Octavia Melody rested her back against the cool surface of the petrified statue of Vinyl Scratch and wiped her forehead. The sun above judged her silently.
It was the cusp of autumn. The air was dry and smelled of decaying leaves. All around her, the Ponyville Market Square had transformed into a ring of merchant stalls. Here was Carrot Top with her mountain of carrots. There, a wagonful of radishes. Somewhere, a hoofful of dust spun into a bowl and then dissipated under a mute crowd's hooves.
On the ground in front of Octavia, lay her trusty cello case, its velveteen insides open. Occasionally, a passerby would drop in a bit or two, which she would acknowledge with a simple nod or the barest of twinges at the corner of her lips.
Octavia squared her shoulders against the statue. At least someponies listened to her, she thought.
Octavia raised her hoof, and the strings and her bow embraced once more. Her dirge broke through the thrum of marching hooves.
A storm-cloud-black stallion stomped by. Unaware of the looming cello case—focused on everything but where he was going as he was—his hoof clipped the upholstered edge. He caught himself just short of tripping.
With a furious growl, the stallion kicked his leg out. Tenth-bits scattered on the dirt. The case, or what remained thereof, flew in a graceful arc and clanged and bounced, before finally coming to a dead halt.
Octavia gasped and went about picking the remains. But when she next looked, the stallion had disappeared into the crowd.
Whatever utterance she might have had on her tongue was expeditiously replaced with a haughty scoff.
At the eastern end of the square, Sugarcube Corner was going through the tail-end of a rush hour. Paper bags crinkled, ponies hummed gluttonously, and Rarity, for lack of a more savory word, salivated.
She would never confess such a thing, of course. Not even whilst trailing with her eyes a bag of confections out the door—an act which resulted in her gaining a direct line of sight with her own cutie mark. The cutie mark, which seemed to have grown since the last time she looked.
A thought entered her mind. An errant impulse. A harmless rationalization. If she just wished, she could have the form of a goddess. No more calorie counting. No more envious gazes at models showcasing her creations. No more guilt-ridden midnight-snack-time.
All she had to do was ask.
Rarity only realized her mouth was halfway open when the image of Vinyl Scratch appeared in her mind. She bit down her jaw and forced her eyes ahead. She would think such thoughts no longer. No, all she would do was look right in front of her.
Which left her with the only thing in the room that wasn’t tasteful to look at: the back of Caramel’s head.
The young stallion seemed to be having difficulty with something. He was rummaging around his saddlebags, stopping short of upending them entirely. Meanwhile, behind the counter, Pinkie Pie was waiting patiently . Rarity was about to tap the stallion on the shoulder and offer him her assistance when he punched his forehoof on the ground.
“Shoot!” he swore.
A magical spell sizzled past them.
Rarity flinched. Pinkie, ever the clairvoyant, peeked out from underneath the counter she'd ducked for cover. They all stared up where the spell had landed: a hole in the ceiling, leaking smoke that was of a rich azure in color.
Rarity glowered at Caramel. Her horn was smoking too.
But her ire vanished the moment she saw the look on his face: his bulged eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets. His right forehoof was in between his teeth. Before she had a chance to stop him, Caramel had galloped out without another word. That left her alone with Pinkie.
It was then that Rarity first got a good look at Pinkie up close. As the mare herself would have put it, she looked like a "frowner-downer." The bags under her eyes had bags in them, and those bags looked like they should have withdrawn their pensions and retired several hours ago. Pinkie took a wad of her matted hair in her forehooves and squeezed out a glassful of liquid, which she then splashed on her face. The water evaporated in a comical sizzle, while the lock poofed back into a semblance of its normal Pinkieness.
Rarity stepped up to the counter and opened the flap of her saddlebags. Only her bit-bag levitated out.
Rarity, majestically, brought a forehoof to her forehead. That entire morning she had been feeling like she was forgetting something.
She looked up.
The sign above the counter displayed a list of food items, each more sugary than the last. Rarity thought for a moment, then pointed at one and clopped her hoof on the counter a number of times. Pinkie nodded. Rarity repeated this and Pinkie diligently gathered up all the various sweets and not-quite-as-sweets into her saddlebags. For every item, Rarity recited to herself to nevermore shop whilst hungry.
When Rarity came upon her final item, the look on Pinkie's face turned quizzical. She glanced up at the menu and then back down at her again. She pointed at the item in question and then jabbed at Rarity. Then she bumped her forehooves together, insinuatingly.
Rarity blanched—as much as her white coat allowed her, that is. She shook her head, then pantomimed flapping her forehooves, and lastly drew two cutie marks in the air: one with two lightning bolts and a second with a bolt and a cloud.
Pinkie’s lips went into a small ‘o.’ Before Rarity had enough time to realize she had disappeared, Pinkie trotted back out of the kitchen with a flawlessly glazed, whiter than Celestia’s coat, sugary, chocolatey, dream of a cake on her back. On top of the cake was an ornamental card, with images of two pegasi: a sandy mare and a black stallion, and cursive text that read “Happy Anniversary.”
Rarity dabbed a hoofkerchief to her lips. She levitated the cake carefully over to her back and a line of bits to the counter.
On her way out, Rarity's gaze wandered, landing on a small satellite-dish-looking thing in a far corner of the room. The tiny black dot in the middle must've been the microphone, she surmised. The sight of it made her shudder.
Then Rarity remembered the weathering on Pinkie’s muzzle. The bags under those red-rimmed eyes, the slumped shoulders, the matted fur. Little by little, Rarity’s posture shifted to something defiant. Something within her chest was rising. Something titillating. The grin on her muzzle must’ve been nothing short of rebellious.
Rarity called over her shoulder. “Have a wonderful day!”
“You too!”
Rarity froze with her hoof on the door. Her stomach had gone silent, her hunger banished. Inside, there was nothing but a hollow void. There were shards of ice in place of her nerves, and steel in her neck muscles. She almost couldn't get herself to look behind her.
Pinkie was still there behind the counter. Still as a statue. The two stood watching one another in stupefied silence for a moment before Pinkie gigglesnorted and dove out of sight, snickering.
Rarity didn’t miss the smile on her face, though. And what a smile it was.
The itch in Rarity’s chest grew into a giggle. A short titter. A very ladylike snicker, thank you very much. She pushed out the door and ambled towards the northern corner of the square. Ponies may not have seen it, but Rarity felt as if she’d grown wings and was walking on air.
On the far western corner of the square, Thunderlane thundered ahead like a torpedo. He passed between the numerous stalls with their miscellaneous wares and semi-authentic paraphernalia. His eyes roamed, searching, never landing on anything for longer than a second.
Up ahead, manning the Apples’ stall, were a hulking red stallion and a petite purple earth pony mare. When their latest customers, the couple of Lyra and Bon Bon, left with their apple tart and pie respectively, the mare nuzzled the stallion’s side. He laid a soft kiss on the top of her mane.
Thunderlane harrumphed.
A brief rustle came from in between a couple of houses. A flash of motion: a filly's tail vanishing underneath a hole in the fence. Thunderlane crept closer.
Moisture was building up in the air. He could smell it, and the closer he got, the stronger the scent became. Underneath the marching steps of countless townsponies behind him, Thunderlane thought he heard whispers. Once he was almost ear against the fence, he heard the pitter-patter of raindrops.
Thunderlane peered through a crack in the fenceposts. Something blacker than his own fur, with cotton-candy texture, was growing in the enclosed yard.
"It's too big!" a filly's whisper came through the increasing sound of downpour. "Make it stop!"
But despite the words, the raindrops didn’t cease. The raincloud only continued to grow and grow.
"We can't. Remember? You can't undo what's been said," another voice spoke.
Thunderlane bit his teeth together. Anger, stronger than his muscles and greater than his frame, was bubbling. Anger that'd been building up inside him day and night.
Where were these fillies' parents? Were they too busy having affairs too?
Thunderlane felt himself reach explosion-point when something yanked his tail. He wheeled around on his hooves and came close to headbutting his own brother, who was panting heavily and waving frantically in the direction of the northern well.
Beyond the northern corner of the square, a blonde-maned pegasus mare stopped by the old well and looked at her watch. She took in her surroundings, then glanced at her watch again, before finally settling herself down on the dirt.
She listened to the melancholic tunes wafting from the center of the square. Then the music cut out, and she was left in silent solitude.
The well was in the backyard of several houses, their facades facing away. There were no ponies there, no prying eyes or perked ears. Still, the mare held the cloth bag she had been carrying with tenderness. She laid it down behind the well as if fearing that Celestia herself would see it from the sun above. While doing so, she quickly peered inside and confirmed that the golden hoofband lined with platinum, the rarest metal in Equestria, was still in there and hadn’t grown limbs and galloped off. Knowing failed to make her any less anxious.
Her legs had begun to go numb by the time that Caramel came running into the enclosure. The stallion kicked up a mighty cloud of dust as he braked to a stop at her feet.
The young stallion was nothing short of aghast. His face was scrunched, and he was whimpering and gesticulating wildly. All she managed to understand from his chaotic hoof motions and choked whimpers was that he’d come back empty-hooved. She patted him on the shoulder. The special day wasn’t until tomorrow. She knew that if Caramel couldn’t take care of matters for her, Rarity would. She still had plenty of time to make sure that everything was perfect.
Plenty of time to rehearse her one question.
So caught up in her thoughts was she that she didn’t hear the hoofsteps until the pony was already within sight.
“Sassaflash.”
Sassaflash's anxiety tripled and then quadrupled. Her heart beat in such a flurry she was scared it would spring out of her ribcage and fly away. She looked up.
Thunderlane was standing at the mouth of the yard, his entire wingspan spread. He had such impressive pinions. So soft, and not the ticklish kind. They often lulled her to sleep at night. She checked off the corner of her eye that the bag was still well and out of sight. She then smiled at him.
But he didn’t smile back. It didn’t look like he was going to come closer either. He just stood there looking at her. It was eerily quiet, with the market hubbub being only a distant whoosh in her ears. It was quiet enough to hear his breathing tremble.
“Why?” he asked.
Sassaflash’s eyebrows furrowed. Only then did she realize Thunderlane’s eyes had not been aimed at her in the first place. She followed his gaze down to Caramel, who'd stopped whimpering, but who still clung to her hooves.
Her mouth dropped open. “This isn’t what it looks like!”
“Y-you!”
Sassaflash bolted upright. Caramel failed to hold onto her and stumbled. He cried out in pain as his head hit the well.
A vendor on the market square perked their ears.
Thunderlane babbled, starting to say something, but never finishing it beyond incoherent syllables. His eyes went from Caramel to practically anything that wasn’t her. Sassaflash could see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Her Thunderlane, crying.
“Thunderlane, I love you.”
A warmth, much more serene and calming than even the sun, pumped within her chest. It flowed in her veins, reaching down to her extremities. Even her feathers. “I’ve always loved you.”
“You lie!”
As quickly as it had come, the glow faded. Sassaflash closed her eyes as if she’d been struck. A bilious burning rose inside her, making her dizzy, and nauseated.
"I don't love you."
The nausea faded. But while she could feel the teardrops as they ran down her cheeks, she couldn't come up with a sensible reason why. Not a single reason, why she should be crying for the sake of the stallion standing before her.
On the northern end of the market square, Roseluck, the triplet least prone to fainting, had twitched her ears again. She dropped the bouquet she had been tying and galloped to the center of the square, where Octavia was miming something to a member of the Royal Guard.
Thunderland stared coldly down at Sassaflash. "So that's it, huh?"
Sassaflash remained silent.
"Not going to say anything? Well fine." His voice grew into an uncontrolled shout. "You can go die in a fire for all I care!"
The town fell silent. The townsponies' hoofsteps, the fillies with their games, the weeping Caramel, all quieted. Only the wind remained, swinging a nearby shop sign and making it squeak.
Ponies then came galloping in. They packed into the opening to the backyard.
“What?” Sassaflash asked, her face pale. She started blinking. Faster and faster. “Why would you say that?”
“I-I don’t—” Thunderlane's hoof was on his lips.
Sassaflash took a step. She wasn’t really walking—it was much closer to stumbling forward. As if her feet were asleep. The bag she’d been carrying was yanked along, and the golden hoofband within was sent flying out. The hoofband crashed into the stone wall of the well.
A few sparks shot out.
Sassaflash stopped. A spark had landed on her fetlock and pricked her where the hair was at its thickest. Shortly, that spark had grown into an ember. Then into a flame that overtook her whole ankle. Then it was up to her knee. Then on her other forehoof, when she’d tried to pat the flames down. She yelped and rolled on the ground but only managed to scratch herself on the dry gravel.
“Stop!” Sassaflash screamed.
The crowd was frozen still, but the flames only climbed higher. Her eyes happened upon Caramel, locked in fear. “Help me!”
Caramel stood up shakily. He rushed two steps forward before stopping tremulously. His head went around, never seeing anything. Once, the side of the well came up to his side and knocked the wind out of him. Next, he was hauling up a bucket as fast as his hooves allowed.
Thunderlane watched, rooted in place. His eyes followed, but nothing could get his body to move. The flames licked the sky, flickered like candlelight, and lapped at him. His eyes stung. Smoke drilled into his nostrils. Somewhere too far ahead of him, a stallion was stumbling with a bucket in his hooves, but it didn’t matter anyway because the well had dried from the heat.
Two words were leaving Thunderlane's lips. On repeat. Every time they came out, he felt more and more dead inside.
"I'm sorry."
Thunderlane blinked and realized he was looking at a mare made out of nothing but flames. Deep inside the pyre, the mare of blackest black stood, staring deep into his eyes. Her mouth was open. Just as it appeared she was going to say something, the mare closed her mouth without a word and collapsed on the ground, unmoving.
The next thing that Thunderlane realized, he was on the ground on his front. Something had slammed into him from behind. He tried to move, but any movement only served to put him in a more uncomfortable position under the hardened horseshoe.
A guard. And a mare pointing down at him. Roseluck, he distantly remembered. She must've heard him shout. He’d said…
Thunderlane had only enough time to take a deep breath before a hoof was stuck in his mouth. It tasted of dirt. He struggled and shouted, but the words came out muffled. The guard levitated a bottle of clear liquid into his vision. The outline of a crossed-out kirin was on the label. That was as much registered to Thunderlane before the hoof was replaced with the bottle, and he’d swallowed the contents to the last drop.
The hooves pinning him down released their hold. Thunderlane scrambled away, away, to lie at Sassaflash’s ashen hooves. He tried to speak, but no word, no sound, not even a wheeze, came out. His muzzle contorted in a noiseless scream.
Caramel, in a trancelike stumbling motion, trotted up to the onlooking guard. He pointed at the empty bottle. The guard winked with camaraderie and nodded at his saddlebags. Before the guard had a chance to stop him, Caramel had dived for the bags, wrestled a fresh bottle from the innards with animal-like fury, and downed its contents in one big gulp. He discarded the bottle, turned his back, and trotted away, ignorant of everything and everyone around him.
One by one, the present crowd dispersed. Only those who had a stall or chores left stayed. Before long, even they left. The only one who remained was Vinyl Scratch, left where she had been standing since the day she'd asked the world to make her a gilded statue of herself.
That night, when everypony set themselves to bed, there was only one thing on their mind:
In a world where friendship was magic, words were power.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading
