in the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom, the basement, but she didn't find Father anywhere.

Frowning, Viola walked to Father's room. If he wasn't anywhere else, he must be there. She was a little mad that Mother fibbed when she said father would make breakfast. He made great pancakes, but he wasn't in the kitchen. Nopony was there. So Viola went to Father's room instead, and pushed open the door.

Nothing but an empty bed.

Viola's eyes got big but not scared. They were surprised, and really sad, but really really mad. Mother promised that Father would be back today! She promised! She stormed off to Mother's room to tell her she broke a promise. If Mother told her that she could never break one, why could she do it herself?

What she saw made her forget about all everything she planned to do.

Mother's room was a mess. She was normally really organized, but right now, things were everywhere. Some pictures were missing from the walls. There was even some broken glass in the corner of the room, which Viola was extra careful not to step on. The blankets on the bed were thrown off. The only thing on it was Mother, curled up like a snail.

But why was she crying?

"Mother!" Viola screamed. She ran up to Mother and climbed on to the bed, getting right next to her. "What's wrong?" Viola was scared again. Mother never cried. Crying wasn't a grown-up thing to do. But Mother didn't say anything. She just opened her eyes and saw Viola. Then she closed her eyes again and curled up tighter.

"Mommy!!" Viola cried, trying to hug her with her small hooves. She wanted to know why Mother was crying. But she really wanted Mother to stop crying. Viola didn't have anything to be sad about, but she started crying too because Mother was crying. Why was she crying? She wished Father was here. He would help.

Over on the side of the bed, Viola saw a crumpled newspaper. Newspapers were too hard for her to read. But Viola looked at it closer because the picture on it didn't look right. It was a picture of two ponies, one who looked almost exactly like Father. It didn't look right because the other pony wasn't Mother. It was a mare she didn't know.

She didn't think long about the picture. Mother started crying harder, and Viola started hugging harder, hoping it would help. Viola was confused, mad, and sad at the same time. But she would be better if Mother just stopped crying.

Viola was still sad and mad, but only a little. She was really confused. She didn't go to school the day Mother cried, but she went the day after. Mother took her to school. She talked to the teacher a little bit, and the teacher didn't ask her why she didn't come in yesterday. But Mother was still quiet and didn't talk to her at all on the way back.

Then yesterday night, she was home alone. Viola was never home alone before, but Mother said she would be out for just a few hours. She was a big enough girl to stay home and be safe, she said. Viola just practiced on her violin a little until Mother came back home.

Mother did come back a little after the sun went down, but she smelled a little funny and acted weird. She walked wobbly, too. Viola couldn't even talk to Mother or ask her if she found Father or where he was. She just went straight to bed.

Now, it was morning again. Viola woke up early, but not that early. She wasn't late for school yet, but she would be if Mother didn't make breakfast and bring her to school soon. She walked to Mother's room to see if she was awake. She wasn't yet, so she pushed her side a little to try and wake her up.

"Mother?" Viola said. Mother groaned and rolled over. She tried again from the other side, pushing a little harder. "I need to go to school."

Mother groaned again and opened her eyes. They looked a little bit mad. But she needed to go to school every day. Why would she be mad? She groaned again, louder. Then she rolled off the bed and stood up.

Mother didn't look so good. Her mane was messy. She looked like she got no sleep even though she did. And she still looked mad.

"Mother? Are you sick?" Viola asked, worried.

Mother didn't say anything and just walked out of her room. Really slow. She didn't go to the bathroom or the kitchen. She just went straight to the front door. "Well? You need to go to school, so let's go to school," she said. Her voice was really low and quiet, and not happy.

"But . . . but I didn't eat breakfast yet. And everypony needs to start the day with breakfast." That was what Mother said about breakfast one time before. Why wasn't she listening to herself?

Mother groaned again, then walked to the kitchen. Really slow. Then she started making some food for both of them. Really slow again.

Viola stopped. What happened to Mother? She was always so nice, but then that newspaper happened. Then Mother wasn't as nice anymore. She didn't talk as much, and she slept more. She even forgot to say "good night" last night! Viola decided that she didn't like newspapers.

"Um . . . if Father was here, he could make his pancakes and take me to school. And then you could sleep more," Viola said, trying to be helpful.

It didn't really work, because Mother seemed to get even more mad. She was just getting a pan out, but then she stopped. She grumbled, "If Father was here. Ha. Perhaps you could just stop talking about your Father for one second?"

Viola's eyes got big again, but she wasn't scared or surprised. She was just confused again. "Why-why should we stop talking about Father? I love him, and I want him to come back! He's been gone for so long, and his room is empty all the time. I miss him!"

Mother snorted. Viola stepped back a little. Mother never snorted like that. "You miss him, perhaps. I say good riddance with him. He's not welcome in my home anymore."

"Mother!" Viola cried. Now she was just being mean, and Viola knew that it wasn't a good thing to be mean. Mother told her that! "But Father is family, and we should want him back! I want him back! Where did he go?"

"Urgh . . ." Mother stopped cooking again and put a hoof on her face. "Could you please stop talking?"

Viola stepped back again. This wasn't like Mother at all! It was like she was a different pony, now! "Mommy! Why are you so different today?" She went up to Mother and started pulling on her hoof. "Mother, what's wrong? Why don't you want Father—"

It only took a half-second for Viola to forget everything she planned to say. Quicker than she could react, Mother spun around and struck Viola with the back of her hoof. The half-second after that, Viola was collapsed on the ground, dazed. It only took two more half-seconds for her to realize what just happened.

Viola looked up at her mother. She was staring at her hoof, eyes big and wide, but that didn't matter. She was a different pony, and she didn't like that pony at all. She curled up into a little ball and started crying.

Hooves came from both sides to hug her tightly, but she didn't know whose they were. She kept crying for what she lost, and what she didn't understand. She loved her father, but after almost a week missing, she didn't know what to feel. If he was gone for so long, and he could spend time with another pony she didn't know, did her father love her anymore?

Her mother, too. She loved her mother and trusted her, but no mother would hit their daughter. She didn't know why her mother hit her, and she didn't know why she changed. But she did. Viola didn't know if the old Mother would ever come back. But now that she saw this mean mother, Viola didn't know if she could trust either one again.

So Viola cried alone in her ball. A foal who just had her world fall apart around her and was trying to make sense of what remained.

3. And Feeling No Pain

"Things changed after that," Viola said emotionlessly. "My father never returned, as you may have guessed. He's probably still off cavorting with whoever caught his fancy. My mother tried to reconcile with me, I guess, but she was always bitter about how my father left. She was never the same. And I could never trust her again as I did in my naïve days." The words she spoke were weighty, but she seemed to speak them as if they had as little consequence as the weather.

Octavia wasn't as lucky. She was weeping for her friend's plight openly. It was a broken and horrible upbringing Viola had, fraught with lies and broken trust, especially compared to her own childhood. Viola had brought over a box of tissues when she noticed she was tearing up, and Octavia was making judicious use of them. "Oh, my goddesses, Viola," Octavia whispered, "I had no idea."

Viola continued. "Once I grew older and figured out what just happened, I escaped the house as quickly as I could and found refuge in a youth shelter. I completed my elementary education and found a job in the CPO." She stopped there; they both knew the rest of the story.

Octavia sniffled again. She did want to know why Viola was so uptight and why she was the only one who had won her favor, but she didn't know that would entail digging up such painful memories for her. She didn't express hurt at the moment, but she hurt at one point, and Octavia couldn't accept that Viola didn't hurt from the scars. Her earlier reaction to bringing up her parents was evidence enough that that was the case. "I'm sorry for needling you on, and I'm so sorry for asking," Octavia said.

A mere shrug came from Viola. "It's fine. I'm over it now," she said.

"Yes, and perhaps too over it," Octavia said, wiping the last of her tears. "Am I right in saying that the reason you are so . . ." Octavia gestured to Viola and her no-longer-inscrutable-but-still-indescribable personality. ". . . that, is because you've been betrayed in the past, and you won't let anypony do that to you again?" She glanced over to the wall at the same orchestra group picture. "That's why you don't smile, or frown, or cry: you won't let anyone into your heart to get those emotions out," she mused.

Viola shrugged again, not showing any of the emotions Octavia just listed. Not that she expected that she would express them. "Maybe," she said. "It's better this way, anyways. Now, the only pony who can hurt me is myself, and I can trust myself, at the very least," she said.

Octavia sniffled once more and reached for her tissues. It was only two ponies that betrayed her trust, and her mother only for a moment. But they were her parents, some of the most important ponies in one's life, and at such a young age . . . it was a wonder that Viola could still function, let alone act as an older sister to her even before she remembered that was the case. But that brought to mind another question.

"Viola . . . do you not trust me?" Octavia asked.

Viola opened her mouth, but closed it again, not saying anything. She bit her lip.

Octavia pressed on, trying to convince her. "I don't remember much from my daycare days, but ever since I could remember, I always knew you were there for me in your own special way. You were like the older sister I never grew up with. Always distant, but always caring. And don't tell me that you don't care! I know you do!" She reached out a hoof to Viola, as if she could grab her weathered heart and let herself in.

"I-I . . ." Viola looked away. "I don't know."

It was a tiny chink in Viola's armor, but it was a chink all the same: she was unsure, pained, and for once, open, if just a little. Octavia knew this was her only chance. As possibly the only pony left that still had a stake in Viola's heart, she needed to show that she trusted her friend and wouldn't let her down. And that her friend could trust her in return. She wanted to show her friend the joys of life that for so long, she thought she couldn't have. Octavia was the only one who could do it. If she failed, Viola would be lost.

Octavia got up and drew closer to Viola. "I know your parents have made awful mistakes in the past, and I'm sorry for that. But you must know that not everypony is like that: not everypony will hurt you if you let them in." The tears rolling down Octavia's cheeks only showed how desperate she was to break through to Viola. "I know you can't say it, but I know you care for me. And I think, somewhere inside you, you trust me as well. In all the time we've known each other, have I ever done anything to make you think that you can't trust me?"

Viola didn't move, but she clenched her jaw. And when Octavia moved her face to look her in the eye, she saw a hint of fear in them. Viola was normally such a strong mare, never unsettled by anything, and here she was, afraid of love, trust, and the unknown. In that moment, Octavia knew what she had to do. She had to take care of her older sister who, for so long, thought she couldn't have it from anyone besides herself.

"Please don't believe that you don't care for me. Please don't believe that I'm not your friend and you don't trust me. And please, please don't believe that that trust and friendship are only ways for me to hurt you. I won't hurt you!" Octavia used her hooves to direct Viola's head to her own—scared, vulnerable face-to-wet, desperate face.

"I love you, Viola. I want to see you succeed. I want you revel in the joys of that success, rather than let them pass you by." Viola's brow loosened, and she looked as if she was about to break. One more push.

"I know your parents have hurt you gravely in the past, and I'm fighting against the likes of Celestia and Luna now, but . . ." Octavia looked into Viola's eyes with the most determined, desperate, trusting eyes she had ever shown.

"Look me in the eye and tell me I won't let you go!"

It took one half-second for Viola to collapse to the ground, crying for the first time she had in decades. It took two more for Octavia to come to her senses and embrace her friend in return, crying with her, but more overjoyed than she had ever been in recent memory.

It took a bit longer for Viola to respond, but the words that came from her mouth were the most earnest, genuine, and emotional Octavia had ever heard. She was sad that her friend was crying so, but happy that Viola said the words and meant them.

"Please don't go. I couldn't bear it," Viola whispered.

The time they spent embracing each other afterwards wasn't measured in seconds, but minutes and hours.

Epilogue

Viola took a deep breath. The train was about to stop at its terminal station. A case was strapped to her back, although it wasn't the viola she usually played in the orchestra.

Her face was hard and stoic. Most would call her calm or unemotional, but the closest among her might be able to notice a bit of nervousness in her eyes. She felt a hoof on her shoulder.

It was Octavia. She was coming with her for emotional support. Patting Viola's shoulder again, she smiled comfortingly. Viola attempted a smile back, but her mouth only twitched upwards. Abandoning that attempt, she nodded instead. Octavia wouldn't be there the whole time with her, but she had been talking with her the entire train ride, and she would be discussing how it went on the way back.

The train lurched and slowed to a stop. With a heave, the train doors creaked open, admitting the hot midday sun. With another deep breath, Viola stepped outside into the Fillydelphia train station.

Setting the rift,
While cool as the rain,
Spurning her love,
And feeling no pain.

But forging a path,
With help from a friend,
To finding emotion,
And feeling again.