The Violin Maker's Daughter
by Fuzzyfurvert
Canterlot is a big city, filled with thousands upon thousands of ponies. Canterlot thrives because those ponies that call it home, themselves thrive. Canterlot lives because they live, they laugh, and they love. That, more than its actual location, is why Canterlot is sometimes called the Heart of Equestria.
Near the heart of this Heart, sits a section of town known as ‘The Drum.’ Old crumbling brick buildings line the narrow cobbled streets where they haven’t been leveled and replaced with so-called ‘urban green space.’ The ground floors of these ancient brownstones filled with shops that catered to the city’s musically-inclined citizens. The upper levels filled with apartments and loft studios that hummed and belched with every genre of music ever thought of.
Under this canopy of cacophony, a tall mare waltzed down the wide sidewalk, dancing over the cracks and crooked cobblestones between long stops to gaze into the shop windows. Fleur di Lis pirouetted to the saw of a fiddle, pranced to the plucking of a steel guitar, swayed to the ringing of a tambourine until her hooves came to rest in front of a shop window filled with stringed instruments. The goods on display had a ‘well-loved’ look to them, their sides scuffed and scratched.
It wasn’t the beaten, old second-hoof standing basses that drew her attention, but rather the lack of music echoing from the upper loft. Fleur raised an eyebrow and tipped her dark sunglasses down to peer into the shop window. The sign on the door proudly proclaimed the establishment to be open, but the dim interior seemed empty. Bags, laden with the spoils of her shopping trip, floated in her horn’s aura at the edge of her vision, reminding her of her purpose today. She skipped up to the door and let herself in.
A delightfully charming bell chimed as the model strutted into the shop, and then again when the door closed. No pony greeted her. No pony stood behind the old counter, no salespony prowled between the stands of basses, violins, cellos and all manner of other used string instruments. Dust rained down from the ceiling planks above to swirl in the air her entrance had disturbed. For a long moment, the dust in the sunbeams was the only movement in the shop.
Fleur bit her lip, setting her bags down, and took off her sunglasses. Part of her wanted to call out, to ask if anypony was home, but she held her tongue to see what would happen. Strange shops with mysteriously missing merchants was where real magic happened—at least that’s what happened in the movies. No pony appeared though, so she sashayed toward the counter, her eyes searching for the little half-dome bell that would surely summon whoever, or perhaps whatever, owned the place.
The counter was a faded marble, smooth, but covered with unorganized little odds and ends. Loose papers covered with a thin layer of dust that had undoubtedly once danced in sunbeams long gone, sat in a short stack next to a cash register that looked as battered any of the instruments that cluttered the sales floor. There was no bell, but Fleur did notice two things that piqued her curiosity.
One was a small hoof-written note in neat letters that told her to ‘holler if you need help.’
The other was another hoof-written sign, clearly older and dustier, but in the same tidy script that read:
*Mares Wanted*
Do You Have a Long Mane or Tail? Need Bits?
I will pay for your unwanted hair! I need hair that is at least six hoofspans long!
*Paying Top Bits for Hair!*
Fleur raised an eyebrow and flicked a strand of her pale pink mane from her eyes. “Curiouser and curiouser…” She chewed on the tip of her sunglass in thought, careful not to damage the plastic. A moment later, she slipped the glasses behind her horn, and took a deep breath to speak loudly.
“HELLO? I NEED SOME HELP HERE!” Fleur’s yell quickly turned into giggling at herself for the audaciousness of it.
A loud crash came from upstairs, the ceiling shaking loose more dust to drift down and join its compatriot particles on the bric a brac-littered counter top. Fleur took a step back, her eyes darting back and forth between the new dust and its origin. “Um...I wasn’t expecting that. Is somepony there?”
More mysterious sounds came from above her. Something heavy rolled across the floor, its wheels clicking as it passed from plank to creaky plank. Something smaller made a hollow and metallic bonging noise. Amid it all, there was the faint but unmistakable flow of curse words blue enough to peel paint.
Fleur angled her ears upward until she could make out a few of the mumbled gutter phrases and the softer clop of hooves on stairs. A door, unnoticed in the shadowy recesses behind the counter, opened suddenly and a pale brown mare stumbled out. The earth pony spilled herself into the shop with all the grace of an avalanche, all legs and tail akimbo, until she crashed out of Fleur’s sight somewhere on the floor.
The mare rose to her hooves with a bounce and slicked back her black mane in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Er...hello. Didn’t hear you come in. Welcome to Octavia’s Used Strings Still Sing Emporium! How may I, uh, help you?”
Fleur di Lis covered her mouth with a hoof, smiling as she appraised the pony. She was an earth pony, well built with an air of seriousness about her, despite her chaotic entrance. She had dark, smouldering eyes that perfectly matched her long, straight mane, and looked entirely out of place in the dim, dusty shop. Maybe she’s the shop owner’s daughter? I could better see her somewhere uptown, rubbing knees with high society ponies.
Fleur cleared her throat, fixing the mare in place with an elegant stare. “So, what’s your excuse for being here? You don’t look like a merchant.”
“What? I own this shop!” Octavia stamped her hooves on the counter hard enough that the cash register rattled. “What’s a merchant supposed to look like anyway?”
“Not like you.” Fleur glided up to the counter, looking pointedly at the hoof-written signs. “I wanted to ask you about these. Why do you need hair?”
Octavia huffed, watching Fleur move. “What does it matter what I need it for? Not that I actually need it anymore.” She tossed her head to the side, her jet black mane fanning out behind her. “Mine is long enough now.”
“No!”
Octavia took a step back, her eyes wide at the other mare’s outburst. “Wha-what?”
Fleur put her hooves on the counter, heedless of the dust and leaned forward. “Don’t cut your mane! It looks good on you like it is!” She reached out, scooping a hoofful of the silky strands and gently pulled them closer to herself. “It’s healthy and strong and so straight. Mares all across Equestria would kill for a mane like this. Cutting it off would be a crime against beauty!”
“Um...you’re too close.” The earth pony took another step away from the unicorn. “What does it matter to you what I do with my mane? It’s mine. Besides, I can’t spare the bits to buy anypony else’s hair. We aren’t all hyper-rich models like you.”
Fleur brought the bit of mane she was still holding up to her nose, breathing in deeply. She smiled and turned her head, batting her long lashes at the shop owner in her most well known pose. “You recognise me?”
“Hard not to.” Octavia reached under the counter and pulled out a dogeared magazine. It was a few months old copy of StallionQ with the same unicorn on the cover as the one in her shop. “Now, are you going to buy something, or not? I have something important to attend.”
“I like that your hair smells like hibiscus.” Fleur smiled, standing suddenly to hop onto the counter and pose like she had for the cover. “I want to buy your hair. So that you won’t cut it. I simply could not let such a thing of beauty pass from this world.”
“It’ll regrow. Eventually.” Octavia looked back and forth between the model and the register. “I’d still need the hair though. Bits are nice, they pay the bills, but it’s the material I want most.”
“Then why not my mane?” Fleur turned, shifting into another famous pose from the cover of Mare’s Life. “I could usher in a new trend in short cuts and protect your lovely locks all at once.”
The earth pony watched Fleur move. “Has anypony told you that you’re...odd?”
“Only the ones that want to sleep with me.” Fleur laughed, lifting her hind leg slightly to emulate the racy cover shoot she’d done months ago for Moons Over Canterlot. She grinned when Octavia opened her mouth to say something but ended up just standing there, slack jawed. “Has anypony ever told you that you have very striking eyes?”
The slack jawed earth pony continued to stare at the flamboyant unicorn model that had somehow come to be in her shop. “If I say ‘yes,’ will you leave?”
“Only after I’ve made my purchase.” Fleur di Lis twisted gracefully, spinning herself off the desk to stand on the other side of the counter, next to Octavia. “‘Top bits,’ correct? I can certainly cover the cost. I’ll purchase the safety of your hair, then I shall go collect you the material you want. It’s a win-win situation for you!”
Octavia frowned, fighting the urge to continue backing away from Fleur. She glanced at the cash register again, the dust on its keys the only thing she’d collected in recent weeks. The bits would be good, but the hair was her ultimate goal. Can this unicorn be this crazy to pay me, and cut her mane for me? No pony is that generous.
She looked back at Fleur. “How do I know this isn’t some form of elaborate trick?”
“How would it be a trick, my dear?” Fleur smiled warmly. “You get everything you need, and I lose nothing that I would miss.”
“There’s a catch.” Octavia’s voice lower to a cautious whisper. “There’s always a catch.”
The model pursed her lips, eyeing Octavia’s walled off posture. “Well...perhaps there is a catch. Perhaps I want to know why?”
“Why what?”
“Why,” Fleur leaned closer to Octavia, whispering conspiratorially in the empty room, “do you want the hair in the first place?”
Octavia opened her mouth, pausing halfway and took another step back from the model. She swallowed and cleared her throat, taking a more commanding stance. She raised her chin. She was not going to let this mare, no matter how famous or odd she may be, boss her around in her own shop.
“My reasons are my own, thank you.” Octavia looked down her muzzle. “You wouldn’t understand anyway. I simply require the hair for my work.”
Fleur blinked. “Ok...I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You could have fooled me.” The grey colored mare sniffed. “You were essentially performing the very textbook definition of ‘prying.’”
“Ah.” Fleur di Lis looked down sheepishly, reviewing the conversation in her mind. I was forward...wasn’t I? She glanced at her hoof, idly doing circles on the dusty floorboards and a thought struck her. “So...I’m sorry about that. Habit, you see. But I was serious about giving you my hair, to save yours. And paying for it! I was serious about that too.”
Octavia held her place for a moment, the tension in her pose slowly draining from her shoulders until she was looking level at Fleur. “I still don’t understand that. But...if you are serious, I won’t turn away the bits, or your mane...I suppose.”
Fleur looked up, her face brightening. “Excellent! Is a thousand enough?”
Octavia took a long moment to dust her chin off from where it hit the floor. “A th-th-thousand?! Bits? Are you insane?”
“No, just that wealthy!” Fleur flipped her mane back over her shoulder, pausing to look at it when she did so. “So...it is enough, right?”
Octavia nodded in mute shock, reaching blindly to hit the SALE button on the register. It made a small noise like a bell chime when the drawer opened, the small hoofful of bits already in it rattling plaintively. Fleur half expected the draw to be filled with moths and cobwebs, and was only mildly disappointed that it was merely just as dusty as the counter and floors in the shop. She lit her horn and levitated her purse out of the bundle of bags she had brought in with her, opening it to pull out a smaller bit purse.
“Wait,” Octavia blinked, coming out of the stupor that the offer had put her in. “that looks awfully small to hold a thousand bits…”
“Well, of course!” Fleur smiled winsomely and opened the purse to pull out a bundle of Canterlot Central banknotes.
Octavia’s eyes widened again. Just one of those notes would pay for the shop’s overhead for a month with enough leftover to feed her for two more months. This mare is actually serious?! I...I can’t take this...can I? She forced her mouth to snap shut when Fleur proceeded to to count off a couple dozen of the notes and then tuck them smartly into her dilapidated register. It felt unreal to her, but she pushed the drawer closed again, not even allowing herself to breath until she heard the latch click.
“And...done!” Fleur giggled, her purse closing and disappeared back into her collection of bags. She spun in her heels and stepped lightly over to the counter gate, pushing it open with her magic. “I shall return shortly with my—now yours—mane. Do you want me to wash it first? I have this wonderful shampoo that smells just like honeysuckle.”
“Uh, I suppose you could wash it.” Octavia mumbled, still numbly processing the fact that her Used Strings Still Sing Emporium had turned a profit for the first time in months. “Um...just don’t use any harsh chemicals…”
“Don’t worry about it, I only use the best!” The model looked back over her shoulder, batting her long lashes, one hoof raised as if she was getting ready to gallop away. It was another pose she was well known for, her image used to sell the same shampoo to the masses. She purred the brand tagline sultrily. “‘Cuz I’m worth it, baby.”
The shop’s proprietor nodded, lost in her own world. Her head continuing to bob long after the chime that sounded when the door closed behind Fleur di Lis had faded to silence.
***
“Hello! Welcome to the Cutting Room Floor Spa and...Fleur? Is that you?”
Fleur doffed her sunglasses, stepping in off the streets of Canterlot’s Upper Tier Quarter, and flashed the smile that had launched her career. “The one and only! How are my favorite twins?”
The tan pegasus behind the counter with the spiky, jet black mane and too much mascara smirked as she took a stack of bits from the customer she was settling up with. “You hear that, brother? Fleur di Lis says we’re her favorites.”
A stallion with the same coloration and feathers dyed a lurid red, leaned out from one of the semi-closed cutting stalls, brushing his hanging mane from his eyes. “Oh, are we now? I seem to remember her telling that to that cute pair from Applewood last week at the party. Or were my ears deceiving me, hmm?”
Fleur rolled her eyes playfully, sighing as she trotted over to the two ponies with matching scissor Cutie Marks. “Come now, you two know you’re my favorites! Those other twins went back to Applewood already.” She smirked and placed her hooves on the counter, craning her head as far forward as she could to peek into the back. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced, but I need something special and you two are the best hairdressers in all of Canterlot. All of Equestria!”
“She’s plying us with compliments. Again.” The mare, Up Doo, shook her head and looked at her brother. “You know what this means.”
Down Doo nodded his head sadly. “It’s all on the low-low. I’ll go get a waiver.” The stallion sighed and turned sharply to walk deeper into the business where the office was located.
Up Doo turned back to Fleur and lowered her voice. “Your manager doesn’t know you’re here, hmmm? Well, we are thankfully done with the last appointment until this evening.” She grinned genuinely and patted Fleur’s hoof. “Tell me what you want, sweetie.”
“Ok, now, don’t faint on me…” Fleur held up a hoof in mock seriousness, her voice a similar sort of loud whisper as the stylist’s. “I want you to cut my mane.”
Up Doo stared at the model for a full minute in silence until she finally started to laugh. She let go of Fleur’s hoof, falling back onto her dock. She was still cackling when her brother returned with a thin stack of papers and an ink pen. He spared his sister a glance and set the papers on the counter in front of Fleur.
“Sign here.” He pointed at a line. “And here.” Again, he pointed at a line with an X by it. There were two other places for the model to sign, and by the time she had finished, Up Doo had once again joined them.
“She wants us to cut her mane.”
“Is that all?” Down Doo looked at his sister, tilting his head. “I went to get the waiver for that?”
Up Doo nodded soberly, her muzzle struggling to to maintain a professionally neutral non-smirk.
Fleur pushed the waiver back toward the siblings, sliding onto the counter to prop her chin in her hooves. “I need you to cut off eight hoofspans.”
Both of the Doos froze where they were, neither of them breathing for a long moment. Down Doo broke the paralysis first, his eyes turning back toward Fleur. “E-e-eight?” He swallowed, with some difficulty, turning to look at his sister. “Eight...Up, I feel faint.”
“You remember the rules, you fainted first last time.” Up Doo wobbled slightly, spreading her wings for balance. She took a deep breath, in through the nose and out again though the mouth before facing Fleur. “You realize...don’t you...what you’re asking…?”
“Oh, indeed!” Fleur grinned, pushing herself up again and throwing her mane out to fan out around her head like a light red cloud. She winked at the twins and placed one hoof over her heart. “I’m doing the charitable thing, my dears. Today, it is my hair on the chopping block and not the gorgeous mane I met in the The Drum!”
“I smell a story behind that.” Up Doo elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Start the water, and bring me the number seven scissors.”
“Pffftt. I’ll bring you the nines!” The stallion chuckled, trotting off. “Save the gossip until I get back ladies! I want to hear this.”
Up Doo smirked, lifting the counter gate to allow Fleur into the actual styling area. She lead the model to an unused, padded reclining table and opened a drawer to take out various brushes and combs. Then Up Doo started to run water in the nearby basin. “While we wait for that to warm and my brother to return, tell me, between us mares...are you doing this to please somepony? Like...a special somepony?”
Fleur stepped up to the table, elegantly easing herself into a comfortable position. She blinked, eyes wide at the question. “Well...no. Not a special somepony like that...I think. I mean, she is special. She has the most beautiful mane! Long, straight and dark, but not like a dark sky, but dark like the best kinds of chocolate!”
“She?” Up Doo paused, setting her tools in a neat row in front of the huge mirror that faced them. “My my...you keep surprising me, Fleur. What’s the color of her coat? This filly sounds like a cutie!”
“Hey!” Down Doo yelled, trotting back up from the deeper recesses of the spa. He caried a small case under his wing and set it down when he reached them. “I said don’t start until I got back, and here I find you both gabbing away without a care in the world. Or more importantly, without me!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Downy.” His sister rolled her eyes. “We hadn’t gotten to the good parts yet. Fleur here was just about to describe the filly she met that inspired this madness.”
Fleur chuckled and waved a hoof in Down Doo’s direction. “It’s not how she makes it sound! I just met this pretty earth pony in the Drum, that’s all. She’s looking to purchase hair for some reason, and was going to sacrifice her own gorgeous locks on account of no one selling her the hair.” She puffed out her chest, laying her hoof against herself and smiled nobally. “Being the fine supporter of the beauty industry that I am, I could not let her cut such a magnificent mane! I’ll bet you she doesn’t even do more than wash it with common shampoo and brush it! It’s not only breathtaking, it’s au natural!”
The pegasus twins looked skeptically back at Fleur, Up Doo opening the case her brother had brought and taking out a set of chrome scissors that could pass for dainty pruning shears. She lifted them with her wing, flexing them open and closed.
Fleur’s pupils shrank, watching the scissors reflect the light from the spa’s fixtures. “Are those the nines?”
“Nah, these are just for the basic trimming. The nines are in a case it takes both us to open.” Down Doo deadpanned. “Of course they’re the nines!”
“Now just relax, hon. Let do the work and you’ll be out of here with enough mane to...to do whatever this cutie down in the Drum wants to do with it.”
***
The strong smell of pine wrinkled her nose as it wafted up from the wheeled pail of dirty water at her hooves. Octavia twisted the mop again, wringing out the last of the water that still dripped from it into the pail. Her flanks glistened with sweat from the labor of mopping the entirety of Used Strings Still Sing’s first floor. Showroom to back office, the floor shined in the low light of the early evening.
“Well…at least now I can’t see her hoof prints all over the place.” Octavia ran the back of her hoof across her brow, flicking away the moisture. “Or my own. I really should clean more often. Dad would have liked that.”
She dropped the mop into the metallic rings attached to the pail, lifting the whole thing in her jaw grip by the handle. She trotted awkwardly toward the rear of the building, the water sloshing with each step. She set it down again when she reached the counter, nosing the gate open and kicking the mop and bucket gently over the threshold. The counter, much like the floor, sparkled with a fresh cleaning; the odds and ends put away and organized. The dust that once covered everything was now in the rubbish bin where it belonged.
Her sign, asking for lengths of hair still remained on the counter, thought it too had been dusted and given a spit polish. Octavia adjusted it, a frown on her muzzle. Should I leave it out? I mean…I won’t need it anymore when she gets back. Images of the tall unicorn mare flitted through her mind like some sort of imaginary photo shoot. The way she had run out after handing over a grand worth of banknotes stayed clear in Octavia’s mind. If she comes back.
She glanced over at the small stack of shopping bags in the corner. Each one was emblazoned with the mark of one of the highest of high end shops Canterlot boasted. The contents of the bags looked like they cost several times more than the hoof-ful of banknotes weighing down her register drawer. If Fleur never returned, just what was she supposed to do with that stuff?
Octavia cursed under her breath. She tried to keep it quiet. Her father had taught her never to use such language, and to never look a gift pony in the mouth. But the longer the mare was absent, the more she wondered when some mafia gestapo types were going to burst in and take it all back. Set her dream back to square one.
She nudged the bucket of dirty water with her hoof. “If she isn’t back in ten minutes, I’ll go…check…something.” Octavia sighed. “Where do famous models go to cut their manes? Surely not Great Clip-Clops?”
The empty showroom offered up no alternate suggestions, so Octavia lifted the mop and bucket once more in her mouth. She grunted with the effort, turning it so she could navigate the door to the back room where she could pour the water down the sink. She was just tipping the bucket into the utility sink when she heard the chimes of the shop door. She left it there to dry and a moment later stepped back into the shop proper.
Octavia stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of Fleur di Lis standing amid the used upright basses. The model was looking down, either admiring the newly cleaned floorboards or her reflection in them—Octavia wasn’t sure which. The already long and graceful sweep of the model’s neck was breathtaking to start with, but now, it was outright arresting. The long flowing locks of Fleur’s mane were gone, replaced with a short cut that rose from her white coat like pink fire. It started, mid-way down her neck, very short, growing longer in tiny controlled spikes until it reached the back of her head. There her hair flared in length and swept upward to flow like the softest, most touchable flames Octavia could ever recall seeing.
“Um…” She offered in greeting, her muzzle hanging open as her voice failed her. Great Celestia! She did it...she actually did it!
Fleur looked up, her eyes locking on Octavia’s, and smiled. “I hope that look you’re giving me means you like my new ‘do. My stylists told me it looks good—and everypony I’ve passed on the way back here sure seems to stare a lot.” She coughed politely. “Because it looks good...right?”
Octavia nodded slowly, her eye following the lines Fleur’s stylists had sculpted with the unicorn’s mane. It made Fleur look even taller, the color richer near the roots, and the whole effect was almost otherworldly.
“I...I’m gonna need more reassurance than a vague nod.” Fleur rubbed her hoof against the back of her ankle nervously. “I feel like I’m at my first photo shoot all over again. Please...I need you to be honest. How do I look with a short cut?”
Octavia swallowed, her mouth working in silence while her brain struggled to remember how to language. After a few false starts, she finally managed to spit out something like words. “Y-you cut your m-mane...like you said you would.”
Now it was Fleur’s turn to nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m a mare of my word.”
Octavia shook her head rapidly, wiping her own mane back and forth. “I just...I never really...it looks good!” She weakly chuckled and grinned. “You look good with a short mane. Your stylists did...well, amazing work. You’re lucky to know somepony that talented.”
“The Doo Twins know their stuff alright!” Fleur brightened, standing straighter, and flicked her ears back to feel her mane. “I’m going to feel all springy for the rest of the day! It was a lot more weight off than I was anticipating. Sorry for the wait, by the way.” She shrugged and took a seat on the newly cleaned floor, wrapping her still long, but now a little spiked to match her mane, tail around her hooves. It was a classic pose from early in her career, selling F&F’s Famously Factually Non-Poisonous Anti-Wrinkle Face Cream in some of Equestria’s more popular tabloids.
Fleur pulled a small paper bag out from behind her, letting it float in her aura. “I had Up give it all a fresh wash. I hope it works for whatever you need it for.”
Octavia took a hesitant step forward, her eyes dragging themselves from the model to the bag. She could just make out a looped pile of pink strands inside it. She took another step, gazing down at the delicate shades of pink that the hair separated into, hints of the pink flame mixed with a darker, richer shade that teased being red, while somehow remaining a vibrant, entirely feminine pink. It was like looking at the earliest slice of a new dawn in a cloudless sky, taken from the heavens above by some pegasi artisan and brought to her lowly shop like a gift from Faust Herself.
Don’t faint, Octavia. Don’t you dare faint in front of her! Octavia took a shallow breath in through her nose and let it out slowly before she looked up into Fleur’s face. The unicorn’s lavender eyes twinkled in the light from her horn, a small smile playing across her lips. Up close, Octavia realized, her coat was just as flawless as the pictures in the magazines showed. It wasn’t some fancy camera trick or makeup artist that crafted Fleur’s fame. It was raw allure.
“It will work, right?” The perfection in front of her spoke quietly, uncertainly. “I had Down measure it twice. It’s six to seven hoofspans...just like you wanted.” She blinked and tilted her head, the mane over her eyes bouncing. “Octavia? Is something the matter?”
Another shallow breath. In and out. Don’t faint...please...don’t faint.
“Octavia?” Fleur frowned, settling the bag with her former mane in it on the floor, her horn winking out as soon as it touched the floor boards. The mare in front of her looked shellshocked. Stunned. It wasn’t a reaction she wasn’t used to from other ponies. ‘Speechless’ was more than just a saying to her. But this wasn’t merely speechlessness.
Fleur leaned forward and reached out her hoof to touch Octavia’s cheek gently. Under the light grey fur there, the earth pony felt warm. “Octavia? You feel flush! Are...are you ok?”
No. Don’t...please don’t.
Fleur’s eyes widened when Octavia’s eyes fluttered, leaning slightly into her hoof for a second before the lean turned into a wobble.
Please.
“Octavia!”
...please catch me…
Her father had been a smoker. Not a heavy smoker, but it was a guilty habit he never could rid himself of. She learned early on to identify the smell, the sweet, somewhat sticky odor of the smoke over his natural scent and scent of the wood lacquers he was constantly covered in. The stronger the smoke, the more stressed he was. When he was happy, her father smelled of wood stainers and spiced rum soaps. When he was sad, he smelled bitter and burnt.
Spiced rum played at her nose. It dueled with the pipe smoke, playing a game of cat and mouse, olfactory hide and seek. Under those scents lay the heavy chemicals of stains and adhesives, polishes and stripping agents. Under all that, like a bed rock, was the scent of her father. The scent-key to her memory of happy times spent with him in his workshop, playing the cellos he made for her. Making the music that made him happy.
Octavia’s eyes fluttered open. The workshop. Her head rested on an old pillow, one that her father had used on those nights he worked until Celestia’s dawn was starting to fill the sky with warm daytime tones. It breathed his scent.
Across from her, on the main table, loomed a dark colored cello. Its panels and sides pristine, un-nicked and completely without the signs of use that all the others in the shop had. It was new, fresh and untested, but she knew it was perfect. She knew it was a masterpiece in and of itself.
Only one key component was missing: the bow.
On the surface, a bow for a stringed instrument—such as a cello—was a simple device. A narrow strip of wood, often curved slightly, held lengths of fibers taunt. Those fibers were used to gently brush and pluck at the strings, to tease the harmonies of vibration and sound from them. The sound was swallowed by the instrument, by the cello, and it spit them back out again, bigger and richer. In the hooves of a master, that simple bow could start a symphony, soothe a soul, or stop a riot.
The cello could be played with any bow really, and Faust knew she had plenty of spares. But it deserved a bow of equal craft and subtle skill. It deserved a bow made from materials just are fine and rare as the thousand year old Everfree Oak that formed its body, or the Crystal Empire gems that topped its neck. A bow formed from GriffonStone Wood and Canterlotian Steel. A bow strung with the mane of a beautiful mare. An angel among mortals.
It had become her life’s work, this perfect cello. The perfect expression of her talent, her passion, and her love for her father. It took years of practice, hundreds upon hundreds of instrument repairs to develop the skills that had come so naturally to her father. It had taken her nearly a decade to find all the right materials. She had actually finished the cello before her father had passed. The pride on his face as she’d shown him what she’d put her career on hiatus for was worth it all, but without that bow, he never heard it sing a single note.
I was having this dream...an angel brought me the hair I needed to complete it. Hair like the sunrise. Octavia sighed, breathing her father’s scent in from the pillow. I’m so close…
“Oh good, you’re awake!”
Octavia blinked, her breath catching in her throat, and looked up into the eyes of an angel. She was laying on the tattered old love seat her dad used to sleep in. Fleur rushed around it to stand in front of her, her long legs prancing with nervous energy, relief obvious on her face. The model’s new short mane cut bounced along with Fleur’s movements and drew Octavia’s attention.
“It...it wasn’t a dream?”
Fleur blinked, pausing with one hoof raised curiously, her ears angled toward the earth mare. “Dream? Octavia, you passed out! All that cleaning must have overstressed you!” She stomped her hoof back down for emphasis and squared her shoulders, her eyes lowering softly as she looked down her snout. It was a look she’d perfected in one of her early spreads that her fans referred to as the ‘Demanding Secretary,’ though for the full effect, she really needed a set of trendy glass frames to gaze over. None were available, so her host was just going to have to settle for the raw version. “I must simply request that you do not do that again.”
The gray colored mare opened her mouth to say something, but Fleur tapped her hoof again, letting the mantle of her talent fall over her and settle her face into a soft authoritative expression. “Nono! I will hear no arguments, young filly! I understand that the shop needed a good cleaning, but you have done too much and now look at you.”
Fleur slipped closer to the love seat and took a seat on the workshop floor, a small smile crawling across her lips, like a secret she was sharing with the pretty mare there. “I appreciate your desire to make the shop look good for me, but we cannot have you taking ill, now can we?” She reached out and gently touched Octavia’s cheek just as she had downstairs. The shopkeep felt far less flushed than she had before, but Fleur could faintly feel a rapid pulse under the soft coat. She leaned in closer and winked before lowering her voice to exaggerated whisper. “I’m not pouring it on too thick am I? I was really worried back there when you collapsed.”
“How…” Octavia worked her jaw, her voice failing her for a moment while she reached up to touch Fleur’s hoof. “...how did I get in the workshop?”
Fleur smirked bashfully, looking up and gesturing with a wiggle of her brow at the elegantly tapered horn that stood proudly upon her forehead. With her shorter hair, it seemed even bigger than before, just as much an example of enviable perfection as the rest of her. She grinned again, still whispering loudly. “Magic!”
“Wait...you teleported me in here?”
“What?” The model stared at Octavia. “Who do I look like, Princess Twilight Sparkle? I carried you in here! I may not look like it, but my horn skills are no slouch.” Fleur leaned back, raising her forehooves to catch her mane—or at least, she would have when it was longer—and her horn lighting up, as she went back far beyond what her muscles could hold. With the aid of her magic, the unicorn bent impossibly until she was arched over backwards with her head almost on the floor.
“I have to hold poses like this, sometimes for hours, when doing photoshoots. My magic helps keep me up, but as you can see, it’s a real work out on my core too!” She giggled, flexing her taut abdominal muscles. “Regardless of what some of my bios say in the magazines, I was not born with this tuck-up. It took a lot of work to get it this tight.”
Octavia made a quiet choking noise, pushing herself into a half-seated position. Her eyes widened, tracing the lines of the unicorn’s abs down to where they—formed a clearly defined ‘V’ and—vanished behind Fleur’s tightly held tail.
Fleur continued to bend, her telekinetic aura giving her a nearly transparent fulcrum to curl over and then helping her lift her rear towards the ceiling in a sort of slow motion hoof-stand. The unicorn looked up once she was balanced on her front hooves, grinning proudly. “Did you say something? See, I can do this part without my magic though.”
She chuckled lightly, struggling to keep her balance and kick her rear legs. “I’ve got nothing on earth pony athletes, but I’ve worked pretty hard to get his kind of strength and it paid off today, huh? I didn’t ever imagine that you’d pass out though. You must have been cleaning pretty hard!”
“I...uh...I wasn’t...I mean…” Octavia sat up fully and rubbed the back of her head, her eyes still glued on the pale spectacle of a mare in front of her. “It was because you actually…actually brought me your mane. You got an actual mane cut and brought it to me.”
“I said I would.” Fleur smiled at Octavia and completed her backflip to land once more on all four hooves. She whipped her head to the left, throwing her mane to the side and nearly staggered at the change in her balance. “Whoa...heh, I’m gonna have to get used to the short cut. I feel like I’ve shed a summer’s diet worth of weight!”
“But you brought me hair, and you even paid me!” Octavia stood up, looking up at the taller mare, her face distraught. “It’s...it’s all backwards! I was supposed to pay you, you silly mare!”
Octavia sighed, clicking her tongue. “I’m grateful...truly, Miss di Lis, but—”
“Call me Fleur, please”
“—Fleur...but this is just so strange to me. I have a project that I need to complete and you’ve already helped me by giving me your hair. It’s...it means a lot to me.” Octavia sighed again, looking away from Fleur to the cello behind the mare. It sat there, eating up the workbench and her soul just as it had for the last year. “I’m not used to that sort of kindness or generosity. I was a bit overwhelmed. I’m sorry you had to see me that way.”
“Think nothing of it!” Fleur smiled brightly. “I’m just glad you woke back up. Any longer and I feared I need to seek medical attention for you. You...you are alright, aren’t you?”
Octavia nodded, her eyes downcast. “I’ll be fine...I think. I was just so...overwhelmed. I’m so close to done, and your hair was the last piece I needed.”
“For that?” Fleur gestured at the cello with one elegant ear, her eyes tracing its lines and curves. “It looks different from the ones out front. Dark, sleek, and classy. Just like you, really.” She shot Octavia a sly glance out of the corner of her eye. “I never would have thought your talent was making instruments. But the way you kept looking at it...it means alot to you. Doesn’t it?”
The earth mare hummed tunelessly, staring at the cello as she passed Fleur and walked up to the worktable. The bag that held Fleur’s former locks sat there, looking so at home in the clutter of tools and brushes, wood shavings and loose tacks, that she’d only just noticed it. Octavia looked inside it again at the pale pink strands and sighed, closing her eyes.
“I have no talent for crafting these things. That was my father’s skill. I learned the basics at his hooves and it’s enough to repair the string instruments that get brought in. What I truly love doing is playing them. The cello specifically, but there isn’t a string I can’t pluck and make it sing the sweetest notes. My father...was complete rubbish when it came to music. He could hear the melodies and tones perfectly and his hooves were magical when it came to shaping wood and metal into masterpieces.”
Octavia stood up at the table and started moving her tools around, clearing space. “He used that skill to pay my way into every music school and academy between here and Cloudsdale. It made him bits, made him famous, and it made him happy when I’d come running into his shop to play for him whatever little thing I’d learned.”
“Your father was famous?”
“Yeah. His instruments were the very best and commanded thousands of bits from musicians and collectors alike. Now that he’s gone…” Octavia swallowed, her voice cracking a little. “Now that he’s gone, the collectors have gotten really steep with the value of his violins.”
“Not to sound rude, but I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of your father, Octavia.” Fleur turned, following Octavia with her eyes, but fell back to take advantage of the now unoccupied couch. She stretched out across it on her belly, kicking her rear hooves playfully, just as she did in her last shoot for CanterLife magazine. “What was his name?”
Octavia stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the little baggie that held the hair. The final component to her father’s gift. She hung her head for a moment, blinking away unbidden and unshed tears. “His name was Various Stratos. A humble pegasus from Cloudsdale that did everything to move his family—me to a better life than he had.”
“Various Stratos?” Fleur pursed her lips, thinking. “I...uh...can’t say I’m familiar. But then again, I think this is the longest I’ve hung out with a musician. As much as I love music, being a model rarely gives me time to just chat with other ponies in related industries.”
“Well, my dad was a traditionalist.” Octavia raised her head again. “You might have heard of him as StratoVarious.”
Fleur blinked, her eyes going wide and she silently mouthed ‘wow.’ “I...uh...I think I did a shoot with one of those, er, his violins once. The owner almost didn’t trust anypony to even touch it. It was beautiful.”
“My dad’s stuff...his projects…” Octavia wiped her eyes with a fetlock. “They were all works of art. I’ve strived all my life to put as much passion into my music as he did into making instruments.”
“The way you talk about him...you admired him.”
“I loved him.” Octavia cleared more space on the workbench, organizing the tools with a careful deliberate pace. “I admired his passion and skill. This cello was his last project. His last masterpiece and it was going to be my birthday present a few years ago. If he were still here...he’d be as honored as I am to work on this with your mane. He wouldn’t use anything but the best materials.”
She gestured at the baggie with Fleur’s former mane. “That’s what this is all about. Getting the last piece needed to complete this. And now...it can be finished. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, Mis—er...Fleur.”
“Then don’t.”
“Excuse me?” Octavia turned, looking back over her shoulder.
Fleur grinned, propping her muzzle on her wrist daintily. “Don’t tell me. Show me. This is your father’s crowning masterpiece. Your instrument. Your cello. And I am going to be a literal part of it!” The model giggled, kicking her hooves playfully and flicked her tail. “I want to see you complete your father’s work and achieve your destiny!”
“Destiny?” Octavia raised an eyebrow curiously, but a corner of her mouth curled into a slight smile. “It’s just a cello.”
“No! It’s not just a cello, it’s yours. I said that already!” Fleur jumped off the couch, standing on her rear legs and swooning gracefully. “It’s so romantic, it’s sure to be a story told for years to come. A beautiful mare that fulfills her father’s greatest work after he passes away! A talented musician paired with a simple city mare to finish the greatest instrument ever crafted!”
“Are you actually insane?” Octavia shook her head, but the smile on her lips refused to go away. “Also, what is this ‘simple city mare’ business? There is nothing simple about you, Fleur.”
Fleur gasped in comically exaggerated shock, holding her hoof to her breast. “Octavia, you wound me! I am a simple mare with simple tastes and simple desires.”
“With a simple thousand bits in her pocketbook to pay off somepony she doesn’t even know to not cut her mane.”
“You’ll note that I did not say simple motivations.” The unicorn giggled, dropping back to her hooves and sauntering up to the work table next to the grey earth pony. “I can’t wait to hear you play me.”
“Fleur…” Octavia shook her head, sighing loudly.
“I love it when you say my name.”
Octavia froze for a moment. Wait...what? What is with this mare? Did she really just say that? Her ear angled back, she glanced at Fleur with just her eyes. The model was looking right at her with that same dazzling smile and brilliantly shining eyes that had greeted her downstairs just a few hours earlier. Maybe I just imagined it?
She could imagine Fleur saying it, certainly. She could even imagine the lithe unicorn blowing gently on her ear, nipping at her neck, sighing her name out slowly in that breathy voice of hers. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Brain slow down...please. It had to be the situation, the heady experience of nearing the completion of the cello, that was getting to her. She’d fainted from it already. That had to be the reason she was imagining the Fleur di Lis, world famous super model, flirting with her. It was probably how Fleur was with everypony. Right?
“Octavia?” Fleur’s smile slipped a little. The shorter pony hadn’t moved for a moment and she hoped that another faint wasn’t imminent. “You just...sort of clammed up there. I just wanted to distract you from feeling bad. I...I didn’t over do it, did I?”
She leaned forward, looking into Octavia’s merlot colored eyes. Such pretty eyes. They match her. Deep, calm, thoughtful. I bet they sparkle when she plays the cello. She cleared her throat gently. “Hello? Equus to Octavia?”
Fleur leaned in closer, her forehead nearly touching Octavia’s when the other pony seemed to suddenly come out of whatever fugue state she’d been in and jerked her head up. Fleur gasped in just as much surprise as Octavia and pulled back, her face flushing a rosy pink. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! But you never responded after saying my name…”
Octavia pulled in a shaky breath, shaking her head to clear out the remaining visions of Fleur wrapping her hooves around her like in the photo spread with her father’s violin. She had the magazine it was in. The article it accompanied was about her father’s work, with images of the pony across from her wrapped seductively around one of the violins. It was a heavily diamond dogeared copy of Estallion Quarterly that had somehow found its way into her bedroom several months ago and just never left.
“I...uh...I’m fine. Sorry.” Octavia smiled weakly, her eyes focusing just off to the side of the model. “I’m still a little wowed. I-I never thought the day would come. That I’d actually get to finish dad’s last piece. My cello.”
“I remember my first photoshoot.” Fleur sighed wistfully, leaning against the workbench so she could look Octavia in the eyes. “I was so nervous! I’d dreamed of it for months, and I was so sure I’d blown the audition. But then the head of Debutants and Dancers herself, came to my family’s home and told me I got the job!” She giggled, leaning closer to whisper. “I was through the roof, Octavia! And then, maybe an hour later, I was back on the ground. On my knees, in fact, trying to not get my mane dirty while I heaved up dinner.”
Octavia narrowed her brows, her attention pried away from the tools and hair set out in front of her. She looked at Fleur in confusion. “What...why are you telling me this? I thought models throwing up to stay thin was a myth?”
“Oh it is! Mostly.” Fleur chuckled softly. “That’s not why I was doing it though. It was the nerves! I was about to step into the career I’d always wanted. I was about to see my dream come true, just like you are about to see yours, Octavia. It might be a bit different, but I know how it feels. Plus,” Fleur winked playfully at the cellist, “I wanted to make sure you weren’t about to get overwhelmed again.”
“Oh.” Octavia blinked, her cheeks warming. “Uh...thanks...F-Fleur.”
“Now, show me how all this works!” Fleur smiled, scanning the tools spread all over the table. “I am dying to know how my hair is going to help you make music.”
Octavia nodded, reaching out to point with her hoof as she named each of the tools she was going to need. The hair would need to be dressed, broken up into hanks that were trimmed and bound in the right length. Once the hanks were ready, she would need to connect it to the bow with some wedges and a piece called a frog. Fleur looked at her blankly for a whole minute after that. Octavia went on to explain the tightening and then the final trim and rosining. Once all of that was done, she could finally use it to create music.
“So...how long is all this going to take?” Fleur glanced back and forth between the earth pony and the workbench. “This is pretty involved. I never knew this much work went into this stuff.”
“It won’t take long. But it’s not very interesting to watch. Sorry.”
Fleur patted Octavia on the shoulder. “It’s no big deal. I can can just catch a nap on the couch if I get bored.”
“If you say so. I’m still amazed this is actually happening. I have to get everything just right.”
“You can do it!” Fleur’s pat on the shoulder turned into a chummy slap of encouragement. “You’ve got the passion, Octavia, and all those other cellos and violins and things in the front are all lovingly taken care of. I know you’ll do your father proud today.”
“Thanks...again. For everything, Fleur.” The earth mare smiled, her eyes tearing up a little. “When it’s done, I’ll show you what I can do with something of this level of quality in my hooves.”
Fleur giggled, her smile growing brighter with an almost foalish glee. True to her word, though, the model was soon out cold on her father’s old couch. Octavia busied herself with the hair. It was good to work again, but even better to be working with something so strong, yet delicate and flexible.
Much like its donor. Octavia looked over her shoulder at the sleeping unicorn, the stupid grin on her muzzle from earlier softening. She looks so peaceful and innocent like that. You’d never guess what a hoofful she is.
She traced the lines Fleur’s lean barrel made against the dark cushions with her eyes. They led up to Fleur’s graceful chest, then split down her sleek legs and up that breathtaking neck to her new short ‘do. Watching the model sleep soundly on the same couch that frequently doubled as her own bed made Octavia’s chest feel tight. It made her feel light on her hooves, like she was floating, rather than standing there at her workbench.
I want this to be perfect. She’s been so generous, I need to show her just what I’m capable of. Octavia snipped the thread binding the last hank of Fleur’s former mane and grabbed a bottle of special preservative. This will keep the hair pliable for a while. Fleur should be able to grow her mane back out before I need more.
The work took her on until well after the sun had sunk behind Cantermount, casting the entire city into the shade of twilight. The stars were just starting to peek out through the clouds when Fleur roused herself. Her mouth tasted dry, but she felt strangely refreshed despite being strung out on some creaky old couch. She was just licking her lips when she realized that she was alone in the back room. Her pretty hostess was nowhere to be seen, the cello and bow gone as well.
“Octavia?” Fleur sat up, her head wobbling a bit, from the missing weight of her mane. She climbed to her hooves and looked around. The lights were all on, but she was definitely alone. “Maybe...she went to go get dinner?”
Her voice sounded small in the cavernous work space. Fleur rubbed her ankles together, her stomach starting to twist as the feeling of being alone in a unfamiliar place started to set in. “Octavia?”
She took a deep breath to shout when a soft sound started to grow around her, filling the room with the sweet sounds of music. Fleur froze, mid-pre-shout, feeling the music bounce around and through her. It was slow, but not sad. Powerful, but neither loud nor forceful. It was the sweetest thing she could ever remember hearing in the Drum. Fleur unfroze as it picked up, the haunting melody dancing through the building. The front of the shop was dark, closed for the night. The back was empty, so that could only mean that the source was upstairs.
She started timidly toward the steep staircase that hugged the wall to the right. This must be what I heard Octavia coming down when I first rang the bell. That means the upstairs is her appartment? The music was louder near the stairs. At the top there was a partially open door and more warm light leaking out along with the music. The steps creaked under her hooves and the music swelled in time with her ascent, until it crescendoed just as she reached the door.
Fleur eased the door open, a smile growing on her lips as she revealed Octavia’s living space. It was a small room, compared to the downstairs, and combined a kitchen, living room and dining area all into one. Near the middle of the space was its owner. The grey colored pony stood on her hind legs, bow clasped firmly in her hooves as it flew across the cello strings. The dark wood was polished to a mirror-like shine and it seemed to drink in the light from the overheads. It rested against Octavia like a partner more than an instrument, its neck like the extended hoof of a swooning mare. Somewhere, Octavia had put on an elegant collar and matching cuffs, and with the cello obediently at her side, she looked equal parts dashing and ravishing.
Fleur felt her mouth go dry again when Octavia looked up with half-lidded eyes, beckoning her in with a slight nod. The model stepped over the threshold, into this mare’s domain, and for the first time since she’d met Octavia, Fleur felt like the one in true awe. Before stood a pony in her power. A mare at one with herself and what her heart lead her too. A pony at one with her passion. The incredible quality Octavia gave off was palatable and it made Fleur hungry.
“Wow…” Fleur sighed quietly as the final notes of the nameless song faded into the night. “That was amazing!”
“Thank you.” Octavia looked down at the bow in her hoof, at the distinctively pink hair there. “I wanted to show you just what your gift allows me to do, Fleur. And I wanted to offer you dinner as well. I’m not so good a cook, but it is the least I could do.”
She pointed over to the small table in her dining room nook. Covered plates and sturdy cups sat there, the table set for two. “It’s basically noodles in a tomato sauce. I’m sure you’re used to much better, but...I wanted to show you my appreciation.”
Fleur’s stomach answered for her with a resounding gurgle. It seemed to echo in Fleur’s ears and she giggled awkwardly. “I...uh...gladly accept. Seems to have been some time since I last ate anyway. Why did you let me sleep?”
“You looked so comfortable, I didn’t want to disturb you. So I tip-hoofed up here and made some food for us and set up to play.” If the music didn’t wake you, I planned on trying an old fashioned kiss Octavia looked down at the bow she still held. The pink was as bright as a flame against the lacquered wood of the cello. She wondered, idly, if her cheeks were a similar shade. They certainly felt that way.
“The music was…” Fleur paused, searching for the right word. Try as she might though, nothing seemed to fit perfectly. “It was lovely, Octavia. Passionate, strong...I want to say ‘deep,’ but I don’t know if that’s right?”
“That makes sense.” Octavia’s bashful smile warmed and she let her cello rest back into its stand. She moved to slip the bow into its holster, but stopped at the last moment. She took it gently in her teeth and shifted back to all four hooves before walking over to the unicorn. She shrugged, smiling around the bow and gestured for Fleur to follow her over to her humble meal.
Octavia pulled out a chair for her guest and then took her own place adjacent to Fleur. She put the bow down on the table reverently, making sure it wasn’t close enough to catch any errant sauce thrown from the gusto of her homemade pesto.
“Oh, and garlic bread too?” Fleur’s magic lifted the covers off the plates, revealing the simple meal. “Are you sure you aren’t a good cook? This looks really good!” She giggled again as her stomach let its opinion be known.
Octavia cleared her throat and scooted herself closer, focusing on her dinner instead of the unreal beauty besides her. “You keep complimenting me...Fleur. I don’t really deserve it. I’m really just a violins maker’s daughter. I play the cello. I restore old instruments on the side. There isn’t anything special about me.”
“Oh don’t be so down on yourself!” Fleur reached over, placing her hoof atop Octavia’s and grasped it firmly. “There is a lot of specialness about you. I can feel it, deep inside, Octavia. You are a talented and beautiful mare, and all of that comes out through your music. I can see it in the way you look at your cello. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about your father. You are a lot more amazing than you give yourself credit for.”
Octavia’s eyes locked on the pale hoof gripping her own. Fleur’s hoof was warm, soft and felt delicate. It felt as good as the bow did. Like it belonged there. In her hooves.
“Don’t faint.”
“Excuse me?”
The earth mare looked up into Fleur’s eyes. Her heart was speeding up, it beat fast and hard in her chest and in her ears. Nopony had ever had this effect on her before. It wasn’t just Fleur’s good looks either. It was her sincerity, her genuine interest and the way she threw herself into helping. The unicorn was special. More special than she could even start to quantify.
And now she was having dinner with this special mare that had made all of her dreams possible.
“Fleur...would you...could you…” Her mouth struggled with the words. Her lungs refused to give up the air. “Fleur...I…”
“What is it?” Fleur’s eyes blinked at her, innocent and open. “Do you want me to pass the pepper?”
Octavia felt herself grow warmer. It was just like receiving the hair all over again. Her mind reeled at the enormity of what she was about to do. She knew she had to do it now or she’d never have another chance. She didn’t know if she live down fainting in front of Fleur again either.
“Fleur, will you go out with me?”
“Go where? We just sat down.” Fleur raised her eyebrow in confusion for a moment before the realization hit her. “Oh! You mean a date?”
The cellist nodded, a quick jerky movement, disbelieving that she’d actually said. She squeezed Fleur’s hoof with her own, keeping her eyes one Fleur’s. “Y-yes. I...I don’t want to im-impose! But I wanted to…”
“Yes.”
Octavia’s heart stopped then and there. She suddenly wished the fainting sensation had taken her. She tried to swallow,but her body wouldn’t respond. All the world shrank away, leaving just her, the table and the mare next to her. “Really?”
Fleur nodded gently, leaning forward to brush her lips against Octavia’s cheek. She stayed there, close enough to smell the other mare’s shampoo, and whispered. “I thought you’d never ask.”
