Fluttershy.

That's the name she gave to herself on the day she awoke.

To her it seemed tolerable, even though it was a heretical mask. She drew inspiration from the charming little insects that had filled her mind up with their many colors, and how modestly, how shyly they fluttered about.

Fluttershy.

She let others believe this fake title to be true, in hopes that the authorities would be unable to find her home and bring her back. She never, ever wanted to go back, she'd choose death over returning to those who'd wronged her. The filly had long since dispatched of familial tears, and it was in her original agenda not only to leave her loved ones behind, but unbind from life itself. It wasn't that she was entirely indifferent about what she'd done; she was, after all, leaving behind two loving parents and a month-old baby brother, all of whom she loved to the very depths of her heart. It was devastating, yes, but this was what she'd bargained for, when she'd taken that near-fatal leap of faith.

Fluttershy had lost them all, true to form... yet she still lived. Why had she lived? Did life not understand that she didn't want to be there anymore?

The doctors and nurses whose care she was under tried desperately to get more information out of her. Yet apart from her nom de guerre, uttered like a sad violin note under her breath, Fluttershy would only respond with, "I don't know." For the most part, the filly's unchanging murmurs were actually true. When it came to the situation in its entirety, Fluttershy's replies were as fitting as only words could be. She didn't understand any of this, she didn't know herself. She desired so painfully to be gone and away from their seeking hearts.

Away from their... labels.

Sick, they called her. Abused, depressed, so tiny. The unflattering appellations went on and on, and within the fourteen days she wallowed in that temporary refuge, she found the labels were only increased.

The filly couldn't help but think about them in the night. Her mind would not be calm.

Fluttershy quietly squirmed under the covers as drops of rain lightly batted at the window of her dark hospital room. Another day walled up in the facility had gone past, making way for a starless, cloudy night devoid of silence. The thunder outside was low and warning, like the threatened growl of a large predator. Lightning occasionally flashed, brightening up the already-illuminated sky in an unfriendly blaze.

The blanketed filly remembered how her flight camp once took a field trip to the Weather Factory. She could barely picture the adventure in her head after the brutality of her later memories, but she and her friend-- the blue pegasus, who was but a cerulean blur in her mind-- had learned how Cloudsdale produced the large assortments of rainclouds that made up such a storm. It was a careful, selective process, with each centimeter of the clouds being inspected and checked for any signs of malfunction. Even her friend, who was often quick to dismiss any type of non-physical learning as "boring," really took to the creation of weather. Fluttershy, too, found the procedures to be enthralling, but she was too timid to verbalize her interest.

A twinge of homesickness. That will ebb away in time. Fluttershy told herself assuredly.

The filly tried her best to let sleep take her, so she may once again return to her universe of love and imagination, but her attempts were in vain. Fluttershy was not used to sleeping through rain at all, let alone thunder, and the ominous rumbling was enough to unnerve her alongside her preexisting agitation. Finally accepting that dreams would not surrender peacefully, the filly sighed and retrieved the small lantern on her bedside table, shifting carefully as not to disturb her wing and leg bandages. The lantern had been enchanted with unicorn magic, and it took only the minor twisting of a protruding dial to ignite it.

The storm outside only whistled with increased gusto, as though annoyed that the filly had given up on an early slumber. Fluttershy ignored the rain's protestations and turned her attention once again to the table, observing its contents searchingly. In the dim light, she discerned a variety of different items stacked atop the stand; a small, wooden wind-up frog one of the doctors had crafted for her, a pair of pretty blue mittens her primary nurse had knitted, a stuffed white bear dressed in a smart bowtie, and a beautiful glass box containing her most favorite gift of all: a magnificent swan-feather quill accompanied by a sterling inkwell. This had been a present from one of the wealthier employees there, and who'd apparently purchased it from one of the most expensive shoppes in all of Canterlot. Fluttershy knew she didn't deserve such luxuries, but the doctor had insisted she accept it, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Besides, now is as good a time as any for a pen.

Fumbling the lantern ungracefully in her left hoof, Fluttershy reached out and tugged the box closer with her right one. With some awkward reaching, she was able to slide it onto her hoof, and all the while it balanced between the filly's golden fur and the utter destruction the floor below would surely bring. In that moment she lightly envied the talent of her unicorn cousins, as it would have made difficult tasks of the sort tremendously easier. But she let the jealousy pass... after all, unicorns probably wished they had wings sometimes, too.

Not my wings, of course. Fluttershy thought dissapointedly, as she let her gaze fall to the bandaged little feathers below her shoulders. Even under the swath of padding, she could still see how tattered the underdeveloped limbs were, and briefly wondered if they would ever behave appropriately again with what they'd been through.

But that's of no consequence now. Fluttershy decided, returning to the task at hoof. She had means of writing her verses through her precious quill, yet she still required material upon which to craft them.

Fluttershy blinked, questioning gaze once again on the table. No paper? Anywhere?

No, there had to be something.

It was then that the filly noticed two drawer handles extending out from the stand, the turquoise knobs glinting beckoningly at her from the half-shadow. Grasping the lantern in her teeth, Fluttershy carefully slid herself downward, hoof curiously prodding at the first drawer until it creaked ajar. Through the meager sliver of light peeking in through the opening, Fluttershy could descry a large pile of mothballs and a dusty picture frame containing no photograph. If she were truly desperate, Fluttershy might have etched her poem into the frame's oaken back, but she ultimately decided against the idea and pushed the drawer closed.

On to the second one-- that one was a bit more challenging of a stretch, considering Fluttershy was still trying to keep her lower body as still as possible. It took some adjustment, but she was finally able to slide the lower drawer open enough to see inside.

The only occupant was a white cloth napkin. That would do.

Scooping it out with her hoof, Fluttershy let the drawer close while swiftly pulling the rest of herself back onto the bed. After settling once again into a semi-comfortable position, the filly lay the cheap serviette over her lap, its eggshell color reacting brightly with the lantern's glow. The inkwell, along with the enchanted light source, had been placed on the opposite side of the bed, as still to be useful but out of the way. Yes, it seemed everything was ready.

Gently, Fluttershy removed the quill from the inkwell, heeding the iridescent liquid dripping from its tip and being sure it didn't splatter onto the bedsheets. Maneuvering the fragile object in the firm grip of her hoof was initially difficult, but once she was able to set the bend of her foreleg down in a comfortable writing position, the task was far less cumbersome. Fluttershy's eyes traced over the blank napkin in front of her one last time, before touching the quill down and allowing it to venture where it pleased.

Oh!

It felt as though the feather had come to life! The words in Fluttershy's soul began to appear on her canvas of linen, flowing freely from the pen's glistening point in rivers of poesy. Her eyes went wide as her hoof moved on its own accord, feeling an intense inner fire flooding from her hoof and into her utensil. The verses themselves seemed to brim in ash and ember, and Fluttershy could not peel her astounded stare away.

As morning graces young eyes, comes a game

Impregnate labels deep inside the womb that is a name

But within me, flourishes a wild which shan't be tame

Fluttershy or names long past? To me, reads all the same

Must all small wonders have a designation 'til they die?

Does their beauty not sound sweeter, free from what pigheadedly describes?

Are they not still beautiful, without a name of which to call them by?

Fluttershy or names long past... either way it all is born a lie

Two weeks past, the clock upon the wall ticks ever on

Still I wonder if I should have gone

Flew far away from names, no more a pawn

Yet somehow I feel this is the dawn.

Then the quill fell limp on the napkin, blissful snores signaling the poetess's sleep.

Author's Note

Dedicated to all of those, myself included, who are fed up with society's aggravating need to put a label on everything and everyone.

I'm almost too tired to include an endnote tonight, but I've made it this far. I want to get this chapter out before I fall asleep at my desk.

So yeah, there's your chapter two. I haven't done much editing of this one, so if you spot any grammatical errors, please let me know.

It's so super cool that this is already getting some attention, and I'm only on the second chapter now! I really appreciate it, everyone, I try my best to make my stuff readable, and I'll hopefully continue to do so. XD

That's all I have to say for now, folks. Have a good night, good evening, good afternoon, or whenever in the timezones you may be!

• Hiraeth