Princess Celestias School for Gifted Unicorns.
Lovely Liberty trembled under the weight of the words. As filly of such a young age, being transferred to a new school was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life.
She felt her saddlebags shift against her sides, and only then realized that she was shivering. While the cold of winter was unforgiving on the mountainside city of Canterlot, it wasn’t the cause of her reaction: it was the anticipation.
As she stood in front of the monolithic school, little fillies and colts rushed into the school, excited for another school day. She was diverged around, a boulder in a rapid river of different minded children.
Her horn glowed a dull shade of gray, and the aura it emanated enveloped the scarf around her neck. She tried to focus, intent on pulling her scarf tighter, but her magic fizzed out almost immediately.
Nerves.
It wasn’t long before her only companion was the falling snow. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. The only alternatives to walking into her nightmare was freezing to death, or attempting the long walk back home. Desiring warmth and reprieve, she sighed, and walked up to the imposing front door.
Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap
“Miss Liberty?”
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
“Miss Liberty!”
Lovely blinked, shook her head, and looked up, finally taken out of the incessant tapping of her classmate’s pencil. The monotony had
isolated her, but calmed her. Now she thrown right back out of her comfort zone, surrounded by children she didn’t know, in a room she’d only just been introduced to, being impatiently glared at by a very annoyed looking teacher.
She couldn’t speak. What was supposed to be a ‘yes ma’am’ came out of her mouth as a timid squeak. Immediately embarrassed, she lowered her head, her cheeks burning.
The instructor wore an uncomfortable-looking suit, the outfit being completed with a pair of glasses that gave all of her expressions, malevolent or not, an edge of intimidation. Her white mane was tied into a neat bun, not a single strand of hair out of place.
The very sight of the mare filled Lovely with animosity and fear.
“I had asked you several times to introduce yourself to the class,” the mare explained through a controlled voice that barely held back her emotions. “But it appears that your mind was elsewhere.”
“I-I’m sorry, ma’am!” Lovely nearly shouted. She had barely spoken today, and her voice had come out far louder than she had planned. Now she had her classes’ undivided attention. She felt every eye on her, and shrunk further into her seat.
Her unnamed instructor sighed at the sight, and replied in what she at least thought was a more gentle tone.
“Would you please introduce yourself?”
Lovely thought it was odd that despite her being asked of this, she felt as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She shakily stepped off of her chair and stood next to her desk, nearly fumbling. Her eyes were cast down, refusing to acknowledge the stares of her classmates.
“M-my name is Lovely Liberty,” she began unsteadily. “I just t-transferred here…”
Her mind hit a wall. What else was there to say? That she was supremely uncomfortable? That she felt like she was going to melt into a
puddle on the floor?
“U-Um…” she began, not having a clue of what to continue with. Half the classroom was on edge, the other half bored out of their little skulls. Pressure was mounting. Lovely just wanted to turn invisible, gallop all the way back home, and curl up in a little ball under her bedsheets.
A voice cut through the curtain of silence.
“What’s your special talent?”
Lovely’s breath caught in her throat. Momentarily forgetting her conscious attempt at avoiding eye contact with these strangers, her eyes followed her ears, leading her to a young colt sitting next to her.
His smile wasn’t one of malice, mockery, nor condescension, but not one of legitimate curiosity either. Lovely couldn’t identify it. She immediately threw out the idea that he saw her struggling and simply reached out to help her along. In her mind, kindness from stranger was an urban myth.
Wordlessly, Lovely quietly dropped her saddlebags onto the ground, revealing her blank flanks. The colt’s smile slowly melted into a frown, and he averted his eyes, regretting that he had said anything. The rest of the class struggled to look at her flanks, curious at the colt’s expression. One by one, each of the frowned, and turned away, either in regret, sympathy, or disapproval.
Not a single one of them was a blank flank.
Recess.
Lovely sat with her back to wall of the school, her eyes cast over the playing the children. She hadn’t said a word since first period. Her teacher took pity on her, and didn’t object to her sitting down and remaining silent when she had been inadvertently cast out by her classmate.
Ostracized on the first day of school. Lovely had expected the worst, but didn’t expect the worst to come so soon.
She stared ahead, looking at everything, yet seeing nothing. The other kids paid her no mind, and instead showed off to each other with their magic, which, more often than not, was tied into their special talent. One filly had electricity lancing around her horn. Another was turning the mulch of the playground into paper. A colt had summoned a familiar, a small corporeal mouse that ran circles around him playfully before evaporating into the air.
She felt no jealousy when she saw the children playing with each other. Nothing can cast you out of a social group quicker than a blank flank. But envy did flow through her at their abilities. Each were fantastic at something, and each derived immense satisfaction and enjoyment from it.
Her horn lit up once again, and she once again tried to pull her scarf tighter around herself. This time, she was successful at moving the scarf, but the cloth was unsuccessful at banishing the cold she felt surround her.
There are few places more frigid than the plains of isolation. She willed the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes to retreat, just barely keeping her composure. She was a big filly. Big fillies don’t cry. She repeated it in her head like a mantra until it held no meaning, and was about to release the dam welling in her eyes before her aloneness was broken.
“Um…Lovely, right?”
The filly addressed turned her head to the side, and met eyes with a very familiar looking colt.
Lovely, now with something to focus on, was actually able to see what she was looking at. The colt wore a nervous smile, and looked nearly as uneasy as Lovely had felt not two hours ago. He wore a white collar and a red clip on tie that hung down to his barrel. His mane and coat were neatly trimmed, but not so neatly that Lovely could suspect that it was his parents doing. His cutie mark was of a tattered and old piece of parchment with an illegible scribble of ink dashed across it. Lovely didn’t understand it, but even still, a twinge of jealousy echoed through her.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about what happened in class,” he apologized meekly. His sincerity was unquestionable. “I didn’t mean to…you know…I mean, not that it matters whether you have a cutie mark or not.”
Lovely was silent, her mind searching for words of response but coming up with nothing. Eventually, she mumbled a quiet response of thanks, not feeling any more satisfied with her position. Whether or not a cutie mark was important to him, it didn’t make it any less important to her.
The colt wasn’t satisfied with her response. It was empty.
“Don’t hate me, okay?” he begged. “Please?”
Lovely finally found her voice.
“I…I don’t hate you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if you thought I did. It’s just…it’s been hard. I’m sorry.”
The colt frowned, recognizing her sadness, and motivated to rectify it. He tried to think of something to console her before remembering a piece of advice his dad had given him.
“I like your scarf.”
“…What?”
Lovely looked down at her scarf, the long red piece of soft cloth far too long for her. It was her mothers, who lent it to her for the day after feeling how cold it was today. Lovely had protested, worried about her mother going to work scarf-less and cold, but she had just smiled and patted her on the head, as if her child’s concern was the most precious thing in the world.
The colt rubbed at the back of his head with a hoof, and tittered nervously.
“My dad said that if I make a girl sad, I should say something nice to her.” He blinked. “Um, not that your scarf isn’t nice. I really do like it,” he hastily clarified.
Lovely was in an altogether novel situation: she had made somepony else nervous. It was as empowering as it was distressing.
“Thanks…” she said in a small voice. She thought briefly before adding, “I like your tie.”
The colt’s eyes gravitated to his tie, then back to Lovely. He smiled, then outstretched a hoof.
“I’m Legal Legis. Your name is Lovely Liberty, right?”
Lovely returned the gesture, hesitantly bumping her hoof with his.
“Mmhm,” she affirmed with a mumble.
“You wanna be friends, Lovely?”
“…I-I…yeah.”
Her smile didn’t even begin to match his. But it was a start.
