Her Last Bow

by psp7master

Rating: teen
Tags: Sad, Romance, Slice of Life
Length: 11244

I've had everything I ever wanted - everything that money could buy. Up to the moment I met her.

18+ I'd had everything I ever wanted - everything that money could buy. I knew the price of life and how to speculate in its shares. Up to the moment I met her. My world turned upside down. The pillars that had been holding my life for so long came crashing down. Did I walk away? No, although I should have done so. I stood in silence, interrupted only by her otherworldly music - I stood and watched those pillars fall. Forever.

/All music used in this story is intellectual property of the respective composers. All credit goes to them for creating such masterpieces that inspire people to write. And live.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-27 16:30:18 UTC

Prelude in B Minor

Her Last Bow

Prelude in B Minor

***

For more than ten years, day by day, I'd visited that place. It was the most secluded place in Canterlot I could find, and it served its purpose well - to conceal me from unnecessary glances. To hide me from unnecessary ponies. To cover me from the unnecessary world.

That destroyed conservatoire was probably the only building I hadn't invested into. Ponies said it was the most ancient temple of Music in all of Equestria. I would've raised many a bit on this one. Still, I didn't have a care in the world. I never did.

My father passed away when I was a colt. A most unpleasant experience for most, it was a blessing for me. We never got along quite well. He left family when I was a foal so I had no pity for him when I saw the wooden coffin with a bit sign on it - my father's cutie mark.

He was an investor. He invested in almost everything. It was his calling in life and that's what he was supposed to do. I remember him telling Mother that he had always wanted to play the cello instead. Mother laughed. She thought it was a joke. I still remember her laughter: it was a sweet, shining kind of laughter, like a thousand bells were ringing at once in the depths of her voice.

No, she is not dead. She is quite alive, with her private mansion in Fillydelphia and a yearly income of twenty million bits. I, by contrast, live in Canterlot. That's my city. That's the place I was born in, that's the place where I'll die. If death is ever an option for me.

For Father, it was. I didn't attend the funeral. I stood behind the tall steel fence, hidden by the shade of a large tree. I watched the coffin make its way through the cemetery and give my father his last abode in the fertile soil. I'd never paid a visit there since then. I hear a cherry tree grows there and blossoms. Maybe somepony would make a cello of it eventually.

One way or another, I inherited Father's money, shares, realty - just not his reputation. He was known as a rather kind pony, a supporter of fine arts, the kind of stallion who always spends a little money on charity now and then.

I begged to differ. I sold most of his business to gain an unbelievable amount of bits - one trillion. One trillion bits. One trillion bits could buy most anything back then. So it can now, as I sit in my room, writing all of this for no exact purpose. One trillion bits could buy the whole city. One trillion bits could buy allegiances and souls. One trillion bits could buy power and fame. One trillion bits could buy mares and slaves. One trillion bits was more than enough to rule over Equestria behind Celestia's back. One trillion bits could buy me anything. Except for happiness.

And so I came to the ruined conservatoire to sit before the empty stage, closing my eyes. The remaining pieces of the walls hadn't resonated music for very long; the only thing they resonated was my sorrow.

Sometimes I wished I could cry. Unfortunately, I could not.

Every night, I sat before the stage for hours in silence, trying to hear something - maybe an echo of ancient songs played by the bards; maybe a reverberation of the ill wind blowing from the North, bringing coldness, chilling me to the bone. Still, the walls were silent, and so were I.

No music for the soulless ones, eh?

On my brown flank there was a clock with a bit sign on it - the symbol of rationalism, the strange union of my father's cutie mark and the cutie mark of my great-grandfather. He was a watchmaker. Once he told me that there were things money couldn't buy. He told me about friendship and love, tolerance and the common goal of all ponies - to make the world a better place to live in. Then my father came in and told him not to spoil me.

I still remain unspoilt. I know what exactly money can buy. I am money.

I ought to be happy. I was obliged to be happy.

I was not.

I was sick of the world around me because I knew it from the inside. I couldn't change anything, even with all my money - and, what was more important, I didn't want to. I had no desire to change anything. I had no desire to do anything - I left the world of big business long ago, remaining a honourable chairman of the board: I had enough money to feed ten generations of my theoretical descendants. I had no desire to live; yet, I still didn't have a slightest desire to die.

I lived my life the only was that I had known: I waited until the city fell asleep and crawled into the night, in the direction of the destroyed conservatoire.

So I did that fateful night.

***

I left my flat when the Sun had already set. I didn't want to be seen. I passed down the stairs and opened the door to let the fresh air into my lungs. I went outdoors. I dematerialised in the night - a skill I'd learned rather well. My brown coat felt black - no, it turned black under the cover of darkness. My mane was black already - both in the daylight and the nighttime.

I walked along the empty streets, deeply inhaling. The cigarettes I'd been smoking for a long time were killing me - swiftly and softly. Yet, I didn't hesitate and immediately lit one. I felt the tickling in my nose and throat that made me sneeze. The lampposts were old and grey - symbols of the ancient times when ponies still needed light not to be afraid of darkness. Now they are not. They have no fear to keep them in place.

I know better - I was the one who provided the city with those lampposts. And benches. And mostly anything. Among my most prized possessions is a shiny golden medal pinned to one of my numerous tuxedos - "The Honourable Architect of Canterlot".

I am no architect. Sure, I hired many architects to design the modern look of the city, but I am not one. I only paid bits. But that's life - the one who pays gets all the attention. Like my father.

Like me.

Thick smoke trickled down my throat, making me shiver and drop the cigarette. I levitated it with an unnoticeable movement of my horn and threw it into the bin. I struggled to keep the city clean, for some reason. For a reason that remained unbeknownst even to me.

I reached the first temple of Music - my temple. It was glorious. Truly glorious. Its dead body captured the soul of the night and held it hostage. I've always loved the night. It is probably the only thing that I can truly say I love. My mother would tell me to go to bed once it got dark but then Father took my side and told her not to circumscribe me. He said I needed to feel the night. Now I feel it.

Thank you, Father.

The moonlight fell upon the ruins and poured down the cracked stone, forming puddles on the solid ground beneath the building. Mother Night was enveloping the whole city with darkness; yet, this little conservatoire shone with light, as if the souls of ancients bards and dancers lit it from the inside.

I sighed in relief. Everything was just the same. It had always been like this - for as long as I could remember. Nothing had changed.

However, something was wrong. Something was amiss. No, something was present - and that ruined my perception of reality completely. This was my place. Not that I owned it, but everypony knew that the Chairman wanted the place to be his, that is, mine, and nopony ever dared to take it away from me.

Yet, now I heard music. Music coming from the inside. Music so divine that I couldn't believe at first that it was of mortal origin.

The cello cried and whispered, as it seemed to me, right into my ear. It asked questions that needed no answer, and answered them successfully. It danced on the edge of transcendence, not afraid of falling, yet not stepping back.

I took a few steps forth and entered the Temple. I closed my eyes and saw a hoof sliding down the neck of the otherworldly instrument - no, I felt that hoof. I hesitantly approached the stage and took a sit in the back row.

I saw a grey mare standing on the stage. Her head was hung low, her eyes closed, her body frozen in place. Only her hoof - her beautiful, regal hoof - slid up and down the neck of her instrument. It was a simple cello - not an expensive one, I concluded, being an art connoisseur. I sold cellos, among my other business - call it a tribute to my father, if you wish.

She played gently, yet firmly. Her music was the thing that brought light into this eternally dark place. She was the light. In this world of darkness and contempt, she was the shining sun, the fresh air and the young grass beneath one's hooves. Beneath my hooves.

I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the music.

"Sir, are you okay?" a voice came to me from a short distance.

I opened my eyes. I couldn't have fallen asleep, could I? I'd never fell asleep at night before: it was a strange kind of insomnia, the one that never gave me any unpleasant feelings.

I turned my head to the left to see the magnificent cellist. I blinked. She was an earth pony, her black mane fell down on her body, but there was no horn on the forehead.

She raised a brow but then, upon seeing me, jumped back in surprise.

"The Chairman!" she whispered, with an unreadable look of displeasure on her face. Maybe... disgust? It was all very strange.

I immediately stood up and proceeded to approach the mare. I tried to shake her hoof but she quickly retreated a little, leaving my attempt in vain.

"Miss," I said, reminiscing my good manners. "I find your music the greatest treat on this planet a pony could ever receive." I bowed in genuine respect and admiration. "I've been coming to this place for many years, alone, lonely, if you wish. And tonight, Miss, you have changed my life. I heard your music and now I know there is still a meaning in my life. While there is your music, there is hope. I owe you my deepest gratitude, Miss," I concluded with a bow.

The mare didn't show a single sign of approval - not a glance, not a smile, not a nod. Nothing at all.

I tried to proceed.

"May I ask you your name, Miss?" I wondered gently.

The mare squinted her eyes.

"Octavia. Octavia Philarmonica, if that name means anything to you... sir," she replied, almost hissing the last word.

I could hear disdain and contempt in her voice but I couldn't understand the possible reason for that. Her name seemed new to me; I'd surely never heard of her before.

"I am sorry, Miss Philarmonica, your name doesn't mean anything to me... yet," I emphasised the last word. "Your music does, on the other hoof. I am sure that we can make necessary... arrangements so that your name will mean to me as much as your divine talent," I finished with a polite smile.

But instead of seeing interest or embarrassment upon her face, I saw blind anger take its place in her eyes.

"How... dare... you?!" she hissed. "How dare you suggest something like that?! You - of all ponies!" she shouted, losing her composure. "You!" she yelled and ran away, grabbing her cello.

I watched her leave. I couldn't comprehend my possible fault in all of this. What was I to take the blame for? I didn't understand.

I saw an object on the ground - the ground that was her ground some half a minute ago. It was her bow.

I lifted it and held tight in my magical grip.

It seemed as if I couldn't be sure of anything - anymore.

But I was sure only of one thing:

To make her happy, I would gladly give my own life.

Overture in E Minor

Her Last Bow

Overture in E Minor

***

The next morning greeted me with a sigh of the vernal breeze blowing through the ruins. The air smelt of heavy rain, and it cleared my smoke-covered lungs from the inside. I had fallen asleep on the spot, without returning home. It was so strange. It was all strange. It was the first time I had fallen asleep without hours of shifting and uneasy thoughts filling my head like poisonous liquid.

Her wonderful, charming music was still playing in my head, like an echo of the past. I got up and stretched my limbs. Strangely enough, I felt something like optimism.

Optimism. The feeling that had never been an acquaintance of mine. I felt the corners of my mouth twist upwards, as if they were forming a smile. Now, that was nearly impossible. I couldn't remember a single time I smiled, even if I tried really hard. But now, I knew that it was not a frown upon my face but something else.

I approached the nearest puddle and saw an ugly, repulsive, yet delightful, smile on my face.

I smiled.

I smiled and smiled and smiled, savouring the feeling, as if I were a hopeless alcoholic drinking finest Scotch with no intention of stopping.

She ran away.

My smile immediately faded, like even the sweetest dreams always fade into day.

She ran away, you fool. She ran away from *you*.

I shook my head fervently, tossing my mane about, just to get rid of that voice in my head.

She didn't just run away *from** you. She ran away because of you.*

I groaned in mental pain, shutting my eyes close. I had never experienced something like this before. Was it... guilt? But why should I have felt guilty? I did no harm to the mare... to Miss Philarmonica... What went wrong?

Sure, she couldn't have mistaken me for somepony else, but... What did I do to her to make her feel that way?

What went wrong?

It doesn't matter. She ran away, ran away, ran away, she ran-

"Shut up!" I yelled aloud, making the birds around me fly away in a matter of seconds. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut! Up!" I cried and wept and shouted, until I fell on the ground, exhausted from the anger that was overwhelming me.

Anger.

I had never lost my composure before. How could it happen? What enigmatic power was controlling my mind? Controlling my... heart?

I arose in silence, wondering whether that voice had left. Apparently, it had.

I took a few hesitant steps in the direction of the empty street. For the first time in my life, I didn't know where exactly I was going. I directed my feet towards the main street and followed it, my gaze fixed at my hooves, until I hit a transparent door.

I looked up to see it to be a musical shop - one of the shops I owned. I found nothing better but to enter it. I pushed the door and went in.

A grey earth pony slept behind the counter. Suddenly, I felt anger come upon me again, and, to the stallion's (or was it a young colt? I didn't care, in any way) regret, he was the perfect target.

"Now what are we doing here, huh?" I said, almost hissing the phrase, approaching the counter.

The grey colt awoke with a start. He saw me, and his eyes widened in fear.

"Master, I- I just-" he mumbled, blinking dumbly.

"You... what?" I wondered, breathing heavily, bathing in anger.

"I- I was studying for finals- I'm in college, you see- and I had no time to sleep at night- and there were no visitors- please forgive me, Master," he stammered and muttered and apologised.

"I'm taking this cello," I said, suddenly even to myself, pointing at the elaborate cello that was standing at a golden pedestal in the centre of the room. It was a beautiful instrument made of cherry wood and redwood, a work of a true master - I could tell it from the first glance. After all, I had quite an experience at selling those things.

"B-but..." the colt tried to reason me. "It is an order from Maestro Legato, he is to play tonight..."

"As if I care," I said roughly and took the cello in my magic grip. I turned round and almost left the shop when I felt that my blind anger was still occupying my mind.

I smiled; yet, this time it wasn't a smile of happiness. It was an evil smirk, a terrible grin - I could feel it.

But I didn't care.

I never did.

"One more thing," I said, not looking back at the grey colt. "You are fired."

"But-" the earth pony began, tears audible in his voice. "I have a family to feed..."

"Too bad for you then," I stated and left the shop, shutting the door close.

I listened to my feeling to find out if I felt better.

I did not.

Anger was still my guide, my judge and jury.

I frowned and went to the only place where I could shout, break furniture and dishes without losing my social image - home.

***

I followed the streets that led me to my flat in silence, without looking around much, without paying attention to the world around me.

Ponies passed by, lost in their meaningless deeds, boring lives and pointless feelings.

As my anger faded away, the usual depression occupied its proud pedestal once more. "Anger always fades away," I remembered my father once saying.

But the pain never does, I added mentally, shaking my head.

Suddenly, something bumped into me, making me stagger a little. I rose my head to see it to be not something but somepony instead. To be exact, it was a pink filly - no, a young mare - with a blue mane; a unicorn, the most widespread species in Canterlot.

She blinked a few times and arose from the wet asphalt. I closed the distance between us so she could see me well.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" she apologised as she recognised me. "I didn't mean to do it - I didn't know it was you!"

"Oh, and if it weren't me but somepony else instead, you wouldn't have apologised?" I wondered with a smile, not a single hint of anger in my voice. I saw a pack of cigarettes she had dropped and levitated it next to her. Those were my cigarettes - the ones I had developed and was selling successfully: my scientists made those twice as addictive as the ones my father'd sold.

What an achievement!

"Well, I-" the mare replied with a blush, flapping her eyelashes.

I immediately understood everything. She was a hooker, a streetwalker, like many other mares. I knew the scheme she tried to use - I invented it.

"How much?" I wondered idly. I needed to get rid of some tension, and this was a perfect opportunity.

"It's free for you, Master," she whispered with a blush.

She was probably still inexperienced in the art of seduction. I looked over her. Sure, she was still very young. I sighed and shook my head.

"You know-" I began but then an image of Miss Philarmonica playing her cello crawled into my head and I suddenly felt anger and tension deep inside once more.

I grinned, for the third time that day. I nodded and led the mare towards my home.

***

I awoke in the evening, the pink mare lying next to me in my gorgeous bed. Moonlight was falling on her face, lighting it perfectly, giving her an expression of a saint.

I gave her a light peck on the cheek and got up. I left the money on the bed, right next to her.

When I made my way towards the bathroom, I tapped my hoof against the wall two times. It was a signal for the captain of my private guard, who resided in a separate special room: if she doesn't leave in two hours, *make her*.

I entered the spacious bathroom and turned the knobs. I felt water fall on my weary limbs like a cataract, washing my worries away.

Not for long, though. As soon as I dried myself and left the room, I felt sadness chew on my insides once more. I resolved to act as I would've acted any other day: I went out and gave myself up to the night.

***

I followed my daily routine quite well: I left home and trotted along the dusty, empty, lifeless streets towards the first Temple of music. The last Temple in this faithless world.

I closed my eyes as I approached the conservatoire, trying hard to hear music - her music.

To no avail.

I ran into the building, searching high and low for her. Needless to say, she wasn't there. I was alone.

Again.

As always.

Yet, this time I got no pleasure from loneliness. All the feelings that had been haunting me suddenly came over me at once and exploded in my head and heart.

I fell on the floor and sobbed and cried myself to sleep.

***

It's strange how quickly ponies change their masks that they're wearing. I admit to wearing different masks all the time. The thing is, even I myself cannot comprehend which one is the real one. Maybe they are all real. Or, perhaps, none of them are. I'm not sure. And, what's more. I don't care.

That morning, I woke up with a sudden determination in all of my limbs. I yawned and thought over the situation. I had money. I had power. I didn't know where to find Miss Philarmonica. Well, what was I to do but to find her?

Galloping from the spot, I knew exactly where to go: Canterlot Police Department.

The building was located in the city centre: a piece of modern architecture, it was pretty utilitarian - aluminium doors and small windows greeted me.

I opened the door without wasting time on knocking. In the corner of a small room that appeared before my eyes was sitting a gruff stallion, of the earth pony variety. He smiled upon seeing me.

"Master," he said respectfully. "What brings you here?" he wondered lazily, obviously having not much to do.

"Octavia Philarmonica, the cellist," I said, tapping my hoof against the floor. "I need to know where she lives."

The policepony shook his head.

"I didn't know you were into classical music, Master... but I cannot tell you. It is against the law," he stated firmly.

"I am the Law," I hissed, losing my temper. "One word - and you will be arresting bugs in the streets, being homeless and unemployed," I threatened him.

He shifted uneasily but looked in my eyes, his gaze straight and firm.

"My fate is up to you to decide..." he began with an invisible gulp. "...but I will never break the law," he finished, fear disappearing from his voice.

I sighed as my anger expelled. I hung my head low and felt a tear make its way down my face.

"She... she is playing at the Royal Conservatoire tonight," the stallion mumbled in an embarrassed tone, loud enough for me to hear.

I rose my head and wordlessly thanked the guardian of justice - with a thankful gaze.

He nodded in understanding.

I nodded as well.

My life had meaning once more. She was my meaning - and my life.

Symphony in E Minor, Movement One

Her Last Bow

Symphony in E Minor, Movement One

***

When my father turned twenty-five, he already was a leading pony. The leading pony. His word meant more than orders from Her Highness Princess Celestia. His single word was more than enough to grant life and death, to decide the fate of countless ponies.

And, despite all of his efforts to hide it, he enjoyed it.

He really, genuinely, sincerely enjoyed it. The feeling of absolute power - who wouldn't have enjoyed it in his place? He taught me a most valuable lesson: no matter how soft your heart is, no matter how kind you are, *money is everything*. I learned the lesson well.

I learned it by heart and repeated it in my head all the time my mother and I huddled together in a small hovel on the outskirts.

I repeated it in my head when I went to school for poor earth ponies because I couldn't afford going to magic school for unicorns.

I repeated it in my head when I sat in the open air, shivering due to cold wind, sipping tea, while my mother was selling her body to working stallions so that she could feed me and my brothers and sisters (who are very rich and successful as of now, big thanks to me).

I repeated it in my head when I stood behind the fence at the cemetery and watched my father receive his last honours.

And then I walked away.

I was twenty-five. I was ready to become a leading pony. I was ready to become the leading pony.

I learned the lesson well.

Thank you, Father.

***

I was lying on my back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling. The mirrors on the ceiling that had been conveniently placed there by a creative architect - one of my countless employees - were constantly luring my attention, as always. They reminded me of some place I could finally call home, some day when I am not alone, some world where money isn't anything - where wits, courage and honour reign as the only kings and queens.

My reflection on the ceiling reflected my own body; yet, I didn't fully realise that I was I. On the contrary, it seemed as though I was composed of millions of tiny shards, which made me complete - if I ever was complete in the first place. Why would I think of myself as of a complete being? Because I had consciousness? Free will? Does that really make a pony a pony?

Sometimes I like to think of myself as a great compilation of many souls, with their own feelings and desires, their thoughts and emotions. Maybe it is really so, in this time and space. Maybe it is not. When I feel I cannot speculate any longer, I get up and go for a cup of tea.

So I did that night. Sipping tea from a porcelain mug, I looked at the sofa. Her bow was lying there proudly, waiting until the moment I returned it to its rightful owner.

Rightful owner.

I chuckled at such an expression. If there was a single thing I'd learned throughout my life, it was the fact that the rightful owner of anything was the pony who could offer more bits than the others.

Yet, I felt a sentimental craving towards the bow. Her hooves touched it - and mine did, too. It was an indirect hoofshake - nothing special, though I felt warmness inside.

It is so funny how ponies forget important matters over such trifles. But who could say what was really important and what was not? I surely was not the one.

I looked at the old clock on the wall. I still had a few hours before the performance - before her performance. I shifted uneasily and lay back on the sofa.

But now I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts directed themselves to the field of philosophy but my head ached way too much to comprehend anything worth speculating about.

No free will?

Got it, just give me a pill.

No justice?

Fine, just give me a pill!

Constant uneasiness and unrest?

Amazing, just give me a little magical Celestia-damned pill!!!

I groaned in pain and rolled over. Seeing the desirable pill on the table, I held it tight in my magical grip and levitated it over with a glass of water. I swallowed the medicine and closed my eyes. Now I just had to wait till my pain was over.

My doctor had prescribed it for me, as well as a few other pills to kill my so-called "depression". I didn't take those. Never did, never will. I knew they wouldn't help; so knew my doctor. The so-called "depression" was nothing but tiredness. Exhaustion. I was simply tired of life itself. Nothing more, nothing less.

I felt the pain slowly fade away. I couldn't do without those pills - so I cannot now. Well, at least I know there is something I am addicted to. My pain was dealt with - but sadness was still left beneath.

It is at times like this when I feel most creative. I pondered a little and then levitated a pencil and a sheet of paper - I didn't trust quills back then.

Now I'm writing this with a quill - one of her gifts.

I placed the paper before my eyes and quickly started to write.

We live on two different planets,

The quill fervently scribbled in my laughable efforts to write something decent.

We live two different lives - all right.

I frowned at the strange, jazz-like rhythm of the poem I was writing. I wanted the poem to be romantic and slowly-paced, on the other hoof.

We're preachers who're always pretending

That life is great and the future's bright.

I wondered if I'd acted against my conscience here. Was I really sure that the future was bright? No, I was not. Yet, I resolved to leave the poem as it is - after all, it would end up burned in fire, as all of my previous "works".

We lack explanations or meanings.

We've no idea what's wrong and right.

Yes, that was true, at least. I wasn't sure about how Miss Philarmonica felt but I knew for sure that I had not a slightest idea what was right and wrong in this strange world that I, for some reason, ended up being born in. In this time and space.

Was there ever a reason? ...For anything?

My world is spinning and reeling

But when you're with me, I know I'll sleep well tonight.

Now this was totally getting jazzy. I read the so-called "poem" again.

We live on two different planets,

We live two different lives - all right.

We're preachers who're always pretending

That life is great and the future's bright.

We lack explanations or meanings.

We've no idea what's wrong and right.

My world is spinning and reeling

But when you're with me, I know I'll sleep well tonight.

I frowned disapprovingly and levitated the paper, directing it towards the fireplace. I saw the flame devour my work. I can't say I felt more sad but I totally felt like playing the piano.

It meant that my sadness was deep enough to make me play music. The piano was the only instrument I was able to play - quite ironic, for a cello seller, isn't it? I can't say I was good of a musician, yet I knew my skills were higher than average.

I was no composer, though. I just played what others had composed. Nothing more, nothing less.

I rose from the sofa again and placed myself on the stool before the instrument - an expensive concert piano made of finest redwood.

I placed my hooves upon the keys. My technique was strange for a unicorn - I didn't use magic at all, I played with my bare hooves. Ah, the benefits of going to school for poor earth ponies!..

I closed my eyes and suddenly I felt I couldn't play anything. Anything at all. All inspiration left me at once, and no power whatsoever could make me play. I sighed. It was a rare occasion; still, it was nothing new.

I rose and walked nervously across the room. I looked at the clock again.

Still, a few hours left.

I approached my gramophone - yes, I was a little old-fashioned; so I am now. - and pressed the button. The record started to spin and the needle began to bring music to life.

As the song echoed over the room, I felt more and more sedate with each passing second. The song spoke of calm humility and resignation, and I couldn't object to it. I felt very much a fatalist at that moment.

I couldn't change anything, and, to my deepest displeasure, I couldn't understand anything. I couldn't comprehend anything, and that really, really hurt me mentally.

The doctor said it was all in my subconsciousness - well, maybe it was, but nevertheless, I was the one to feel broken, not my subconsciousness. But again, who was I? Or, better, what was I? I felt the pain gradually return; fortunately, the song ended and I turned off the gramophone.

I decided it would be best to spend the time left before the performance outdoors. I put on my tuxedo and bow-tie. I looked at myself in the mirror. Sure, I looked good. But was I good enough for Oc- Miss Philarmonica? She seemed to hate me not for my looks but for something else - for what?

I sighed and brushed my mane before looking over the room and leaving the flat, taking her bow with me.

I had a concert to attend.

***

As I passed along the street, I tried to think over what exactly I would say to Miss Philarmonica after the concert. However, thoughts jumped and danced in my head, forming a tangled mass of nouns, verbs, adverbs and adjectives. Unable to unite them, I resolved it for the best to think on the spot.

And the spot was glorious indeed. The Royal Conservatoire looked magnificent, with its golden that reflected the moonlight and marble walls that had been enchanted to reflect sound perfectly. I was proud of the building - I built it. Or, better to say, paid to build it. Which is totally the same, in this time and space.

I tend to frequently use strange phrases, like In this time and space or Nothing more, nothing less or something of the kind. I think of them as of inevitable followers and companions of life itself: I like to think that in different time, different space, life is different as well. Maybe it is like the muddled impression of a perfect world which I see in the mirror on the ceiling. Maybe, in different time and space I could be something more than I am. Or something less.

I ascended the stairs and stood before the closed door. I remember that I still had some time to kill. I sighed and looked around.

Ponies were crowding in the small square before the Conservatoire, talking to each other or smoking or just standing lost in thought. Not far from the square there was a market - the place for poor ponies to buy food, warm clothes or other things - if they ever had money for other things. Usually, they did not.

I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The smoke covered my lungs, giving me the desired relief. Sometimes a cigarette or two was more than enough to make me calm and collected, in this time and space.

My hooves guided me to the market and I obediently followed them. I often just follow my hooves, whenever they direct me.

The market wasn't crowded in the slightest, contrary to the square. That was probably because poor ponies - the ones that actually work - were too tired to go outdoors. They needed their sleep to perform hard labour the next day. We, rich ponies, did not.

I passed the stalls with various food, despite all efforts of the sellers to offer me their wonderful hay, delicious apples and exquisite oranges. I went towards the stall with flowers. My gaze fell upon a magnificent bouquet of fifteen white roses.

"G'evenin', sir! Wanna buy some flowers?" a cheerful red mare behind the stall exclaimed, looking at me with a smile.

I smiled back. I loved such markets - most of the ponies there didn't know who I was and, more importantly, didn't care.

Neither did I.

"But of course!" I tried to mimic the cheerfulness of the earth pony vendor. By the changed expression on her face I could see that I failed the task - I looked fake, and poor ponies could distinguish fake the best.

"Ahem, anyway, I would like a bouquet of these wonderful roses," I said, pointing at the flowers.

"Oh, that'd be twenty bits for those flowers," the mare replied underscoring the "o" in "flowers" heavily.

I silently put the money on the counter and took the flowers. My mood swung and I was sad once more, in a matter of several seconds. The doctor gave me the pills to deal with mood swings as well. I didn't take them, in this time and space.

I turned around and walked away.

"Mighty thanks to ya!" the seller yelled at my back.

I left the market and almost reached the square again when I felt somepony tap my shoulder. When I turned to look at whom it might have been, I saw a little filly, a pink earth pony with no cutie mark.

"Um... sir?" she asked me, looking straight into my eyes.

"Yes, young miss?" I replied gently. "Anything the matter?" I wondered.

"Um... maybe you would like to..." the filly began and mumbled something indistinct in the end.

"Beg your pardon?" I asked politely.

"Maybe you would like to go..." she winked in a pseudo-seductive manner. "...for a roll in the hay?" she finally blurted out and blushed heavily.

"What?.." I said, dumbfounded.

"It's only five bits!" the filly whined. "Mum said we needed money and I decided to... to..." she began to sniff.

I stood in silence and watched her sob. Then, without saying a word, I took out five bits and put it before the little pony.

And then I turned around and ran away. I galloped away, without looking at the road, without fearing to get lost.

I knew that the world was like this, in this time and space. I knew that she wasn't the only filly to sell her body in the streets of Canterlot. I knew there were many poor ponies around. I was accustomed to it. I was used to it.

Then why did I feel tears streaming from my eyes, getting lost in my fur?

Why did I feel sorrow deep inside?

Symphony in E Minor, Movement Two

Her Last Bow

Symphony in E Minor, Movement Two

***

If there was something that could stop me, it would be the newborn rain falling the sky, washing my worries away, gifting me the permission to enjoy tranquillity, may it be lasting for a mere moment.

And, fortunately, the rain came pouring down, making me stop dead in my tracks. I raised my head so that heavy raindrops would fall right on my weary eyelids and find their way down my face and straight into my fur. So they did.

I opened my mouth and immediately felt drops of cleanest water on my tongue. I swallowed the raindrops, feeling more and more relaxed with each passing second. My worries and troubles faded away, like a nightmare always fades into day.

In this time and space.

I stood in a small puddle, bathing in the rain, my mind clear as though after a sudden epiphany that everything was pointless. Well, everything was pointless. This time and space was awful to live in for most ponies. My sole existence had no objective  reason, though I now knew very well that it had a subjective one: my whole reason was her.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Now, after the sudden epiphany, I knew for sure that I would devote my life to Octa- Miss Philarmonica. I had a reason once more, and I felt... I felt something like optimism.

I turned around and walked back to the Conservatoire with a goofy, uneasy smile plastered upon my face. I still had a concert to attend.

I had a life to begin.

***

As I trotted in the direction of the square, I investigated the surroundings - something I'd never done before, so far as I can remember. I saw small stones beneath my hooves and knocked them with almost childish vigour, watching them fall at the curb. I smelled badly cooked hay fries with an incredible amount of oil; yet, I was happy even for this. I saw ponies trotting down and up the street, some of them rich and fashionable, some of them poor and upset. I admired the city and, as I felt it, the city admired me. After all, I'd bought almost all of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

When I reached the square, the queue to the entrance of the Royal Conservatoire had already occupied all the square and half of the road. I simply avoided it and came up to the back entrance, revealing my entrance pass from my saddlebag.

It seemed that the security pony needn't have taken a glance at the pass: he'd seen my face, and that was more than enough for me to come in.

So I did.

The corridor was narrow and dark. The flickering candles completed the impression of a medieval castle, even some sort of a dungeon. I chuckled at such a thought.

I chuckled.

That was one more thing I'd never done before and never thought I'd ever do.

I loved the feeling, though. I savoured it. I felt my throat getting used to the new sound and chuckled again, light-heartedly.

As I approached the large wooden door leading to the balcony, I opened my saddle bag and took out the most precious treasure in the world, in comparison to which all my money meant nothing - her bow.

I opened the door with firm resolve, only to see that the balcony had a single cushion lying on the floor, decorated with my gold initials. The staff knew I liked solitude. Had liked, before.

I placed myself upon the pillow and closed my eyes. The performance was yet to begin so I had some time to gather my thoughts and find enough courage to face Octav- Miss Philarmonica after the concert.

"Good day, sir," I hear a voice from behind.

I turned round to see a dark blue unicorn, with a light blue mane. He was wearing round glasses that suited him rather well. His cutie mark resembled a mask, the one that actors had used in ancient times.

"Unfortunately, I do not have the honour of knowing you, good sir," I replied politely, reminiscing good manners.

In reply, he silently handed me a business card, on which I could read:

Drunkard Stephen [CEO]

Royal Drama Theatre

"It's pronounced drun'kard, if that may interest you," he immediately said with a gentle smile, upon seeing my confusion.

"I see... How may I help you?" I offered, starting to feel slightly annoyed: I still wanted to remain with myself before the performance; however, my strangely merry mood outshone the irritation.

"I do not want to waste your precious time..." the blue unicorn began. "But, if I remember correctly, you had wanted to own the Royal Drama Theatre for quite a long time..." he cleared his throat. "As the new CEO, I'm willing to sell it."

My thoughts immediately directed themselves to such an offer. Indeed, I'd almost given up on the hope to buy the Drama Theatre, the only place of entertainment in Canterlot that I didn't own or had no shares whatsoever. The previous owner became my enemy, as he held tight at his establishment, not letting me "grab it in my filthy hooves", as he would say.

And now, I finally had an opportunity to make my dream real. Still, I had to solve one important question.

"May I enquire where the previous owner is right now?" I wondered with caution.

Drunkard lowered his head solemnly.

"Before the doors of Heaven, no less. Died of pneumonia a few weeks ago," he said in a grave voice, shaking his head.

However, I could fell something was amiss. It all looked too much like a theatrical performance, with this strange pony playing the leading role. Stealing my leading role.

"I do not think I am in the mood to discuss business affairs right now. I would like to enjoy the concert beforehand," I stated, coldly, but politely. "I will call on your office as soon as I have time."

The unicorn raised his brow.

"Oh, is that so? Aren't you afraid I will find a customer by that time? Somepony who pays more?" he wondered emotionlessly.

I chuckled, savouring the unfledged feeling.

"I don't think anypony could pay more that I can," I replied. "And even if they could... Money isn't the only way to solve problems in this country," I finished, looking straight into his eyes.

To his credit be it said that he held the gaze.

"That's... interesting, to say at least... Other ways..." he mumbled under his breath, still loud enough for me to hear. "Good evening to you, in this case," he said out loud and bowed his head.

I repeated the gesture. He left at once but I didn't see him leave: my attention was fixed on the stage.

The lights went out and the searchlight was directed to the central stage.

The performance was about to begin.

***

First, a black unicorn took the left part of the stage, placing himself on a stool next to the piano. He remained unseen, in the darkness.

Not that I cared.

Next, a grey unicorn mare passed the central stage, taking her place at the right part. She held a violin in her magical grip. She remained unseen, in the darkness.

And then came the light.

She walked out of the darkness into the light of the searchlight, taking the central stage. She held her cello, balancing against it. She waved to the audience that greeted her with an ovation.

I sighed in relief and felt a tear crawl down my cheek. She was real. I hadn't imagined her. The worst thing that could happen would be a sudden realization that she was a mere hallucination of my unstable mind.

Yet, she was real.

She closed her eyes and nodded to the two other musicians.

And then, the Music was born.

She began playing calmly, with unspoken ease. The composition demanded strict canons, yet she managed to put her soul into it.

After a while, the pianist took the leading role. However, to me, she was still the leading pony in the trio.

When the violinist began gently playing her strings, Miss Philarmonica shut her eyes completely, lost in the beautiful music.

All of a sudden, the musicians burst into a loud passage, taking me by surprise. I couldn't imagine such vigour in her - but still, it was present.

And, as if nothing had happened since the beginning, she started playing the first part again, calmly, even coldly, compared to her outburst.

She was channeling music through herself - I could see it.

I could feel it.

The music became louder. She was pulling the strings fervently, even violently - I expected the final crescendo.

But, commanding the music to her will, she silenced her instrument once more.

I felt like I was bathing in music, in a manner one would bathe in a sea. The waves of her charming melody covered me.

Quiet.            Quiet.          Piano.            Piano.

Loud.            Loud.           Forte.             Forte.

I expected her to finish with an intense passage, so that the world would know her passion, her longing, her desire for music.

I was praying on her that exact moment. She became my only Lord, my only commander, my only love.

Yet, she finished the composition gently, taking her hoof off the cello, sighing like a vernal breeze after a long night.

The audience went wild with excitement. The ponied stomped their hooves, expressing their highest approvement.

I clapped my hooves as well, my gaze fixed firmly on her. My eyes were wet but I didn't have a care in the world.

I've just experienced my first communion after the epiphany.

She glanced at the balconies, throwing warm, genuine smiles at my neighbours. When she saw me, however, the smile faded. She rose her brow irritatingly and, trying not to show her anger, left the stage with a smile on her face, this time a fake one.

I immediately knew something was very, very wrong. There had been a terrible misunderstanding, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less.

For some reason she really hated me, in this time and space, and I had to find out why.

***

I approached the dressing room with a very heavy head on my shoulders. The pain had made its way inside and I couldn't do anything to stop it. The pain always came unexpectedly, and never in time.

The guard in front of the door regognised me and took a few steps to the left, letting me in.

However, I couldn't go inside straightaway. My headache had to be cured. I sighed and tossed a few bits toward the guard so he "wouldn't see" me lit up a cigarette. Smoking was forbidden in the Royal Conservatoire.

I think it should be forbidden everywhere, in this time and space.

I knew I was slowly killing myself with those cigarettes but they were the only things besides pills that could ease my pain.

In the beginning, I started smoking to overcome my pill addiction.

Now I'm addicted to both pills and cigarettes.

The irony!

I took one last puff and knocked at the door.

"Come in!" a voice sang from behind it. The sweetest voice in the world - her voice.

I entered the room. Miss Philarmonica was polishing her beloved instrument attentively. The was her hoof slid down its neck made me shiver. It was as if she were sliding down my neck...

"Not you again! Would you just stop stalking me?!" she hissed as she turned round to see the visitor, who, unfortunately, was I.

I bowed my head with respect nevertheless.

"I believe we've encountered a terrible misunderstanding, Miss Philarmonica. I am sure you must have mistaken me for somepony else since not only haven't I done any harm to you, I've recently met you for the first time and-" I began my on-the-spot speech, only to be interrupted by her regal, royal voice.

"You may have recently met me, yes!" she yelled, losing her composure. "But I'll never forgive you for what you've done to my family!" Tears were streaming from her eyes, which made me both sad and somewhat angry - because of the pain and constant misunderstandings.

"I don't even know your family!" I exclaimed, almost breaking into a yell myself.

"Oh, you never know those on whom you stomp as you walk upon your golden stairway to wealth and power! You just crush them and go on!" Octavia shouted, now crying out loud.

"Could you just tell me what I've done?!" I roared, my head almost exploding from intense torture.

"So you really don't remember, do you?" Octavia sighed and closed her eyes.

She faced me and looked straight into my eyes, as if she were trying to read me like a book.

She closed her eyes and, after a moment, opened them again.

"You killed my parents."

Symphony in E Minor, Movement Three

Her Last Bow

Symphony in E Minor, Movement Three

***

I froze in place, astonished to the bone. I couldn't really comprehend what she had just said - partly because of the headache, partly because of the shocking information she'd just developed.

Octavia kept looking at me sternly, never breaking the eye contact. Her face was angry; yet, it was a humid kind of anger, which is slowly born inside one's heart and fades away just as slowly.

Without actually moving an inch, I levitated my pack of cigarettes from the saddlebag and took one of those sticks of death that were to kill me, eventually. In this time and space.

I took a deep puff when I felt somepony's hoof take the cigarette from my mouth. Octavia stood before me with a frown, extinguishing the cigarette. She looked so nice and wonderful that I could hardly keep the urge to kiss her on the spot.

"You won't smoke those horrible things near me," she said firmly, with a crystal shine in her eyes.

I nodded silently, despite my ever-present desire to argue. When she was near, I became more obedient than a foal. And I didn't mind it in the slightest.

"So..." I began nervously. "Would you mind telling me the whole... story?" I wondered carefully, as to not hurt her feelings.

She huffed with an even more intense frown.

"You killed them. The end," she replied before turning away.

I thought she was crying so I took a hesitant step forth to comfort her. When she turned to me again, however, I saw her not in tears but in anger.

"You!" she shouted. "You just had to start selling cellos, didn't you?! You just had to leave my father jobless and penniless! You just had to strip him of the only activity that kept him from drinking! So he got drunk and fell off the cliff - all because of you! So Mother would weep and then drink those Celestia-damned pills and die - all because of you!" she shouted and started beating me with her bare hooves. I just stood, my head lowered, accepting the punishment.

"They left me! They promised never to leave me - but they did! All because of you!" she yelled on the top of her lungs and collapsed onto the floor.

A guard peeked inside the room but shut the door immediately upon catching my disapproving glare.

"All... *sniff* because of... *sniff*" she wept. "You..."

I put a comforting hoof upon her shoulder but she rejected it.

"I...I'm sorry... I didn't know..." I tried to apologise pointlessly.

She raised her head and glared at me, her cheekbones intense - a sign of a defensive stance which can grow into an offensive one.

"Oh, that just changes everything! You didn't know! You never know how many ponies you've hurt throughout your life!" she hissed.

The grey pony rose to her hooves.

"Begone! I will not ask again. Go away and never come back!" she shouted.

I turned around and started walking, without thinking, mechanically.

"All because of you..." she mumbled for the last time.

I stopped.

"All because of you..." I repeated dumbly.

"Huh?"

"All because of you..." I turned round to see her face. She looked slightly surprised. "All because of you... I lost my sleep and appetite. All because of you... I discovered the beauty of night once more. All because of you... I lost interest in anything but you. All because of you... I now believe in angels because one of them is standing right in front of me. All because of you..."

Words were streaming from my mouth, as if it weren't I who was speaking but somepony else instead. If I believed in God, I would've said it was he (or she?) who had put those words in my mouth.

I finished. Octavia lowered her head. A tear crawled down her cheek.

"Begone," she repeated firmly.

I turned towards the door again. As I opened it, I stopped to levitate an object from my saddlebag and put it onto the floor before the earth pony.

The grey cellist looked at the object in astonishment.

"Your bow," I said and left the room, closing the door behind me.

***

Never in my life would I have thought I would come to the cemetery. Yet, here I was, standing before my father's grave. My hooves had brought me here. Nothing more, nothing less.

There were no flowers on the grave. That was reasonable: Father was dead; therefore, not rich or powerful anymore. I was alive; therefore, rich and powerful. I was the one to bring flowers to, in this time and space.

I placed myself before the grave, finally lighting a cigarette. I took a very deep puff and coughed for a few seconds. I let the blue smoke cover the ground beneath me; the ground that now was my father's home. He always hated my smoking. Now he couldn't do anything but witness it, if he could ever witness anything in such a state.

"Hello, father," I said suddenly.

The grave remained silent; only the foul wind answered with a howl.

"Things are going bad, father," I continued, trying to understand my own motivation behind this strange monologue.

"Not with the business, however," I carried on. An owl flew past the grave in royal, majestic silence. "You see..." I took another puff and closed my eyes blissfully. Although cigarettes were most certainly killing me, they brought me the desired relaxation.

"There is one girl... Mare," I corrected myself. "I love her... but I kind of killed her parents." I scratched the back of my head, realising how ridiculous that sounded.

The grave remained silent, as it should've been. A gentle wind tried to howl meekly but perished, stumbling upon the silence.

"Whom am I even talking to!" I yelled in rising anger, jerking up and putting out the cigarette, throwing the end under the large tree that was growing near the grave.

I sighed and walked away.

***

"You can't do that, sir! Please, I beg you, think it over!"

While a visit to my late father wasn't a bright idea, it caused me to make my brain work, and it worked well. I knew exactly what could make Octavia experience at least a little bit of forgiveness towards me.

So I came to my office, at night, only to find two of my managers still at work. I wasn't surprised to see them at work. Working extra meant getting paid extra. Working at night meant getting even more bits. Easy calculations.

Those two were all I needed at the moment.

"Reissue the 'Cellos for Everypony' firm. The new owner will be Miss Octavia Philarmonica, with a Ph. Am I clear?" I said casually the instant I entered the office. I didn't want to lose precious time. Time is money, in this time and space.

The younger manager, a grey unicorn, gasped in fear. He was new and inexperienced, not used to such affairs. He could be forgiven for that, I suppose.

"You can't do that, sir! Please, I beg you, think it over!" he pleaded, his eyes wide in fear. Poor colt really was afraid to lose his job: new owner, new rules. I would be no longer responsible for his well-being. Sometimes I think that most ponies just want somepony else to take the responsibility. They would exchange their freedom for happiness with hooves upraised.

But what did I need? What did I really need? Freedom and happiness don't always go together. I wanted to be happy. I really, honestly wanted to be happy. But I wasn't ready to let my freedom go. Gifting part of my business - not a significant part but still a part, nevertheless - to the mare I loved was a fist step on my difficult route.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I shook my head and smiled indulgently, looking at the colt with sympathy.

"Do it. Now. I'll come for the paper tomorrow," I said and started to walk away. Walking away was becoming commonplace in my life.

"This is madness!" I heard the younger manager hiss to his older colleague, a blue unicorn, as I opened the door.

The latter chuckled.

"No, my friend. This is love."

***

I was trotting along the empty streets, contemplating what I was about to do. I couldn't just go to Octavia and tell her, 'Congratulations! You're the new owner of that one company which led to your parents' death!' The world around me seemed to become a tangled mass, a dark and unwelcoming place. I felt my headache approaching from somewhere deep inside my head. That is, if its source was inside me - a point which I doubted at times. I pondered for a moment and looked up to the sky.

No. I shook my head and carried on. If there were something up there, it was most probably a vile, soulless creature with a sole intention of letting ponies like me prosper and ponies like Octavia's parents die. I wanted a pill. I wanted that Celestia-damned pill so much! But I was far from home. As I passed through a dark and gloomy neighbourhood, I realised I was straying away from home instead, maybe subconsciously, maybe... willingly. I levitated a cigarette and lit it up.

I took a deep puff, thinking the whole situation over. In the morning, I would come for the official paper and bring it to Octavia... and... And a realization struck me. I didn't even know where she lived! And even if I knew, what would I say? What would I do if she just tore the paper into pieces and slammed the door before my muzzle?

"Those are bad for your health, you know?"

I turned round to face the owner of the voice, I saw a familiar blue unicorn, a mask as his cutie mark.

"Ah, Drunkard?" I said, straining myself. I was alone, in an unwelcoming place, and the pony before me was my potential competitor. "Any business here?" I wondered as casually as I could.

The unicorn didn't answer. Instead, he smiled and took a few steps in my direction. I didn't back up.

He levitated a gun and pointed it at me. The gun was small enough to hide in a secret pocket in one's saddlebag.

I was afraid. I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my entire life. But I stood still, lest I should lose my face.

"You're a stallion using a mare's gun?" I teased, knowing very well this could lead to my instant death. But my depression had probably reached the point where the very value of my life meant nothing to me.

"You have been charged with bribery, treason and blackmail, performed in order to reach your business goals," the blue-maned stallion said in a bland formal tone, not lowering the gun. I took one last puff of my cigarette; it wasn't alive anymore but I knew better than to drop it.

"You will come with me," Drunkard (if that was his real name) said, motioning with his gun for me to go in the direction of the local prison.

I sighed and finally dropped the cigarette.

I trotted where I was told to go, my head hung low.

My whole life was ruined.

***

I lay on the bed, holding my aching head in my hooves. I had no pills left and I was certainly not in the mood of going to see my doctor right now.

The Sun had just risen and was casting occasional glanced into my house.

My house...

My house wasn't mine anymore, as well as all of my other property. Never in my life would I have thought that such affairs could be dealt with right there in the police department, in a matter of few hours.

The positive points were that I didn't have to go to prison and that I could keel my 'social face' clean. The negative point was that all of my property, including my house, my businesses and money had been confiscated. Forever.

Equestrian law was so strange! I'd rather have spent a few months in prison that to have been basically stripped and thrown out on the streets.

I reached for the pack of cigarettes, only to find I didn't have any left.

I groaned in pain, both physical (headache) and mental.

My mental pain was somewhat justified, for I had to leave this house until midday and I had no sources of income. No money. No property at all.

All of my stashes, all money hidden - it had all been revealed by the Celestia-damned police! That Drunkard was really good not only at working undercover but bribing my closest business partners and employees to tell him everything that I had managed to leave unknown before. Now it was all revealed.

No work, no pay, no business, no money... Those words echoed in my head, causing it to ache even more.

I was completely shocked. I didn't know what to do.

I was forbidden to have businesses in this country, and even if I were allowed to, I still had no experience in establishing businesses, only maintaining them. I realised that I was just a manager by nature, not a leader, like my father.

No matter how hard I tried to make everypony (including myself) think otherwise.

I was amazed at how meaningful my life had become all of a sudden. It seemed that the best cure for depression was unexpected poverty.

I chuckled at such a thought in spite of myself.

I had no options. I couldn't resist them - if I did, they would simply imprison me, and, considering how many other businessponies wanted to claim my property, the judges would be on their side.

A loud knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I rose to my hooves and trotted towards the door, disgruntled.

I opened the door with one swift motion.

"It isn't twelve o'clock y-" I stopped. In front of me stood a grey mare - the most beautiful mare in the world.

Octavia Philarmonica.

She was angry and confused. She was holding a paper in her mouth, which she threw at me immediately. I caught it in my magical grip.

"I hereby declare Octavia Philarmonica-" I began to read but the cellist began her tirade, commanding my attention.

"What is this?" she demanded. "This morning, two ponies come to my house and say I'm the new owner of 'Cellos for Everypony'! What is this?" she raised her voice at me, glaring daggers.

I stood dumbly, staring at the paper, then at the black-maned pony and then back at the paper.

I had reissued the firm.

I had reissued the firm, thus saving it.

It wasn't my property any more; it couldn't be taken away!

I smiled.

"This," I said, waving the paper in the air, "is our ticket to wealth."