Dear Diary,
Life isn’t fair. I have known this for some time now, but today it really burst through the surface and I realized how cruel of a hand Fate often plays. As a filly, I listened to my parents’ promises of success and riches, as long as I worked my very hardest and made sure to give back to the ponies who needed it more than I. I’ve gone to college, gotten a decent place to serve my desserts, and given ten percent of my profits to a needy charity. Yet I am cast aside, into the backs of minds and corners of eyes, to make way for a frizzy-maned pink maniac who is addicted to anything sugary and has probably never finished elementary school, let alone gotten a master’s degree in cooking. I could probably rant and rave all day and night about the inexperience of the Cakes, their mediocre confections, their lack of control over their adopted daughter’s terribly unhealthy diet, and so on. But I have work to do, trying to scream and shove my way back into the spotlight, to at least make enough money to replace my family’s deteriorated sweetshop -- the one that I work in, the one that ponies glance at but turn their heads away, the gingerbread walls and gumdrop doorknobs of the Cakes’ bakery catching their eyes.
You see, sweetmaking goes back very far in my family tree. My parents were the fifth generation to live and sell their candy in Ponyville. As earth pony immigrants, we did everything slowly-but-surely and with our own two forehooves. Back then, we -- the Sweetshoppe Six, our little group of sweetmakers -- were the top sellers of all things sugary. Our jawbreakers were exploding with every flavor under the sun. Our pies were perfectly crisp and fluffy, and tasted magical. Our peppermints -- these were my favorite -- were chocolate and mint, cherry and plain -- each one tasted like you were actually eating the foods that the flavors matched. Then Pinkie Pie -- her name is as obnoxious as she is -- shows up and immediately starts destroying my family business. Her talent isn’t even candymaking! It’s partying! My mother, Rocki Road, and my father, Taystee Sweets, lost their poor old lives fretting over the future of the business, and I will not let it fall -- for their sakes, if nopony else’s.
Today, I was walking around Ponyville, carting my usual homemade batch of caramel corn and jawbreakers, offering free samples to everypony whom I passed, when I spotted a mare sitting in the most peculiar fashion. Her back was resting against the back of the bench, and instead of curling up on it, she let her hind legs sprawl out in front of her, unintentionally tripping hurried ponies. Her mane was turquoise and white, her fur was a light mint-green, and her eyes were golden. I couldn’t see her cutie mark from my current position, but I decided to try to offer my wares to her.
“Caramel corn or a jawbreaker, ma’am? The first taste is free,” I knickered quietly, and she looked up at me. I could tell from her long look that she was taking in my slightly-disheveled blue and pink mane, my cream coat, and my cutie mark of three blue candies. “Yes, I think I’ll try one,” the mint mare finally decided, taking a small jawbreaker and popping it into her mouth. Her golden eyes widened, and her horn let off a slight burst of magic as she sucked on the multihued treat. When she was done, she turned to me and gasped, “That was amazing! Do you work at Sugar Cube Corner?”
I tensed, tail whipping through the air as I pushed back my fury at her ignorance. “No, I work at a little place called Rocki Road Sweets, on Drury Lane. Have you heard of us?”
The light green pony shook her head, and I caught a glimpse of her cutie mark. It was a golden lyre, a type of stringed instrument that a lot of ponies would mistake for a regular harp.
“Next to Ditzy Doo’s Muffinatopia? The muffin mare?”
The mare still didn’t know what I was talking about. I turned away, thinking to try my luck somewhere else. “Wait! I really liked your candy!”
I turned around again, tilting my head at her. Nopony had ever complimented me on my sweets -- but that was probably because they were too hurried to think about enjoying themselves. “You did? Really?”
“Yeah!” the green pony agreed, getting off of the bench she was reclining on. “Name’s Lyra. Lyra Heartstrings. And you are...?”
“Bon-Bon. Bon-Bon Sweets. You should come and visit sometime. We -- um, I -- have more types of candy than just jawbreakers.” I couldn’t believe my luck! A customer, of all things!
“Okay. But before you go...” Lyra shoveled a hoof-full of jawbreakers into her saddlebags and tossed a bag of golden bits onto my little cart. “Keep the change,” she called, trotting away.
Nopony had ever done that for me before. The ponies I know are always stingy and penny pinchers, never giving out a single bit of spare change. This mare... she is surely a generous soul among many cold-hearted ones. And I know that things have been rough, but I have a good feeling about this month -- and about this bright, cheery mare.
