The Flickering Candle of Ponyville
The Comfortable Embrace of Darkness
The Flickering Candle of Ponyville
Rarity could remember the times when her life hadn’t always been this way. When she was a filly, she’d occasionally been different, sure, but she’d been happy for the most part. What she couldn’t remember was when things had changed. It had been subtle, a creeping slide so slow that she hadn’t realized what was happening until it was well and truly too late to do anything about it, not that she believed anything could be done for her.
There was no seeming rhythm to when the darkness would take up residence in her soul. She could go weeks, months even without a single sign of a problem, only to sit back and realize that, yes, things were losing their appeal once again. To realize that the heavy, inexplicable sadness had returned to weigh down her heart and drag at her mind.
She would never dream of telling anypony about how she felt in those moments. It didn’t matter how much her spirit cried out for some sort of relief, any relief – she simply could not tell, would not tell. She had long since decided that the pain of soldiering on alone was preferable to the shame of her friends and family knowing she was - at least in her mind - broken.
When the hollow times came, she would resolve to try harder. Those were some of her most productive periods, when her faux mania would drive her to new heights, even when none of it felt like it mattered. She would work, and hear the compliments, and smile, that perfect fake smile that she had spent so much time perfecting.
It was more than a smile, actually. A lifetime of practice had let her perfect her Mask, the Mask she wore whenever she had to interact with others during the dark periods. The Mask protected her, let her continue to try to pretend everything was normal, even when she felt as though nothing would ever be right again.
She hated the Mask, and yet she loved the Mask as well. How could she not? Without the Mask, somepony might find out her deepest secret.
If she wasn't careful, however, the Mask would slip, and another pony might get a glimpse of the lie beneath the smile. She would, of course, deny such things, passing her fatigue off as mere tiredness, or perhaps a minor illness. Nopony ever pushed much beyond that, even if, deep down, a small part of her wished they would.
She'd often tried to put her problem into words. In her mind, she pictured herself as a master pianist, seated in a grand hall, every seat filled with important ponies and adoring fans. All had come to hear the Great Rarity play, and she was ever so eager to please them. In the front row, in the places reserved for the most important guests, sat her friends, each there to support her as best as they could, their smiles warm and genuine.
Most nights, she would play eloquent sonatas and blissful requiems. The audience would listen and smile, thrilled that she would share her talents with them. Just as she would begin to get comfortable, thinking that perhaps she’d beaten her darkness, it would return. On those nights, all the notes would sound wrong. Her hooves were still hitting all the right keys, but the piano didn't sound right, the notes all wrong to her ears.
As the music was mangled she wanted nothing more than to crawl off the stage and die of shame, but the audience would not let her. The audience would watch, and smile, and nod amongst themselves, either not caring or simply not aware how wrong the song was.
Perhaps they didn’t know.
Perhaps they didn’t care.
She wasn’t sure she cared to know the reason either.
In either case, she continued to play, pouring her wounded soul into her music. No matter how painful, no matter how wrong, she didn’t want to stop, not when there were ponies who insisted she continue to play. She would play until her hooves were bleeding, staining the white keys red, every action only adding to her agony.
In those moments, she didn’t need the mask. In those moments, her smile was as genuine as the tears running down her face.
Her friends would have helped her when things were at their toughest, but they weren’t there. Not by their own choice - they would never have left if she’d given them a choice - but because she’d sent them away. If she was to suffer, she wanted to do so alone. They each had their own challenges to face, and she would never be so selfish as to burden them with her petty struggles.
Was it too much to ask for life to not be so painful? Did happiness have to have such a high price? Was it because of some offense she had committed, or simply a quirk of fate?
She turned over on her sofa, wondering not for the first time why she was like this.
In the darkest moments, when the song stopped, and when the lights went out, and she was left only with her thoughts, she would wonder when the end might come. When she might be released from the cycle of torment that she hoped she didn’t somehow deserve.
There was so much she had to do that day. So many projects, so many tasks.
None of it mattered. Nothing she did mattered, not really. All of it could be done by any pony with the drive to try. She could get up, walk out, and never be seen again, and Equestria would continue on as it always had.
But she wouldn’t. As much as it didn’t matter, as much as her work could be done by others, she wanted to be the one to do it, damn it. She had worlds of imagination bursting out of her broken self, worlds so beautiful that she wanted to scream from the rooftops, beckoning all to come and see the splendor she could create.
The bell rung, letting her know that it was time to face life once more. She buried her face in her pillow, drying away any errant tears, and slid off the couch, checking her face and mane in the mirror before trotting out.
“Good morning!” the other pony said, gently nudging a small filly forward. “It’s Buttercup’s birthday tomorrow, and we were hoping you could make her a birthday dress. I know it's short notice, but..."
Short notice was putting it mildly. “Your birthday? Oh, how lovely!” Rarity said, bending down to smile at the filly. "And how old are you going to be, Buttercup?"
"Four!" the yellow filly replied proudly.
"Four is a very important birthday," Rarity replied, nodding sagely, playing her part. She looked back at the mother. "I think any pony turning four needs the most special dress ever, don't you?"
"Of course," the mother replied, looking relieved that Rarity was willing to take on the job.
Rarity took a slow breath, closing her eyes for just a heartbeat or two. She had six orders that had to be filled by the end of the week, and each of them was a mess in one way or another. Stopping all that to make a dress for little Buttercup was going to mean a lot of late nights and sleepless days, a hard thing even when she was feeling fine, unlike now. She felt the darkness clutching at her heart...and pushed it aside.
For Rarity, telling a little filly she couldn't have a a beautiful dress for her birthday simply wasn't an option. Her own pain would have to wait.
Drawing on that inner reserve of strength she kept for times like this, she opened her eyes again, and began to levitate fabric samples over for Buttercup to look at. "I think I have just the dress in mind for you."
