“Miss Tiara, your mother requests your presence in the sitting room.”
The butler delivered this news like he delivered all news: grave of tone and stoic of face. Diamond Tiara almost sighed, but caught herself. Sighing was unladylike, and being unladylike simply would not do. Not if she were going to see her mother.
“Thank you, Beckand. Tell my mother that I will be there momentarily.” Near the end of her sentence, she slipped into the formal tone and diction that was expected of her at home. None of the Ponyvillian “ruffian dialect,” as her mother called it. Mother was a cultured Canterlot pony, and she would not have the rustic nature of the town in which she was forced to live follow her daughter home.
Beckand Call didn’t move. Diamond Tiara stifled another sigh. “I suppose my mother wishes you to accompany me, is that so?” she asked, trying to keep annoyance from creeping into her voice. Her mother would very much not appreciate it if she sounded annoyed.
“Yes, madame. The mistress has requested that I see you safely to your destination.” His face was plaster, a lifeless imitation of what a real pony’s face would look like. Diamond Tiara thought she saw the twinges of an apologetic smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but dismissed it as fancy. He was the butler; he didn’t care what happened to her.
“Very well,” Diamond Tiara said, hopping off her vanity stool. “I am ready.”
“Yes, madame,” Beckand said again with a slight bow of his head. He turned and walked with measured steps into the hallway.
Diamond Tiara sashayed behind him, past her bright-pink canopy bed with the peach veil, past the dressers with pictures framed in ivory of her at all her past birthday parties, and past the wardrobe which contained so many dresses that she could attend a different party every day of the year and never have to wash a single one. Finally, she arrived at the door.
She stopped at the threshold. If she were going to throw a tantrum, now would be the time. Before she got to that awful room. Before she had to see her mother face-to-face. She could bring her mother to her and possibly avert whatever catastrophe surely awaited her in the sitting room.
She realized she was biting her lip, and stopped. No lady bites her lip. She could practically hear her mother saying it. And what’s with all of this dilly-dallying, hm? Run along, young lady, I’m waiting.
“Yes, mother,” Diamond Tiara muttered under her breath. She stepped out of her room and into the hall.
Beckand Call was waiting for her in the hall. Mute, he turned and walked. Diamond Tiara followed at a respectable distance; not so close as to cause discomfort, but not so far as to give the impression that she wasn’t still interested in following. Beckand seemed not to notice.
The sitting room was on the first floor. They walked down a flight of stairs carpeted with plain red silk, with a solid oak bannister running the length. Minimalist, her father called it. Ugly, her mother called it. Of course, father got to choose most of the designs throughout the house, as it was his money they were spending to do so.
Everything except the sitting room.
It had been designed, and was almost solely occupied, by Diamond Tiara’s mother. When she had company, they talked in the sitting room. When she was reading, she read in the sitting room. If Diamond Tiara ever did anything wrong, she would be dealt with in the sitting room.
And she must have done something wrong, right? She tried to clear her mind and remember if she had committed any particularly heinous acts that day, or the days prior, but nothing jumped to mind. It was always difficult to think on the way to the sitting room.
The entire trip down the stairway, the door to the sitting room loomed. It was one of the only doors on the right wall, and it dominated the space. There were no tables against that wall, no paintings, and no ornamentation; just the door. It was mahogony, dark, and oh how it seemed to grow with each passing second. Diamond Tiara’s heart rate, which she had been able to hold steady, slipped out of her control and sped away.
Each step made the door taller. She was six steps from the bottom of the stairs, and the door already seemed to reach high above her. Her mind knew that it was no bigger than any of the other doors in the house; her imagination did not. Five steps now, and it had doubled in size. Four, three, two, one.
Now, taking two steps for each of Beckand’s, she approached the door: a solemn idol to the fear and anxiety of her childhood. Beckand reached the door first and stood beside it, his horn aglow with the same color aura that now encompassed the doorknob. Diamond Tiara, her chest tight and her mind blank, trembled internally. Her facade was one of the utmost stoicism, the visage of somepony for whom fear was a distant tale, not an immediate reality.
Beckand took an eternity to open the door. There was no sound to it; it slid on well-greased hinges with only a ghost’s whisper to accompany it. The room came into view, right to left: The small dresser that held the only mirror in the room; the window that looked out into the small garden in the back yard; the coffee table, decorated with rare gemstones, each imported from a different foreign kingdom; and finally the royal purple cushion with the small tassels on which Diamond Tiara’s mother sat.
Diamond Tiara knew what to do. She walked in, her rhythmic steps not betraying even the slightest of her emotions, and she even succeeded in not wincing when the door shut softly behind her.
Her mother’s eyes were fixed on one of the pictures on the mantle. It depicted a much younger version of herself, along with her then-new husband, standing next to Princess Celestia in the Celestial Foyer of Canterlot Castle. They were still dressed in their wedding clothes; they had been married by Princess Celestia herself. There was a small, silver, engraved plaque on the frame of the photo which read “Happy Times.” Diamond Tiara always accidentally read it as “Happier Times.”
The silence seemed to widen the gap between them with every second, but Diamond Tiara didn’t dare break it. Good little fillies never spoke unless spoken to.
“I don’t suppose you know why you’re here.” Flat. Even. That was Mother.
“No, ma’am,” came the reply.
Mother sighed a little and shook her head. “Why is it that every time I’ve called you in here in the last two years, you never seem to know what you’ve done?” None of Diamond Tiara’s customary replies—yes ma’am, no ma’am, and I’m sorry—sufficiently answered the question, so she remained silent. Her mother continued without looking away from the picture.
“The maid said she saw your teacher in town today,” she said, as if that explained everything. Mother never used any of “the help’s” names; Beckand was “the butler;” Spritz was “the gardener;” and Petunia was “the maid.” She never even called Ms. Cheerilee by her name. She was always just “the teacher.” “She wanted our maid to pass on congratulations to me for having such a talented little filly. She said you were cast as the lead in the school play.”
Diamond Tiara’s spirits lifted. Once, the year before, Diamond had placed first in Little Miss Canterlot pageant into which her father had entered her. When she had returned home, her mother had called her into the sitting room and had taken tea with her daughter, reminiscing about when she was Little Miss Canterlot in her youth. She had poured the tea herself.
It was the only time Diamond Tiara ever remembered enjoying time in the sitting room, but maybe she would get one more.
Mother remained still. "I hope you know why this is completely unacceptable."
Diamond Tiara's hopes plummeted back into the dark pit inside her which the sitting room had created.
"No, ma'am." Now her own voice was flat and emotionless, and she almost shivered at its similarity to Mother's. Almost.
And now she rose.
At her full height, Mother was no more intimidating than the average mare around Ponyville. Even Ms. Cheerilee had an inch or two on her. And yet...
And yet there was no pony who towered as she did; there was no pony whose monolithic frame and angular features gave the impression that she was something to be feared, something that should fill those who beheld her with the reverence shown for ancient things of great and terrible power. Diamond Tiara’s body was rigid, but her mind cowered before the presence now standing in front of her.
She didn’t allow even a single gulp.
“I will not have my daughter prancing about like a puppet for the amusement of such crowds as these.” She said “these” as if beckoning out to the degenerate masses which no doubt amassed outside the walls of her world. “The theatre is something to be respected; in time, you will learn this. It is not meant to be trampled underneath the hooves of ruffians, much less the children of ruffians. It will be a cruel mockery of high art, and you will not be seen as part of the freakshow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mother turned to face her daughter. “I cannot even fathom why you auditioned for the play at all. Whatever talent you may think you possess would be overshadowed by the buffoonery which would occur around you. Honestly, Diamond Tiara, how could you have been so... simple?”
“I don’t know.” Diamond Tiara’s head drooped, just a little.
Mother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Pick your head up, girl. Just because you’re simple doesn’t mean you can act like it. And what have I told you about those words? ‘I don’t know’ is a poor excuse for an answer. Now, I want you to tell me what you were thinking when you showed such callous disregard for your superior breeding.”
Diamond Tiara’s brain searched for answers. Because I wanted you to be proud of me? Because I thought it would help me make friends? Because it makes me happy?
“I...” None of those answers seemed to fit. None of them captured how she felt, and the right answer was slipping away, further and further, until she could catch no glimpse of it.
“Well?” Mother was frowning now. Bad things always followed when Mother frowned. “Spit it out!”
“I don’t know!”
“Hmph.” The frown deepened, and her voice took on an icy clarity. “I should have known better. What did I expect? A real answer? Anything that would help prove to me that I haven’t completely failed as a mother and instead raised a heathen? Simple answers from a simple filly. I suppose I should expect nothing else. Now, why don’t you—”
“I don’t know!” Diamond Tiara screamed as she crouched down, her eyes clenched tight and her hooves clamped over her ears. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! Leave me alone!” Everything that had been simmering inside since she was old enough to be scolded suddenly came to a boil. “I hate you! I hate you! Why won’t you leave me alone!?” If Mother spoke, her words were drowned out by the storm raging in Diamond Tiara’s head. The filly saw and heard nothing of her.
But she could certainly feel her.
The blow landed on the side of Diamond Tiara's head. The filly opened her eyes and stood back up, her mouth agape. She couldn’t read the expression on Mother’s face; it seemed half horror, half rage, all tinged by a hint of lingering disappointment.
“I—”
But Diamond Tiara was already gone.
(*)
“Wanna talk about it?”
Diamond Tiara didn’t have to turn around to know who was behind her. Silver Spoon always seemed to know when something was wrong.
She shook her head.
Silver Spoon said nothing; she plopped herself down into the swing next the the one which Diamond Tiara occupied. The swings creaked a little as they drifted back and forth, propelled in no part by the fillies.
A ways away and straight ahead, there were three fillies building an enormous paper-mache mask for the play. It was red and yellow and had tribal designs all over it.
“It’s not fair,” Diamond Tiara said.
“What’s not?”
Diamond Tiara turned to her friend. “How come they get to be in the play? How come they get to be stupid and silly and ugly and still get to do whatever they want and everypony likes them? How come they don’t get yelled at every time they go home?”
The Cutie Mark Crusaders must have caught wind of some of her words, because they collectively shot her an acidic glance.
Diamond Tiara’s teeth clenched. “What is wrong with them? I wasn’t going to hurt them, or try to mess with them! Why do they always look at me like that!?”
She hopped off the swing and started toward the Crusaders, Silver Spoon trailing close behind. As they approached, she realized that the mask was huge; it stood twice as tall as any of them.
Scootaloo was the first to see them, and she warned the others. “What do you want?” she asked. Her tone made Diamond Tiara’s teeth clench even harder.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“A mask for the play.”
“Nothing.”
“None of your business!”
They all spoke in unison, then looked at each other sheepishly. Sweetie Belle had given the real answer.
They get to be part of the play and I don’t, Diamond Tiara thought. That’s not fair.
There was a lit candle in a candle-holder and a tin full of clear glue sticks sitting next to the mask. “Why don’t you just use regular glue?” she asked.
The Crusaders exchanged glances. Scootaloo shook her head, but Sweetie Belle nodded, smiling.
“This stuff holds together better than regular glue, Applejack said so,” Apple Bloom said, “but we gotta melt it with the candle to put it on.”
Without a word, Diamond Tiara gave the candle a little nudge with her hoof, tipping it over onto the mask. Seconds later, it was ablaze. There was no water nearby, nothing to put it out. The Crusaders tried blowing on it, but it had already gotten out of control. The fire spread and consumed and there was nothing anypony could do about it.
“Hey!” Scootaloo called to Diamond Tiara, who was already walking away with a smirk on her face. “Why did you do that!?”
Diamond Tiara didn’t answer.
Once they were a ways away, she said, “Go home, Silver Spoon.”
“Huh? Don’t you wanna hang out more?”
Diamond Tiara shook her head. “No, you were never here. They can only get one of us in trouble if we split up now.”
Silver Spoon grumbled a little but did as she was told. Diamond Tiara knew they would both get in trouble; everypony knew that they always did bad things together. And they always got caught, and they always got out of it. No, protecting Silver Spoon was the last thing on her mind.
She just didn’t want anypony to see her cry.
