Jasmine Leaf snuggled up into the covers, seeking the warmth that radiated from them. Her limbs were entangled with another pony's, one familiar to her, one she didn't want to ever separate from. Jasmine pulled the other mare closer. She felt how her muzzle dove into the other's coat, how the fur tickled her nose. It was as if she were nuzzling a cloud; a cloud made of sweet, sugary confections.
It felt like a dream. Here, Jasmine felt like she was where she belonged: Eternally in her beloved's embrace. Basking in each other’s warmth, doting each other's brows in tender pecks, filling each other's ears with soft, playful giggles.
Jasmine opened her eyes, finding the visage of her lover before her. She smiled and craned her head in, bumping her nose to Biscuit’s in a tender, soft eskimo kiss that caused their muzzles to scrunch and wrinkle slightly.
Her legs tangled with Biscuit’s, each other holding the other one close and dear. They shuffled under the covers as if trying to bring themselves closer, entangling fore and hind legs in a hold neither of them wanted to let go of.
Biscuit smiled, and so did Jasmine. They both sighed happily, looking into each other’s eyes.
“I love you,” said Biscuit, brushing a hoof across Jasmine’s mane.
“I love you too,” replied Jasmine, running a hoof down her lover’s side.
They both closed their eyes and pressed their foreheads against one another, Biscuit being mindful of her horn as they nuzzled and embraced each other.
Jasmine woke up from her dream and stretched, feeling the emptiness of her bed and the lack of her lover’s touch. Sighing, Jasmine scooted up to the edge of the bed and sat on it for a moment, looking back at the empty side of the bed before getting up to start her day.
Bathroom, shower, brush teeth, groom mane and coat, eat breakfast, go. This was a routine that Jasmine had memorised and perfected through the years. Only now it was different because she was doing it again by herself. A year in she still wasn’t used to the new monotony. During the first few months after the funeral, the dreams came in daily, then weekly, now they were monthly, sometimes twice a week if she was feeling particularly nostalgic. She didn’t hate them, quite the opposite, in fact. But sometimes she wished that they stopped coming. A mare like Sweet Biscuit was hard to forget.
How could you ever move on from the love of your life?
As she flipped the pancakes she was preparing, she shook her head at herself. She felt guilty for wanting to forget Biscuit sometimes, but the dreams were sometimes unbearable—they were too real. It always felt like Biscuit was really there, talking to her atop of the hill, sharing biscuits over tea, chatting while lounging on the couch. Every dream mirrored a moment of their lives and every time Jasmine woke up she felt a little less like herself.
It was hard, walking around Ponyville in the bright morning sun, the usually merry and bubbly tea pony no longer smiled like before. She returned the waves and smiles of her fellow ponies and friends, but while before she’d do so cheerfully and gladly, now she did it just not to be rude.
Nopony could blame her. Their separation had been untimely and grieving is a process that’s different for everypony. Time heals all wounds, they say.
Jasmine firmly believed that the gash in her heart would bleed until the day she died.
Rattling with her keys and unlocking the door to her shop, she sighed out softly as she, once again, walked into the very place with everything to remind her of her departed beloved.
Tea boxes lined up the walls of one side of the shop, boxes of biscuits lined up the other, carefully tested through years of taste-testing to be perfectly paired with each other, with multiple options for those who wanted to try something different or just follow personal preference.
Walking over to the counter, Jasmine saw the teacup she had had on it for a year today. “Hello, Biscuit,” she said as she got behind the counter and fetched her apron, wrapping it around herself. “I slept okay, I had another dream about you.” Jasmine retold the dream with a palpable bittersweetness in her voice. “It was really nice.”
Jasmine sighed and shook her head slightly before checking the register, counting the bits inside and then glancing over at the tea sets lining up the third wall. She pondered for a moment on replacing the teacup on her counter with a new one. It was old, faded and slightly cracked. But it was Biscuit’s, it reminded her of Biscuit, so she decided not to. Taking a deep breath she nodded her head and headed over to the front door, flipping over the door’s sign to ‘We’re open!’ and readied herself for yet another day of work.
Truth be told, being a tea seller isn’t all that exciting, you sell the eventual tea set, but as expected, most ponies just visit the shop to get their tea and then get out. Especially nowadays with talks of Jasmine, ‘the pony who talks to the teacup’.
The pony who talks to the teacup.
Talking to the teacup during downtimes—sometimes even during a high traffic rush—was normal for Jasmine. She could often be found retelling the teacup of her dreams, mostly. Sometimes she could be heard telling the teacup what she did on the weekends, what she found or saw at the store, the walks she went on; when she went on them.
Whenever the store was empty, or Jasmine talked to Biscuit.
Mourning and grieving weren’t the same for everypony, so nopony gave Jasmine a hard time for it, but they worried all the same. She assured them that she was fine, that it will take time, just time, to get over it. It was all she could say or do, to wait for time to close this wound that had been left in her heart, draining her little by little of that which she needed to live.
Flipping the sign to ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’, Jasmine let out a sigh of relief after locking the door. “You know,” she said softly to the empty shop, “sometimes it’s like I can still hear you, Biscuit.” Jasmine trotted over to the kettle and poured herself some hibiscus tea and then poured some for Biscuit. She took a seat behind the counter and made herself comfortable before taking her teacup in her hooves for a sip. “I know it’s not you, it’s impossible, but… I can’t help it, I guess, I really wish you were still here,” she said, choking up on the words.
Looking into her tea, Jasmine saw her reflection in the beverage, tears were welling in the corner of her eyes and her throat was tightening. “I wish you were still here,” she sobbed. “It’s hard, Biscuit, it’s really hard to carry on without you, I—I don’t know what to do without you.” Turning her attention to the teacup on the counter, Jasmine set hers down and pressed on. “I just… I don’t want to go on without you anymore, Biscuit, I miss you too much.” Jasmine reached a hoof towards the other teacup, figuring that since it belonged to her beloved, it would somehow translate into the feeling of holding her hoof even after all this time.
Jasmine didn’t take into consideration the tears clogging up her vision and the shakiness of her hoof as she moved.
She bumped the teacup sooner than she expected to and knocked it over, spilling some of its content onto the floor behind the counter. “Shoot!” She jumped off her seat and wiped her eyes hastily. “Thank Celestia you didn’t break, I don’t know what I would have done if…” Cutting herself off, Jasmine made her way over to the supply closet, retrieving a bucket of water and a mop to clean the spilt tea.
Upon returning to the counter she gasped in surprise, dropping her supplies to the floor.
On the floor was a splash, a stain of tea formed seeping in on the wooden floor in the shape of a heart.
Not believing her eyes, Jasmine rubbed them firmly with a hoof and took another look; the heart was still there. She blinked a few times and took tentative steps closer for a better look and sure enough, a heart had formed from the tea she spilt while talking to Biscuit.
It was then that Jasmine knew that everything would be okay; for her lover may be gone, but she wasn’t alone.
