Author's Note

This was fun, and very dramatic. I enjoyed it. I hope you do too.

Catharsis

Blueblood was frozen. In his temper tantrum-like state of self-berating, he had unintentionally given her a key that opened the door to his mind. More specifically, his past. He shut his eyes tightly, thinking irrationally that he would open his eyes and this would all just be a dream. But opening them, he found his hopes shattered, when he stared into Mesma’s calm yet expectant eyes.

He didn’t know what to do. He was at the top of a mountain, where the world was quaking beneath him. There was no way to stay alive except to fling himself off of that peak. He was afraid to do it, but he did not have a choice now. He knew that if Mesma reported this development to his Aunt- at least the self loathing part of it- She would investigate further. He didn’t dare lie to Aunt Celestia. If he gave Mesma the truth, or at least some of it, perhaps he could stop that from happening.

“Blueblood, where did you hear the words in your head?” Asked Mesma.

“The words aren’t mine.” He managed to get out.

“I understand that, but where did you hear them?”

“From ponies around me.” He said. He did technically answer the question while tactfully dancing around a specific answer.

“Ponies? Or just one pony?” She asked.

Were his fur not white, he might have paled. He managed something, though. He managed to get a statement out. “You know who it is.”

“Your father?” She asked.

He nodded. He did not know it at the time, but that nod, that first acknowledgement that he had been treated wrongly, would be the biggest step toward healing he ever took.

Mesma gave him a big hug, and surprisingly, a kiss on the head. In that action, he was put off-kilter. That was the most affection any pony had given him in many, many years. Not since his Mother. Even as a foal when Mother was alive, Father never showed him affection like that. But Mother had. When she pulled back and he looked at her, for maybe a second, he was staring into his Mother’s face. The second passed, and he returned to reality.

Mesma looked at the colt in her arms, because though he was absolutely a full-grown stallion, the fear in his eyes made him look like a five year old asking for the nightlight to be left on because he feared the dark. Maternal instinct made her want to wrap him up in her hooves and never let him go, telling him everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t say that yet. Not until she knew the whole story and could try and help. But if this abuse ran as deep as she thought it did, that was going to take time. Extreme abuse conditioned children to shield their parents, even though they might have wanted help. She sensed that Blueblood did want that help. He just didn’t know how to turn that faucet of words on and talk about it.

She sat there with him a very long time, stroking his hair as gently as she could. Finally, she spoke, having decided on a course of action. “Did you know that your Aunt Celestia told me stories about you as a colt?” She asked.

He cocked his head to one side. “What?”

Mesma nodded. “She told me how much you used to enjoy being read stories, how you enjoyed playing with Brownie, How you used to laugh, How you were so full of life.”

Blueblood didn’t know what to say beyond a simple “Oh.”.

“She wondered what happened to the light inside of you, that smile that made you so bright. She said that she dismissed it as you growing up, but she didn’t really buy it, because even growing up, one should never lose that light. Do you know why I am telling you this?”

Blueblood shook his head to indicate the negative.

“Your father stole that light from you. He did it with his words, with his teachings, and likely with his actions. He did not tell you what you should have heard as a foal, and since we are in this room, where you are a foal, I will tell you those things. You matter so much, Bluey Bear. Your wants, your needs, all of them, are important. You are important- and I'm not talking about in a hierarchy sense. You are important because you being here makes a difference. Your life changed mine, your mother’s, your aunts', and so many others. You are loved, you are cherished, and you are free to be yourself, here or otherwise. I think you haven't given yourself that permission. You've been so busy trying to live up to other ponies’ standards that you lost some of yourself on the way. It's your turn to take it back.”

She was quiet, letting those words marinate with him. She imagined it would be much like a ship with a hole punched into it- very slow to sink in. But this was very important, could not be understated. Changing his perception of things would have to start with an upheaval of everything he thought about himself, and then slowly progress in other areas. This was that moment of revolution for him. At least, that’s what she was hoping for him.

Blueblood listened to her words intently, and when they sunk in, he found himself shocked. No pony had ever said anything to him like that before, at least that he could remember. He had never been told that he had made a difference, that he had changed somepony, that he mattered. He had looked at Mesma, looking for some glimmer of untruth in her eyes, but instead he found nothing but sincerity and compassion. It came upon him suddenly that if some pony who was still very much stranger to him could see all of that in him, why couldn’t father? It was in that instant that he understood just how badly he had been wronged. A cry of indignation bubbled up inside of him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to buck something, but instead, the voice inside of him voiced another option.

Blueblood opened his mouth and started talking.