No Colours in Shadow [Concept Draft]
Chapter 1
No Colours in Shadow
Part A; The Stallion
He had been sleeping soundly that night. A dreamless sleep; blissful reprieve from the terrors he was accustomed to. A night that could be happily forgotten, under normal circumstances. This dreamless night, however, was the start of something he would not soon forget.
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His whole body ached. He had not even opened his eyes, yet already he knew his day was to be one of a continuous, throbbing pain - as it always was, for Forever Flame was old. Old enough that he had little idea how old he really was. He had been ancient when the sky opened and he was older still when industry returned to Equestria. How many years was that, anyway?
“Huh!?”
It wasn’t his voice. It was the voice of a stranger. Not his and certainly not his love’s voice… for she was gone; she had left a lifetime ago.
“No… I can’t see…”
What can’t she see? She… she? Yes, it sounded like a mare.
The lights are not lit. That’s it. It was not that Forever Flame had yet to open his eyes, but the room was pitch black. Nopony had lit the candles yet; he must do that when he can get out of bed.
“I… no… mmf”
The youngster had gone quiet, seemingly having realised she was speaking out loud. The poor filly was clearly terrified and that was a good reason to get out of bed, surely.
One hoof. Second hoof. A leg… yes, that’s how you do it. Just getting up was always difficult; it required every little ounce of the arthritic stallion’s willpower to move from his bed. It always had done, had it not? It seemed that way.
A short gasp, followed by erratic whimpering. A crash like shattered glass and then pained sobs.
The unseen mare - in an attempt to get away from the sound of movement nearby - had thrown herself at the medicine cabinet, it seemed.
“Do not - do not be alarmed”
A hollow, wheezing voice? That was Forever Flame’s voice. He recalled it sounding somewhat like that, but he had not spoken in a long time.
Forever Flame waited, expecting some response from the filly, however one did not come. He heard only half-concealed sobs and the occasional cracking of glass as the unknown pony shifted her position.
“I… I am not going to harm you. I shall-” the feeble stallion began, but each word was met with a whimper. He must first light the room, certainly then she would be more comfortable.
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The mare had stopped crying during the time it took Forever Flame to cross the room - in slow and shuffling steps, yet endlessly deliberated steps. She had even begun to breath less erratically upon the moment he procured a box of matches in his shaky telekinetic field.
As he made his way at a snail’s pace around the room, from candelabra to to candelabra, it occurred to the stallion that the little one must have seen his face in the light of his magic. Perhaps she had calmed due to the sight of his elderly face? No, that could not be.
Dedicated to his task, he had not yet looked her way; she spoke and still he did not.
“You… i-is this your home?”
Now reasonably calm, she sounded… divine. The return of Princess Celestia, perhaps? No. He recalled having heard by radio that the Princess yet existed elsewhere. This child was not a goddess, yet she stirred his heart as one.
“Mister? I - I am lost, can you help me?”
Forever Flame stopped midstep. He was sure of it now; this was a voice he knew... a voice that caused him pain. He would shut it out, as he must for any hallucination. She was gone and he was crazy, of course; a pony cannot live beyond two centuries and remain sane.
He would not look.
“M-mister? Is something wrong? I… I could call for a doctor, I know the emergency number!”
He would break.
“S-Sir? My- my name is Turmoil, I am sorry, I know I should not be here!”
Too far.
“You should not!” he screeched at once, causing the smaller pony to back quickly onto the broken glass, accompanied by a yelp of pain .
Forever Flame didn’t notice. His attention was on his own voice. Once had it been the bellow of a strong, lordly stallion? No, that was also wrong; his voice was never so imposing. He was always a reclusive, weak pony. His life was books and spellcraft… that and… “Turmoil.”
“Y-yes?”
“No. You cannot be her, for she is -”
Finally he allowed himself to face the filly, who was cowering in an uneven ball against the remains of the cabinet. She stared back at the stallion with a new terror in her features - mismatched, stitched together features. This was his handiwork; his life.
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Chapter 1, Part B; The Filly
Hours passed in silence as the ancient unicorn retreated to his thoughts, tending to his home - his daily routine. The filly - Turmoil - watched with a growing, childish amazement that began to stifle her fear.
With creaking doors now open, heavy curtains pulled back and shutters thrown apart, the mansion had come alive. Far from the dusty, flea -ridden hovel she had imagined as the first candles were lit (and later extinguished as dawn broke), the bedroom seemed fit for a storybook palace; deep red hangings over an enormous four-poster bed, a plethora of cabinets with ornate designs, shelves lined with golden plates, scales, pottery and many, many books. Turmoil found herself on her hooves; each and every thing seemingly called out to be investigated.
As the girl examined object after object, quietly tracing the circumference of the room, she became lost in her curiosity. Questions for the mysterious stallion began to burn in her chest... until she came upon a tall, silver-framed mirror - and with it an unfamiliar reflection.
Author's Note
I'm slowly editing this version of the chapter for readability, but I will be adding a lot to it later on. For that i will republish.
~~This probably requires more editing than I gave it, but i hope it's enjoyable! I am as yet unsure how many chapters there will be, but it will be a short story for certain.~~
Coloured speech is perspective based; it's not plot relevant though, so don't worry about it being absent in exported versions.
