Untied

Droplets of water fell rhythmically from the ceiling to eagerly pounce the concert hall below.

Drip…, drop…. Drip…, drop….

Drip…. Drop….

I could feel the wet and rotted wood of the stage sagging and creaking underneath my hooves. Surprisingly, it still could hold up the combined weights of my cello and me, even after many years of endless torment. It was rather impressive.

I looked at the crowd of chairs in front of me. None of the seats were occupied. That was to be expected though since it was nighttime; almost everypony was asleep, tucked into the warm embrace of his or her bed.

I refocused on the sound of water plummeting to its doom, hitting the ground and disintegrating in an instant. It was a beautiful metronome.

Drip…, drop…. Drip…, drop….

Drop…. Drip….

Then there was only ominous, uneasy silence.

I looked up expecting that I would see a ceiling, but instead my eyes met with the night sky. There were no stars, clouds or moon to be seen; there was only darkness and a cosmic head peering down at the stage. His breathing filled the hall with cold, dry air that had covered me in goosebumps.

The Puppet Master (that is what I will call him) extended a hand into the concert hall and laid a green unicorn, alongside a wooden lyre, on the ground beside me. It was lifeless, like a ragdoll. My eyes bulged. This could not be Lyra. She was alive. She was not a motionless corpse! She was not an insignificant shell!

It was Lyra. It possessed no cutie-mark, but it was still her. Blast me sky high….

The Puppet Master grinned. “Rise and shine, Heartstrings.”—he said mockingly—“It’s time to play. You too, Philharmonica.” His last words had echoed in my head, taunting me, crucifying me. If my eyes had grown any bigger then, my skull would have been shattered.

Lyra was lifted from the floor, her hoof wrapped around her instrument. She sat on her flank, which now had a golden lyre emblazoned upon it, and plucked at the strings with her magic. I stared hopelessly at my friend.

Of course, I could not direct my gaze at her forever; I soon had to play my part as well. Dreadfully, the strings wrapped around my own hooves had lifted my arms and had forced me to join Lyra in song.

I hated this. I hated all of it. I hated him, I hated this stage, I hated the strings, and I hated this blasted cello; I wanted to throw it across the bloody room!

I closed my eyes and tried to drown out the sounds of Lyra and me playing. It worked well until a single, familiar voice drilled into my head: “Let me untie you….”

Shut up….

“Let me untie you….”

Leave me be, please….

“Let me untie you….”

My eyes exploded open and I let loose a scream so loud it could split entire oceans and decimate houses. “Stop it! Leave me alone!”

The music ceased.

The Puppet Master glared at me, then, for some reason, he smirked. I stared in abject horror as he let go of Lyra, letting her fall lifelessly to the ground face first with a loud thump.

She was dead.

I was dead.

Everyone was dead.

The floorboards underneath my hooves had finally given way, and I had dropped into a thick veil of darkness underneath. This was it. This was my end. Goodbye everypony; goodbye Vinyl, Lyra, Noteworthy; goodbye Measuria.

When my fall had finally ended, there had been no sickening splat. There was only a loud splash as I hit water and sank.

“Be careful with him, Octavia…. Be careful," the voice in my head had said before my eyes flooded with light. It had been the second time that week that I had woken up staring up at a ceiling.

It had been a dream. Thank you, Celestia.