Bright Starby darfChaptersChapter I: CoffeeChapter II: A Vast, Empty FutureChapter III: The DatePrologue: Soft PetalsChapter I: Coffee“When will this be over?” The voice made its break under a steady milling of voices and din of cutlery. It sounded like a voice weared by obligation, but unfettered by experience. It sounded young, impetuous, and feminine. It also belonged to a pegasus with a blonde mane, orange coat, and disinterested face, leaning against the back counter at The Fresh Blend, a coffee shop in the small to medium sized town of Coltlet, just west of Canterlot. The voice that met it after a few seconds was much less perturbed. “Hmm?” A dainty, delicate annunciation. belonging to an off-cream coloured earth-pony with a mane like rich auburn and chestnut. She regarded the pegaus on her other side as she wiped down a nearby coffee pot using a small cloth. The pegasus sighed, but said nothing. “What do you mean?” the earth pony asked with a soft laugh. Her voice demanded a book report. The pegasus’s face spelled out a show-and-tell. “This,” she said simply. as a few more seconds went by, she sighed again, loudly. “All of this,” she said, spreading her forelegs wide into the air. “This dumb job, this dumb place, being a server in this dumb coffee shop instead of doing something exciting with my life.” The pegasus leaned back against the counter and scowled. “Well,” the earth pony said, putting down her cloth. “That depends entirely on you.” The earth pony looked over the section of counter she’d just finished wiping, narrowing her eyes for a moment before giving an almost imperceptible nod of her head. “Things aren’t going to change unless you change them.” The pegasus blew a puff of air upwards past her nose, tossing a bit of her blonde mane sideways in the miniature breeze. “Well, duh. I mean, it’s not like I want everything to suddenly turn awesome overnight. I’m just sick of everything right now.” The earth pony turned on the tap of the nearby sink and let a thin stream of water wash away a splash or two of light brown liquid left on the side of the metal. “I think there’s more worthwhile about the present than you’re giving credit.” The pegasus shook her head. Over the constant background hum, a milling together of ponies voices at their tables, sipping from cups and exchanging chatter, a strain of subtle melody joined the atmosphere, bows across strings in a soft accompaniment. “Even the music is too much. Can’t we play something popular, at least?” The earth pony’s face flickered into a sour looking expression for a moment, but quickly returned to an unreadable complacency. “There’s nothing wrong with the music.” She paused a moment and looked up at the clock, then back down to her co-worker. “Would you like to go home early today? It seems like you’re not in the best of moods.” “Nah.” The pegasus pulled herself off the counter and shook her head shortly, ruffling her wings on her back for a few seconds and then settling them back in. “I need the hours. Why, are you sick of me already?” “No, of course not. I’m just worried you’re going to get miserable if you have to stay here much longer.” The pegasus grinned and cocked her head a bit to the side. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bummed out.” The pegasus brought her head straight again, but paused as she was mid-way to beginning a new sentence. Her eyes seemed stuck, affixed on a point behind her co-worker and past the counter, looking towards the door. “Hey,” she said softly. The earth pony in front of her raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What is it?” “Don’t turn around... there’s somepony watching you.” Immediately, the earth pony’s head screamed at her to pivot and look, but she held her pose, standing nonchalantly behind the counter, facing in the opposite direction. “Watching? How do you mean?” The pegasus peeked up over the cream colour of the pony in front of her, then quickly ducked her head back down and did her best to look as though she was entirely uninterested in anything besides whatever was going on behind her serving station. “He’s... he keeps looking up at you. And he’s writing something, in a notebook it looks like.” The earth pony chanced a look over her shoulder. There indeed was a pony, seated at a table at the far side of the coffee shop. He looked as well dressed as any noblepony who’d ever happened into the shop, wearing a black vest that complemented the middle-to-dark blue of his coat. His mane was a small contrast, a somewhat scraggly mess of ruffled black, and he had a pair of glasses on, small, and just barely kept at the bridge of his snout. He was staring downward intently, and his horn glowed as a small pen scurried across the notebook atop his table. The earth pony listened hard, and thought that, very faintly, she could hear the noise of the ink being scratched onto the paper. She turned her head back to her co-worker. “Do you think he’s writing about you?” the pegasus asked, giving a soft flap of her wings to help her see over the counter before coming back down. “I don’t imagine what he could be writing about.” “Maybe he’s a stalker. He’s taking notes on your schedule so he can follow you after work.” The earth pony’s face wrinkled. “Why on earth would you say a thing like that? He looks harmless.” The pegasus shrugged. “You never know.” The two stood for a moment, both of them trying their best to avoid paying undue attention to the pony watching one or both of them. “You should go talk to him.” The earth pony’s expression dipped again. “What? I don’t see why I should do a thing like that. He’s a customer, and I’ve no right to intrude on his day.” The pegasus rolled her eyes and blew a breath of air out of the corner of her mouth. “Puh-lease. He’s obviously checking you out. If he’s not stalking you, maybe he’s writing you a love note? He keeps looking up at you before he writes anything.” The pegasus paused and craned her neck to see over the counter, then quickly pulled her head back close to her chest. “There, see, he did it again. You should totally go talk to him.” “I’ll do no such thing.” The earth pony scowled and began to move to the other side of the counter. The pegasus held up a foreleg to block her, which was met with a stern glare. “Come on! If you don’t go talk to him, I will. Just say hi or something. Ask him why he keeps looking at you.” The earth pony paused for a moment. She looked back again, over the counter and towards the door. The unicorn seated at the table was still writing, though it came in fits and starts. He was sticking his tongue out between his teeth as he leered at his notebook, and a faint glow from his horn shone as his pen swished through the air, back and forth over top of the paper, like a pendulum, seemingly ticking as he waited for the words to come. His eyes were the same colour as his coat, the earth pony noticed. A dark, deep blue, like the far-out swirl of the ocean. She looked back to her co-worker, who was smiling. “Oh, alright. I suppose there’s not really any harm in it.” “That’s the spirit.” The pegasus patted the earth pony on the shoulder as she walked, rounding the corner of the counter and pushing past the small, chest-height wooden door. She looked back once as she walked, but found the pegasus grinning at her widely, nodding in encouragement. And so she walked the rest of the way. She stood at the unicorn’s table for a few seconds. He seemed not to notice her. She tried to make out the words in his book upside down, but they were in too flowery a cursive to read. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice quiet. The unicorn shook in his seat like he’d been shocked. His cup jostled on its saucer, spilling a small amount of milk-softened coffee onto the table. His pen dropped unceremoniously onto his notebook. “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The unicorn looked around him as though someone might be watching. He looked down at his notebook, then back up to the earth pony, who was smiling at him. He shook his head again and picked up a small napkin which he used to blot up the spilled coffee. “Oh... no, it’s fine, I just wasn’t... sorry. I’ll clean this up.” His voice was young, but not juvenile. He sounded like he might be late for something. Like maybe he enjoyed singing. The earth pony smiled. “It’s alright. I do apologize again for startling you.” “No, it’s... don’t worry about it. I, um. Is there something I can help you with?” She smiled wider. Those were the words she was supposed to ask, most of the time. “Well... this may be a bit odd, but I was put up to it by my friend over there.” The earth pony gestured with a hoof towards the counter, where the pegasus, who had been staring over and smiling, gave a cheerful wave and nod. “She, um... she said you were looking in my direction rather regularly. Staring, she called it. And she noticed you were writing something, and the two of us couldn’t help but wonder... was it me you were writing about?” The unicorn’s face shone crimson behind his coat. Even though the coffee spill on his table had long since been soaked up, he padded the table with the napkin with increased fervour, smearing away nothing other than the few motes of dust that might be settled there. “Oh, uh... well, that is to say... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare... you, I just...” The unicorn’s stammering quickly faltered into nothingness. An obvious but small sheen of sweat began to collect on his forehead. The earth pony put a hoof to her mouth and giggled. “It’s alright. I’m flattered, if anything. Do you mind if I ask what it was you were writing?” The unicorn looked down at his notebook, then back up to the earth pony, still smiling at him, sweetly. He looked back down to his notebook and leaned forward, covering it with his forelegs. “That... I’d, um, prefer if you didn’t.” The earth pony raised an eyebrow at him, which he answered with an increased bluster. “It’s nothing scandalous!” he said, waving a hoof in the air emphatically. “It’s just... I... well, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he said, his tone dulling. The earth pony tilted her head a bit to the side. Her eyes moved over the unicorn, hunched over the table, as though she was seeing him again for the first time. Sizing him up. Guessing at what his nervous smile might mean. “I see,” she said. Her head straightened, and her eyes lingered on the unicorn’s vest. “Oh,” she said. “You have a bit of coffee on your...” she trailed off, pointing towards the unicorn’s chest. The unicorn sat back and looked down awkwardly, pressing his chin against his chest to spot the offending spot of coffee. As he looked, the notebook vanished under the one hoof he’d left on it, which sent him jerking forward. His expression quickly flashed from puzzlement to panic. “Oh, no, don’t, if you could please give that back...” The earth pony smiled devilishly as she stepped back, holding a hoof forward like some sort of invisible barrier as she turned the notebook the right way around. “In a moment. I just wish to see what it is you’ve been scribbling about me.” The unicorn’s face fell. He stayed frozen, mid-lunge for his book, as the earth pony’s eyes went over the ornate cursive. Her mouth moved as she read the first few words. “Saccharine dew, affixed to brightening fixture, content with the softness of her expression... content with the concealment of a lingering love for all of life... alight in her smile, bright and undermining of her toil...” The unicorn’s expression fell further as the earth pony read. He sank to his chair and slumped backwards, looking as though his body had been drained of energy. “Auburn crest, purely quaffed, iridescent shimmering surrounding...” the earth pony went on, her eyes scanning slowly over the densely packed letters. “How friendly a fortune must fare to spare the look of her laugh, and in passing, bringing a heart to brim with...” She looked up, her expression devoid of indication. “It stops there,” she said. The unicorn didn’t respond at first. He leaned forward in his chair and ran a hoof over his head, staring at the center of his table. After a further few seconds, he looked up and swallowed nervously. “It, uh... I was...” “It’s about me then?” she asked. She stepped close to the table then, closer to the side, and set the notebook down, taking care to avoid the napkin at the corner. The unicorn nodded solemnly. “It is. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” “It’s beautiful.” The hum of tandem strings drawled through the air of the shop, mixed still with the bustle of intermingling voices and chatter of old friends and acquaintances. Behind the counter, the pegasus with the blonde mane stretched herself forward, straining to make out the strains of conversation at the table closest to the door. The unicorn stared at the table for a moment before looking up to the earth pony again. She was smiling at him. “It is?” She nodded. “I’ve not had anypony write such things about me before. I’m flattered, really.” “Oh, well... that is to say, I didn’t mean to, er, I didn’t want to—” “What is your name?” The earth pony leaned forward, close enough to the unicorn that she could see the nervous flitting of his sea-blue eyes behind his glasses. “My name? It’s uh, well... my name is...” He stopped for a moment, coughed, cleared his throat, and adjusted the spectacles on his snout. “My name is... Bright Star,” he said. The earth pony’s eyes danced to his side. Hidden under the lower part of his vest, she could just make out the shimmer of a star’s points, stretching out on his blue coat. She extended her hoof, which Bright Star met after a second, shaking at first, but then getting the better of himself and holding it as properly as he could manage. The earth pony smiled at him and curtsied demurely with her eyes closed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bright Star. My name is Keening Iris.” Bright Star’s eyes went blank for a moment, as though the crest of waves in them had crashed, washing something away that had been there before. His lips moved over the name for a moment before he spoke. “Keening Iris,” he said slowly. “That’s... such a—” “Strange name, I know. You can just call me Iris, if you prefer. Everypony does.” Bright Star pressed his hoof harder against Keening Iris’s for a second, and she opened her eyes wide at the pressure before he pulled his hoof away. He looked down through his glasses at the table again, then back up. For the first time since she’d walked over, Iris saw him smile. “It’s a beautiful name,” he said quietly. The two of them sat and stood in silence for a few seconds, the hubbub of the shop milling around them. “So, Mr. Bright Star,” Iris said, leaning forward and resting her foreleg on the table, “do you intend to write more things about me?” Bright Star looked up at her again with a nervous smile. “I’d very much like to, yes.” “Well, that will be fine then.” Iris pulled herself up from the table and straightened her posture. She looked back to the counter where her co-worker was beaming madly at her. “But only if you shall let me see them.” Bright Star nodded. Iris waited a few seconds, smiling, before turning curtly and walking back behind the counter. A small line had begun to build during her conversation, and she tapped her co-worker gently on the shoulder as she walked to serve the ponies waiting for their drinks. After a minute passed, Bright Star let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair. When a few more seconds had passed, his horn glowed, and his pen drifted to his notebook, where it began to write. Chapter II: A Vast, Empty FutureA cream coloured hoof shook as it reached for the handle of the boiling pot on the counter. Carefully, as much as it could manage while still jittering, the hoof was joined with another, holding still the pot as it carried it towards the table in the center of the room. A small kitchen, by the look of the cabinets and counters, with a window on one side meant to let light in, if it weren’t blocked by curtains, which it was now. The pair of hooves jittered the pot, pouring its contents into two cups set out on the table, a steaming stream of black coffee. Carefully, with a small rattle, the two hooves lifted the cups onto two respective plates, and carried them over to the kitchen table with a series of tiny chimes. The hooves did their best to hold steady as they moved from the cups to the small holder of sugar set out in the table’s center. They removed the lid with a soft clinking, then took up a nearby spoon. They held the spoon aloft, wobbling back and forth in their grip for a few seconds before returning it to the table. They braced against the table, pressed firmly into the wood, as though they might allay their shaking with the steadiness of the structure. After a few seconds, the legs to which they were attached settled, and they once more attempted to pick up the spoon. Almost no jittering. Carefully, with precision, the two hooves measured out a spoonful of sugar and poured it into the first cup. Not a drop spilled. They collected a second spoonful, slowly, and began to drop it into the second cup. The clink came loudly as they jerked sideways, flinging the cup and the container of sugar onto the floor where they shattered with a piercing sound. The spoon followed shortly thereafter, settling on the ground with a vibrating clang, emptying its payload of sugar onto the green tile underhoof. The sound of a small start settled into a sigh. The pony in possession of the shaking hooves raised one to her forehead, where she held it for a moment. Still, the shaking was there—subtle, slight, but there. After a few seconds of slow breathing, the pony went to the sink and collected a small cloth. She kneeled and began to wipe up the spilled coffee and small pile of sugar. A knock came at the door mid-wipe, which caused another sideways jerking of hooves. This time there was nothing to spill, and by fortune the motion missed the collection of shattered cup nearby. A moment, and the cloth was picked up, set in the sink. The pony navigated her way past the remaining cleanup, held herself at the door for a moment, forced a smile, and opened it. “Good morning, Iris.” The pony at the door was an older looking mare with a light-brown coat and her grey-purple mane tied in a bun atop her head. She was wearing a somewhat official looking neckband, and held a notebook to her side. A pen was tucked behind her ear. “Good morning.” Iris’s voice twinkled with a soft brightness, but her expression failed to match it. Her eyes looked tired. “Are you doing alright, dear? You look out of sorts.” “No, no, I’m fine.” Iris stepped back and waved inside, holding the door for her guest as she stepped over the doorway. She closed the door with a soft click, and the pony holding the notebook waited for a moment before making her way to the kitchen. As she walked, Iris’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she dashed forward, holding a hoof in front of her guest. “Oh, sorry, I almost forgot... just mind your step here. I had a bit of a spill earlier and didn’t have a chance to clean it up before you arrived.” The grey-maned pony eyed the mess of sugar and coffee-cup pieces on the kitchen floor. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Would you like me to help take care of that?” Iris shook her head. “No, it’s alright. It’s fine. I’m sorry, though, really. I’d planned to make coffee.” “It’s alright,” the older mare said, stepping around the fine white shards. “I’m not particularly a coffee sort of pony anyways.” She took a seat at the end of the table opposite the door. Iris eyed the mess on the floor for a moment before taking a chair on the other side, pushing it out with a creak of the legs against the tile. She sat with her forehooves on the table for a moment before seemingly remembering herself and pulling them back to her lap. After a few seconds, she sighed. The older mare set out her notebook on the table and removed the pen from behind her ear. “Are you sure you’re doing alright, dear? I’m sure with things the way they are you’re more entitled than anypony to be a bit frazzled...” The mare held a hoof out across the table, but Iris simply looked at it and sat up straighter. “No, it’s fine. I’m a bit rough around the edges at the moment, yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Shall we get on with things?” The older mare held her hoof for a moment longer. Her face furrowed into a concerned frown, which she held as she pulled her hoof back, taking up her pen and setting it atop the first open page of her book. “Very well. I’m sure you’d wish for me to not take up too much of your time, hmm?” Iris smiled bleakly and rubbed a hoof against her forehead. The older mare smiled too, but hers gave out much quicker. “Well then... how have things been? Aside yourself, I mean. Has he been...” The mare trailed off, asking the rest of the question with her eyes and a hoof placed just so on her notebook, pen waggling as it prepared to work. Iris sat for a moment. She looked down at the table, letting the question sit, then back up. Her smile dissipated for a moment, but returned as soon as it had vanished. “Things are... fine.” “Is he showing any signs of improvement?” “Some.” The older mare scribbled a sentence or two in her notebook. “You’ll be sure to let us know if you see any immediate or significant changes, yes?” “Yes, of course.” Iris nodded and tucked her hooves together on her lap, still smiling faintly. The older mare held her pen against her chin for a moment, then returned it to the book. She closed the notebook with the pen inside and set her hooves atop it. Her eyes glimmered in the faint light peeking in through the curtains, and she looked forward towards Iris, whose attention had become momentarily caught in something invisible to the side of the kitchen. The older mare waited a few seconds until Iris’ gaze returned, upon which she started slightly in her chair before settling again. Smiling, softly. “You know that you can ask any of us for help if you feel you need it, don’t you? We have a whole division trained for this sort of thing, and I can’t imagine how hard it must be on you to— “It’s fine, really.” Iris brushed a hoof over her forehead, adjusting a lock of her brown mane that had fallen out of place. She stood, suddenly, her chair making the same creak on the kitchen tile. “I’m more than capable of handling myself. Thank you though.” The older mare’s mouth furrowed into a frown as she picked up her notebook and stood, slowly. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t, dear. But it’s not just yourself you’re handling at the moment.” The mare looked to Iris, whose smile remained steady. She blew a breath out her nose, but said nothing. The two of them stood their for a few seconds, the older mare’s hoof settled on the back of the chair she had sat in, as though she was frozen mid-movement. After a shorter while, Iris cleared her throat, and the mare removed her hoof from the chair. “I understand. And again, thank you. But I do promise I’ll let somepony know if things become... too much.” “Please do,” the mare said, tucking her notebook along her side. She walked across the kitchen as Iris held out a foreleg to usher her towards the door, carefully sidestepping the pile of shards that had once been a cup. Iris followed her to the door, and held it open as she readied herself to leave. As she stepped out, the mare paused and looked back. She found Iris still there, holding the door, the faintest flicker of dissipation lingering at the corners of her smile. “We’ll keep in touch, and see you next week. No need for a strenuous examination if things are more or less the same.” “Thank you.” Iris nodded low. “Until next week then.” The mare nodded back and stepped out of the doorway. Iris shut the door after a few seconds. As her hoof pressed the door closed, she leaned into it, holding herself up against the wooden frame. She closed her eyes and lifted a free hoof to her forehead, when she ran it over her brow. Shaking. A strand of her mane fell out of place, but she didn’t bother to adjust it. In the living room, the stately carved wooden clock bonged in a subdued fashion, announcing in a measurement of volume that it was ten o'clock in the morning. The light was bright outside, but faltered when it impacted the black of the curtains. Iris sighed and lowered her hoof, still shaking slightly, to the floor. She stood for a moment, breathing in and out, collecting air in her lungs before letting it out slowly. A few seconds after the clock’s nearby ringing had stopped, she let out a long breath and opened her eyes. They fell immediately upon the small pile of broken cup-ware on the kitchen floor. She made her way to the closet to collect her broom and dustpan. Her hooves mostly subdued their shaking until she had finished cleaning up. When she was done, she put the broom and dustpan away and surveyed the kitchen one last time before walking through it, into the living room, past the antique clock and to the door of the guest bedroom. She knocked twice, waited a few seconds, and then opened the door. Chapter III: The DateBright Star checked his watch and promptly remembered upon doing so that he’d forgotten to wear his watch tonight. It was the third time in several minutes he remembered, and once again he sighed loudly to himself and looked instead towards the antique wooden clock in the room he was waiting in. The hands said 6:35. He checked his watch to make sure the time it showed was right, and rolled his eyes when again he found his fetlock bare. He was wearing a nice suit, pressed to the best of its ability to be pressed, which left it looking more or less composed. His hair was done back in the best fashion it too could manage, which meant a stray lock straggling here or there. He’d polished his glasses before he left for the night, but already they felt smudged and hazy. He removed them with a dim flicker of his horn and polished them on his undershirt. “I’m sorry again about the delay. I was just in the middle of getting ready when you arrived.” Keening Iris’ voice came from the hallway past the living room, winding around the corner of what Bright Star presumed must be her bedroom, until it reached his ears with the soft, ladylike lilt he’d held in his ear since first hearing it at the coffee shop two weeks ago. A great deal could happen in two weeks, including an even then unbelievable agreement for the object of his one-time poetic scribblings to join him for dinner. He checked his watch—clock—again. 6:38. “It’s alright,” he called back down the hallway. “There’s no need to hurry. The reservations are for seven, in any case.” Bright Star let his eyes drift across the room as he spoke. Anything to take his attention away from the ticking hands he knew would only move faster when he was focusing on them. He found the room in a relative sparseness of decoration—aside from the obviously antiquated clock, a miniature grandfather, he guessed, there was only a neatly-kept fireplace nearby and a single picture hanging on the wall. A brightly-coloured scenic painting, looking down from what appeared to be a tall mountain towards the cities below. He was sure he could make out Canterlot, it’s stately towers looming over the rest of the valley... and then there, lower, must be where he was now. There also appeared to be a shelf. How had he missed it the first time when he... His eyes stopped on the shelf’s centerpiece. A glass case, housing a small, red pillow with gold lace; atop it, a single, shining blade sat, unsheathed and glimmering in the light from the living room lamp. His eyes were still locked on it when Iris stepped out from her bedroom, adjusting an earring as she walked; white flowers, with blue centers, spinning like a sapphire pearl. A cream coloured dress, to match her coat. “Really, I apologize again. Hopefully I haven’t taken so long that our reservations will be...” Iris trailed off as she met Bright Star in the center of the room. Though her voice came from one side, Bright Star’s eyes were still dead-set on the simple but ornate blade on display on the living room’s single, lone shelf. “Oh,” Iris said. “I’d forgotten about that.” “Is it—” “It’s a blade, yes. Really, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t even have it out, but Father always... please, don’t think me too strange. It’s a family heirloom, of sorts, I promise I’m not the sort of pony who collects knives or swords or anything like that...” Iris held a worried expression, staring on at Bright Star. But he stared on at the sword, and still staring, walked closer, his face unmoving, as though in a trance. Iris bit her lip and moved her hooves antsily on the floor. “It’s quite strange, isn’t it? It’s no wonder I’ve not had anypony over in so long.” Bright Star held a hoof up to the case, just far enough away that he could feel the faint presence of the glass. Not quite touching. He stared deeply at the blade, drinking in the sight of its simple curve, not overdone or inelegant, but just enough to give the suggestion of something designed to cut, or to hew, rather than to slice. A slightly foreign, deadly curve. It’s handle was plain, looking to be the same type of silver... but a single white gem was set at the base of the hold. And there was some sort of design that ran along it as well. A script he couldn’t make out. “Please,” Iris said, suddenly at Bright Star’s side, her voice almost in her ear. “You can come up with all manner of oddities to call me later, but I would very much still like to go to dinner with you... if you’ll have me.” She held out her hoof and bobbed her head softly, blushing ever so slightly. Bright Star turned to her, his eyes wide. “It’s wonderful,” he said. Iris blushed brighter. “You don’t mean that. It’s a queer thing, especially for a lady to have in the middle of her living room.” “It’s yours, then? A family heirloom, you said?” Iris nodded. “It is. My father... was a bladesmith, or an all sorts of smith, I suppose. He made it for me when I left home. I promised him I would keep it by me always.” Bright Star turned back to the blade’s case, casting his eyes over it for several seconds before returning his attention to Iris’ demure blush. “The white jewel in the center,” Bright Star said. He let the sentence linger, as though he didn’t intend to finish it. Iris coughed and picked up the question. “My name, as you might have guessed, is rather irregular for a reason. Iris is simple enough, that well-to-do but quite boring white flower that grows on the hillsides... but keening, of course, means to sharpen something. To make it keener, bolder, brighter. My family’s naming tradition has always been a bit... antiquated.” Neither pony spoke as Iris finished. A small silence settled into the room. Occasionally, Bright Star’s eyes flitted back to the sword once or twice. Eventually, Iris cleared her throat and extended her hoof again. “Shall we? I promise I shall tell you all about my family’s strange history over the course of the night, if we’re still to have one.” Bright Star’s spectacles shone as bright as the blade’s silver as he took Iris’s hoof. Iris stared into his eyes, but found her gaze blocked by the mercurial shimmer, until, after a few seconds, it vanished, parting the moon-refraction to allow swirling blue to come forth. “Would that beauty were, as warfare, more a simple art... a blade of brilliant luster to lay down and at last to pierce the heart... would that such a sharpened thing be given purpose in each pony to start... to then at last take up arms and call to attention, leaving scars upon the earth, not for blood, but for the seeking out of perfection’s mark...” Bright Star blinked as his lips finished moving. The luster from his glasses dulled, and his posture seemed to shirk, shrinking him in towards himself. “Er,” he said. “Sorry. I don’t suppose there’s sense dawdling further when we’re already running behind—” His words left him as too almost did his air as Iris stepped into him, pressing her chest suddenly against his. Her nose almost to his nose, her breath in air with his, and her eyes softening, looking into his oceans of blue. “You be careful with words like that, or you’ll fast convince me we’ve no need for the evening but to come straight back here.” Bright Star’s face seemed to still. His breath caught in his throat. He felt the soft scent of flowers upon the air, lingering on Iris’ lips. He stood frozen as Iris pulled away, hoof still on his, tugging his foreleg towards the door. The clock read 6:49. “Come on. It’s not too far away. I bet we can still make it.” With a last swallow, Bright Star nodded, and allowed himself to be moved, leaving the room with its ornate clock and silver blade, ticking and shimmering as the seconds war on, and he and his date raced towards the rest of their evening. The night was a deep darkness when they returned. Though the stars and moon overhead struggled to light the ground, it seemed shielded by an unknowable force, keeping even the lamplight in passing away in a midnight shroud. A small giggle came from the doorstep of Iris’ house. She was its source, leaning against her firm wooden door, her hooves on either side of the somewhat smartly pressed-suit on her date’s chest, pulling him so close, again he could smell the flowers on her breath. “I had a lovely evening,” she said, her voice louder than the hour warranted, and unwhispered in spite of the narrowing of her eyes. Bright Star, though blushing, beamed. He allowed himself to lean forward, his forehead pressing against his date’s, then leaning back again. “I did too. You really are... I’m sorry. It seems like I’ve spent the night tripping over myself in calling you lovely. In fact, it seems I’ve been doing it since we first met...” Iris giggled again and shoved at Bright Star’s chest with a hoof, which he grinned at, bringing himself back to press against her once more. “Since before we’ve met, really. You know, a lady might take offense to a would-be suitor praising her endlessly for her looks. Haven’t you anything to say about my laugh, my wit, my personality?” Iris ended with another giggle, and Bright Star’s eyes glowed underneath the night’s darkness as he smiled back at her. “I think you’d believe me when I say there’s a great deal I like about you... but I suppose I can give it a shot.” Bright Star cleared his throat, and held his posture steady, almost as stiff as a statue where before he had been limber. “Her impish... er, no wait... her elegant... um, elegant glimmer of... state and personate... is... is...” Iris shoved again, and Bright Star blinked, this time caught lightly by the ineffectual blow to the chest. “I don’t think personate is a word in that sort of sense,” she said, grinning. Instead of meeting her grin, Bright Star’s face seemed to fall. “Er. You may be right... here, how about—” His words faltered as the two hooves on his suit pulled him closer, close enough that his snout was touching the scent of lilacs in front of him. “You needn’t always be so reverent, you know. Sometimes there’s a great deal you can say without words.” There was no response to collect. Iris met his lips. They kissed. No soft or sweetness but a sudden hunger, her lips parting and his to follow. They kissed, shielded in the darkness of the sky overhead, serenading the shroud around them in the soft sounds of their closeness. The subtle murmur of their breathing. The kissing stopped. Iris held Bright Star at hoof’s length, her eyes wild with mischief. Bright Star’s seemed lost, and his posture addled as he attempted to collect himself. Iris granted him a few seconds before nuzzling her snout against his, which he returned half-heartedly, still absent from the plane of the living. “I’d wager a fair sum of bits you’d greatly like to be invited back inside,” she said, swaying forward and back against Bright Star’s body. “Well... that is, I mean... I certainly wouldn’t... if you’d be so kind, I mean, I’d...” “Shhh. You’re well aware after spending the night in my company that I do aim to be a lady of sorts, aren’t you?” Bright Star nodded. “Then you must also know a proper lady isn’t the type to invite a stallion into her house for the night of their first date.” Bright Star’s face churned through expressions, hiding whatever his true reaction might have been in a slew of disguises and counterpoints. “But,” Iris said, dragging a hoof across Bright Star’s chest, “I could be persuaded to invite you in for a cup of tea or two, provided you promise to leave in a proper fashion afterwards.” Bright Star swallowed loudly. “Tea?” he said. Iris nodded, smiling. “Well... sure, yes. I would love some tea.” “Let’s go ahead then, shall we?” Iris turned at once and worked her key in the door’s lock, opening it and stepping inside without a moment’s hesitation. Bright Star seemed to take a minute to collect himself, but followed shortly thereafter, shutting the door behind him loudly, with a wince. Iris was already putting the kettle on as he walked into the kitchen. “Do have a seat. Tea should be ready in several minutes, if that. I have a lovely blend that’s just perfect for night-time.” Bright Star nodded and surveyed the kitchen. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he sat, and fidgeted in his chair as Iris pulled cups and saucers out of their respective shelves. Neither pony spoke as the kettle began to boil, and Iris poured it smartly into the two cups, the clear, steaming water turning a soft orange as it contacted the tea-holders. Small leaves compressed in metal containers. She smiled as she brought both cups and saucers over to the table. “It’s something with a bit of citrus flavour in it. Not too strong, but enough to give it a bit of flare. Very good when you’re not quite ready to go to sleep.” “It smells good.” Bright Star took his saucer graciously and nodded in gesture of politeness. “Doesn’t it?” Both sat, holding their saucers, waiting for the tea to cool. The clock in the living room ticked onwards, its hands invisible in the low light. “So,” Iris said, removing the tea-holder from the cup. “It occurs to me we spent the whole of dinner and then some talking about me.” “I’m sorry.” Bright Star raised his cup, and held it just to his lips before deciding it was too hot and lowering it back to the table. “It’s fine,” Iris said, doing the same, but taking a small sip of hers before putting it back. “But as that’s the case, and I’ve no interest to spend the next few weeks at chances of soliciting your company speaking solely of myself... tell me something about yourself.” Bright Star tried another sip of his tea and found it cool enough for his liking this time. He held the sip in his mouth a moment before swallowing, and lowered the cup with a sort of surprised contentment on his face. “Um... well, what about me would you like to know?” “A great deal. But, for now, let’s start with the simpler bits. Something I’m dying to know, first off: what is it you do?” Iris leaned forward, resting her hooves on the table in a very unladylike fashion. “Surely you must be a poet or a writer somewhere, possibly on leave from Canterlot. Doing decrees and pronouncements and odes and adorations for the Princess, yes?” Iris’s eyes lit up as she stared across the table, her smile wide. Bright Star shifted in his seat and looked towards the window. Black curtains hung over it to keep the night out. “Well?” Iris asked. “Did I get it?” “Not... er, not quite.” “Well then?” Iris took another sip of her tea, lowering her cup back to its saucer with a soft clink. “I’m, er... well... I’m studying medicine at the moment, actually.” Iris’ grin dipped at one corner. “Really? You don’t strike me as the medical type.” “I’m not sure I am.” Bright Star put his hoof next to his cup, but didn’t raise it. “The, uh... poetry, I guess you’d call it... that’s something I’m just trying my hoof at on the side. Not really anything worth bothering over.” “I quite disagree. You’ve got a wonderful talent for poetry, though I have to confess my opinion might not be the most objective. There is a certain wonder the way your words come together.” Iris’ eyes glowed earnestly as she looked towards Bright Star, who turned his gaze in another direction for a few seconds. “It’s nothing special,” Bright Star said, his eyes affixed intently on his tea-cup. He picked it up and swirled the bright-orange liquid around in a circle, creating a tiny vortex at it’s center. “You don’t really believe that, do you? I might not remember all my Old Equestrian verse, but yours is a lovely comparison in memory.” Bright Star blushed faintly, but refused to look up from his tea. He held his eyes there until he felt something under his chin, pulling his face up to meet Iris, her hoof held forward, frowning sternly at him. “Come now. If anything, consider this an instruction: a lady does not avow herself to a stallion who is so down on himself. What makes you think your poetry is anything less than beautiful?” “You’ve not heard much of it,” Bright Star said, pulling his chin away from Iris’s hoof. “The bits I’ve... I’ve given to you were... more inspired than most of my attempts.” Iris grinned. “I inspire you, do I?” “You could say that.” Bright Star hid in a drink of his tea for a moment. “Even still... there’s not much call for poetry these days. Certainly when a career in medicine is much more promising.” “You sound as about enthusiastic for it as a vendor slogging his way to another arduous day at market.” Iris sipped and paused for a moment, her cup held aloft. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m going to guess that becoming a doctor wasn’t a choice made solely for yourself.” Bright Star nodded. “My parents... they’re very keen to have me do something respectable. As far as work goes, there’s not much more respectable than medicine. I can’t even imagine if I told them I was thinking about pursuing writing, when I’ve never even been published.” “Everyone starts somewhere. Have you thought about working on something on the side, sending away to a publication or two to gauge interest?” Bright Star shook his head and pushed his saucer forward, his cup half-full. “No. Like I said before... I don’t think I’ve ever written anything worth reading. Though I’m flattered that you think otherwise.” “Would you let me read some of your other writings?” Bright Star looked up from the table. Iris’s eyes glowed at him from across the table, as bright as the struggling light keeping the kitchen visible. “I... maybe. I’d have to find something that wasn’t awful.” “Well, when you’re certain you have, please share it with me. I’d be nothing less than delighted.” A small spot of steam wafted up from Bright Star’s abandoned cup, apparently still hot enough to indicate its temperature. Iris eyed it as she drained the last of her tea. “I’d offer you another cup,” she said, standing, “but I see you still haven’t finished your first. I also imagine that if I were to let you, you might stay here all night, regardless of where or when you end up sleeping.” Bright Star bit his lip to hide an embarrassed grin, but nodded lightly, and stood as Iris had done a moment ago. “You’re right. I’ve... well, to be frank, I’ve been smitten with you since the first moment I saw you.” Again, the air was scarcely displayed when he felt her next to him, as though she’d moved in the moments between breath. Iris looked up the small difference between them, and Bright Star down to her. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “I know,” she said. They stood for a moment, air alight with electricity between them. Standing, silent, save the soft ticking of the clock in the next room over. As the moment threatened to expire, Bright Star leaned forward, and Iris welcomed his kiss with its return. The soft sound of their lips joined the subtle ticking, and almost imperceptibly, the shuffle of their dress and suit against each other as their bodies shifted, ever-so-slightly, against while they kissed. Iris gave pause with her hoof on Bright Star’s shoulder, and he pulled away. “For all you might say about yourself otherwise, I believe I’m quite taken with you, Mr. Bright Star.” Bright Star’s cerulean shone like fire in a sea of crimson. His lips stammered over the start of a sentence as he blushed. Iris ran her hoof along the side of his face, and felt the tensing of his muscles as he swallowed. “I’m... that’s...” “No need to reply. You’ve said more than enough on me tonight.” Iris withdrew suddenly, moving in the way she moved, somewhere one moment, elsewhere the next. Bright Star closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side, shaking the thoughts that had collected in his head. “I would love to hear more about you though, even if it’s only a lament on the mundanity of medical study.” “I’ll... I’ll try to come up with something to... when will I see you next, that is? If you’d like to, I mean, if you feel like you’d—” Hushed, a hoof to his lips. Iris smiled. “Does a week from today sound acceptable? Provided you can bear the waiting...” Bright Star nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes, a week is fine.” “Very well then.” Iris ran a hoof over Bright Star’s chest at forelegs reach, then took to his side and began to guide him towards the door. He followed almost in a stupor until the wooden frame was parted, and his hooves met the cold night air, blanketed in darkness. “You’re free to pine as much as you like, of course,” Iris said with a smirk. Bright Star gawked at her perpetually as she showed him outside. “It shall be a pleasure to see you in a week. Until then?” Bright Star nodded, but held a hoof up to stop the closing of the door before it came. Iris tilted her head at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes, until then, although... not that it will be, but what if... what if a week seems, as it goes on, too long?” For the first time of the night, a beam of the moon crested through the clouds and fog, lighting the ground, and too the cream-coloured dress and ivory smile as Iris grinned. “Well, if that should be the case... I suppose you might write me a poem about it to share when the wait is over.” And with no further a nod, Iris, still grinning, stepped inside and shut the door. She counted a full twenty seconds until she heard the hoofsteps outside her door begin to move away, and only then allowed herself the swooning sigh she had been holding in all night, sliding down against the door until she crumpled onto the floor, beaming brighter than all of the sun. Prologue: Soft PetalsOn a wooden table, illuminated by the sunlight pouring through a nearby window, a vase with a single, white flower sits, by itself. The petals of the floor drop together like a concave bell, catching the glow of the rays circling them, and shimmering ever-so-faintly as the light bathes them. The flower sits in its solitude as the sun makes its way down the sky, changing its angle of refraction through the glass pane nearby. The new shape of the light as it descends casts a new aura about the flower every hour so, revealing a distinct facet of the blossom's composition each time. how veins alight along its surface, thin under the veil of petals, but large enough to notice. How the bud-turned-overbloom tapers at the end, curling in on itself like its fragrant center holds a secret to be concealed. how the curve of the stem is like the arduous bending of a sturdy beam, barely at the pinnacle of its flexibility before it snaps and sends its precious payload tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground. How, at one time, the vase might have looked less empty than it does now. The flower stands in the light until, as the sun begins its golden-violet disappearance over the horizon, all of its light vanishes. The window is bathed in black. The curtains make a tidy ‘hiss’ as they’re pulled shut. In darkness, the flower stands for a moment until it, and its vase, are picked up. The vase’s water is emptied into the sink with a high-pitched trickle, and the flower is removed. It’s set on the counter until the vase is empty, upon which the vase takes its place, and the flower is lifted gingerly and carried across the room to a shelf. The shelf is lined with books, as well as nick-nacks and other objects: coins, pens, a feather or two. on the second-to-bottom shelf, there is an ornate but simple woodn box with a gold clasp on the front. The flower is put in front of it. A small corner of paper sticks out from underneath the box. After the flower is set down, the hoof that placed it there pulls out the scrap of paper. It keeps it for several seconds. After a short while, the hoof returns and jams the paper so far under the wooden box that it disappears from site. As the shelf is left, a single, ivory petal falls from the flower and lands softly, silently, on the ground.
Chapter I: Coffee“When will this be over?” The voice made its break under a steady milling of voices and din of cutlery. It sounded like a voice weared by obligation, but unfettered by experience. It sounded young, impetuous, and feminine. It also belonged to a pegasus with a blonde mane, orange coat, and disinterested face, leaning against the back counter at The Fresh Blend, a coffee shop in the small to medium sized town of Coltlet, just west of Canterlot. The voice that met it after a few seconds was much less perturbed. “Hmm?” A dainty, delicate annunciation. belonging to an off-cream coloured earth-pony with a mane like rich auburn and chestnut. She regarded the pegaus on her other side as she wiped down a nearby coffee pot using a small cloth. The pegasus sighed, but said nothing. “What do you mean?” the earth pony asked with a soft laugh. Her voice demanded a book report. The pegasus’s face spelled out a show-and-tell. “This,” she said simply. as a few more seconds went by, she sighed again, loudly. “All of this,” she said, spreading her forelegs wide into the air. “This dumb job, this dumb place, being a server in this dumb coffee shop instead of doing something exciting with my life.” The pegasus leaned back against the counter and scowled. “Well,” the earth pony said, putting down her cloth. “That depends entirely on you.” The earth pony looked over the section of counter she’d just finished wiping, narrowing her eyes for a moment before giving an almost imperceptible nod of her head. “Things aren’t going to change unless you change them.” The pegasus blew a puff of air upwards past her nose, tossing a bit of her blonde mane sideways in the miniature breeze. “Well, duh. I mean, it’s not like I want everything to suddenly turn awesome overnight. I’m just sick of everything right now.” The earth pony turned on the tap of the nearby sink and let a thin stream of water wash away a splash or two of light brown liquid left on the side of the metal. “I think there’s more worthwhile about the present than you’re giving credit.” The pegasus shook her head. Over the constant background hum, a milling together of ponies voices at their tables, sipping from cups and exchanging chatter, a strain of subtle melody joined the atmosphere, bows across strings in a soft accompaniment. “Even the music is too much. Can’t we play something popular, at least?” The earth pony’s face flickered into a sour looking expression for a moment, but quickly returned to an unreadable complacency. “There’s nothing wrong with the music.” She paused a moment and looked up at the clock, then back down to her co-worker. “Would you like to go home early today? It seems like you’re not in the best of moods.” “Nah.” The pegasus pulled herself off the counter and shook her head shortly, ruffling her wings on her back for a few seconds and then settling them back in. “I need the hours. Why, are you sick of me already?” “No, of course not. I’m just worried you’re going to get miserable if you have to stay here much longer.” The pegasus grinned and cocked her head a bit to the side. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bummed out.” The pegasus brought her head straight again, but paused as she was mid-way to beginning a new sentence. Her eyes seemed stuck, affixed on a point behind her co-worker and past the counter, looking towards the door. “Hey,” she said softly. The earth pony in front of her raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What is it?” “Don’t turn around... there’s somepony watching you.” Immediately, the earth pony’s head screamed at her to pivot and look, but she held her pose, standing nonchalantly behind the counter, facing in the opposite direction. “Watching? How do you mean?” The pegasus peeked up over the cream colour of the pony in front of her, then quickly ducked her head back down and did her best to look as though she was entirely uninterested in anything besides whatever was going on behind her serving station. “He’s... he keeps looking up at you. And he’s writing something, in a notebook it looks like.” The earth pony chanced a look over her shoulder. There indeed was a pony, seated at a table at the far side of the coffee shop. He looked as well dressed as any noblepony who’d ever happened into the shop, wearing a black vest that complemented the middle-to-dark blue of his coat. His mane was a small contrast, a somewhat scraggly mess of ruffled black, and he had a pair of glasses on, small, and just barely kept at the bridge of his snout. He was staring downward intently, and his horn glowed as a small pen scurried across the notebook atop his table. The earth pony listened hard, and thought that, very faintly, she could hear the noise of the ink being scratched onto the paper. She turned her head back to her co-worker. “Do you think he’s writing about you?” the pegasus asked, giving a soft flap of her wings to help her see over the counter before coming back down. “I don’t imagine what he could be writing about.” “Maybe he’s a stalker. He’s taking notes on your schedule so he can follow you after work.” The earth pony’s face wrinkled. “Why on earth would you say a thing like that? He looks harmless.” The pegasus shrugged. “You never know.” The two stood for a moment, both of them trying their best to avoid paying undue attention to the pony watching one or both of them. “You should go talk to him.” The earth pony’s expression dipped again. “What? I don’t see why I should do a thing like that. He’s a customer, and I’ve no right to intrude on his day.” The pegasus rolled her eyes and blew a breath of air out of the corner of her mouth. “Puh-lease. He’s obviously checking you out. If he’s not stalking you, maybe he’s writing you a love note? He keeps looking up at you before he writes anything.” The pegasus paused and craned her neck to see over the counter, then quickly pulled her head back close to her chest. “There, see, he did it again. You should totally go talk to him.” “I’ll do no such thing.” The earth pony scowled and began to move to the other side of the counter. The pegasus held up a foreleg to block her, which was met with a stern glare. “Come on! If you don’t go talk to him, I will. Just say hi or something. Ask him why he keeps looking at you.” The earth pony paused for a moment. She looked back again, over the counter and towards the door. The unicorn seated at the table was still writing, though it came in fits and starts. He was sticking his tongue out between his teeth as he leered at his notebook, and a faint glow from his horn shone as his pen swished through the air, back and forth over top of the paper, like a pendulum, seemingly ticking as he waited for the words to come. His eyes were the same colour as his coat, the earth pony noticed. A dark, deep blue, like the far-out swirl of the ocean. She looked back to her co-worker, who was smiling. “Oh, alright. I suppose there’s not really any harm in it.” “That’s the spirit.” The pegasus patted the earth pony on the shoulder as she walked, rounding the corner of the counter and pushing past the small, chest-height wooden door. She looked back once as she walked, but found the pegasus grinning at her widely, nodding in encouragement. And so she walked the rest of the way. She stood at the unicorn’s table for a few seconds. He seemed not to notice her. She tried to make out the words in his book upside down, but they were in too flowery a cursive to read. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice quiet. The unicorn shook in his seat like he’d been shocked. His cup jostled on its saucer, spilling a small amount of milk-softened coffee onto the table. His pen dropped unceremoniously onto his notebook. “Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The unicorn looked around him as though someone might be watching. He looked down at his notebook, then back up to the earth pony, who was smiling at him. He shook his head again and picked up a small napkin which he used to blot up the spilled coffee. “Oh... no, it’s fine, I just wasn’t... sorry. I’ll clean this up.” His voice was young, but not juvenile. He sounded like he might be late for something. Like maybe he enjoyed singing. The earth pony smiled. “It’s alright. I do apologize again for startling you.” “No, it’s... don’t worry about it. I, um. Is there something I can help you with?” She smiled wider. Those were the words she was supposed to ask, most of the time. “Well... this may be a bit odd, but I was put up to it by my friend over there.” The earth pony gestured with a hoof towards the counter, where the pegasus, who had been staring over and smiling, gave a cheerful wave and nod. “She, um... she said you were looking in my direction rather regularly. Staring, she called it. And she noticed you were writing something, and the two of us couldn’t help but wonder... was it me you were writing about?” The unicorn’s face shone crimson behind his coat. Even though the coffee spill on his table had long since been soaked up, he padded the table with the napkin with increased fervour, smearing away nothing other than the few motes of dust that might be settled there. “Oh, uh... well, that is to say... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare... you, I just...” The unicorn’s stammering quickly faltered into nothingness. An obvious but small sheen of sweat began to collect on his forehead. The earth pony put a hoof to her mouth and giggled. “It’s alright. I’m flattered, if anything. Do you mind if I ask what it was you were writing?” The unicorn looked down at his notebook, then back up to the earth pony, still smiling at him, sweetly. He looked back down to his notebook and leaned forward, covering it with his forelegs. “That... I’d, um, prefer if you didn’t.” The earth pony raised an eyebrow at him, which he answered with an increased bluster. “It’s nothing scandalous!” he said, waving a hoof in the air emphatically. “It’s just... I... well, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he said, his tone dulling. The earth pony tilted her head a bit to the side. Her eyes moved over the unicorn, hunched over the table, as though she was seeing him again for the first time. Sizing him up. Guessing at what his nervous smile might mean. “I see,” she said. Her head straightened, and her eyes lingered on the unicorn’s vest. “Oh,” she said. “You have a bit of coffee on your...” she trailed off, pointing towards the unicorn’s chest. The unicorn sat back and looked down awkwardly, pressing his chin against his chest to spot the offending spot of coffee. As he looked, the notebook vanished under the one hoof he’d left on it, which sent him jerking forward. His expression quickly flashed from puzzlement to panic. “Oh, no, don’t, if you could please give that back...” The earth pony smiled devilishly as she stepped back, holding a hoof forward like some sort of invisible barrier as she turned the notebook the right way around. “In a moment. I just wish to see what it is you’ve been scribbling about me.” The unicorn’s face fell. He stayed frozen, mid-lunge for his book, as the earth pony’s eyes went over the ornate cursive. Her mouth moved as she read the first few words. “Saccharine dew, affixed to brightening fixture, content with the softness of her expression... content with the concealment of a lingering love for all of life... alight in her smile, bright and undermining of her toil...” The unicorn’s expression fell further as the earth pony read. He sank to his chair and slumped backwards, looking as though his body had been drained of energy. “Auburn crest, purely quaffed, iridescent shimmering surrounding...” the earth pony went on, her eyes scanning slowly over the densely packed letters. “How friendly a fortune must fare to spare the look of her laugh, and in passing, bringing a heart to brim with...” She looked up, her expression devoid of indication. “It stops there,” she said. The unicorn didn’t respond at first. He leaned forward in his chair and ran a hoof over his head, staring at the center of his table. After a further few seconds, he looked up and swallowed nervously. “It, uh... I was...” “It’s about me then?” she asked. She stepped close to the table then, closer to the side, and set the notebook down, taking care to avoid the napkin at the corner. The unicorn nodded solemnly. “It is. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” “It’s beautiful.” The hum of tandem strings drawled through the air of the shop, mixed still with the bustle of intermingling voices and chatter of old friends and acquaintances. Behind the counter, the pegasus with the blonde mane stretched herself forward, straining to make out the strains of conversation at the table closest to the door. The unicorn stared at the table for a moment before looking up to the earth pony again. She was smiling at him. “It is?” She nodded. “I’ve not had anypony write such things about me before. I’m flattered, really.” “Oh, well... that is to say, I didn’t mean to, er, I didn’t want to—” “What is your name?” The earth pony leaned forward, close enough to the unicorn that she could see the nervous flitting of his sea-blue eyes behind his glasses. “My name? It’s uh, well... my name is...” He stopped for a moment, coughed, cleared his throat, and adjusted the spectacles on his snout. “My name is... Bright Star,” he said. The earth pony’s eyes danced to his side. Hidden under the lower part of his vest, she could just make out the shimmer of a star’s points, stretching out on his blue coat. She extended her hoof, which Bright Star met after a second, shaking at first, but then getting the better of himself and holding it as properly as he could manage. The earth pony smiled at him and curtsied demurely with her eyes closed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bright Star. My name is Keening Iris.” Bright Star’s eyes went blank for a moment, as though the crest of waves in them had crashed, washing something away that had been there before. His lips moved over the name for a moment before he spoke. “Keening Iris,” he said slowly. “That’s... such a—” “Strange name, I know. You can just call me Iris, if you prefer. Everypony does.” Bright Star pressed his hoof harder against Keening Iris’s for a second, and she opened her eyes wide at the pressure before he pulled his hoof away. He looked down through his glasses at the table again, then back up. For the first time since she’d walked over, Iris saw him smile. “It’s a beautiful name,” he said quietly. The two of them sat and stood in silence for a few seconds, the hubbub of the shop milling around them. “So, Mr. Bright Star,” Iris said, leaning forward and resting her foreleg on the table, “do you intend to write more things about me?” Bright Star looked up at her again with a nervous smile. “I’d very much like to, yes.” “Well, that will be fine then.” Iris pulled herself up from the table and straightened her posture. She looked back to the counter where her co-worker was beaming madly at her. “But only if you shall let me see them.” Bright Star nodded. Iris waited a few seconds, smiling, before turning curtly and walking back behind the counter. A small line had begun to build during her conversation, and she tapped her co-worker gently on the shoulder as she walked to serve the ponies waiting for their drinks. After a minute passed, Bright Star let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair. When a few more seconds had passed, his horn glowed, and his pen drifted to his notebook, where it began to write.
Chapter II: A Vast, Empty FutureA cream coloured hoof shook as it reached for the handle of the boiling pot on the counter. Carefully, as much as it could manage while still jittering, the hoof was joined with another, holding still the pot as it carried it towards the table in the center of the room. A small kitchen, by the look of the cabinets and counters, with a window on one side meant to let light in, if it weren’t blocked by curtains, which it was now. The pair of hooves jittered the pot, pouring its contents into two cups set out on the table, a steaming stream of black coffee. Carefully, with a small rattle, the two hooves lifted the cups onto two respective plates, and carried them over to the kitchen table with a series of tiny chimes. The hooves did their best to hold steady as they moved from the cups to the small holder of sugar set out in the table’s center. They removed the lid with a soft clinking, then took up a nearby spoon. They held the spoon aloft, wobbling back and forth in their grip for a few seconds before returning it to the table. They braced against the table, pressed firmly into the wood, as though they might allay their shaking with the steadiness of the structure. After a few seconds, the legs to which they were attached settled, and they once more attempted to pick up the spoon. Almost no jittering. Carefully, with precision, the two hooves measured out a spoonful of sugar and poured it into the first cup. Not a drop spilled. They collected a second spoonful, slowly, and began to drop it into the second cup. The clink came loudly as they jerked sideways, flinging the cup and the container of sugar onto the floor where they shattered with a piercing sound. The spoon followed shortly thereafter, settling on the ground with a vibrating clang, emptying its payload of sugar onto the green tile underhoof. The sound of a small start settled into a sigh. The pony in possession of the shaking hooves raised one to her forehead, where she held it for a moment. Still, the shaking was there—subtle, slight, but there. After a few seconds of slow breathing, the pony went to the sink and collected a small cloth. She kneeled and began to wipe up the spilled coffee and small pile of sugar. A knock came at the door mid-wipe, which caused another sideways jerking of hooves. This time there was nothing to spill, and by fortune the motion missed the collection of shattered cup nearby. A moment, and the cloth was picked up, set in the sink. The pony navigated her way past the remaining cleanup, held herself at the door for a moment, forced a smile, and opened it. “Good morning, Iris.” The pony at the door was an older looking mare with a light-brown coat and her grey-purple mane tied in a bun atop her head. She was wearing a somewhat official looking neckband, and held a notebook to her side. A pen was tucked behind her ear. “Good morning.” Iris’s voice twinkled with a soft brightness, but her expression failed to match it. Her eyes looked tired. “Are you doing alright, dear? You look out of sorts.” “No, no, I’m fine.” Iris stepped back and waved inside, holding the door for her guest as she stepped over the doorway. She closed the door with a soft click, and the pony holding the notebook waited for a moment before making her way to the kitchen. As she walked, Iris’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she dashed forward, holding a hoof in front of her guest. “Oh, sorry, I almost forgot... just mind your step here. I had a bit of a spill earlier and didn’t have a chance to clean it up before you arrived.” The grey-maned pony eyed the mess of sugar and coffee-cup pieces on the kitchen floor. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Would you like me to help take care of that?” Iris shook her head. “No, it’s alright. It’s fine. I’m sorry, though, really. I’d planned to make coffee.” “It’s alright,” the older mare said, stepping around the fine white shards. “I’m not particularly a coffee sort of pony anyways.” She took a seat at the end of the table opposite the door. Iris eyed the mess on the floor for a moment before taking a chair on the other side, pushing it out with a creak of the legs against the tile. She sat with her forehooves on the table for a moment before seemingly remembering herself and pulling them back to her lap. After a few seconds, she sighed. The older mare set out her notebook on the table and removed the pen from behind her ear. “Are you sure you’re doing alright, dear? I’m sure with things the way they are you’re more entitled than anypony to be a bit frazzled...” The mare held a hoof out across the table, but Iris simply looked at it and sat up straighter. “No, it’s fine. I’m a bit rough around the edges at the moment, yes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Shall we get on with things?” The older mare held her hoof for a moment longer. Her face furrowed into a concerned frown, which she held as she pulled her hoof back, taking up her pen and setting it atop the first open page of her book. “Very well. I’m sure you’d wish for me to not take up too much of your time, hmm?” Iris smiled bleakly and rubbed a hoof against her forehead. The older mare smiled too, but hers gave out much quicker. “Well then... how have things been? Aside yourself, I mean. Has he been...” The mare trailed off, asking the rest of the question with her eyes and a hoof placed just so on her notebook, pen waggling as it prepared to work. Iris sat for a moment. She looked down at the table, letting the question sit, then back up. Her smile dissipated for a moment, but returned as soon as it had vanished. “Things are... fine.” “Is he showing any signs of improvement?” “Some.” The older mare scribbled a sentence or two in her notebook. “You’ll be sure to let us know if you see any immediate or significant changes, yes?” “Yes, of course.” Iris nodded and tucked her hooves together on her lap, still smiling faintly. The older mare held her pen against her chin for a moment, then returned it to the book. She closed the notebook with the pen inside and set her hooves atop it. Her eyes glimmered in the faint light peeking in through the curtains, and she looked forward towards Iris, whose attention had become momentarily caught in something invisible to the side of the kitchen. The older mare waited a few seconds until Iris’ gaze returned, upon which she started slightly in her chair before settling again. Smiling, softly. “You know that you can ask any of us for help if you feel you need it, don’t you? We have a whole division trained for this sort of thing, and I can’t imagine how hard it must be on you to— “It’s fine, really.” Iris brushed a hoof over her forehead, adjusting a lock of her brown mane that had fallen out of place. She stood, suddenly, her chair making the same creak on the kitchen tile. “I’m more than capable of handling myself. Thank you though.” The older mare’s mouth furrowed into a frown as she picked up her notebook and stood, slowly. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t, dear. But it’s not just yourself you’re handling at the moment.” The mare looked to Iris, whose smile remained steady. She blew a breath out her nose, but said nothing. The two of them stood their for a few seconds, the older mare’s hoof settled on the back of the chair she had sat in, as though she was frozen mid-movement. After a shorter while, Iris cleared her throat, and the mare removed her hoof from the chair. “I understand. And again, thank you. But I do promise I’ll let somepony know if things become... too much.” “Please do,” the mare said, tucking her notebook along her side. She walked across the kitchen as Iris held out a foreleg to usher her towards the door, carefully sidestepping the pile of shards that had once been a cup. Iris followed her to the door, and held it open as she readied herself to leave. As she stepped out, the mare paused and looked back. She found Iris still there, holding the door, the faintest flicker of dissipation lingering at the corners of her smile. “We’ll keep in touch, and see you next week. No need for a strenuous examination if things are more or less the same.” “Thank you.” Iris nodded low. “Until next week then.” The mare nodded back and stepped out of the doorway. Iris shut the door after a few seconds. As her hoof pressed the door closed, she leaned into it, holding herself up against the wooden frame. She closed her eyes and lifted a free hoof to her forehead, when she ran it over her brow. Shaking. A strand of her mane fell out of place, but she didn’t bother to adjust it. In the living room, the stately carved wooden clock bonged in a subdued fashion, announcing in a measurement of volume that it was ten o'clock in the morning. The light was bright outside, but faltered when it impacted the black of the curtains. Iris sighed and lowered her hoof, still shaking slightly, to the floor. She stood for a moment, breathing in and out, collecting air in her lungs before letting it out slowly. A few seconds after the clock’s nearby ringing had stopped, she let out a long breath and opened her eyes. They fell immediately upon the small pile of broken cup-ware on the kitchen floor. She made her way to the closet to collect her broom and dustpan. Her hooves mostly subdued their shaking until she had finished cleaning up. When she was done, she put the broom and dustpan away and surveyed the kitchen one last time before walking through it, into the living room, past the antique clock and to the door of the guest bedroom. She knocked twice, waited a few seconds, and then opened the door.
Chapter III: The DateBright Star checked his watch and promptly remembered upon doing so that he’d forgotten to wear his watch tonight. It was the third time in several minutes he remembered, and once again he sighed loudly to himself and looked instead towards the antique wooden clock in the room he was waiting in. The hands said 6:35. He checked his watch to make sure the time it showed was right, and rolled his eyes when again he found his fetlock bare. He was wearing a nice suit, pressed to the best of its ability to be pressed, which left it looking more or less composed. His hair was done back in the best fashion it too could manage, which meant a stray lock straggling here or there. He’d polished his glasses before he left for the night, but already they felt smudged and hazy. He removed them with a dim flicker of his horn and polished them on his undershirt. “I’m sorry again about the delay. I was just in the middle of getting ready when you arrived.” Keening Iris’ voice came from the hallway past the living room, winding around the corner of what Bright Star presumed must be her bedroom, until it reached his ears with the soft, ladylike lilt he’d held in his ear since first hearing it at the coffee shop two weeks ago. A great deal could happen in two weeks, including an even then unbelievable agreement for the object of his one-time poetic scribblings to join him for dinner. He checked his watch—clock—again. 6:38. “It’s alright,” he called back down the hallway. “There’s no need to hurry. The reservations are for seven, in any case.” Bright Star let his eyes drift across the room as he spoke. Anything to take his attention away from the ticking hands he knew would only move faster when he was focusing on them. He found the room in a relative sparseness of decoration—aside from the obviously antiquated clock, a miniature grandfather, he guessed, there was only a neatly-kept fireplace nearby and a single picture hanging on the wall. A brightly-coloured scenic painting, looking down from what appeared to be a tall mountain towards the cities below. He was sure he could make out Canterlot, it’s stately towers looming over the rest of the valley... and then there, lower, must be where he was now. There also appeared to be a shelf. How had he missed it the first time when he... His eyes stopped on the shelf’s centerpiece. A glass case, housing a small, red pillow with gold lace; atop it, a single, shining blade sat, unsheathed and glimmering in the light from the living room lamp. His eyes were still locked on it when Iris stepped out from her bedroom, adjusting an earring as she walked; white flowers, with blue centers, spinning like a sapphire pearl. A cream coloured dress, to match her coat. “Really, I apologize again. Hopefully I haven’t taken so long that our reservations will be...” Iris trailed off as she met Bright Star in the center of the room. Though her voice came from one side, Bright Star’s eyes were still dead-set on the simple but ornate blade on display on the living room’s single, lone shelf. “Oh,” Iris said. “I’d forgotten about that.” “Is it—” “It’s a blade, yes. Really, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t even have it out, but Father always... please, don’t think me too strange. It’s a family heirloom, of sorts, I promise I’m not the sort of pony who collects knives or swords or anything like that...” Iris held a worried expression, staring on at Bright Star. But he stared on at the sword, and still staring, walked closer, his face unmoving, as though in a trance. Iris bit her lip and moved her hooves antsily on the floor. “It’s quite strange, isn’t it? It’s no wonder I’ve not had anypony over in so long.” Bright Star held a hoof up to the case, just far enough away that he could feel the faint presence of the glass. Not quite touching. He stared deeply at the blade, drinking in the sight of its simple curve, not overdone or inelegant, but just enough to give the suggestion of something designed to cut, or to hew, rather than to slice. A slightly foreign, deadly curve. It’s handle was plain, looking to be the same type of silver... but a single white gem was set at the base of the hold. And there was some sort of design that ran along it as well. A script he couldn’t make out. “Please,” Iris said, suddenly at Bright Star’s side, her voice almost in her ear. “You can come up with all manner of oddities to call me later, but I would very much still like to go to dinner with you... if you’ll have me.” She held out her hoof and bobbed her head softly, blushing ever so slightly. Bright Star turned to her, his eyes wide. “It’s wonderful,” he said. Iris blushed brighter. “You don’t mean that. It’s a queer thing, especially for a lady to have in the middle of her living room.” “It’s yours, then? A family heirloom, you said?” Iris nodded. “It is. My father... was a bladesmith, or an all sorts of smith, I suppose. He made it for me when I left home. I promised him I would keep it by me always.” Bright Star turned back to the blade’s case, casting his eyes over it for several seconds before returning his attention to Iris’ demure blush. “The white jewel in the center,” Bright Star said. He let the sentence linger, as though he didn’t intend to finish it. Iris coughed and picked up the question. “My name, as you might have guessed, is rather irregular for a reason. Iris is simple enough, that well-to-do but quite boring white flower that grows on the hillsides... but keening, of course, means to sharpen something. To make it keener, bolder, brighter. My family’s naming tradition has always been a bit... antiquated.” Neither pony spoke as Iris finished. A small silence settled into the room. Occasionally, Bright Star’s eyes flitted back to the sword once or twice. Eventually, Iris cleared her throat and extended her hoof again. “Shall we? I promise I shall tell you all about my family’s strange history over the course of the night, if we’re still to have one.” Bright Star’s spectacles shone as bright as the blade’s silver as he took Iris’s hoof. Iris stared into his eyes, but found her gaze blocked by the mercurial shimmer, until, after a few seconds, it vanished, parting the moon-refraction to allow swirling blue to come forth. “Would that beauty were, as warfare, more a simple art... a blade of brilliant luster to lay down and at last to pierce the heart... would that such a sharpened thing be given purpose in each pony to start... to then at last take up arms and call to attention, leaving scars upon the earth, not for blood, but for the seeking out of perfection’s mark...” Bright Star blinked as his lips finished moving. The luster from his glasses dulled, and his posture seemed to shirk, shrinking him in towards himself. “Er,” he said. “Sorry. I don’t suppose there’s sense dawdling further when we’re already running behind—” His words left him as too almost did his air as Iris stepped into him, pressing her chest suddenly against his. Her nose almost to his nose, her breath in air with his, and her eyes softening, looking into his oceans of blue. “You be careful with words like that, or you’ll fast convince me we’ve no need for the evening but to come straight back here.” Bright Star’s face seemed to still. His breath caught in his throat. He felt the soft scent of flowers upon the air, lingering on Iris’ lips. He stood frozen as Iris pulled away, hoof still on his, tugging his foreleg towards the door. The clock read 6:49. “Come on. It’s not too far away. I bet we can still make it.” With a last swallow, Bright Star nodded, and allowed himself to be moved, leaving the room with its ornate clock and silver blade, ticking and shimmering as the seconds war on, and he and his date raced towards the rest of their evening. The night was a deep darkness when they returned. Though the stars and moon overhead struggled to light the ground, it seemed shielded by an unknowable force, keeping even the lamplight in passing away in a midnight shroud. A small giggle came from the doorstep of Iris’ house. She was its source, leaning against her firm wooden door, her hooves on either side of the somewhat smartly pressed-suit on her date’s chest, pulling him so close, again he could smell the flowers on her breath. “I had a lovely evening,” she said, her voice louder than the hour warranted, and unwhispered in spite of the narrowing of her eyes. Bright Star, though blushing, beamed. He allowed himself to lean forward, his forehead pressing against his date’s, then leaning back again. “I did too. You really are... I’m sorry. It seems like I’ve spent the night tripping over myself in calling you lovely. In fact, it seems I’ve been doing it since we first met...” Iris giggled again and shoved at Bright Star’s chest with a hoof, which he grinned at, bringing himself back to press against her once more. “Since before we’ve met, really. You know, a lady might take offense to a would-be suitor praising her endlessly for her looks. Haven’t you anything to say about my laugh, my wit, my personality?” Iris ended with another giggle, and Bright Star’s eyes glowed underneath the night’s darkness as he smiled back at her. “I think you’d believe me when I say there’s a great deal I like about you... but I suppose I can give it a shot.” Bright Star cleared his throat, and held his posture steady, almost as stiff as a statue where before he had been limber. “Her impish... er, no wait... her elegant... um, elegant glimmer of... state and personate... is... is...” Iris shoved again, and Bright Star blinked, this time caught lightly by the ineffectual blow to the chest. “I don’t think personate is a word in that sort of sense,” she said, grinning. Instead of meeting her grin, Bright Star’s face seemed to fall. “Er. You may be right... here, how about—” His words faltered as the two hooves on his suit pulled him closer, close enough that his snout was touching the scent of lilacs in front of him. “You needn’t always be so reverent, you know. Sometimes there’s a great deal you can say without words.” There was no response to collect. Iris met his lips. They kissed. No soft or sweetness but a sudden hunger, her lips parting and his to follow. They kissed, shielded in the darkness of the sky overhead, serenading the shroud around them in the soft sounds of their closeness. The subtle murmur of their breathing. The kissing stopped. Iris held Bright Star at hoof’s length, her eyes wild with mischief. Bright Star’s seemed lost, and his posture addled as he attempted to collect himself. Iris granted him a few seconds before nuzzling her snout against his, which he returned half-heartedly, still absent from the plane of the living. “I’d wager a fair sum of bits you’d greatly like to be invited back inside,” she said, swaying forward and back against Bright Star’s body. “Well... that is, I mean... I certainly wouldn’t... if you’d be so kind, I mean, I’d...” “Shhh. You’re well aware after spending the night in my company that I do aim to be a lady of sorts, aren’t you?” Bright Star nodded. “Then you must also know a proper lady isn’t the type to invite a stallion into her house for the night of their first date.” Bright Star’s face churned through expressions, hiding whatever his true reaction might have been in a slew of disguises and counterpoints. “But,” Iris said, dragging a hoof across Bright Star’s chest, “I could be persuaded to invite you in for a cup of tea or two, provided you promise to leave in a proper fashion afterwards.” Bright Star swallowed loudly. “Tea?” he said. Iris nodded, smiling. “Well... sure, yes. I would love some tea.” “Let’s go ahead then, shall we?” Iris turned at once and worked her key in the door’s lock, opening it and stepping inside without a moment’s hesitation. Bright Star seemed to take a minute to collect himself, but followed shortly thereafter, shutting the door behind him loudly, with a wince. Iris was already putting the kettle on as he walked into the kitchen. “Do have a seat. Tea should be ready in several minutes, if that. I have a lovely blend that’s just perfect for night-time.” Bright Star nodded and surveyed the kitchen. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he sat, and fidgeted in his chair as Iris pulled cups and saucers out of their respective shelves. Neither pony spoke as the kettle began to boil, and Iris poured it smartly into the two cups, the clear, steaming water turning a soft orange as it contacted the tea-holders. Small leaves compressed in metal containers. She smiled as she brought both cups and saucers over to the table. “It’s something with a bit of citrus flavour in it. Not too strong, but enough to give it a bit of flare. Very good when you’re not quite ready to go to sleep.” “It smells good.” Bright Star took his saucer graciously and nodded in gesture of politeness. “Doesn’t it?” Both sat, holding their saucers, waiting for the tea to cool. The clock in the living room ticked onwards, its hands invisible in the low light. “So,” Iris said, removing the tea-holder from the cup. “It occurs to me we spent the whole of dinner and then some talking about me.” “I’m sorry.” Bright Star raised his cup, and held it just to his lips before deciding it was too hot and lowering it back to the table. “It’s fine,” Iris said, doing the same, but taking a small sip of hers before putting it back. “But as that’s the case, and I’ve no interest to spend the next few weeks at chances of soliciting your company speaking solely of myself... tell me something about yourself.” Bright Star tried another sip of his tea and found it cool enough for his liking this time. He held the sip in his mouth a moment before swallowing, and lowered the cup with a sort of surprised contentment on his face. “Um... well, what about me would you like to know?” “A great deal. But, for now, let’s start with the simpler bits. Something I’m dying to know, first off: what is it you do?” Iris leaned forward, resting her hooves on the table in a very unladylike fashion. “Surely you must be a poet or a writer somewhere, possibly on leave from Canterlot. Doing decrees and pronouncements and odes and adorations for the Princess, yes?” Iris’s eyes lit up as she stared across the table, her smile wide. Bright Star shifted in his seat and looked towards the window. Black curtains hung over it to keep the night out. “Well?” Iris asked. “Did I get it?” “Not... er, not quite.” “Well then?” Iris took another sip of her tea, lowering her cup back to its saucer with a soft clink. “I’m, er... well... I’m studying medicine at the moment, actually.” Iris’ grin dipped at one corner. “Really? You don’t strike me as the medical type.” “I’m not sure I am.” Bright Star put his hoof next to his cup, but didn’t raise it. “The, uh... poetry, I guess you’d call it... that’s something I’m just trying my hoof at on the side. Not really anything worth bothering over.” “I quite disagree. You’ve got a wonderful talent for poetry, though I have to confess my opinion might not be the most objective. There is a certain wonder the way your words come together.” Iris’ eyes glowed earnestly as she looked towards Bright Star, who turned his gaze in another direction for a few seconds. “It’s nothing special,” Bright Star said, his eyes affixed intently on his tea-cup. He picked it up and swirled the bright-orange liquid around in a circle, creating a tiny vortex at it’s center. “You don’t really believe that, do you? I might not remember all my Old Equestrian verse, but yours is a lovely comparison in memory.” Bright Star blushed faintly, but refused to look up from his tea. He held his eyes there until he felt something under his chin, pulling his face up to meet Iris, her hoof held forward, frowning sternly at him. “Come now. If anything, consider this an instruction: a lady does not avow herself to a stallion who is so down on himself. What makes you think your poetry is anything less than beautiful?” “You’ve not heard much of it,” Bright Star said, pulling his chin away from Iris’s hoof. “The bits I’ve... I’ve given to you were... more inspired than most of my attempts.” Iris grinned. “I inspire you, do I?” “You could say that.” Bright Star hid in a drink of his tea for a moment. “Even still... there’s not much call for poetry these days. Certainly when a career in medicine is much more promising.” “You sound as about enthusiastic for it as a vendor slogging his way to another arduous day at market.” Iris sipped and paused for a moment, her cup held aloft. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m going to guess that becoming a doctor wasn’t a choice made solely for yourself.” Bright Star nodded. “My parents... they’re very keen to have me do something respectable. As far as work goes, there’s not much more respectable than medicine. I can’t even imagine if I told them I was thinking about pursuing writing, when I’ve never even been published.” “Everyone starts somewhere. Have you thought about working on something on the side, sending away to a publication or two to gauge interest?” Bright Star shook his head and pushed his saucer forward, his cup half-full. “No. Like I said before... I don’t think I’ve ever written anything worth reading. Though I’m flattered that you think otherwise.” “Would you let me read some of your other writings?” Bright Star looked up from the table. Iris’s eyes glowed at him from across the table, as bright as the struggling light keeping the kitchen visible. “I... maybe. I’d have to find something that wasn’t awful.” “Well, when you’re certain you have, please share it with me. I’d be nothing less than delighted.” A small spot of steam wafted up from Bright Star’s abandoned cup, apparently still hot enough to indicate its temperature. Iris eyed it as she drained the last of her tea. “I’d offer you another cup,” she said, standing, “but I see you still haven’t finished your first. I also imagine that if I were to let you, you might stay here all night, regardless of where or when you end up sleeping.” Bright Star bit his lip to hide an embarrassed grin, but nodded lightly, and stood as Iris had done a moment ago. “You’re right. I’ve... well, to be frank, I’ve been smitten with you since the first moment I saw you.” Again, the air was scarcely displayed when he felt her next to him, as though she’d moved in the moments between breath. Iris looked up the small difference between them, and Bright Star down to her. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “I know,” she said. They stood for a moment, air alight with electricity between them. Standing, silent, save the soft ticking of the clock in the next room over. As the moment threatened to expire, Bright Star leaned forward, and Iris welcomed his kiss with its return. The soft sound of their lips joined the subtle ticking, and almost imperceptibly, the shuffle of their dress and suit against each other as their bodies shifted, ever-so-slightly, against while they kissed. Iris gave pause with her hoof on Bright Star’s shoulder, and he pulled away. “For all you might say about yourself otherwise, I believe I’m quite taken with you, Mr. Bright Star.” Bright Star’s cerulean shone like fire in a sea of crimson. His lips stammered over the start of a sentence as he blushed. Iris ran her hoof along the side of his face, and felt the tensing of his muscles as he swallowed. “I’m... that’s...” “No need to reply. You’ve said more than enough on me tonight.” Iris withdrew suddenly, moving in the way she moved, somewhere one moment, elsewhere the next. Bright Star closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side, shaking the thoughts that had collected in his head. “I would love to hear more about you though, even if it’s only a lament on the mundanity of medical study.” “I’ll... I’ll try to come up with something to... when will I see you next, that is? If you’d like to, I mean, if you feel like you’d—” Hushed, a hoof to his lips. Iris smiled. “Does a week from today sound acceptable? Provided you can bear the waiting...” Bright Star nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes, a week is fine.” “Very well then.” Iris ran a hoof over Bright Star’s chest at forelegs reach, then took to his side and began to guide him towards the door. He followed almost in a stupor until the wooden frame was parted, and his hooves met the cold night air, blanketed in darkness. “You’re free to pine as much as you like, of course,” Iris said with a smirk. Bright Star gawked at her perpetually as she showed him outside. “It shall be a pleasure to see you in a week. Until then?” Bright Star nodded, but held a hoof up to stop the closing of the door before it came. Iris tilted her head at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes, until then, although... not that it will be, but what if... what if a week seems, as it goes on, too long?” For the first time of the night, a beam of the moon crested through the clouds and fog, lighting the ground, and too the cream-coloured dress and ivory smile as Iris grinned. “Well, if that should be the case... I suppose you might write me a poem about it to share when the wait is over.” And with no further a nod, Iris, still grinning, stepped inside and shut the door. She counted a full twenty seconds until she heard the hoofsteps outside her door begin to move away, and only then allowed herself the swooning sigh she had been holding in all night, sliding down against the door until she crumpled onto the floor, beaming brighter than all of the sun.
Prologue: Soft PetalsOn a wooden table, illuminated by the sunlight pouring through a nearby window, a vase with a single, white flower sits, by itself. The petals of the floor drop together like a concave bell, catching the glow of the rays circling them, and shimmering ever-so-faintly as the light bathes them. The flower sits in its solitude as the sun makes its way down the sky, changing its angle of refraction through the glass pane nearby. The new shape of the light as it descends casts a new aura about the flower every hour so, revealing a distinct facet of the blossom's composition each time. how veins alight along its surface, thin under the veil of petals, but large enough to notice. How the bud-turned-overbloom tapers at the end, curling in on itself like its fragrant center holds a secret to be concealed. how the curve of the stem is like the arduous bending of a sturdy beam, barely at the pinnacle of its flexibility before it snaps and sends its precious payload tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground. How, at one time, the vase might have looked less empty than it does now. The flower stands in the light until, as the sun begins its golden-violet disappearance over the horizon, all of its light vanishes. The window is bathed in black. The curtains make a tidy ‘hiss’ as they’re pulled shut. In darkness, the flower stands for a moment until it, and its vase, are picked up. The vase’s water is emptied into the sink with a high-pitched trickle, and the flower is removed. It’s set on the counter until the vase is empty, upon which the vase takes its place, and the flower is lifted gingerly and carried across the room to a shelf. The shelf is lined with books, as well as nick-nacks and other objects: coins, pens, a feather or two. on the second-to-bottom shelf, there is an ornate but simple woodn box with a gold clasp on the front. The flower is put in front of it. A small corner of paper sticks out from underneath the box. After the flower is set down, the hoof that placed it there pulls out the scrap of paper. It keeps it for several seconds. After a short while, the hoof returns and jams the paper so far under the wooden box that it disappears from site. As the shelf is left, a single, ivory petal falls from the flower and lands softly, silently, on the ground.
