They say don’t judge a book by its cover, to explore the contents of it. But to most ponies, I suppose that’s all I am: a cover with no content. They couldn’t be more wrong. I am more than a stuck-up brat. I am more than a snobbish pony. There’s a reason I act as I do, and I’ve had my fair share of suffering. My name is Prince Blueblood, and this is my story.
You’d think growing up in Canterlot Castle, being raised as a member of the social elite, and having a noblepony for a father would mean I lived a wonderful life. Well you’d be right, and so horribly wrong. I suppose I’ll start with the good things.
Being a noble I was afforded every luxury Canterlot had to offer. My father’s servants waited on me from mane to hoof. I was groomed for success from the day I could trot. I was given the best food, the best accommodations, the best of everything bits could buy.
Father hired private tutors to teach me everything he thought I’d need to know, and as many extracurricular activities as equinely possible. I was taught math, literature, magic, art, and history, in addition to receiving instruction in playing the violin. It was all in an effort to ensure I was a physically and mentally capable stallion who would someday fill my father’s horseshoes.
Sounds great doesn’t it? No. I had every luxury there was, but it wasn’t worth enduring the stallion who provided them. It’s time you learned the bad things about being a noble’s foal.
Despite the best efforts of the doctors, my mother passed due to complications with my birth. I’m told she was incredibly loving and kind, practically embodying these traits. Sadly for me, her passing ensured I would spend the first part of my life being denied both.
My father, Pureblood, was a fierce stallion with a notorious cruel streak, and he didn’t take mother’s passing well. He blamed me for her death. Told me I wasn’t worth losing her, that I would never amount to enough. I became determined to prove him wrong, but it was never enough to satisfy him. No matter what I accomplished, no matter how hard I pushed myself, somehow I always fell short of his expectations.
Furthermore, he dominated every aspect of my life from the style of my clothes, the lessons I learned, all the way down to the food that I ate.
He also taught me how to play with other ponies’ emotions, how to turn political rivals against one another, and what a politician’s mask was. He told me every Canterlot pony of nobility and royalty had one or more, and wore them to conceal their true personality beneath while only projecting the traits they wanted others to see. He also tasked me with making my own, but I never did as I didn’t see the point in concealing who I was. Even though I mastered his other tricks, he still declared me an unworthy successor. I became determined to prove him wrong.
Satisfying his expectations became my all-consuming, singular goal in life, but in the process I made no friends, and many enemies. I found very little happiness in my pursuit, but I continued for fear of disappointing him. I guess for normal ponies disappointing their parents just meant perhaps a slap on the wrist or no desert. Disappointing my father often lead to much more painful consequences.
Whenever I fell far short of his expectations, he’d call me into his bedroom, and from that instant terror would grip my body, until that grip was handed off to pain. He sometimes broke bones, but most times it’d be just a black eye and some bruising.
So you may ask how he got away with it for so long if he gave me a thorough trouncing every now and then? The answer is pretty simple, and personally, frustrating.
Father’s personal physician was nothing short of a miracle worker who could mend bones in minutes with his magic, and any visible marks father hid with illusion spells.
While father may have been unforgiving and a terrifying sight to behold behind closed doors, it took little effort to discern the mask he crafted for himself was meant to make him appear as a benevolent, fatherly figure.
And that’s how my life went for the longest time: intense studying, get beat when I failed to meet his expectations, and then be fixed up by father’s doctor.
It was a horrible existence, but I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t think life could be different than what it was, that it could be better. This continued until on my sixteenth birthday, things reached a breaking point.
I suppose you’re also wondering how I gained the title of prince if I was born a noble pony. I’ll get to that very soon.
My birthdays were never a time of celebration for us, instead it was a harsh reminder to father and I that my birth had resulted in my mother’s death. He came home that night heavily intoxicated and dragged me into his bedroom, and began to beat me for no reason at all in the world other than having been born.
I don’t know what happened next, I truly don’t. I just know that I blacked out. When I came to, I was trembling and covered in blood, my father was dead on the ground, my letter opener had been lodged in his chest. He had not been stabbed once or twice, but five separate times. Celestia and her royal guard arrived soon after.
She did enough talking for the both of us. She put together that he attacked me so I protected myself, and asked me if he did this before. All I had to do was nod and she pieced together everything from just a few bits of information.
Celestia has over a millennia of experience, and had used all that time to hone her political skills as well. Of all the ponies in Equestria, her mask was by far the most concealing, and she was most adept at seeing through others, including, as it turned out, my own.
She told me inside I was just a colt who wanted nothing more than a parent’s love, but I’d hidden this part of me from everyone, even myself, behind the persona of a spoiled brat who cared about nothing but himself. I didn’t know if I believed her, but then there was the matter of my father.
After examining my injuries and what I told her about growing up, she ruled it self defense, but said I would be seeing a psychiatrist. Then there was the matter of what would happen to me. I had no parents left, and was still too young to look after myself. What Celestia told me next changed my life.
I know you’re a good pony Blueblood, but it’s hard to show that goodness when nopony’s ever shown you how. But don’t worry, I promise I will personally make sure that from this point on you’re happy, healthy, and loved.
That night Celestia took me in as her own son, and it was a difficult adjustment for us both at first. For starters, I still had a mentality where I thought I’d be punished if I failed to meet her expectations. Imagine my surprise when she offered to help me improve in areas where I was lacking, rather than punish me as father did.
I insisted we keep this between us, I didn’t want her reputation to suffer from adopting a pony with my own reputation. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually she agreed. As a result, she had to find ways to make time for me without others finding out. I continued to act the same as I did before, but it was the mask I wore in public now, not my true self.
After a while, I started to get better. I felt what parental love was supposed to be, I learned more about subjects I was lacking in with Celestia’s help, and life was never better. It took a long time, but I got comfortable enough to call her mother, and after an even longer time, I started calling her mom. I’ll never forget the smile on her face when I first called her that.
There are still many things to work out and bridges to mend, but now I feel like I can do them. With Celestia’s help, I don’t think there’s anything I can’t do. My name is Prince Blueblood, and that’s my story.
