Lament for a Languid Soul
Author's Note
Nightmare Night may be over but that doesn't me we cant keep celebrating! This is my lame attempt at a holiday short-series.
Aesthetic playlist found here: 13th annuel all hallows eve ball
Lament for a Languid Soul
Gather ‘round dear children, as I craft a tale most foul… Of lost souls and ghastly beasts, of haunted melodies and wicked wonderlands, of dark secrets and darker truths. And perhaps… the tragedy of a young mare who followed the music of her heart… into the forest of the damned.
…
When I was a little filly my grandmare told me to never venture into the forest.
“It is no place for foals,” she’d say, and when I asked why, she would reply, “Something evil has made nest there, child. And to the foolish pony who should dare wander too far…” She paused, then leaned forward in her rocking chair, and I held my breath as she looked me straight in the eye, and said, “—Was never heard from again!”
I learned to fear the wood that night; and every night thereafter, I would look out into the dark thicket behind our home with cold terror, and a creeping intrigue.
My youth was filled with stories of lost ponies and the creatures that stalked them. Once, I had awoken from a nightmare, shaking and terrified of things hiding in the dark. I cried and hid under the blanket; wishing for light to banish the evil of the night. Suddenly, I felt a weight settle beside me, and my grandmare’s soothing voice sang to me sweet nothings until my tears did dry. Not once did she question my fears, nor scold me for waking her at such a late hour. Later, she kissed me on the cheek and tucked me back into bed. However, when I asked her if the stories were true; she paused, then turned to me with a sadness within her soft blue eyes. I waited for an answer, but instead she smiled at me, and then wished me goodnight.
Years later, I began to doubt my grandmare’s authenticity. She was getting on in age, and I was aware of the colorful names the school ponies called her behind my back. She was the “Quack” of the village, the “Storyteller,” and I hid my face every time she would wait for me at schools’ end.
“Granny,” I whined, “I can walk home by myself. I don’t need a chaperone.” My grandmare shook her head and kept a steady pace ahead of me. “You are not old enough, child.” She replied, and I puffed up my cheeks. “I’m sixteen!” I snapped, “The other school ponies can walk home by themselves… why can’t I?” My grandmare stopped and looked back at me then. She raised a brow, and I rolled my eyes, relenting, “Okay, almost sixteen… but still–” My grandmare sighed. “I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times Fluttershy. You. are. not. old. enough.” She flicked her silver tail at me, punctuating her point, then turned and continued down the path that led to our forest home. Myself begrudgingly following.
As my grandmare walked along the tree line, I noticed the glow of the autumn sun warmed her rosy coat to resemble the deep magenta of my youth. Half a century old, and she still shined with such beauty and grace… while I silently seethed behind her. “It’s not fair…” I mumbled, “When will I be old enough?” I turned my eyes to the long shadow cast by my grandmare. “… when I’m as old as you?” That must have stirred something within her, because my grandmare turned around and walked back to me with a deep-set frown on her elegant face.
“Fluttershy this behavior is abhorring.” She said, “Years past you have never complained, so why do you insist on whining now?”
I flinched away from the bite of my grandmare’s words. “Because…” I hesitantly replied, “It’s nearly my birthday, and…” I looked to the honey-colored trees for support, imagining garland and lanterns hanging from their branches. “I’d like to celebrate with my pony friends at the…” Whatever resolve I had before quickly drained under the piercing scrutiny of my grandmare’s icy stare. Silently I made a prayer to Faust before looking up and into the eyes of my one-and-only family. She wasn’t going to like what I had to say next. “… at the Festival?”
My grandmare’s eyes melted from ice to venom, and I withered beneath her gaze.
“Fluttershy.” I swallowed at the lump in my throat, hiding my face from the cruel words I knew would come. “If you value your current privileges… You will walk home with me, eat the dinner I painstakingly prepared for us, and turn in for the night without another word from your pretty little mouth. Do you understand?”
I waited… hoping my grandmare would turn away, but she stood erect and tall before me, like a looming storm— foreboding and humbling.
“Y—Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” And with not another word, I felt the weight of her presence leave me as her hoofbeats resumed their stride down the dirt path. I didn’t dare look up until we made it home.
…
Later that evening I had just finished setting the table for dinner when I heard the sounds of metal clattering against the floor. I turned and looked to the kitchen, expecting to hear my grandmare curse about the clumsiness of old age… but instead nothing. The silence stretched on as I suddenly felt very alone in the dark old house.
I walked to the archway and peered around the corner. “Granny?” I asked, hoping my grandmare wouldn’t scold me for speaking when I was still being punished for my earlier transgression. “Granny, are you alright?”
My eyes widened and I held my hooves to my mouth to keep from screaming at the sight in front of me. My grandmare lay on top of the kitchen counter lifeless, blood flowing freely from her right hoof.
“Granny!”
I rushed to her side and pulled her body from its slump on the table. “Granny can you hear me!” I felt for a pulse at the base of her neck, and sighed in relief when I found one. She was alive, albeit barely. Carefully, I pushed her body into a nearby chair, shaking her in hopes to rouse her spirit, but no response. I looked around then… seeking something — anything that could help. Her hoof was bleeding terribly, and glancing down I noticed the large hatchet that lay on the floor... covered in blood.
I shivered, and shook my head, trying to keep my wits about me and not succumb to the feelings of dizziness that twisted under my skin. Pulling a rag from the sink, I dipped it in water, then returned to my grandmare. I covered the wound and while tying it off, I watched as the white fabric bled crimson. Entranced, I studied the towel as it was slowly engulfed by the bloody mess. Minutes past… until the sounds of hoarse mumbling woke me from my stupor. I looked to my grandmare and saw her blinking wearily as she gazed through me with a sickly pale stare.
“Granny!” I threw my arms around her in a desperate embrace. “You’re awake! Oh thank Faust!”
“… Fluttershy?”
“Yes Granny, Its me! Oh I was so worried!” Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I hugged her again, but my grandmare looked lost. “Granny?” I asked, confused as to why she looked as if she was searching — No, hoping for somepony else. Finally, my grandmare turned her eyes away from me and said, “It’s nothing child.” And I felt the weight of her hoof on my waist as she tried to separate herself from our embrace. Reluctantly, I loosened my grasp and stepped back from a mare who suddenly didn't resemble the only family I had ever known, and known to love.
“Granny… why are you—”
“I said it is nothing.” Her voice sliced through the air like the edge of a knife. “Just a cooking accident is all. Nothing to worry about.”
“But Granny…”
“I said not to worry, Fluttershy!” The thunder that boomed from her anger caused me to flinch as if stricken by lightning. “Child, please... I have much to do, and little time—” She glanced to the cutting block and sneered at something, cursing under her breath. “Ruined!” She exclaimed, and I heard a crash as she knocked a bowel off the table. It came crashing down to join the hatchet on the floor. Hesitantly, I glanced at its contents. It was black, and smelled faintly of fresh earth mixed with autumn spice. I looked up and caught the rigid stature of my grandmare’s backside. I knew she was upset, but why? I glanced at the table and noticed several bottled herbs scattered about. They looked… foreign, exotic, and nothing I had recognized from my books on botany. I meant to ask my grandmare, but before I could open my mouth, the cold tone of her voice cut through the silence between us.
“Fluttershy, we are out of bread. I need you to go to town and buy a loaf.”
I blinked. My grandmare refused to turn and acknowledge me as she quickly began to gather up the strange bottles and stack them in the pantry. “But… Granny. Haven't we got that rye you bought only a few days prior?”
BANG!
I jumped as the hooves of my grandmare lay flat across the table. Her head slowly turned and her eyes met my own. I could only see the whites, but I swore they glowed under the cast of the bleeding evening light.
“Go.”
It was all she had to say. I swiftly skittered to my hooves, and ran out of the kitchen and into the parlor to retrieve my traveling cloak. Just as I was dressed and ready to embark, my grandmare was waiting by the foyer, examining the fading horizon outside the hall window.
“It will be dark soon... The night is yet upon us.” My grandmare turned from the crimson glow and looked me up and down. “You have your purse, then?” I nodded and she turned back to the sunset. “Alright, I expect you home before nightfall.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “There are a great many things I must attend to before moonrise, and fortunately for you, I cannot spare the time to make excursions into market.” Opening her eyes once more, she stared endlessly into the dying sun and said, “Therefore… I will allow you to make this journey on your own.”
“M-Make the journey on my own…” I mumbled. “Y-You mean… Alone? You are letting me go out alone?” And at night?
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. My grandmare accompanied me whenever we traveled to town, and scarcely left my side. Why was she suggesting I travel unchaperoned now? And on the eve of Hallows’ Night?
“Fluttershy.” My grandmare continued, “You have been a doting and cooperative grandfilly. Little have you questioned, and much you have accepted without facet… But—” Smiling, she turned fully from the window and raised a hoof to my face. There was a secret sadness hidden behind her smile. A sadness I couldn’t put words to, but felt all the same. “I have heard your weeping at night.” I gasped. “And—” She continued, her smile wilting. “I have seen the longing in your eyes when you look upon the autumn festivities.” My grandmare paused, searching my eyes, and again, I thought she was seeking something... something that wasn't there. Finally she relented, and that same smile that hid the depth of her sorrow appeared again. “I’m sorry… I wish I could have been a better mother to you.”
Tears began to pour from my eyes. I grasped her old hoof in both of my own, and rubbed my face along it's cracks. “Oh Granny,” I sobbed, “You have been more than a mother to me. You have been my friend, my confidant.” I looked into her eyes, smiling, when I said, “And I love you for it.”
A moment passed between us, still and silent, when my grandmare glanced back to the window and frowned at the crimson glow. “You must go.” She said, and pulled her hoof from my grasp to lay it on my shoulder. “Fluttershy, by the last light of Celestia’s sun, you must return home. This I cannot stress enough.” Her deep-sea eyes, which only moments before held such love, were frozen over, cold as ice once more. “Should you fall stray… You will be lost to me. Forever.”
Frightened, I swallowed the lump in my throat as my cruel mind jumped to staggering conclusions. Lost to her? Forever? What does that mean? Does she intend to cast me out on the streets?
I wanted to ask—no—I wanted to crumple into her embrace, just as I did in my youth—sobbing as she rubbed my back and sang sweet nothings to soothe my fright. The joy and excitement I felt at the prospect of experiencing the festival, soon melted away until all that remained was the cold chill of foreboding that loomed over my head, like the shadow of my grandmare.
She stood between myself and the door, looking just as tall and intimidating as I remembered from my fillyhood. She awaited my reply, and silently, I nodded my head—giving into her veiled threats and frigid warnings.
Satisfactory with my consensus, my grandmare stepped aside and opened the door into the crisp autumn evening of Hallow’s eve.
“Go now. Be quick. Be wary. And return home to me… my Fluttershy.” And as I walked out into the shimmer of the sunset’s dying light, I caught sight of a single tear as it slid down my grandmare’s cheek just before she turned away, and shut the door behind me.
