Gather Up Your Skirts and Smile
Sitting in front of the dressing room mirror, a curling iron wound tight in her mane, Cozy Glow stared blankly at her reflection and tried to let her mind go nowhere in particular. Unfortunately, this effort only made her thoughts zero in to one thing.
The dress and its petticoats were itchy.
The dresses were always itchy, but this one was particularly frustrating. The feeling of the petticoats on her rump and legs just made her want to squirm, and the whole thing was stiff from all the sequins and ribbons that had been packed into the bodice. She didn't know why her mother spent so much on the stupid things just for them to be so ugly and uncomfortable.
She was pretty sure one of the appliques along the neckline was starting to come off- yep, she could feel the glue getting loose. Whoever her mother had bought this dress from must have ripped her off if it was coming apart already.
Oh, well. Not her problem.
She nudged at the sequined flowers with her hoof, absently debating with herself whether or not she could get the whole thing to tear free before-
Her wandering thoughts about her clothing were quickly cut off when the hot iron curler grazed her ear, and she bit her lip to keep from flinching at the sensation of her fur getting singed. At least it wasn't serious, she thought as she scrutinized the tiny blackened mark near the tip of her ear in the mirror. The judges probably wouldn't even notice it.
Her mother certainly didn't, already several minutes deep into a tirade about the filly who had scored a point higher than her in the talent portion. Cozy Glow counted herself lucky that they'd done her hair so many times that it was practically second nature at this point; the first time her mother had gotten angry like this, she'd burned off an entire curl and some of Cozy's cheek fur with it.
The judges certainly hadn't thought that was cute.
Cozy Glow tuned her out again. She had heard the exact same rant with the exact same words in the exact same pattern on every single occasion that she hadn't come first in an event, even if she'd ended up winning the competition overall. She could quote it in her sleep with all the vocal inflections included and only the names of the unfortunate fillies and their mothers changed. The judges were blind, how dare they, the other filly's mother must have been slee-
"Here."
The snap of her mother's voice was accompanied by a small unlabeled brown bottle thrust in front of her nose, and Cozy winced as she recognized the smell coming from it. "Castor oil again, Mama?" she asked, very careful not to sound like she was complaining.
Apparently she wasn't careful enough.
"Do you have a problem with it?" She could feel the ice in her mother's stare even with the sunglasses to hide it... among the other things they hid. Like the bloodshot redness to go with the faint smell of alcohol on her mother's breath as she leaned in way too close.
Cozy Glow thought quickly. 'I'm sick of all this' certainly wasn't the correct answer. "Just... golly, if we keep using it so much, won't somepony get suspicious?" she asked with her brightest and most innocent smile. "We gotta stay one step ahead, don't we?"
For the briefest moment, the ice melted. Her mother patted her on the head, and even smiled. "What a clever girl you are, Cozy. That's why the judges love you."
Not "I love you." Never "I love you."
But it was praise all the same, praise that had even been given with what could almost pass for warmth. The bottle went back into her mother's purse, which meant a filly who had only scored one measly point higher than her wouldn't be trapped in a bathroom for the rest of the day.
Cozy took each of those facts as a small victory. "A- and besides," she added, eagerly hoping to gain one more. "The next section is the speech and q and a. That's my best subject, right? So I can still win this easy! I can still- still make you happy!"
The silence that fell made her stomach clench with the fear that she'd gone too far. Asked for too much. Unconsciously, she began fiddling with the loose applique again as her mother took the hot iron down from where she'd left it hanging and turned it back on.
After what seemed like eternity, a hoof patted her hair again, and the knot in her stomach eased.
Sort of. A little.
"You can still make me proud," her mother said, because of course her mother was never happy. "But just to be certain you get the top marks, I want her to fall on her face. Got it?"
Cozy stared down at the floor as the iron wrapped into her mane again. She'd take that one as a victory, too. Three... very small victories.
Occasionally she wondered what it must be like to be one of the other fillies. She had never gotten sick at a pageant or been tripped into the stage decorations, which must have meant there were mothers who didn't try to "get a leg up on" the competition. Mothers who didn't turn every mare and filly in the entire building into enemies to be humiliated. Mothers who actually believed their filly was pretty and talented.
Mothers who...
She stared harder, pretending that the stinging in her eyes was the desire to burn a hole in the carpet with her gaze. Burn the stupid dress. Burn down the whole room. Burn-
She took a deep, slow breath and made herself calm down.
One, two, three.
Three very small victories. It was enough.
Until she had a trophy in her hooves, it was enough. Until she had proved herself one more time, it was enough. Until the next pageant came, it was enough.
"Yes, Mama," she said softly. Returning her gaze back to the mirror, she fluffed her skirts, plastered on a winning smile, and began putting together a plan for the next event.
