“I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” said Rosewill the unicorn.
She was old enough, although she would never say exactly how old; her peach coat had faded a few shades lighter, her long and lightly coiffed mane had turned grey, and her face was creased with worry lines and a few wrinkles, but her rose red eyes were every bit as vibrant as they’d been in her youth, as were the rosebush marks adorning her haunches.
“Oh? Have you now?” replied Cypress Bough the earth pony.
He was also old enough — a bit older than Rosewill, in fact — but didn’t put much value in his age beyond a number; his coat was already a light grey and had no shades really to fade from, although his short cropped mane had become a grey a few shades darker than his coat, and while his sea foam green eyes had lost a bit of vibrancy and were guarded by a pair of spectacles, the evergreen branches adorning his haunches had lost none of their luster.
As they did every night after they’d finished supper and taken care of the dishes, they each sat in their rocking chairs on the front porch of their modest house on a hill overlooking Horseshoe Bay. It was summer, and the air smelled faintly of salt from the bay and citrus from the overfull orange tree a stone’s throw from the porch. Through it all, fireflies danced gaily under the starlight, framed against the lights from the village down along the shore.
“Not sure I believe that,” Cypress continued. “Ain’t like you to keep secrets, even when doing so might work out better for you.”
“Oh, I’ve kept this one for years. Since before we even had grandfoals,” Rosewill insisted.
“That so?” Cypress smirked and then turned his attention out over the bay again, resuming his rocking. “Lay it on me then.”
“Oh? What makes you so certain I’m going to tell?” Rosewill asked innocently, even as she wore a smirk to match her husband’s.
“You opened with, ‘I been keeping a secret.’ Ain’t the sorta thing a pony says ‘less they’s planning to tell.”
“Astute as always,” Rosewill replied, never dropping her smirk or taking her eyes off Cypress. “I know that you’re a changeling.”
Cypress stopped rocking, frozen and looking straight ahead.
“Since that day you had that allergic reaction and lost your disguise. You remember. When you received that experimental alder hybrid.”
“That’s twenty two years since,” Cypress said. Finally, he turned to look Rosewill in the eye. Although his expression remained neutral, she maintained her smirk. It was playful, the way it was when she had something to tease him with, and in no way malicious, so Cypress pressed on. “Why?”
“At first, to see if my husband would turn back up.” Rosewill turned her gaze away from Cypress and to the bay, starting her chair rocking. “It didn’t seem sensible to tell the sheriff or the Guard that something was in our home. They’d just scare it off and then I’d never see my Cypress again. But as they do, days turned into weeks, and I saw that my husband didn’t need to turn back up because he’d never left. And here we are.”
It was concise as an explanation, but still Cypress found it lacking. “I felt that reaction coming on, got in some place private ’til I could deal with it fast as possible,” he said. “So how’d you find out?”
“Oh, I had a hunch that I needed to look in through the cellar window because something important was going to happen.”
Cypress snorted lightly, but couldn’t help smirking again, just a little bit as he looked out over the porch again. “You and your hunches,” he said.
“They’re never wrong.”
“I know.”
Silence fell over the conversation again, and after several seconds, Cypress looked to Rosewill again. “So, why now?” he asked.
“A hunch that we both needed a little more honesty in our lives before we ended up regretting it forever,” Rosewill replied. “And now, you know my secret, and I hope you won’t feel like you have to hide from me anymore.”
“I suppose that’s what I have been doing,” Cypress said, looking out over the porch. Suddenly, he yawned, raising a hoof to his mouth. “Goodness.”
“Hm?” Rosewill turned to him, and then glanced back over her shoulder into the house, where the clock on the wall was. “Ten o’clock already?”
“‘fraid so.” Cypress stood up from his chair and stretched. “You coming to bed, lovely?”
“I think I will.” Rosewill likewise stood up and followed her husband inside. Despite the relegation of the evening, routine dominated their time. Cypress closed up the house while Rosewill put her mane up, and then both brushed their teeth before putting out the lamps and crawling into bed. The routine broke when Rosewill moved into and snuggle against Cypress with a little noise of contentment.
“You know,” Cypress said after a moment, “Think I might sleep in tomorrow. Just a little bit.”
“Mm, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rosewill replied.
Moments later, both of them were fast asleep.
The next morning, Cypress slept in just as he’d said he would. Not long, naturally, when there were only so many hours in the day, but he slept in nonetheless, nestled against Rosewill. Finally, he did wake up, feeling lighter than he had in years, and watched his wife sleep for a few moments before giving her a nudge. “No sense in staying in bed all day, lovely, not when there’s so much left for us to do out there,” he said.
Rosewill continued to lay still, eyes closed and a serene smile gracing her lips.
Cypress frowned after a moment. “Rosewill?” he asked, nudging her again.
Rosewill continued to smile, peaceful and unmoving.
For several moments, Cypress watched her, and then finally said, “Oh.”
Before we ended up regretting it forever….
Tears stung and spilled from the changeling’s eyes. “Oh.”
Her hunches were never wrong.
