My name is Octavia Philharmonica, and music is my life. This is my story, about who I am, my passion, and how I learned to use the magic born from music.
I was born in a rather small, and often strange, town called Ponyville. At first glance it is a stereotypical small country town. It has a farm, many family owned stores, and not a bit of cement to be seen, beyond what is used as a foundation for buildings. However, if you stick around long enough, you’ll begin to see where Ponyville deviates from the stereotype.
First of all, it sits right on the edge of the Everfree Forest. Dangerous doesn’t even begin to describe the forest. Monsters of all kinds call it home, and the natural magic of it is both chaotic and protective. One of the very first rules you learn when venturing within is that you do not light a fire, magical or otherwise. You will be ejected from the forest if you do. Violently.
Second, and many theorize this is due to the close proximity of the chaotic magic of the Everfree Forest, strange things happen almost constantly. Birds that sing in a choir, Heartsongs almost every day, ponies occasionally breaking the laws of physics, and even a pony that has chosen to live within the forest itself to study the magical nature of the plants within.
Finally, you’ll notice that this town will stick together. I’m not talking about banding together to fight off creatures from the forest that occasionally try to attack (though a lot of the Pegasi here actually do that) or anything like that. But…
I suppose the best way to describe it is family. Every single pony here treats everyone else as if they were family. They will welcome you in their home without hesitation, invite you to dinner, and even offer a spare bedroom to you if you need it. I once studied the history of this town, and discovered that it was where the Fire of Friendship was transported after the Windigos were driven off by it. What happened to it afterwards isn’t explained, but I imagine the magic of that artifact affected this place, even before the town was settled. Hence the friendly nature of its citizens.
Still, I didn’t start this to describe the town, but rather myself.
I was a happy child. I had two parents, three grandparents (my father’s father had sadly passed away shortly before I was born) and a great friend. I was a typical bundle of joy and energy. All children are.
All Ponies have a destiny, and I was no different. And, like all children who become teenagers, I became antsy for the discovery of this destiny. I wanted my Cutie-Mark. It wasn’t until I witnessed my first Apple Family reunion that I gained a clue towards said destiny.
The Apple Family is the family that owns the farm I mentioned earlier. Sweet Apple Acres, the Original Apple Farm. Their reunions tend to be big, loud, and fun.
It was during that reunion that I slipped away from my parents and snuck onto the farm. My intention as to try and swipe some of the apples. But then I saw her. Thinking about it now, she looked a lot like me, if older. Same hairstyle, same build. Only, unlike my grey and black, she was green and blue. She also wore a Stetson, whereas I wore a pink bow.
She was playing a violin, tapping her hoof to the fast pace of the song. Other ponies, cousins I imagine, were playing other instruments. One had a set of drums, another had an acoustic guitar, and another was sat at a piano. But it was her, and the sounds she was making with that violin, that had me entranced.
I still don’t really remember how it happened, but somehow I got dragged into the festivities. Everyone was dancing, hollering, and all around having a great time. And I was there, having just as much fun. But despite all that fun, my attention never strayed from that green and blue mare, and her violin, for too long.
When the reunion was over, I thanked the family for letting me have fun. They, of course, gave me an offer to attend again. It may be an Apple Family Reunion, but really it was just an excuse to have fun. Others were welcome to join in.
Before I left, the mare I was watching approached me and said she noticed my attention on her whenever she played. I was mortified and apologized profusely, but she laughed it off.
Then she handed me the violin. “Go ahead. Give it a go,” she had said with a smile, also handing me the bow.
Now, I’ve never played a musical instrument in my life at that point, but I enjoy listening to it. I was also a kid, and ignorant to the physics and proper ways of playing a violin. So was it any surprise that the sound I produced when I hesitantly ran the bow across the strings was akin to a cat being tortured?
I was thoroughly embarrassed, and terrified that I had ruined her instrument. I tried to give it back, apologizing again, but she just laughed again. She took it and instructed me to watch.
The first thing I noticed when she started was the way she held it. Tucked under her chin and on her shoulder. Her hoof also pressed down on strings on the neck, moving oddly as she played. I noticed the string of the bow was also turned as she played.
When she stopped, she gave it to me again and told me to try again. I hesitated, but did as she said. I tucked it under my chin, onto my shoulder, and placed my hoof on the string of the neck. Then, slowly, I moved the bow along the strings.
It was still bad, but this time I produced something akin to a note. And to add to it, I felt something when I did. It was almost like a flare of adrenalin. I did it again, this time moving my hoof along the strings. The note was different, higher.
I stood there playing that violin for a long time, practicing and experimenting. At no point did I notice the crowd that had gathered around me. At no point did I notice my parents among that crowd. Nor did I notice when it started to get dark.
When I finally decided to stop from exhaustion, it was to thunderous applause. I was confused, of course. There was no way I was any kind of good, right? Well, turns out it wasn’t the music that they were applauding.
It was the arrival of my Cutie-Mark. It was a pink treble-cleft. It was the same as the mare’s that had let me play her violin, only hers was blue.
The celebration seemed to be rekindled by that, but I was exhausted. I fell asleep at a lantern-lit table, smiling in my sleep and clutching the violin like a teddy bear. When I woke up the next morning, it was to a note from that mare saying I could have the violin, and she expected to see me starring in a concert one day.
I still have that violin you know. I don’t play it anymore, but it’s propped up in my music room where I can see it whenever I enter the room. It’s a reminder to me, a reminder of the kind country mare that had shown me where my passion was, and the promise I made to myself to be the greatest musician in the world one day.
I suppose I should pause the story here. It’s getting late, and Vinyl wanted my help with a country-techno mix she’s making.
Author's Note
Behold, the birth of a new story. This one will be unique among my stories in that it will have no action, just a mare a discovering her passion and refining it. I don't expect I'll make more than three or four chapters.
The song is called Roundtable Rival, and I am well aware that it makes use of electrical instruments, none of which the band in the story are using. I just didn't feel like hunting down a classical piece that also had the high energy beat of the Apple Family.