Hearth’s Warming is the most special time of the year. No doubt that I, like many others, look forward to the unique festivities only it can bring. These days are ever so fleeting as they pass by once a year and when they do, the ponies see me out and about the streets of Sweetie Shores, my home town. Well, when it’s just a couple days left before the day itself, the streets tend to look a lot less like streets and more like strips of wintery magic. I can tell the comings and goings of ponies, see their deep hoof prints in the glittery snow. I kindly greet them when they’re clearing their walkways or making snow ponies. I pass by and peer inside the cafes packed full of ponies drinking spiced coffee, each an island of warmth and cheer, their doorways laced with holly and mistletoe. I like to see others enjoying themselves as it plucks my spirit. What a time of year this is!
Some enjoy just the one day of Hearth’s Warming. Some do things on Hearth’s Warming Eve: writing letters, visiting old friends, telling children not to go into the closet for one day. I’ve been out in the streets this entire week. It’s like the holiday is stretched to these seven days just for me. I get that extra time because each second has a special meaning for me. When my friends and neighbors see me, they wave at the filly with the name of Prism Wavelength, their hearts full of happiness. They know me well, the daughter of a princess with a coat as white as winter itself. Being related to royalty means having its ups and downs. Someday, I’ll be like my mother, somepony who spreads good will from one end of our world to the other. I’m already recognized in my travels and I enjoy the publicity and the ponies who come to me for advice. But my mom told me that a crown can be more than a weight upon the head but one on the heart as well. Ponies expect a lot from us, being that we’re special. I can never just have Hearths Warming in my life. I have to live it.
I end up exhausted every day. I have great stamina but I do get tired like anypony else. When it’s dark, I go home to refresh myself with warm food, a bath and a spot to curl up by the fire. Today is the last where I have to go about the town, asking ponies for whatever they can offer. I carry a bag which gets filled by many things, a worn out piece of plaid cloth that used to be my mom’s. When I go home after my charity run, I count the bits, sort used clothes and collect the toys before sending them out in the mail. Everything I am given for my charity benefits foals somewhere. I’ll never meet them but knowing that I’m doing my part to help make their Hearths Warming something they won’t forget sort of makes the responsibility less of a burden. It lifts up my heart when my body tries to reject the freezing cold every morning and to tell me that I should stay home.
It is comforting to think about the ponies I’m helping on a day like today. I step outside with my bag flat and empty and my breath streaming out in clouds. On my last day, there is no fanfare and the rhythm of things is sort of like the first day on repeat. There’s so much that’s the same but I know it’s still important. I can only wonder what Princess Celestia or even my mom does when their day to day affairs bore them.
Ponies are the most likely to donate when cute foals are involved. I guess that’s okay. I spy so many of the cute little ones and I like watching them play in the streets, throwing snowballs or sledding in the quiet hills. But I help a great many ponies. I go down the street, knocking on doors. They’ll answer and smile. We’ll exchange greetings. I ask them all to give what they can. Families in Ponyville need our help. They had a bad drought. A village in the badlands is running short on supplies. No matter whom I’m helping, I will ask. Parents, who occasionally crane their necks to tell their foals to be quiet, naturally give less. I understand. The elderly give the most, tenderly motivated by foals long since gone. I know that some of the money goes to the middle-aged ponies with foals and even older foals like me. Most overlook us since we don’t play with toys at our age and we aren’t seen as big givers. After all, how many my age even have jobs?
A few ponies don’t like to give. Those ponies, I can’t understand. I will wait outside their houses and knock, only to get no answer. The bad thing is that I know some of those ponies and they’re not recluses. I come to the corner at the end of my street that goes up a hill to the east. I reach one house that have never responded to me in the past and I don’t expect it to change today. They are the same kind who like to act friendly at market or pretty much any other time of year. But not when it comes to giving, the only reason why I stand on their porch. I can tell that nopony has left. I can even see a drape move as if they think I can’t notice. I turn around and leave them. There’s nothing I can do. If they can’t motivate themselves to help other ponies in their time of need then I can’t either.
There’s more ponies out there to ask than I can count and I’ve gone up over five hundred once. Some I know from years past and many unfamiliar to me. This isn’t a race and there’s no finish line, an end I can reach. I just do my best to make this work as well as it possibly can every year. I turn the corner and face a new street. I trudge through the snow to each new house, wiping snowflakes from my eyes and lifting my hooves high with each step. I appreciate that few are the selfish type. My bag over my shoulder gets heavier and I thank many. I’ve asked myself before why I bother to knock on the doors of ponies who never help but it’s simple really. Ponies do change, especially foals who learn about giving when their whole world seemingly revolves around them. It wasn’t that long ago when I was one of them since I’m only fourteen after all. I know that I’m too young to judge others.
I think about that time every now and then, when things started to change for me. The only rattling I cared about was from the toys that I got at Hearth’s Warming from my mother, Pixel Wavelength. Every year, we would sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa and I would proceed to tear up the wrapping paper to get at the gifts. We both share the same lovely coat and beautiful blue manes that flow like the gentle waves of the sea beside our town. Those days were perfect for a self-centered foal like me. The only jingling I cared about was the shiny new coins from my grandma that I got to buy stuff with. I couldn’t care less if others got toys like I did. That day was exclusively a day of getting my stuff and then showing it off to my friends when we went out and played.
One year at Hearth’s Warming when I was seven, I got a nice polished bat to play stickball with. I got it from grandma since she knew I loved to play outdoors. Me and the other foals gathered together and decided to go out and play an impromptu game in the snow. I didn’t know what we were thinking, to go traipsing out in such weather just to play a silly little game. But we were younger foals then, me and my friends, and were so adamant to do what we wanted. It’s not like the cold affected us.
Near my friend’s house was a small empty lot bordered by old wooden fences. The snow was high that year but the foals worked for hours to clear it. I recall how foolish that idea was in hindsight. I demanded to be the first one to try and hit the ball with my new bat. I wanted to hit the ball far and run around the lot as fast as I could through the ice and snow. I was going to have the time of my life out there. A colt tossed it to me and I put more strength than I thought I had into it, forcing it to sail through the air and far over the fence. It was my first turn and my first time using the bat. In the silent air of winter, the sounds of a sharp crack followed by shattered glass were all we heard and like rabbits, all the foals scattered. It was a horrible sound.
I thought the ponies at the house whose window I broke would be livid at me. And when I confronted them, I was scared even with my mother there in her red winter coat to somewhat hide behind. But they were a couple of kind spirited parents. They understood that mistakes happened. I apologized of course and we talked for a while.
Going home, my mother said that I would have to repay them for my mistake. It’s something a proper filly does. I didn’t understand what she meant. I had no money in the world and what could I give them other than my gifts from Hearths Warming? I didn’t even want to look at her as we walked home. I thought she was unhappy with me and would take my toys away for sure. Then we stopped and she asked what was wrong. I said that I didn’t understand why I had to repay the ponies. I didn’t do it on purpose and it was unfair. My mother then looked at me and put a sympathetic hoof behind my neck. I looked up at her, a mare of such tall stature, and returned her gaze. She smiled and told me that a pony can give more than mere things. She was absolutely right. There was a way I could repay them and I did it after school, my time spent shoveling snow to keep their walkway nice and clean. I even ended up liking the neighbor ponies and would go back to visit them every now and then until they moved away.
Street after street, my collection of donations grow. I throw some bits and a few toys into the bag. As I walk, I watch a stallion clear his sidewalk with a snow blower. I see a mail mare fly above me in the steel skies of winter. The Pegasus teams are some of the few who still work even today. They are so efficient that they can send my gifts pretty much anywhere overnight. I give them thanks whenever I can and even attend their Hearth’s Warming functions every year. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to send things to ponies in need without them.
There is a house on this street that I always anticipate over most others. It’s a place usually shaded by two oaks with wide branches. These days, they’re nothing more than spindly arms and homes for hibernating squirrels. The house itself is old and the owner, having had lived there for decades, is a forty-six year old Pegasus mare named Mrs. Flint. I open her chain-link fence and cross her yard, making certain to avoid falling clumps of snow from the branches, before knocking on the door. I always make my knocking swift but loud. My own little signature that can only mean that Prism has come. The mare comes to the door right away, unlocking it and opening it wide. I can feel the warmth of her home. Her coat is metallic blue and her greyish mane is held in a tight bun.
She smiles, the coat at the edges of her eyes wrinkling when she’s happy. They look at me from behind her silver framed glasses. She needs them to read since she’s a teacher of literature at a nearby college.
“Happy Hearths Warming Eve, my dear Prism,” she says. I like her voice. It’s very motherly even though she has no foals of her own.
I may be a princess’s daughter but I give her a little bow and greet her the same. “Isn’t this such a wonderful day?”
“It surely is and your coming always makes it even brighter. I got the gifts ready to go for you.” She turns around where there is a small table with the gifts clustered around an old lamp.
“You know I always save your neighborhood for last,” I mention with a chuckle. She knows that I speak of what she always gives every year.
She laughs, a clear sound she makes when amused. “I think I went all out this year, Prism,” she boasts.
She sets each present into my bag as I hold it open. They are presents in the truest sense of the word. She doesn’t stop at just giving me toys. Instead, they are well wrapped in silver paper and tied with lacy ribbon. Some are heavy which I assume holds books. She believes that one of the most beautiful things to give to a foal is the desire to read. That’s partially why I have a fair amount of books in my room. I have so many from her. I am particularly gentle with the gifts she gives me, to take good care of them so that the paper doesn’t tear or the ribbon fall off.
After she finishes giving me her half dozen gifts, I thank her. She reaches to me and puts a frosted sugar cookie in my hoof. She mentions that I should make sure to eat while I’m out and that I should take care of myself. I don’t reply that it is difficult to remember sometimes. I have let myself go hungry in the past although I’ve done good to prevent that this year. We say goodbye and she shuts the door.
I return to the street and lick the peppermint frosting. It’s very sweet. I love these cookies the most since it puts me in the holiday mood. I am not sure if Mrs. Flint bakes them like my mother does this time of year. But it’s the thought that counts as my mother says, homemade or not. I eat it quickly and hoist my bag on my back to continue my effort. It’s not really that different with my charity. The youngest among us seem to know when they’re blessed with kindness. They care less what something is wrapped in and more about having something special. They are the foals I help. Foals who are better off might be less content with things and ask for more and I think it’s possible to give too much sometimes. Flint is my friend’s maiden name. She lives alone because she got divorced. A while ago, I asked why and she said that her husband gave something that he shouldn’t have to his mare friends although she never elaborated on what that was in particular. I suppose generosity can do harm when ponies don’t know how to use it.
I like just looking at Mrs. Flint’s presents. They’re the best in my mind because they’re like a bit of my past I get to give away. I wish I had the time to wrap them myself but time isn’t a luxury I have. My mom wraps presents exactly like that. She does it with care, our own Hearth’s Warming artist, making sure that every box looks like an ornament. I was nine when I got to help wrap for the first time. And for that year, I stayed indoors more often than out during Hearth’s Warming Eve. I would normally let mom handle everything but she insisted that I do more.
I recall how I wrapped them up messily, my hooves dripping glue on the carpet and creasing gifts in a way that ended up making air gaps between the papers. I sat by the fire with lots of sugar settling in my stomach and listening to a holiday album play softly. There was so much light during Hearth’s Warming Eve that it ended up making it hard to sleep that night. I remember working hard and eventually finished wrapping six boxes in red and green wrapping paper. I sprinkled glitter on them too so that they dazzled in the light.
“You’re not bad for this being your first time wrapping a gift,” my mom said, her voice and body language animated as she praised me.
“Thank you.” I set the last box aside. “I guess it’s harder than it looks. You make it look so easy.” I tried to wipe my hoof on the carpet to get some of the feel of glue off. It didn’t work so well.
She beamed. I knew she was proud of me just for trying and getting so much done as I did. She never got mad as long as I did my best at something. I notice her pile was bigger than mine and already perfectly done.
“Whose are those?” I asked.
She glanced at them. “They’re all for you.” I was so happy when I was told that and I was itching to tear into them right away but my mom had other plans. “I could do my work as fast as I did because you wrapped my presents for me which is great.”
“But then you get to see them early.”
She laughed. “I did buy them, Prism.” I realized that I said something silly and laughed too. “I was thinking that we can wrap a few more presents together but this time, I’ll guide you. Then you will make fewer mistakes and hopefully learn from the experience. You do want to wrap presents again next year, right?”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I said excitedly.
She guided my young and inexperienced hoof like she did when I was just learning how to write or ride a bike. She helped me to fold a crease just right so that I wouldn’t make air bubbles. She and I made a pretty red bow. She told me that I would be an expert at present making in no time. Together, we finished them all. A bunch of presents. But at the end of it, I was a little confused. There were three piles. One was for me with a couple for my sister who lives in Las Pegasus and the other for mom. Whom did we make that third pile for? I asked her about it.
“These presents are ones we’re giving away,” she said. I must have looked shocked as she quickly blinked a few times as if unsure what to make of my reaction. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are we giving them away? Shouldn’t they be our stuff?” My voice started to whine a bit at the end. I gazed at them as if they were this pretty gleaming treasure that I didn’t want to lose.
“That’s enough,” my mom said sternly. She raised a black pen and gave it to me. “I want you to do something. Get one of the gifts. And…please do not complain again.” She sounded really serious so I did as I was told and didn’t dare talk back. I retrieved a gift and looked up at her.
“Now, write on the tag. Where it says “From:”…write “Princess Wavelength and family”. Don’t skimp on your penmanship. It must be legible.”
I write it out in the black marker.
“Is this okay?” I said.
Mom nodded. “It is.” She took the gift and her voice softens. “You see, sweetie…it’s not for us to have. We’re giving it away to ponies in need. It’s called charity and as a princess, it is part of who I am to help ponies less fortunate than ourselves. We don’t look down at ponies or pity them. This isn’t even solely because of duty but because we want to help.”
I didn’t know then how important that lesson would be in my life. The idea of ponies being less fortunate than us didn’t fall easy on the ears of a young filly like myself. They drooped as if trying to shake them off and I tilted my head, my whole brain struggling to grasp some alien concept. I never saw myself as particularly privileged. My mom didn’t live in a castle. We had a simple two story house with a little basement where I liked to play in summer. My mom’s room doubled as an office. I know she kept a crown in her bedroom behind glass but she seldom took it out to wear it.
“Are we fortunate, mom?” I asked. It was such a simple question but I wasn’t sure what she was going to say. For a moment, she was silent. She looked off reflectively towards our pretty Hearth’s Warming tree that we decorated together. Our tree isn’t like most trees I’ve seen. Ponies decorate with elegant things to make theirs look pretty but they don’t have a trinket from Princess Cadance, a beautiful pink crystal that dangles from a golden chain. They also don’t have pretty paper birds and moons made out of the pages of books like we get from Princess Twilight every year.
I didn’t get it right away and my question wasn’t really answered that year. But I thought about the idea often ever since then, what it meant to be fortunate. Between then and now, I learned a lot about being a princess. I even visited Princess Twilight in her town. It was a wonderful privilege. I know now that being fortunate isn’t exactly how much money one has. It’s about having the capacity to help our fellow pony. I also know now that my mom has a rather large reserve of bits. It makes a lot of sense, being that she’s the princess of the internet and the owner of the most famous tech company in all of Equestria. She never had to tell me why we lived in a plain two story house in a small town instead of some rich apartment in Manehattan. It was all part of a life she carefully chose for me. If I was just a rich filly, what could I have learned that my mom would have tried to teach me? When I look back at my visit to Princess Twilight, the biggest thing I took from it was how the most humble among us end up becoming the most generous in spirit.
I come to the end of my last shift on the last day. It is already dusk and it’s getting colder every second. I am not sure whether I got the most donations today but the bag feels pretty heavy. I take it to the Post Office right before it closes. Just fifteen minutes left and there are still ponies in line. I turn my head to look around some stallion and his huge box on his back. There are a bunch of uncomfortable ponies trying to get last minute packages out in time. I sigh. I hate waiting in lines especially when I know I have the most important reason to be here or at least I’m pretty sure I do. My coat is cold and water is starting to seep through my nice winter boots. My stomach gnaws at my willpower. I just want to go home and eat.
Thankfully, I am tapped on my shoulder by one of the workers, who pulls me from line and takes me to a special area. The Pegasus wears a brown winter cap and a blue uniform. She tells me that my mother phoned last week and said that I must be given special privilege on Hearth’s Warming Eve. I feel grateful as she takes my bag from me and I watch my donations be sorted out. Everything is packed in brown boxes, all going to the same place in time for foals to receive it. I pay for the postage when it’s all done and I leave. I’m sure glad it’s over, for the peace of mind of knowing my job is done and for having the weight off my shoulders at last.
I unlock the door and step inside my house, followed by a few snowflakes that are drifting down in bundles. It is already night and bitterly cold outside. The house is silent and dark. Nopony has been here all day. I turn on a few lights and close all the curtains. I take off my winter gear and set some soup to heat on the stove while I lug some wood into the fireplace to warm up the den.
I sit on the couch and sip the hot soup. It has a hint of pumpkin, an older holiday recipe we’ve made for years. I also have a cup of tea near me on the little table beside the couch. Next to it, are some things I’ve not put away in the last week for lack of time. A folded letter from my older half-sister still lays next to the letter opener. Her name, Sunstone, is still easily visible in her formal penmanship. She wrote to me about her plans for the holiday this year and said that she wished she could have come to visit but with things as they are in Las Pegasus, she couldn’t make the trip. She is a busy mare, a flyer like our father who usually stays with his oldest child at this time of year. Even so, he at least writes to us when he’s away. I hope they’re having a wonderful time together in the clouds. But even reading her letter more than once does little to relieve my growing loneliness. My house is still quiet with my sister gone and my mother off in the capital, called to attend the royal pageantry. I understood why she had to go; it couldn’t be missed and it was the first time she could actually attend it. I would have gone but then I would have had to cancel the yearly charity and that would have been completely unacceptable. Charity always comes first.
We did what we could, my mother and I, to create as many of our holiday traditions as possible. Our grand tree stands tall as it always has even if we decided to forgo gifts this year on the day itself since it just wouldn’t be the same without anypony here. It doesn’t mean I have nothing new this year. I have a nice silver watch, pretty dresses from Manehattan and some candies. There’s just no surprises or squeals of glee. We know what we are getting.
I can look out the window and see strings of glowing lights on the roofs and fences of my neighbors. There are days when I like to walk the streets and gaze at the beautiful displays of lights and symbols of the meaning of Hearth’s Warming like our flag. But I’m tired and going back out is the last thing on my mind. I think about the traditions I did manage to partake in this year. There was the caroling I did at the start of my charity. Mom sang with me for hours. That was the loudest day with the singing and me ringing a bell to get ponies attention. Tonight is the quietest though. I passed a few carolers on the way home but I don’t hear any now. I finish my simple meal in peace.
With just me alone with my thoughts, it’s hard not to reflect on what’s missing and that’s a lot. No opening of gifts or the sound of a family dinner. I don’t want to watch television. It’s just going to be nothing but movies that will remind me of the holiday and may even depress me. This is the first Hearth’s Warming where I’ve felt so isolated from others. Loneliness has always bothered me so not even having visitors on Hearth’s Warming Eve is difficult to bear.
I try to shake the feeling off, and maybe do something to improve my mindset. I go and open an old trunk and pull out the family album. I take it to the table and open it up. There are lots of pictures going back years from when my mom was a teenager. I see one with her with grandma at Manehattan when my mom went off to college. I flip some pages and pass the years until I enter the picture. I notice some from my first fundraiser. I was even cuter then, my thin body draped in a red skirt with my hair full of ribbons. Just looking at the picture makes me recall it so clearly.
It was at middle school and I was in charge of the student council for that year. I was elected by my fellow students, who liked that I was going to make the most changes in our school. During my time in charge, I wanted to do something really special that showed off what the school stands for but I wasn’t sure how for the longest time. Eventually, I came up with the idea to get new uniforms for all the students since our specific school had everypony wear them. My school was one of the few that required uniforms, being that they claimed it promoted a better learning environment. We planned for months to organize a fundraiser to sell candy bars to ponies around town and to use the proceeds to buy red sweaters and skirts. It was a lot of work and sometimes overwhelming but it went so well that we even had some left over to donate to a local food charity. I never gave like that, all on my own as I did. My mother came for emotional support and to proudly witness what I could accomplish. From our pictures, anypony could see that it was a success.
I check the time. It’s not that late. I could go to the Hearth’s Warming Eve pageantry if I wish. I bounce the idea in my head but I know it won’t be as fun by myself. Really, I can think of nothing that would be fun alone on this day in the presence of others, all families with parents and foals alike. I would rather stay home. Like with strangers at the pageant, I can’t call my friends who live near me since they’ll be doing things with their families. It seems even talking to ponies isn’t on the table tonight.
I get bored with the pictures so I put them away. I decide to go to the refrigerator and take out some of mom’s eggnog. She buys that from the market for the holiday and if she likes it then I am certain that a few cups will help me relax and maybe even help me unwind from the week’s accumulated stress. She’s not here to have it so it’s best to pour myself some and not let it go to waste. I haven’t drank this before so I take a slow sip back on the couch. It has an interesting and creamy taste. It’s not bad at all.
I lift the mug with both hooves and gulp down its sweetness. The gentle fire is warm and I glance at it. I remember the time when I tried to roast chestnuts over it with the family. I just burned the poor things. Mom tried to eat one and said that it was far too hard and biting one might chip a tooth. I tried marshmallows too just for fun and burned the roof of my mouth. Even with that, I smiled a lot because it was pleasant just to be around them. My sister would boast about how much of the Hearth’s Warming Eve play she memorized and my dad sometimes tried his hoof at a festive carol where my mom would sometimes join in. I think that was after a few drinks in them. There are so many memories coming back to me. I take a gulp of eggnog as I think of them. With nothing else to do, I then decide to read a bit of this book I’ve been wanting to finish for a while but have not been able to.
I just sit on the couch, my mind engaged in that book about a mare on some kind of journey. Later, I notice that the eggnog is empty. I’ve drank it all. More time must have passed than I realized. I put the book down then the glass but I nearly drop it on the floor. My mind feels heavy and my body sluggish. My mom and dad likes the eggnog the same way. They put rum in it, I think. It’s something we’ve always done. I can say that because I’ve drank it now and my belly is nice and warm. I like it and I can say for certain that it’s the only thing not dulled by the absence of my family.
I shuffle to the closet and pull a blanket out. I then take it and cover myself with it as I lay back on the couch. My phone is near and I hold it, turning it on. I think the worst thing about being alone is not being able to say good night to anypony, especially my family. My mom is surely watching the pageant now. I doubt she’s alone. She has the princesses for company. There might be some friends online to speak to. I check my mom’s social network. To my disappointment, there seems to be little activity. I type a new status update, giving friends a happy Hearth’s Warming Eve. I make sure to thank all the ponies out there who helped make the charity week what it was. I am not sure why I’m doing this, acting like this is some kind of obligation. So strange, it’s never felt like that before but then again, I’ve never been alone for the holiday either. That’s not the only thing that’s so unrecognizable about it. It’s like I’ve given up so much that there is nothing left. There is probably no hope to fill the void that loneliness brings. Not even with a phone.
When I’m done, I turn off the phone. I can hope that maybe somepony will reply by tomorrow. Maybe a single solitary pony will tear their attention from their own celebration but that is unlikely. I groan and push my head into a pillow. I’m going to go to sleep alone tonight as if there was any doubt of that happening. I’m as lonely as the brightest star in the winter sky. The star at the top of our tree is that star. We revere it as special and as a guide. I don’t know if Hearth’s Warming has guided me well if being isolated is where it brought me. Maybe I spend too much time on my giving. Maybe my fortune has run out at last. I turn off the lamp and close my eyes. I let sleep take over and the curtain of darkness takes me as visions of a lonely fate cycle in my mind.
I wake hours later and I toss and turn, my mane a mangled mess. The fire is out and the lights on the tree are still on if dimmed by the light passing from behind the curtains. It’s morning so I try to force myself up. I underestimated how much the eggnog would affect me and I feel gross for having drank it all. I can catch a whiff of it on my bad breath. I go to the kitchen and prepare some coffee. I shiver from the cold air. It must be freezing outside. I put on a robe and sip the steaming brew. I take a look out. Foals off in the distance play in the snow on this Hearth’s Warming. The snow dazzles and my head hurts, sensitive to the light. I hear a buzzing sound and I think it’s inside my head before I realize that it’s my phone.
To my surprise, it’s my mom who had sent a text message to me. It’s a happy Hearth’s Warming message, which I forgot she mentioned she would send to me before she left on the train home. She tells me to enjoy the day and that I am blessed in the company of many friends. She mentions that she called earlier but I didn’t answer. I don’t recall that and I feel embarrassed. I hope it wasn’t because I was so knocked out that I missed her. I then put the phone down and take a shower. I’ll call her later. When I come out, I put more wood in the fire and light it. I am already feeling healthier now.
I contemplate my mother’s message while I make oatmeal. She expects me to be in the company of friends? I wish that was the case last night. But it makes me want to check my profile on the social media at least. Maybe somepony replied to my late night well wishes. I log in as I normally do. When I check my profile, I am greeted with a deluge of messages that I was not expecting at all. I think it’s dozens…a new record. I look at them and scroll through in confusion. I do recognize some ponies: the heads of the Ponyville gifts for needy foals charity that I spoke to on the phone before, friends from town and Las Pegasus too. I am taken aback. Many thank me for my charity and for being such a kind example of royal generosity. It’s hard to believe that so many ponies even knew about the charity! Others wish me a good Hearth’s Warming. Unlike last night when I wanted to cry out of depression, I now feel tears of joy. My mother’s wisdom seems clear. How can I say I’m alone when there are so many out there willing to add such joy to my life?
I dab at my eyes with a towel then open the front door. I think that a nice walk outside will be good for me. But as I step out, I notice that there are packages waiting beside the door. I must have missed the early Hearth’s Warming delivery. I grow intensely curious. Who could have sent these things? I check the names and it’s all for me in particular. I use my magic to bring them in and put them in the den.
I hold my breath as I open them one by one and set them out on the floor. The first is from a friend in Ponyville. It’s a set of hoof crafted chocolates in a fancy golden box. He wrote a letter to me too, wishing me a happy holiday and hoping I come to visit again soon. I beam and my heart is full of cheer as I think about him; he’s such a good friend. It is nothing short of unbelievable. I would have dismissed the thought of this happening last night when my only company was that drink. I had no idea it could still be possible to be given the gift of this Hearth’s Warming tradition from friends rather than family who were too busy to be there.
I was afraid of this day as it came closer. I didn’t know how bad it could be. I thought that I could just be cold and lonely and as I grew older, this was some kind of change for the worse. But things turned out differently. I lie down in the same comfortable spot that my mother likes and open each of those surprise gifts I could have never anticipated before today. The traditions are still alive and I feel it in everypony who touches my heart on this day. The ponies may not be my family but they are special to me in their own way as a princess should think of their subjects. I had begun to think that being a princess meant that I had to sacrifice what I held dear. That by giving, I would be left with nothing in the end. This giving season could have even been my last. But I couldn’t be happier that I was wrong. Giving is a mutual thing between ponies who like each other and if these gifts are any indication, they like me very much.
I am going to make sure that I enjoy the rest of this day. I’m going to go play with foals, even ones younger than me, and get our coats wet with snow. I’m going to chat with ponies at the cafes and read at the library. I’ll do whatever I think will make ponies happy because that’s what the spirit of Hearth’s Warming is all about. And when my mom comes back, I’ll have a lot to tell her about what a day I had. I can’t wait to get started. I put on my scarf, my boots and my festive hat, the red and green one with bells sewn on to the edges. After I swallow down some oatmeal, I open my door and head out into the wintery world of Hearth’s Warming, the special time that comes only once a year.
Author's Note
This was for the Hearth's Warming Eve contest by Poniverse. If you don't like the story, please mention why before voting down. This story's focus is primarily on the idea of the cycle of charity. Prism's life was always about getting things from her family because that is how things always have been but she was also taught to be generous, even when there is no expectation for getting anything in return. It isn't easy for a young pony to understand. When she received the attention she craved at the end, what do you think it represents?