Quiet.
This was how I enjoyed things - and particularly, why I chose to toil away during the late hours of the evening, rather than place myself at the mercy of the damned sun; the night was serene, calm… tranquil. The chattering and raucous banter of thousands of ponies grated on me so, I had found in my first few months since the…
Well, the incident.
Instead, I had found my solace in quieter hours, when the moon hung high upon the starlit horizon, vast and candescent - almost akin to the glimmer of my city long since gone in the tundra twilight. It was these times which invited greater peace to my world; the ruckus of the outside world calming to the manageable din of perhaps a few hundred, content merely to enjoy the nightlife of this strange, new Canterlot. While I'd understood that, upon my return, things would have changed, I could never have imagined what I returned to; the churning of industry and innovation of magick breeding advancement beyond the wildest dreams of the scholar I once was.
And so I had found myself behind the counter of a quaint country club within the city's underbelly, far away from the gaze of the Solar Tyrant, and her damnable garden prison. My gaze panned about the building's confines, studying my newfound domain for what may have, perhaps, been the thousandth time yet. The soft clinking of glasses following the low murmurs of toast from my usual patrons, Rosey and Posey - a pair of cloyingly cheerful pegasi, students of some sort from what I'd come to understand, native to the academic institution that the tyrant had oh so carefully curated over the years. The gentle whirring of the ceiling fans provided a lovely drone to break the monotony of the jukebox in the far corner, which blared some grating ditty of a decidedly plebeian disposition- the twang of a guitar's string accompanying the southern voice's chorus, singing of apples, and family, and… you know the sort. Oaken tables, mostly empty of course at this hour, were arranged haphazardly across the room, a small grin stretching across my maw as I keenly observed something I took great pride in; all was clean, and all was immaculately kept. In times of ages long since gone, I'd have had my servantry attend to such an affair.
A sigh escaped me. Oh, how I missed those days.
It was unfortunate, then, that I found my reverie shattered in an instant by the rambunctious call of a crimson-maned mare, my head sharply snapping in their direction as they spoke; "Hey, Onyx! Can we get another two ciders? You can just… just put it on our tab!" Rosey barked out, raising an empty glass high, all that yet remained within being the froth of a consumed beverage - the alcohol staining her dandelion coat, and my floor, much to my frustration.
"If you can keep it in the glass, Miss Rosey, then I would be happy to." The words left my muzzle in some low drawl, a hint of anger laced 'twixt the cadence of a dry utterance. It was, naturally, my only choice to take on a fake name - for in this strange, modern age, I was now Onyx Heart, a normal unicorn, born to normal parents, who lived a normal life. Was it a new low for he who had once been king? Absolutely. But it was, unfortunately, a necessity; the guise of subterfuge was far more potent armor than any I had donned prior. And so, with a huff, I turned about in my stool - my horn igniting with a magickal confluence of scarlet ribbons, eliciting a further two bottles from the counter just out of reach.
I had, perhaps, grown a touch lazy in this new life of mine… though I had found it more effective in culling the flashes of remembrance I experienced - to live in the moment, rather than indulge in every little scheme my restored mind could concoct. At least, that is what I could divine from what the lovely stallion at the clinic told me, when I first visited his establishment. A ther-a-pist, I believe his profession is titled; a strange name, even for a doctor of the mind. But harkening to the few lucid years of my reign, I took my mother's advice. Always listen to the doctors.
While I occupied myself with my thoughts, my ear would gently flick as the bell of the door chimed, announcing the arrival of a new customer- though I scarcely noticed it, as the domestic sorcery I wove delivered the ciders to the pair at the corner of the club. Posey bore an inverted color scheme, compared to her sister; and indeed, a demeanor opposite of what one might expect from a sibling of the cantankerous elder. Studious, she kept her gaze trained upon the screen of the curious device she had with her at all times, her hooves tapping away at keys upon a board as her wingtips curled about the neck of the bottle, her teeth yanking the cap off in a cringe-worthy display as it was spat to the side - a hefty swig following the action. It pained me to imagine what troubles she put her dentist through with that behavior.
"Will that be all, you two?" I asked softly, my hooves crossed courteously on the countertop as I watched them indulge in their final vice. They were, if nothing else, creatures of habit; they came in every weekend, Rosey would rant and rave and prattle on about the latest goings-on — who exactly was in bed with who, the gossip of the day, whatever came to her mind. Posey would quietly work and listen, nodding her head as she ignored the vain attempts of the school colts to win her affections when they came around, to no avail considering her particular tastes. That was another thing that took adjusting to, in this era. In days of yore, mare wed stallion to bolster the dwindling populace, and anything else was taken as near-treason. Now? Not so much.
That love could flourish so freely in this strange new Equus inspired some satisfaction in my stoney heart, at the very least. That even the lowliest commoner had the freedom to love at their own discretion, to dine upon a dinner every night that would've made even the Crystale Peerage green with envy, was no small achievement. The Solar Tyrant had that much to be proud of.
"Yes, Onyx. Though, I've a teensy little favor to ask… those roses, the ones you always wear in your jacket- could I er… have one? There's just this mare, and we've been talking, a-and-" Posey trailed off into stammers and stutters, her sister's chortles growing louder by the second. I thought it best, for Posey's sake, to intervene.
"Of course, Miss Posey. I'll have the florists deliver a bouquet. I trust your place of residence has not yet changed?" The shake of her head in silent, appreciative confirmation was all I needed to see in order to consider the matter settled. The shifting of a bar stool, further down the counter, swiftly brought my attention back to the present. It seems my customer had finally chosen their seat.
She was an odd one, to be certain. Blue, predominantly, clad in a simplistic gray hoodie reminiscent of the great cloaks of eld. An average sized pegasus, though small compared to myself, her mane a subdued shade of azure while her coat seemed a faintly darker blue. The most striking thing about her was her eyes; like a pastel sapphire, glimmering in the light like a jewel set into the socket of a far more enticing piece of art. Everything about her state of dress screamed commoner, yet the underlying hints of a finer heritage remained - hooves trimmed immaculately, and not a hair out of place upon her velvet, silken coat. An unassuming mystery shrouded in an enigma, a puzzle which practically begged to be solved. The distinct fragrance of lilac and moonberries clung to her like miasma, present yet not overwhelmingly so. Upon her flanks rested a curious Cutie-Mark; a Dreamcatcher. A Zebrican invention, one I remembered the novelty of from the days of its first inception by the shamans of the great tribes, said to ensnare nightmares and ill omens.
Curious and curiouser… I thought, making my way over to the mare with a customary dip of my head in greetings.
“Fancy a drink, Miss…?” My voice trailed off as my horn ignited once more, a brow lofting in the direction of the smaller mare as the cabinet which held my establishment’s finer spirits was opened.
She seemed almost startled to hear my voice, deep and baritone as it was. A look of deja vu very briefly swept across her countenance as she looked to me in a state of confusion, ‘fore it vanished as swiftly as it came. Decidedly meek of disposition. “Oh, erm… Dreamy Night. Yes, if you could? Wine, if you have it. I prefer red, though if-” She found herself cut off as one such vintage was plucked from the cabinet shelves, alongside a wine glass. It was a unique vintage, though from what my employer had described, it was still well-enjoyed among the elite and the commons alike in this age. Selene Sauvignon, a grape native to the old Thestral colonies of the Shades, which grew only by the light of the moon. An artisanal fruit in nature, it often lent the wines it fermented a distinct shade of blue as opposed to crimson; a beloved classic, even among the Old Empire’s finest, and one I was quite partial to myself when circumstances permitted. Her face lit up with delight as her glass was filled, a hoof swiftly coiling about the glass’s base to lift it to her nose, the mystery mare taking a deep inhale of the scent. An action clearly taken with little care to the guise she put on, the thought came unbidden to my mind.
A chuckle erupted from the back of my throat, a hoof rising to cover the uninvited smirk upon my face. “Onyx Heart, though most of my patrons settle for ‘Onyx.’ ‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Night.” My voice took on a courtly cadence, refined, yet I found it was not quite… forced, as it often was. A peculiarity, for normally I did not find myself nearly so willfully pleasant with other ponies. “What brings you to this quaint little establishment, so far from the upper city? I do not normally find myself host to anypony of… distinction, such as yourself.”
Like a frightened doe looking down the bolt-groove of a crossbow, she blanched at my words. Almost as if embarrassed, caught in the act. Those sapphire hues frantically glanced about the room, though Rosey and Posey had since departed, leaving the club to only the two of us. “Was I that obvious?” A nervous laugh escaped her, drowned soon by the vintage in her glass.
“The Draconequus is in the details, my dear. Your appearance is not one of a street pony; too fine, too unblemished. You can dress a swan, beautiful and graceful, in a dull pigeon’s feathers… but in the end, is it not still a swan?” I mused thoughtfully as I retrieved a glass from beneath the counter, and poured myself a generous portion of the fine wine, ‘fore it was stowed away once more.
The ruby flush which drew across her cheeks was a sight to behold, and perhaps were I less hospitable, I’d have pressed the matter. Her features scrunched as she took another sip, grumbling under her breath inaudibly. “We- I thought it best to… get some fresh air, as it were. An incident occurred, and it did not feel as if my presence was desired.” The faintness of a haughty tone crept into her words, yet it was visibly restrained, a casual air assumed given her current locale. As if it took effort for her to talk as a commoner would. “Tell me, Onyx Heart… has anypony ever treated you like you were a monster, even despite your best efforts to prove otherwise?”
I flinched as if struck by a hammer. Uncomfortable memories bubbled in the back of my mind, akin to a cauldron of boiling oil which hissed and sputtered in ill-restrained disdain. The pained cry of a pickpocket in a bloodstained back alley. The horrified looks of the royal family when my efforts had been uncovered. The outrage of twin princesses who could not comprehend the price I had paid for the survival of the Empire. The mounting horror of what I had become in my pursuit for victory. I hid my scowl, faint though it was, in my glass until it faded, drowned in wine and the loosening inhibition of the spirit. “Many times, all of them unpleasant encounters. Sin stains deeply, and not many are keen to forget one’s wrongs so easily.”
She nodded, her head dipping lightly with the motion. A look of mutual understanding was exchanged between us, as if for one brief moment, the burden and pain was shared across our shoulders. “I thought as much… I’d thought it a chance to show my quality, that things are not as they once were. That I had changed! But still, in the face of all the good I’ve done, it means nothing to them- nothing in the face of what was…” The mare trailed off, her eyes lidding shut as remnant tears threatened to trail down her cheeks - her expression twisted, a deep and shaky exhale leaving her mouth as she tried to contain the emotions bubbling and coming to the surface; a uniquely maintained stoicism, though the mask had already shattered under the dim, gentle light of the room.
Her eyes shot open in muted shock as she felt me push her drink closer- as if she could scarcely comprehend the gesture, or the saddened smile which formed upon my lips as I looked into my own glass. “What matter is it, if they choose not to acknowledge what you’ve accomplished?” I asked, and for that moment, my voice took on a rare tone of utter sincerity. “It does not change the fact that you have changed, nor does it lessen your struggles, does it? Let them judge as they will; it is the folly of lesser ponies to spurn that which they wish they could be.”
A frown crossed her lips at that, balefully staring into the midnight-blue spirit which swirled about the fluted glass. “... But that does not make up for the things that We- that I have done. Not in their eyes.”
“Nor will it.” She looked at me with some faint curiosity as I spoke, confused as if I’d disproven my own point. “The past is the past, the only one who could change that has long since died. If you’ve paid your penance… then I’m afraid, my dear, that there will remain those who refuse to give up their prejudice.” I rumbled out, my shoulders shrugging as I did so. I lofted a brow at her, patiently awaiting her reply; though it took a few moments to arrive as she stared at me, dumbfounded.
“Then… What is the point of it all? The tears, the nightmares, the deeds undertaken to repent?” She asked desperately, her eyes brimming with tears and her lip trembling… A trick of the mind, mayhaps, but I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fracture in the air around her, as if the light were refracting around her. “Is there no forgiveness to be had at the end of the road?! Am I to just… suffer until the end of days for what I’d done?!” The mare bellowed out, sweeping aside my ash-tray in a furious motion, her other hoof occupied with trying to wipe away the tears.
My hoof fell upon hers, a handkerchief wreathed in crimson drifting o’er to gently wipe her eyes dry. It was… odd, how I felt in that moment. Tender, as best can be described. Gentle as a goose’s feather, every action taken with frightening sincerity and warmth. I did not enjoy remembering when first I’d felt such things. “Grief is a wound, dear, as it was explained to me once by a princess in my younger years. At first, it shall gape and fester, but eventually… it shall scar; the dregs of pain left in the aching of the old wounds.” A hoof absent-mindedly drifted to my chest at that, a frown creeping across my maw as I recalled the blow which nearly cleaved me in twain. A deserved strike, weregild for my own offenses. “It is a part of us as much as any other, in the end. It is the acceptance of what was done that aids in healing; we live with it, and such is just the way the wind blows.”
The midnight mare continued to gulp down her wine, as if attempting to suffocate the sorrow in a haze of alcohol, though if it succeeded at all was something I remained ignorant of. She half-heartedly shambled off her stool, head hung low as a weary exhale left her lips. “A wound to which there is no remedy; an elating notion…” She reached the door, lifting a hoof to push it open and exit into the quiet streets outside, the Witching Hour chitterings of the populace an almost suitable replacement for cricket-song. She let out a depressed sigh, turning to leave her glass next to the door, only to blink as I’d reached her; my scarf coiling about the neck of the blazer I’d dressed in for the night, a set of keys jingling within my saddlebags. “... What?”
I chortled, pivoting about to lock the building for the night. “You put words in my mouth, Miss Night… the remedy is camaraderie. Tender moments shared ‘tween kith and kin, the warmth of a hearth shared with many.” I turned to look at her, a small grin parting my lips as I offered my hoof. “The night is young, Miss Night. Shall we?”
Hesitantly, she looked between my smiling face and my outstretched hoof, before the faint ghost of a smirk made itself apparent upon her countenance. She took my hoof in her own. “I… I think I’d like that.”
That night, we took in much of what Canterlot had to offer. We explored. We danced. We laughed. We smiled.
And I’d like to believe we both remembered what it was like to love, by the end of things.
Author's Note
My first time writing MLP fanfiction in many years, but I'd had this one stewing in the back of my mind for quite a while, and figured it'd be a disservice not to see how folks took to it. Depending on reception, might even be tempted to write a sequel story to it.
