Author's Note

I redid the first three chapters and fixed any continuity errors.

That's why they are earlier dates compared to chapter four.

1. Spilt Milk

The first and third floorboards always creaked. Misty Flare walked around the first one, almost touching it but not quite.

She hopped over the third floorboard and teetered and tottered.

She swung her hooves in the air and fell forward, landing on her face.

"Ow," she moaned, rubbing at her nose and got to her hooves.

She pushed the door open slowly so it didn't creak and went out into the hallway, smiling.

Her smile fell.

Her parents were fighting again. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she could tell by their raised voices.

They had had the same arguments for as long as Misty had been alive.

She stopped at the top of the stairs, catching the tail end of their conversation:

"You always do this," Mom was saying, her tone biting. "We can't afford it."

"But maybe we can." Dad's voice.

"What about Misty Flare?"

"Honey, think about how much money I'll make."

Mom clucked her tongue. "Don't you dare honey me. Maybe I should leave."

"Leave?" repeated Dad, his word cracking. "What about Misty?"

"What about her?"

Misty sat down at the top of the stairs, her eyes watering. But more than that, she was angry. It was her first day of school; they couldn't leave.

She was a nirik in a puff of fire, roasting the carpet before she calmed down.

Mom had been teaching her mediation.

The front door slammed, and Dad let out a long sigh.

Misty swallowed and slowly walked down the steps. "Dad..."

Dad smiled weakly where he was sitting at the kitchen table and was cradling a cup of coffee.

Her Dad's name was Oak Flare. He had brown fur. Misty had gotten her red eyes and red mane from him and her blue fur from her Mom.

He was also wearing a very crumpled bow tie.

For as long as Misty could remember, he hadn't had a job. He was always planning out business ventures, but none of them had panned out.

Now that Misty was going to school again, he had started to have a new plan, a plan for a brewery right here in Ponyville.

The best beer ever, he would tell Misty, smiling before tousling her mane.

"Are you excited for school?" he asked.

"I want some hot milk," Misty said, sitting down at the table.

Dad got up and grabbed the pot from the drying rack. He got some milk and poured it into the pot, setting it on the stove. There was a click as he turned the gas on, and he stood over it watching bubbles form in the milk with a glazed expression on his face.

"Dad," said Misty.

"What is it, kiddo?"

"Where's Mom? Is she going to leave?"

"You heard that, huh?" Dad turned off the stove, pouring the milk into a mug. He set the mug in front of Misty. "Don't burn your tongue. Blow on it. How about I get you a new dress to make up for you hearing that?"

Misty blew on her milk, nodding eagerly.

Mom never offered to buy her dresses.

"How's your magic going?" he asked, sitting next to her. He sipped on his coffee, blowing on it when Misty did on her drink.

"I created new life."

"What do you mean?"

Misty squealed and ran upstairs. She grabbed the tiny plant in its little pot from her windowsill and came running down. She set the plant in front of him and held her mug with her hooves.

"I'm still working on moving things with magic,' she said. 'But I made a plant. I call him Leafy. I'm also reading spellbooks, but I can't get them to work."

Dad poked at one of the leaves with his hooves.

It was a plain, little green plant, more of a sprout.

Misty concentrated her blue magic on the plant, and it turned a lurid green. "See? I want to go to the School for Gifted Unicorns like Princess Twilight."

Dad tousled her mane. "Finish your milk."

Misty stuck out her tongue and drank the rest of her milk. It left a film around her mouth, and she licked her teeth.

"Time to go to bed," he said, gathering up his empty coffee mug and her cup in his brown magic. He dumped them in the sink. "Do you want a story?"

"I'm seven, not two."

Dad smiled sadly. "That's a no, then. Don't forget Leafy."

Misty nodded. She tried to grab Leafy in her telekinesis, but the pot wobbled, so she carried Leafy to her room in her hooves.

She whispered under her breath to it, hopeful words, angry words, before setting it on the windowsill. She turned it so it would catch the light coming over the roofs outside.

Ponyville was coming alive outside.

Misty yawned and fell asleep.