Chapters My story is not one told in nostalgic reminiscing, something proud parents tell their friends, siblings share in fond memories. My story is one most would like to forget. Sometimes I would like to forget it myself. But to know where I started in this world, what I've had to go through and what I have become because of it? I would be foolish to long for another path and forfeit all the knowledge I have gained. For once I was a small filly, just a foal nopony thought about or looked twice at. I was simple, I was plain, and I was meek. But I was not stupid. No, I was much more intelligent than anypony harvesting rocks for a living had the right to be. It was my secret pride and it became the one thing that set me apart from the rest of my family.
Mother and Father were simple-minded ponies whose sole purpose in life was to keep their children busy at all times and therefore out of their manes. My sisters and I were not born out of love but necessity. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, meaning it was convenient for my grandmare on my mother's side to find a husband for her eldest daughter at such a late stage in her life and a fairly well-to-do one at that. They were married for three years before Pinkie was born, their pretty little miracle child born to a womb that was supposedly barren. Blinkie and I came soon after and then her womb was closed by the hand of the Creator for good. They loved Pinkie. She was colorful, full of life, and was always making us smile. Blinkie and I... well we simply weren't as important. At least not until Pinkie left to find a new life in Ponyville.
That day changed my life forever, and not because it was the last day for many years in which I would find myself in the same room with both my sisters. Because it was the day my family fell apart at the seams. Maybe Pinkie didn't know the affect she had on the rest of us, that she was the proverbial glue holding us all together. Maybe she simply didn't care. Maybe she recognized the necessity of leaving before all that was left of her illuminating spirit was crushed under the weight of pretending everything was always perfectly fine. She was smart to get out when she did. A pony whose special talent was throwing parties? On a remote rock farm miles away from anypony else? It did not take a genius to know she would not thrive there. So I watched her leave with tears in my eyes. And silently vowed to follow in her hoofprints.
I packed my saddlebags that night and prepared myself to slip out as soon as I could be sure my parents were asleep. No memory is as clear to me as that of the soft touch of my sister's hoof to my side as I stood by the door to the room we shared. She was crying before I even had a chance to speak.
“Please don't cry,” I whispered as we held each other close.
“Where are you going, Inkie?”
“I don't know.” It was a terrifying confession but it was the truth. I had no plan but to get as far from this place as possible. My blind faith that everything would work out the way it was meant to was disillusioned at best, but it was all I had. “Come with me.”
Blinkie pulled away from me with wide eyes. “I can't go with you!”
“And I can't stay here.” I wondered if Pinkie felt like this when she left. Part of me hoped so. Though I definitely understood her reasons for going I was still very hurt and upset with her, and I would be for a long time.
“You're going to leave me just like Pinkie did? What am I supposed to do here by myself?”
I smiled softly and pushed her gray mane from her face. “Realize that this is no life for anypony. It's just a way to pass the time.” I embraced her one last time, cracked the door to hear nothing but silence, and left the rock farm and the parents that I would never see again.
It was a three mile walk from our farm to the nearest town and I had no idea where Pinkie might have gone from there. Ponyville was a place I'd heard of a few times before but for some reason the name itself turned me off to it. Ponyville . It painted pictures in my young mind of thatched roofs, everypony knowing everypony else, subsequently knowing their business as well, and made me feel claustrophobic. I longed for a place that would not be as stifling as the home I'd just left. With a sad little sigh I looked up to the cold clear moon above me as though it could direct me where to go. And I saw Canterlot silhouetted against the dark sky.
The royal city seemed to glow against its dark backdrop, golden roofs reflecting the moonlight, far away windows lit with candles and lanterns, and I swear as I stood there, holding my breath, I could almost hear the wafting sound of music on the breeze. Suddenly my pulse was racing and I knew, surely as I knew breath was necessary to life, that Canterlot was where I was meant to be. Though the journey would take me all night I started onward and let my mind wander into fantasies about how wonderful my life was going to be.
I'd always had a longing for the finer things in life; every once in awhile when Granny Pie came to visit she'd bring treats for the three of us and mine were always colorful magazines of rich and famous ponies. Blinkie liked looking at them too, but she was more interested in the pictures themselves than the subject matter. But I'd see tall handsome stallions with chests thrust forward and chins lifted proudly, thin beautiful mares with jewels at their throats and manes perfectly styled, and I'd wish with everything in my little body to be a part of their world. I wanted ponies taking my picture, interviewing me about my fabulous life and waiting hours on end just for a chance to catch my eye as I left some fancy dinner party. I never dreamed of what it would take to get me there.
It was on the steep road up the mountain that I met the first pony that had a hoof in my story. I heard the carriage coming long before I could see it, the sound bouncing off the sheer rock walls until it eventually faded and disappeared. In fear I hid, though I did a rather poor job of it and wasn't aware that my tail was left draped across part of the pathway. I buried my face in my hooves and held my breath as the carriage drew closer, terrible visions of ponies with fangs and mouths dripping blood swimming through my brain. When the carriage stopped I nearly wet myself in fear.
“Hello?”
They knew I was there! I was going to be found, eaten alive, and nopony would ever know what became of me. I would just be another face on a milk carton until so many years had passed. Then I would just be a memory.
“Um, excuse me. Hello there. I need to get by and didn't want to run over your tail.”
The female voice sounded friendly enough but I still couldn't make myself move. Even with my eyes closed I could tell when she stood over me because everything suddenly felt darker. “Please go away,” I managed in a whining whisper.
“I'd like to,” the mare said patiently, “but like I said, your tail is in the way. I suppose I could just roll over it if you really want me to.”
“No thank you!” I pulled my tail in and heard her gasp.
“You're just a filly! What are you doing out here all alone?”
“I'm not alone,” I lied, finally gathering up enough courage to look up at her. She was an absolutely lovely unicorn with a pale lavender coat and a short wavy mane and tail of a darker lavender and light blue. Her blue eyes looked down at me kindly but I shuddered and squeaked, “Please don't eat me.”
She laughed quietly, her expression soft and full of pity. “I'm not going to eat you, silly girl.” She lifted her head to look around. “Where are your parents?”
“Dead.” The lie came quicker this time and somehow sounded more real than the one before.
“Oh, you poor thing. What happened? Where are they?”
My mind raced, searching for something plausible, something tragic I'd read in a book before that may work for me. “Dragons. They raided our home. I got away because I was so small. They didn't even see me.”
“Well you can't stay out here all alone. Come on. I'm headed up to Canterlot. You can come with me and we'll figure out what to do from there.”
I crept out from my hiding place to get a better look at the unicorn. She wasn't any taller than my mother but somehow the fact that she was unfamiliar made her seem so much bigger. My eyes trailed to her cutie mark – three musical notes – then to her cart. It was almost as beautiful as she was with dark stained wood and ornate gilded golden etchings along the sides and the harness. “You're going to Canterlot?” I repeated in wonder, my eyes following the path of the swirling ornate gold.
“That's right. I have a delivery to make.”
My head swiveled back to look up at her. “What are you delivering?”
“Do you want to take a peek and find out for yourself?”
I couldn't help but smile, my curiosity quickly overshadowing any fear I had of this stranger. On stumpy legs I hurried over to the cart and rested my front hooves on the very back. Everything was carefully hidden beneath a heavy covering. I looked to the mare. “I can't see it.”
She unhitched herself from the harness and joined me. Very carefully she gripped a corner of the cover and pulled it back. I gasped. Laid very strategically were instruments of the likes I'd never seen before. They were all wooden and stringed, silver and gold, polished to shine the moon's reflected light right back up to the sky. When the mare lowered her head and scooped me up and set me on her withers I couldn't even think about complaining or protesting. I was too entranced. “What are they?” I breathed, my hoof reaching out to glide gently over the nearest instrument.
“Mostly woodwinds,” she told me, “with a few stringed pieces. My father hoofmakes them and I deliver them to the buyers. That one you have your hoof on right now is called a cello.”
“It's beautiful.” It was three times my size but it was instantly my favorite. “Do you play them? Is that why you have music for your cutie mark?”
She laughed a melodious little giggle. “No. My father wishes I played. I prefer to sing the music rather than play it.”
“You're a singer?” Here I was on my way to Canterlot to meet rich and famous ponies and one just happened to find me before I even had a chance to get to the city! “What's your name?”
“High Note. What's yours?” I hesitated and looked down, but she shrugged her withers to get me to look at her. “You don't have to tell me until you're ready, but I have to call you something.” She tilted her head in thought, then smiled at me. “How about...Octave?”
“Octave,” I repeated. “What is that?”
“It's the interval between one musical pitch and another.” I blinked at her blankly and she giggled again. “Like this.” She sang a sweet “Laaaa” out into the night, then stopped and sang the same thing but in a higher key. “I went up an octave from the original note.”
“I think I get it.” I smiled and nodded confirmation. “I like Octave.”
“Then let's get going, Octave. We still have a long way to go before we can rest.”
Before I knew what was happening I felt a warmth spread over my entire body and I was lifted into the air. Terrified, I looked at the pale blue aura of magic around my body. Nopony had ever used magic on me before! I always wondered what it felt like, if it tingled or hurt at all. As I was set down in the front of the cart right next to the cello the magic disappeared and I found myself feeling a little colder. Hurrying, I propped my front hooves up on the edge of the cart to watch High Note use her magic again to get herself back in her harness, and just like that we were heading up the mountain.
Little else remains in my memory of that night, but I will never forget that feeling of magic surrounding my body, nor will I forget the way High Note sang as we walked the long road up the mountain. Like everything else about her it was soft, comforting, and made me feel at ease. So much so that I fell asleep shortly after she began singing and did not wake again until the next morning. I do remember the way the scent of musty hay invaded my rest and made it impossible for me to sleep any longer.
It was a shock to open my eyes and find myself in a little cot, a blanket draped across my body. A quick look around showed me a bed that had been slept in and left unmade, a stout wardrobe in the corner, and a weathered old chest under the window. I hardly had to move at all to send dust flying into the air. Wind blew the drapes and I watched, almost transfixed, as the tiny specs of dust danced in and out of the rays of sun filtering inside. It was then that the sounds began to register. Hooves traveled over cobbled streets, carts giving off telling creaks as they were pulled, chatter that was soft and indistinguishable all came to me through the singular open window. Throwing back my blanket I put my hooves to the floor and walked to the old chest. I managed to climb on top of it somehow and peered out the window to find I was certainly not on the side of the mountain or on the rock farm anymore.
On the street far down below were the most well dressed ponies I could have ever dreamed of seeing. Mares in beautiful gowns and hats with brightly colored plumage, stallions in suit jackets dutifully carrying the bags of said mares at their sides. Merchants pushed wares from behind cluttered counters and not a single pony had one hair out of place. I was in Canterlot! Unable to help myself, I jumped to the floor and danced to music only I could hear. What would my sisters think if they knew?
The door to the room opened and I froze, but High Note just giggled at me. “I was wondering if you were up or not. Guess that answers my question.”
Giddy, I spun in a pirouette on one hoof, my eyes closed and a smile on my face. “I'm in Canterlot!” I exclaimed. “It's better than I imagined it!”
“Octave, you haven't even seen Canterlot.”
My spinning stopped and I eyed her. “You mean we're not in Canterlot?”
“No, no.” High Note shook her head and came further into the room with a smile. “We are, but all you've seen is right outside your window. There is so much more to Canterlot than this one street. This is nothing compared to the market square and the palace.”
I don't think my eyes could have gotten any wider. “You've been to the palace?!”
She nodded proudly. “Princess Celestia has only the finest musicians in her employ and the finest musicians need the finest instruments. I've even had the honor of singing for her a couple of times.”
My heart felt like it was going to burst, like I was living through High Note vicariously. “Can I meet the princess, too?”
High Note's smile fell slightly. “I'm not delivering to the palace this trip. Besides, we have to figure out what to do with you.”
A trickle of panic crept up my spine. “What do you mean? Can't I stay here with you?”
She sat down in front of me and shook her head sadly. “I don't live here, Octave. My home is in Trottingham. This is just a hotel room.”
“But I want to stay here, in Canterlot.” The thin trickle of panic was threatening to become a flood. This mare had been kind to me when she didn't have to be and there was a big part of me that didn't want to be parted from her. But there was a bigger part of me that knew my destiny was in the royal city.
“How about we go get some breakfast, then you help me with my delivery? The stallion who owns the instrument shop here is pretty well connected. If anypony knows what to do about anything, it's him.”
It wasn't really an offer I had to think about. I was so excited to get out and see the royal city that High Note could have promised me anything and I would have followed her out of that room.
Everything I ever imagined about Canterlot fell short in comparison to what I saw that morning. Everypony was so well spoken and elegant; I even noticed the way High Note seemed to walk a little taller here. It made the rock farm from which I'd come seem like it was another universe away. As we wove ourselves through the labyrinthine streets I often lagged behind, enticed and entranced by some sight or another, and had to hurry along so as not to lose sight of High Note. She was always patient and kind, never losing the warm smile that turned up the edges of her lips. When we were finally seated outside one of Canterlot's many dining establishments I was treated to a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and a tall glass of cold milk.
Every now and then a pony would stop to say hello to High Note and I would sit there, dumbly staring in awe. She appeared to be a bit more well known here than the let on but she never seemed affected by the attention. She was gracious and friendly to everypony who greeted her, and never hesitated in introducing me. I was Octave, soon to be apprentice to Melomane. I had no idea what an apprentice was or who this Melomane character happened to be but I nodded and smiled when attention turned my way. High Note beamed at me and I found her look of praise was worth more than the answers to my questions. I was already forming an attachment to her, and how could I not? In the handful of hours I had known this mare she'd already shown me more affection than my own parents had in the few years I'd been alive. Without reason I trusted her above any other and somehow knew she'd never put me in harms way or to anything to intentionally endanger me.
After breakfast we went back for her cart of instruments, then headed deeper into the city. She drew upon the closed door of a shop and turned to look down at me. “Melomane can be a bit much to anypony who doesn't know him. He can be a little intimidating at first.” I just blinked and watched as she raised a hoof to knock on the door.
“Qui est-ce?” barked a gravely voice from inside.
“It's High Note.”
“We are not open yet!”
I recoiled slightly, put off by the gruff, angry tone and the thick accent I couldn't place. But High Note only shook her head and gave a thin, patient smile to the closed door. “Melomane, it's me. From Trottingham? You ordered some instruments from my father last month, remember?”
There was a crash from inside that sent me skittering around to hide behind High Note's front legs, then heavy hooves coming closer to the door before there was the click of a lock, and the door swung inward. There stood a bright orange stallion with a lighter orange mane and tail, and a permanent frown on his face. High Note simply smiled in greeting. “Good morning.”
“I expected those instruments a week ago!” bellowed the stallion. “You should have been here a week ago!”
High Note was nonplussed. “Your invoice should say the delivery date is set for today.”
“Fraudeuse,” Melomane muttered and he turned to look inside. “Glissando! Find me that invoice.” He turned to head back inside but not before instructing High Note to leave the cart there and follow him. She unhitched the wagon, then pushed me forward with a gentle nudge of her muzzle. I swallowed hard and entered with her right behind me.
The inside of the shop was a lot bigger than the outside let on. On every wall there were instruments displayed, some familiar, most not familiar at all. I was fascinated. I wanted to know the names of each and every one of them, what they sounded like and how they were played. “What is this?” The question broke the spell and I whipped my head around to see Melomane glaring down at me from behind a counter with a register on it. “You bring me another gosse?”
“She's not an urchin, Melomane. This is Octave.”
“Octave,” repeated Melomane, a trace of humor in his otherwise abrasive tone. “Octave.” All humor gone, he spat on the floor and I jumped back. “The first one you bring me is already no good! Glissando! Invoice! De suite!”
“Chill out old man!” From a door to the side of the counter came a white unicorn filly, just a little bigger than me. Her mane and tail were a mix of cyan and cobalt blue, and stuck out at odd angles. She carried a slip of paper between her teeth and set it on the counter before Melomane. When she saw High Note her magenta eyes widened and she beamed. “High Note!”
The filly rounded the counter as High Note stepped past me to bend down and accept a hug from the unicorn. “How are you?” High Note asked.
“Awesome now that you're here!”
“Awesome?”
The filly turned around to look at Melomane. “Yeah, awesome! Like...really good! Fantastic! Couldn't be better.” Looking at High Note again she added, “Such a geezer,” under her breath.
High Note giggled and straightened to look at Melomane. “Is the written date today or was I mistaken?” The grumpy stallion made a sound in the back of his throat and waved her off, pushing the invoice aside. With a complacent smile, High Note returned her attention to the filly. “Oh, Glissando, I'd like you to meet Octave. Octave, this is Glissando.”
The filly looked me over with her ruby eyes, then grinned at me and stuck out a hoof. “Nice to meet you.” I offered my hoof in return and nodded mutely. It made the unicorn look up at High Note. “Does she talk?”
“Occasionally,” High Note teased. “How would you feel about having somepony else around to help share the load?”
“No!” exclaimed Melomane. “No, no, no! This one, she already eats me out of house and home!”
“I'm a growing filly!”
“You are a good for nothing flemmard!”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you are good for nothing!”
“Then say I'm good for nothing! Speak English! The boat to your homeland sailed away long ago. Conform already!”
I watched the exchange with my mouth half open. Never before had I seen a filly, even a slightly older filly as Glissando appeared to be, speak to an adult like that. High Note, on the other hand, couldn't stop giggling.
“I'm going to start bringing the instruments in, Melomane. Do you want them out back as usual?”
“Yes, I must check them all over!”
“Look for imperfections all you want. You've never found any before and you won't find any now.”
“Just wait one minute...”
Melomane followed High Note back outside, leaving me there with the back-talking filly. The way she grinned at me was kind of unnerving. “Come on, I'll show you our room.”
“Our...room?”
Glissando gasped. “She does talk!”
“I talk,” I defended meekly. “But only when I have something to say, not just because I like the sound of my own voice.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and leaned forward slightly, causing me to flinch back. “Was that just a smart retort you threw my way?” I blinked, my heart racing. What was this wild creature going to do to me now, when no adults were in the room? Still, I felt like I needed to stand my ground. So I gave a nod so small it would have been easily missed, had I not been under such a scrutinizing gaze. I clenched my eyes shut, waiting for the attack. The sound of her chuckling was not what I expected, and I opened my eyes slowly. “I like you. What's your real name?”
“Octave,” I said without hesitation.
“So we're going to play that game, huh? Okay, fine. You be Octave and I'll be Glissando. You wanna come see our room, or not?” Without waiting for my reply she turned and headed back through the door through which she'd appeared. I stood there a moment, weighing my options. Go outside with scary Melomane, stay here alone, or follow Glissando? Hurrying, I ran to catch up to the unicorn filly.
If anypony ever told me I was weak willed I probably would have just nodded and smiled. I wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree when I was a filly and never really took the time to think for myself. What good would it have done me even if I had? Pinkie was always there to guide us. Until she wasn't. Okay, so Pinkie left. I still had big sister Inkie to help me. Except no, she left me, too. So all I had left were my parents. Parents who basically forgot I was even there until I was the only one of their children left. You have no idea how much I wish I could say I left right after Inkie did but it was just not a thing that happened. I was too afraid of life off the farm.
When my parents woke up the next morning to find Inkie gone they began filling my head with terrible, horrible lies. They put images in my brain of the way things worked away from the protective confines of the rock farm that scarred me for life. Looking back I can see now how verbally abusive they'd always been to the three of us. But when it was just me the abuse stopped being just verbal. It became a finely tuned process of damaging mental abuse. I stayed with my parents because they had me believing I would not survive a moment away. I would be kidnapped, I would be harmed in every way imaginable, and I would be left a shell of my former self. What I didn't realize then was that I was already becoming that shell. My fear of the outside world, of what it had to be doing to my sisters, gave me such nightmares as you would not believe. But it kept me on the farm for months longer than it should have, and it kept my parents happy.
I became almost robotic by the time my mother got sick. I was told what to do and I did it. The only time I was shown any real affection was on the rare occasion Granny Pie visited, but she came by less and less, and my will grew weaker and weaker. I believed there was nopony in the world that loved me anymore. Pinkie wrote all the time but I never knew it. I was never told about the letters she sent or the candy she wrapped specially for me and Inkie. I didn't find out until the day my mother died and my father completely snapped, throwing all the saved letters and packages in my face.
“This is your fault!” he roared, bucking out with his back legs to send a chair flying into the wall. It broke on impact. “You and your sisters! You killed your mother!”
I accepted the accusation without question. It probably was our fault, mine especially. I was never good enough, fast enough, hard working enough... I was just never enough. And because of my inadequacies my parents had to help me do the job that had once fallen to their children. It was my fault my mother was out on a particularly cold fall day, thus making it my fault she caught the cold that settled into her lungs and eventually took her life. So as my father raged through the house, weeping bitterly and destroying everything he could get his hooves on I didn't even think to protest. It was my fault. Everything was my fault.
As the weeks went by my father's rage slowly subsided, but he, much like myself, was turning into a hollow vessel. We were simply two beings working side by side to make it through one more day. We didn't speak to each other when we were out under Celestia's sun and at night, when I made dinner for the two of us, the most he would say was that my cooking would never compare to my mother's. Of course it wouldn't. I never expected it to. But it was communication, the voice of another pony besides my own voice in my head and I began to long for even insults, anything to break the monotony of the day. I started doing things wrong on purpose because it would get me attention. Negative attention, but attention none the less. I would break dishes “by accident,” conveniently forget to collect some of the best rocks. Then one night, deciding to see just how far I could take things, I found Mama's glasses and went into the kitchen to make dinner with them sitting on the bridge of my nose.
We were having zucchini and rice with cheese and I was already at the stove cooking by the time Papa came in. He sat down at the table in his usual chair, stared straight ahead at his usual blank spot on the wall. I poured him a cup of tea and brought it to the table and set it before him. And then he looked over and saw me. I couldn't name the expression on his face then and I still can't to this day. It was like disgust, confusion, sorrow, and excitement all rolled into one. For the longest time we just looked at each other while the zucchini sizzled away on the stove. Then he reached out to me, stroked the side of my face with a hoof in the most loving, tender way imaginable. And then he struck me. He struck me so hard that it knocked my legs right out from under me and sent me into a stupefied heap on the floor.
Once again I had done something wrong. I expected him to be angry but not like this. He got down from his chair and kicked out at me, and I folded in on myself, terrified and weeping, trying to protect myself as best as I could. Even with my sobbing he didn't stop, just attacked me again and again until I was certain I was going to die. Then, for absolutely no reason at all, he was gathering me into his embrace and crying, showering my bruised and bleeding face with kisses. I didn't know what to do. I was still so young. All I knew was that my Papa was offering comfort at the moment I wanted it most. It didn't matter that he was the one to inflict the damage, only that he was trying to make it better. So I wrapped my forelegs around his neck and hugged him while we cried together.
“I'm sorry, Papa,” I apologized thickly. “I'm so sorry.”
The room was spinning and there was definitely smoke in the air, but I couldn't focus on anything but the strong forelegs holding me close. Too close. I realized a second too late that I was slowly being crushed in his embrace. I was still too little to have much going for me in strength and as much as I struggled there was no escape. So I did the only thing I could think to do and turned my head against his body and bit into his foreleg as hard as I could.
He howled and I tasted blood before his grip on me released and I was shoved across the room. Mama's glasses dropped from my nose as I scrambled to my hooves and scurried for the door. I could hear Papa yelling at me, hollering and bellowing words I couldn't understand for the sound of my own sobbing in my ears. I didn't know where I was going but I knew I had to get away, to go as far from the farm as I could and as quickly as possible.
When you're as little as I was it doesn't take long to wear you out when you're running at top speed, but I felt like I must have run for miles and miles. By the time I allowed myself the luxury of slowing my legs were wobbling and my heart was beating so hard and so fast I was sure it would burst through my chest. My body took slowing down as a signal to stop and I quickly went from full tilt running, to trot, to canter, to two steps, to collapsing. The last thing I saw that night was a sky full of stars and a moon only half full.
“Is it dead?”
“I don't know. I don't think so. It's..she, maybe...breathing.”
Voices drifted in and out of my consciousness, playing with the characters in my dreams and making my mind fuzzy. I felt something prod my side but couldn't make myself move. Everything hurt, even my ribs when I inhaled and exhaled. My tongue was dry, there was dirt in my mouth and grass tickling the inside of my nose. Somepony moaned.
“Trottingham is still six hours away. Can we please get going? Just leave the roadkill.”
“Heartless much?”
I was prodded again and I managed to open my eyes, but the sun was too bright and I winced at the invasion of light in my senses. “She's alive!” My entire body was enveloped in warmth, like a blanket taken off the drying line on a sunny day. It was comfortable, but not so much that I didn't notice when the ground dropped away beneath me. I forced my eyes open and wiggled in the air, a soft yellow glow around me. “Easy there, little one.” I looked down to see a teal unicorn with blue curls looking up at me with curious purple eyes. “You shouldn't move around too much until you see a doctor. Looks like you were hurt pretty badly.”
Another pony, a light blue pegasus with a white mane and tail and green eyes stepped to the unicorn's side and tilted her head to look me over as well. “What happened to you?”
“Trottingham!” called an indignant stallion from within a beautiful and elaborately decorated carriage. The two mares shared a grimace before turning, toting my floating body along with them. “Oh, sweet Celestia, don't bring that thing in here!” A deep velvety purple stallion with a tan mane cringed away from my levitating form. He glared at me with angry blue eyes but I was too busy taking in my surroundings to care. What looked elaborate from the outside was dripping with elegance and pomp on the inside. There were heavy drapes over the carriage windows, plush cushions to sit on, golden lamps to keep darkness away, and a pretty door that suggested this carriage was bigger than I realized. “She won't be happy about this,” said the stallion in disgust.
“Quit your crying, little filly,” the unicorn said, frowning at the stallion as she insulted him. “The poor thing is hurt.”
“Moonstone, we are finally heading home after months on the road under her hoof. You realize we are six hours away from freedom and if we just stay up here in our servant's quarters, keep quiet, don't draw any attention to ourselves that we'll be pretty much home free. Not to mention when we get to Trottingham and we actually are free.”
The unicorn's frown only deepened. “There was an injured filly alone on the side of the road, Acorn.”
He blinked. “Yes, what's you're question.”
Moonstone growled and looked at the pegasus mare. “Can I put her on your bunk, Flashdance? Mine still has all the fabric swatches all over it.”
“Of course!” The pegasus flew up to a bunk above the window and I gaped as I was lifted up to meet her. This wasn't a carriage, it was like a whole train car acting like a carriage! My body touched down on the soft mattress and the warm glow left me. I turned my head to look up at Flashdance and smelled something like pumpkins and spice, and realized it was the mattress that smelled so good. “Comfy?” the pegasus asked.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said very quietly.
The two down below started arguing back and forth quietly, but Flashdance only tilted her head to look at me better. “My name's Flashdance. What's yours?”
“B...Blinkie.”
“That's a cute name. What happened to your coat, Blinkie? You look like you got into a bit of a row with somepony.”
“A row?”
She smiled in amusement at my cluelessness. “An altercation, a brawl, an argument, a fight.”
A lump formed in my throat and I nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”
“I hope they look worse than you do.” My bottom lip quivered and I bit down on it hard, feeling tears sting my eyes. It made Flashdance look at me with worry and gently nuzzle my cheek. “It's all right now. Let's have a look, yeah?”
“WHY ARE WE NOT MOVING?!”
I must have jumped because the pegasus wrapped her forelegs around me so quick that I didn't know what was happening. I looked up at her and she pursed her lips together in a quiet, “Shhh.” Down below the pretty door opened and a unicorn, tall and so pale a purple she almost looked white, stepped out for fix angry blue eyes on Acorn and Moonstone. “I assume there is a very good reason why the carriage has been stationary for more than two minutes,” she hissed, tossing her purple and white mane. “I would like to hear that reason. Now.”
Acorn stood tall, a smug smile on his lips as he glanced at Moonstone. “You see, these two decided to stop because-”
“Because I thought I saw some wild strawberries on the side of the road.” Flashdance held me close to her body as she carefully leaned over me to talk, hiding me from the gaze of the unicorn below. “I know how much you like wild strawberries, Glass Slippers, so I thought it might be nice to stop.” The unicorn said nothing but I watched Flashdance look down with an apologetic smile. “They were raspberries.”
“Ugh!” spat Glass Slippers, “I detest raspberries.” I could hear her take a calming breath before continuing. “Very well. Your excuse is acceptable. But we will stop no more.” She moved back through the carriage and slammed the door as she departed. A split second later I heard a hoof hit a muzzle and Acorn yowl as quietly as he could.
“What was that for?!”
“For being an inconsiderate jerk-wad, that's what!” Moonstone growled. “Do you know what Glass Slippers would have done if she knew we took that filly in?”
“Eaten her alive and used her bones for ambiance in her next photoshoot?”
I whimpered at the thought of being eaten but Flashdance calmly shushed me again. “Pay them no mind.” The carriage gave a small jerk and then we were on out way. I could feel the gentle motion of rocking back and forth even pressed so securely against the pegasus beside me. She smelled just as wonderful as her mattress and I found myself turning to face her, pressing my nose against her breast. “Do you want to tell me about what happened to you?” I shook my head and closed my eyes, just wanting to go back to sleep. Even though this mare was a complete stranger and this carriage of ponies seemed unpredictable at best, I hadn't felt safer in a very long time. So much for all those horror stories Mama and Papa always told me. “You have a bit of a kip then. We'll give you a nice warm bath and something to nibble once you've rested.” I nodded slowly, then inhaled deeply and drifted off to visions of pumpkin pie and warm blankets.
Several hours later I awoke slowly to the rhythmic breathing of my bunk mate. My mind still felt groggy and my body seemed to ache just about everywhere, but I was conscious enough to begin to have a real curiosity about the ponies who had taken me in. I opened my eyes to light blue fur and two forelegs wrapped around me in a protective embrace. I lifted my head just slightly and Flashdance's breathing changed. I felt the muscles in her legs and chest move as she lifted her own head and blinked, smiling sleepily down at me. “Well hello there,” she said quietly. “Have a good rest?”
“Yes, thank you. I'm sorry if I woke you.”
“Don't think on it. You looked so peaceful, I decided to take nap myself instead of waking you by getting up. Hungry?”
I nodded and my stomach rumbled in agreement. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Call me Flashdance,” she insisted. “Stay right where you are, then. I'll be back with a nice eggplant salad.” She was careful as she unwound her forelegs from around me, then climbed over me and jumped to the carriage floor below. I crawled to the edge of the bunk to peer down, looking for the other two ponies. Acorn was at a small circular table looking over a thick book, a pencil in his mouth, and Moonstone was sprawled out on the carriage floor surrounded by different small bits of fabrics. The unicorn looked up in my direction when Flashdance started digging around in a small clooer by the door.
“I was wondering if you'd sleep the whole way home.”
My eyes widened and my heart beat a hard cadence in my chest. “Home?” I didn't want to go home! “No,” I muttered thickly, tears quickly blurring my vision and running down my cheeks. “No, I don't want to go home! Please don't make me go home!”
“Shut her up!” hissed Acron.
“Easy, little one,” said Flashdance, tilting her head up to touch her nose to my hoof. “It's all right. Moonstone meant Trottingham. It's home to all of us.” She glanced at the unicorn who nodded and surrounded me with her magic again, floating me down to the floor. Both she and Flashdance stood over me and tried to still my panic. “We're not taking you home.”
“We don't even know where your home is,” Moonstone added.
With a wrinkled brow and worried expression, Flashdance tucked her legs under her body and lay down beside me. “Blinkie, why don't you want to go home?” I couldn't answer. Now that I'd started crying I simply couldn't stop. I was terrified of going home to my father and the very idea of it made me want to run. Flashdance's worried expression shifted slightly and I could have sworn I saw anger in her eyes. “Blinkie, did this...were you hurt at home?” Somehow I managed a nod and was immediately pulled into an embrace. I saw Acorn watching from the corner of my eye; his expression softened just slightly.
“You've got to calm her down,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the closed door at the back of the carriage. “Glass Slippers will flip her wig if she sees-”
“We know!” Moonstone barked quietly. It was she who had pulled me close and now floated a tissue over to dry my eyes. “It's okay now, Blinkie. You're safe here. No pony is going to hurt you.”
“And we're certainly not taking you home,” said Flashdance with finality. She looked at Moonstone, determination on her face. “She can stay with us then, yeah?”
“I don't see why not.”
I looked between the two, rubbing my hooves over my eyes. “With both of you?”
“Flashdance and I are sisters. We share a flat.”
“We can turn the work room into a room for her!”
“It's not like either of us has been home to use it much, anyway.”
“Excuse me.” Acorn got to his hooves to stand over the three of us. “You know how I hate to be the voice of reason and bring everypony down, but you do realize you can't simply take this filly into your home and raise her like she's yours. No matter how sad her story may be, it's still foalnapping.”
“But I don't want to go home!” I insisted. “I want to stay with Flashdance and Moonstone!”
“And you will,” Flashdance promised, sparing Acorn a quick, dark glance. Returning her attention to me, she offered a smile. “We'll figure it out when we get home, all right? Now, how about some of that salad?”
“And then a bath,” said Moonstone. “We need to look over those scrapes and bumps and make sure you're okay.”
Acorn sighed dramatically and went back to his table. “Fine, pretend you're some new happy family. Just don't call me to come bail you out when the royal guards come and throw your tails in the dungeon.”
“Octave, get your hooves off of that instrument this moment!”
I gasped and whipped around to see Melomane glaring down at me. In the many months that I'd been living in the back room of his shop with Glissando, he'd raised his voice at the both of us almost hourly, more at Glissando than me. Yet each and every time he yelled I expected the world to come crashing down on me. He never raised a hoof to us and always made sure our basic needs were taken care of but he was definitely not the most nurturing pony alive and that always made me more than a little fearful of him.
“What do you think you are doing?”
My mouth opened, closed. I glanced up at the violin I'd just put back in its hanging bracket rack and wondered if he knew I'd already been touching it. Every time he was out of the shop I was all over the store, testing and playing with as many of the instruments as I could. By now I knew the basics of almost all the instruments and could even play a few simple songs by ear on a couple different stringed instruments. Did he suspect as much? Was he just waiting for proof before tossing me out on my hindquarters? I struggled for words that didn't come and he glowered over me.
“The rack is loose,” said Glissando as she came from the storage room. “Three of the violins fell this morning just before sunrise. You should have seen how high Octave jumped.”
“What?!” Meloman shoved me out of the way to inspect the violins. “Which ones? How badly were they damaged?”
“The last three.” Glissando came to stand beside me, magenta eyes looking up at the rack and a semi-bored expression on her face. “They actually fell into the loose sheet music basket so they didn't get really scuffed up or anything. The last one needed a bit of polishing but that's about it. Octave made sure it was perfect before hanging it back up.”
The old stallion turned to us with clear disbelief in his eyes. He stared hard me and I resisted the urge to gulp. “Next time leave it there.”
“Whatever you say boss.” Glissando saluted, then turned tail to head back into the storage room. I followed as quickly as my hooves would allow.
“How do you make lying look so easy?” I demanded in a whisper.
Glissando tossed her two-tone mane and grinned at me, returning to her inventory checklist. “When you've been doing it as long as I have it becomes as easy as breathing. Here, take this second page and we can get this done quicker.” Reluctantly, I took the second sheet and got to work, a pencil in my mouth. Glissando glanced at me with a smirk. “You know, you're going to have to tell him someday. Or learn how to lie. I'm not always going to be here to save your flank.”
“You keep saying that,” I muttered around the pencil, “but you're still here, aren't you?”
That shut her up and I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Glissando had been really very good to me since we'd been thrown together. She took me under her wing, as it were, and had truly become my best friend. Sharing a room as we did we often stayed up nights just talking and those conversations made me feel closer to the brash unicorn than I had felt toward anyone before in my life. I knew she didn't want to stay working for Melomane forever and wanted to go out and figure out what she was good at, but she'd been threatening to leave since the first week I'd arrived. I was used to her idle comments about it by now.
“How come you're not afraid of him?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.
“I don't know. I've known a lot of ponies over my life and he's actually been one of the nicest.”
“You make yourself sound so old.”
I heard her sigh on the other side of the room and say quietly, “I feel old some days.”
Turning, I looked at the back of Glissando's head. How could I not have noticed how unhappy she'd become? Was I so wrapped up in my own head that I neglected to see how miserable she seemed? I set my pencil down on the checklist and walked across the room to stand beside her. “I'm sorry.”
She looked at me and quirked a brow. “For what?”
“For not being a good friend.”
Rolling her eyes, she went back to work. “What did I tell you about reading too much into things? You didn't offend me, you didn't bother me, I just didn't have anything else to say.”
I shrugged and sat to watch her work again. “Is Melomane really the nicest pony you've known?”
“Besides High Note? Yeah.”
She said it so matter of factly that I didn't know how to react at first. As often as I talked about my family life Glissando had never opened up about her own. Now I was more curious than ever. “What about your parents?”
“I never knew my parents.” Another emotionless statement as she worked. It was one I didn't quite understand.
“How can you not know your own parents?”
“Easy. They dumped me at the Manehattan orphanage before I was old enough to remember what they're faces looked like.”
I gasped, both shocked and confused at the same time. “Why would they do that?”
Now she turned to look at me, true irritation in her eyes. “Because they didn't want me, obviously. Can you finish this up? I gotta pee.” Without waiting for my reply she levitated the rest of her list over to mine and left the room. A voice in my head said I should follow her but I was afraid of angering her more. It wasn't that I assumed she'd come from a good life or anything; what filly would run away from home if everything was as it should be? I'd just never given it any real thought because, I was realizing, I really was too wrapped up in my own head.
Grabbing the checklist and pencil, I sighed and went back to work.
~*~*~*~*~
The sun was sinking behind Canterlot castle by the time Melomane felt his day of work was completed. As usual he closed and locked the front door by four, then spent an hour doing paperwork behind the register before threatening us bodily harm if we so much as breathed wrong around his inventory, then leaving and locking us in for the night. For the first time in weeks I did not feel relief as the old stallion left us. Glissando had given me little more than stony silence all day, and when she did speak to me her answers were short and her tone was clipped. For awhile I'd gone about my chores feeling heavy and guilty; her bad mood was my fault after all. But as the day progressed I started to get irritated with her. Now, as we ate our usual dinner of hay fries and dandelion burgers, I was close to angry.
Why was it okay for her to ask me endless questions about myself, my home life, my family and expect answer but not okay for me to do the same? She was my first real friend but I always thought the point of having a friend was to be able to share everything. Did she not trust me? Who would I tell?
As anger simmered inside of me I looked up from my meal and over at her cot, harsh words on my tongue. They fell away when I saw her face. Her eyes were sad and she was poking at her fries with disinterest. A lump formed in my throat that was hard to swallow. “Glissando...” My voice was oddly thick and all my earlier feelings of guilt crashed down upon me. “I'm sorry.”
She shook her head and chuckled mirthlessly. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing?”
“I'm so-” I bit my lip and looked down sheepishly.
“You didn't do anything wrong, Octave. I just don't like to talk about my life before this place. It sucked. A lot. This is better and it's now so why dwell on the past?”
“Because it's what makes you who you are.”
“No, it's not.” Her rebuttal was so firm that it made me blink. You make you who you are. The choices you make, the ponies you choose to be friends with, the paths you wander down. But your past does not make you anything. All it is is a weight around your neck. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.”
We'd seen ponies with every personality imaginable walk through the doors of the shop. Some were happy and talkative, some were more mellow and contemplative. Others were quiet and serious and occasionally we'd meet one who was jaded and cynical. Glissando and I always teased one another with me saying she'd end up one of the happy talkative ones and I'd be the cynical guarded one. Clearly we both had been wrong. I didn't know the extent of her hurt but caring for her as I did now, it made me hurt. She was every much my sister as Pinkie and Blinkie had ever been, more so in so many ways.
I abandoned my dinner and crossed the room to climb up onto Glissando's cot. She didn't protest or act like this was out of the ordinary, but when I leaned my head against her withers she leaned her head against mine. As the light grew dimmer all around us we stayed together until the cold night air began to seep in and we were forced to move. I set Glissando's untouched food aside while she made a small fire in the fireplace. She turned back as I was crawling under one of her blankets and smiled slightly.
“You've changed.”
Surprised by the statement, I raised my brows at her in question. “I have?”
She crawled under the blanket with me and nodded. “You used to be scared of your own shadow and barely looked at me when I talked to you. Now here you are trying to make me feel better. Being here in the city has changed your coloring a bit, too. Different air, I guess.”
“What?” Now my brow wrinkled. “I don't look different.”
“Dude, you looked like a big ball of colorless blah when you got here. Now your coat looks like a clean gray and your mane is leaning toward black.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned closer to my face. “Your eyes are darker, too.”
“No. A pony doesn't just change colors like that!”
“You're right,” she conceded. “But we're not talking blue to pink here. It's subtle. Even your eyes are changing shape, though I guess that happens more often than anything as ponies get older. Go look in the mirror.”
Defiant, I hopped to the floor and trotted over to the nightstand we shared and looked at my reflection in the mirror atop it. I turned this way and that, looking over my body, my mane, staring into my own eyes. Was I really that different? Looking back at Glissando I asked, “Did you change?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. I don't remember what I used to look like. I've been here for a long time.”
“Why have you stayed?” Though the fire was burning brightly now it was still chilly in the room, and I made my way back to the warmth of Glissando and her blanket.
“I don't know. Before you came I was really thinking about leaving. I love music and everything about it but this place is not where I want to be for the rest of my life. Sure as heck isn't going to get me my cutie mark.” For the first time since I'd known her, she looked slightly embarrassed. “Then you showed up and changed everything.”
“You stayed for me?”
She gave a small shrug. “Wouldn't be right to just leave you with Melomane. I remembered what it was like to be new here and terrified of everything and everyone unfamiliar.”
I couldn't stop myself from snorting. “You? Terrified? You're not terrified of anything!”
“I used to be. Still am sometimes, I just know how to hide it better.” She looked at me. “You'll learn to, too. Eventually.”
It was hard to imagine the shop without Glissando there. I was always so easily discouraged and, yes, Melomane still scared me, and she was always there to make me feel better. What would I do if she ever left me? The idea was not something I could swallow easily. Yet I knew she wasn't happy. Was I willing to let her stay miserable just so I could be comfortable? What kind of a friend would that make me? I wanted for her to be happy. I missed the days of the easy smiles and the jokes that were so rare on her lips these days. I hadn't realized it before but now that I looked back I could see the slow fade in her attitude. To know she could have been out there trying to find what made her happy all this time, what she sacrificed for me made me feel horrible.
“Where would you go?”
She started across the room into the flames dancing behind the fireplace grate. “I don't really know. I've saved up almost every single bit I've earned here so I'd be okay on my own for awhile. I was thinking of going back to Manehattan for awhile.”
“To find your parents?”
“Nah. That's where all the action is. If I want to get into the music business I'd have to do it there.”
“But what would you do?”
Glissando tilted her head to the side and seemed to hesitate a moment. When she swiveled her eyes to look at me, she grimaced. “Promise you won't laugh?”
“Promise.”
“I've always wanted to be a DJ.”
I made a face. “What's that?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “They kind of provide music for parties. Not like the stuffy ones at the palace but better, more awesome music. Stuff you can dance to.”
“You can dance to the stuff the play at the palace.”
“Ew, no you can't. Okay, maybe you can but I can't.” She took a breath. “I want to be the pony that everyone sees coming and knows they're going to have a good time. I want to drop sick beats and headbang with the hardcore ravers.”
“I don't know those words.”
Glissando laughed heartily, then shook her head. “I want to make music.”
“Oh. Me, too!”
“Just different music. You're like creamy peanut butter and I'm extra chunky.” I giggled and she grinned. “That does not give you permission to call me fat, by the way.”
“So if I ever want to find you I'll just have to look for Glissando, the extra chunky peanut butter DJ.”
“No way! I want to go by something cool. Like, what do you think of DJ Pon-3?” She looked at me and I looked at her, and we both burst out laughing.
Even though I laughed I could feel the levity in me deflating. There was passion in Glissando, passion for something I didn't understand but that was hardly the point. I knew what it was like to want something but I doubted I'd ever wanted anything as much as she desired to be pursuing her dream. After our laughter settled I forced myself to ask, “So why don't you go?”
She looked at me with a quirked brow. “And leave you here all alone? Yeah, okay.”
“I can take care of myself,” I insisted.
“Yeah right! The first time Melomane yells at you and I'm not around to diffuse the situation you'll be running for the hills, sobbing.”
“I will not!” I held my head high though inwardly shuddered at the mental image. Glissando knew me too well. I was going to need to toughen up if I was going to make it here without her. Now that I knew what she so desperately wanted there was no way I could allow her to stay. Not on my behalf. “I'll be fine.”
“It's a moot point because I'm not going.”
“You can't stay here!” I tried to look as serious as possible. “I don't want you to stay here.”
She looked at me, skeptical. “Just like that? I thought we were friends?”
“We are.” I took one of her hooves between mine and squeezed. “That's why I don't want you here. I don't want you to be miserable and sad when you could be going after what you really want to be doing. Glissando, I want to make music too so I don't even know how long I'll be staying here.” We both knew I'd never leave on my own accord, not anytime soon at least, but I pressed on. “The more time you spend doing silly chores here the more time you waste in finding your special talent, in finding who you really are.”
“And what about you? Aren't you wasting your time here?”
“No.” I glanced at the closed door to our room, a small smile on my lips just knowing there were any number of instruments just in the other room. “All the screaming and the demands Melomane gives us during the day become worth it when he's gone and I can just play. I don't think I'm wasting my time at all.”
She looked down. “You didn't play tonight.”
“Because I thought you were mad at me! I couldn't play!”
“I wasn't mad at you.” She extracted her hoof from my grip and wove her forelegs around my neck to hug me tightly. For a long time neither of us said anything. She didn't have to say she was leaving now, I just knew it. Though it felt like pieces of my heart were breaking there was also an odd excitement rippling through me. I loved her enough that I could be excited for her even when I was heartbroken for myself. When she asked, “Will you play for me?” I knew she was asking for a final moment of something familiar between us. How could I refuse?
We hopped down from the bed together and I watched as she magically pulled a small suitcase from under her bed. There were very few belongings she had to take with her but they were all packed safely away, and with room to spare. Before she closed the lid she turned to me, magenta eyes serious. “There's something...I want you to have.” Her white horn glowed as she levitated something toward me. It was a hair ribbon, white with a pink bow on it. “This is the only thing I have from my parents. I guess it was in my mane when they left me at the orphanage and I was allowed to keep it. I want you to have it.”
I gasped, looking from the floating object to Glissando with alarm. “No! I can't take this!”
“I want you to. Octave, you're my best friend. If I can't be here for you anymore at least let me leave you with a part of me. Please? It'll make me feel better.”
It was impossible not to be moved. Hair ribbons had never been something I was particularly fond of but I knew having this small keepsake would make me feel a little less alone once she was gone. Sniffling, I nodded and the floating ribbon tied itself into my mane. Glissando made a face and grasped the ribbon with her magic again, removing it and fastening it instead around my neck. “There. Now you look all sophisticated and stuff.”
I laughed sadly and touched the bow. “Thank you.” Then I threw myself at her and hugged her tightly. She allowed me to cry for only a moment before she was gently prying me from her.
“Come on. You owe me a song.”
Out into the front part of the store I shivered. This room was always better heated than our own simply for the sake of the instruments, but somehow it felt colder than anything I'd felt in a long time. I looked around at the hanging racks, the stringed instruments, the woodwinds, the baby grand piano sitting by the large front window. I knew them all well by now. “Which one do you want me to play?”
Glissando stood beside me and surveyed the room. When she made her decision she nodded to a stool. Knowingly, I climbed up to stand on my hind legs atop it as she levitated a beautifully ornate cello to my waiting hooves. I slid one hoof into the clear plastic cuff that allowed earth ponies and pegasai to hold bows, then took a deep breath and set the bow to the strings. I was no musical genius by any stretch of the imagination, but I'd been teaching myself little my little, learning from my mistakes as I went and correcting everything my ears deemed wrong. And every time I played I felt nervous and self-conscious, awaiting a criticism from Glissando that never came.
Tonight as I played I knew she would have nothing but kind things to say and it allowed me to sink into the music. Every slight twitch of the bow, every movement of my hoof, every note that slid silkily into the air felt like a breath from heaven. My eyes closed and my body swayed with the motion of playing. Notes strung themselves together seamlessly to create a melody never heard before and unwritten. For a moment I forgot everything. I forgot my past, my present, my fears, and my sorrow. All that existed was me and the music. A warmth surrounded my body, something so wonderful and penetrating that words could never properly describe it. I opened my eyes to see Glissando watching me, eyes filled with tears and a smile on her face. She glanced downward slightly, meaning in the movement, and I followed her gaze. There upon my flank was a simple treble clef, the same shade of purple as my eyes used to be. I slowed my playing, shocked, but Glissando stepped forward and said, “Please don't stop.”
I nodded, still in shock, and turned back to the cello in my grip. Once more I closed my eyes and fell back into the music I was creating. So that was my special talent. It wasn't cleaning, taking inventory or doing chores, it wasn't even a particular instrument. My special talent was music. All of it. I knew without uncertainty that I could play any instrument in the shop if I wanted to, I could compose, maybe I could even sing. I would have to try sometime.
Though music filled the room it was impossible for me to miss the closing of the front door. I didn't open my eyes but I knew that I was now alone in the room and that Glissando was gone. My throat closed tightly and tears leaked under closed eyelids. Yet still I played, knowing it was the only thing that would get me through the night without having a complete and total breakdown.
