What's Left of the Present
The walk back to Opaline’s lair is the worst part of leaving.
And it’s not like the journey is dangerous—Opaline wouldn’t force Misty outside so often if it was. On a good day, Maretime Bay is well within trotting distance. But the only true way to return to the lair is through the long, winding path that hugs the edge of the adjacent valley like a too-close friend.
Perhaps it was nice, once. It must’ve been, for it to lead to a place so regal. That’s what Misty tells herself. But it’s hardly a path now. Cracks split the pavement and weeds grow freely from the spaces left behind. The farther away from the town she goes, the less remains, until all that’s left is a trail worn smooth by her hooves alone.
After all, she must be the only pony to use it for moons now. Opaline wouldn’t dare trot here; a fire alicorn like her knows better than that.
When the journey begins to drag and she starts to think too much, Misty often finds herself peering down at the valley below. She never looks for more than a moment—any more than that, and she starts to feel queasy. Sometimes, the wind whistles so fiercely through the untamed greenery that it sounds like a fearsome beast.
There’s also the matter of the cold.
Maretime Bay doesn’t get cold, and in all the years that Misty has been under Opaline’s care, she’s never seen snow. Hardly thought it was real, for a while. She knew of rain and she knew of ice but never did she think the two could join together and create… this.
If only the flurries that fell in circles from the sky didn’t tickle her muzzle so. The scarf Izzy gave her helps, a little. Misty presses her face deeper into it. The big sunglasses aren’t so bad to have, either. It had been Misty’s idea to disguise herself when she went into town—that way Sunny and her friends wouldn’t begin to suspect her constant presence—and Opaline agreed to the plan in a decidedly Opaline way.
“It’s like I told you before, Misty,” she had said, though maybe it would be better to say she had yelled it. Opaline had a habit of doing that, even when Misty was right at her side. Privately, she thinks Opaline just likes how her voice sounds as it bounces off the throne room’s tall ceiling. “I couldn't care less about what you do, so long as it brings us closer to that dragon.”
Misty goes a little stiff at the memory. To think, she had been so excited that Opaline had finally included her in the plans. Before, they were always about Opaline. About “me” or “mine” or “my.” Not “us.” Never “us.”
And now Misty had to go and let her down.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she reminds herself. Even in a whisper, the words sting.
She trudges along.
The visit wasn’t a total loss. Really, it had been the opposite—Misty bought a smoothie from Sunny with little fanfare. Hidden in a nearby bush, she’d even watched Sparky play on a swing set, and Hitch had been none the wiser. Nopony had noticed her at all, actually, until Izzy saw her tail sticking out from the greenery. But Izzy is the sort of pony that could notice anything, no matter how big or small. She was the one who pointed out Misty’s sunglasses were broken in the first place and offered to fix them.
Or, rather, demanded to fix them. Her exact words were, “That lens is gonna pop right out! I have some super sparkly glitter glue in my unicycling cart. Come with me!”
Interrogating Izzy hadn’t been on the docket for the day, but Misty was supposed to be gathering intel. Opaline wouldn’t care if Misty was out for longer than she was meant to be, so long as she returned in time to draw the nightly bubble bath. The sun was still firm in the sky. She would have plenty of time.
“Okay,” Misty had said. The smile Izzy gave her was so bright that Misty had to squint even with her sunglasses.
As Izzy dragged Misty over to her cart, fending off leaves and snow, she talked. Izzy does that. A lot. Sometimes, Misty’s sure she’s even got Opaline beat in how many words she can squeeze into a conversation. (And Misty’s transcribed many of Opaline’s reports. She would know.)
But maybe the difference between them was that Opaline only ever talked about herself. Izzy talked about anything. Like how the sky’s blue made her think of ice cream, but the sort of ice cream you only eat in the summer, and it wasn’t summer now, just winter, and how winter was the best because of Wishiehoof, but of course, Misty knew that already, since she was from Bridlewood, after all, duh, she’s a unicorn just like her, although if she wanted to, she could come to a holiday celebration—or maybe it’s called a get-together—that all the unicorns are having the very next night, with cakes and cookies and everything, it’ll be so much fun, you have to come, you just have to!
As Misty rounds the corner to the lair’s entrance, she plucks a twig from her mane, and frowns down at it.
She hadn’t told Izzy no. But she didn’t really say yes, either. Just thanked her for fixing the sunglasses—even if she questioned the amount of glitter on the frames—and promised she would try her very best to make it to the celebration.
That was as much as she could do. After all, it wouldn’t be Misty making the final call.
The door to the lair bursts open from the force of the gale. She rushes to close it as Opaline’s voice fills the chamber, like the dark grey of clouds before a storm.
“Back at last, are you? Shut the door. You know how I feel about the cold.”
“The weather’s getting real bad,” Misty says. She pats off a few stray snowflakes from her scarf. “The path was all covered up. I-I almost thought I wouldn’t ever make it here. You never said it could snow in Maretime Bay.”
Opaline looks Misty over. She would seem more regal in her chair if she had a crown, Misty thinks. Or a face less inclined to a scowl. All Opaline’s doing is staring at Misty and it makes her want to run away.
“Well, you’re standing in front of me now so it couldn’t have been that awful,” Opaline muses. She’s about to turn away when she pauses. Regards Misty coolly. Then her idle gaze becomes scrutiny. “Why are you wearing those glasses?”
“For my disguise. You know, so nopony knows who I am, and everything.” Mostly, Misty thinks.
“Why does it have those—things on it?”
“Oh, the spar—I mean, um, the glitter?” (Opaline gets angry when she hears the ‘s’ word.) “It’s glitter. Izzy likes it, a lot. She said that she bedazzled it.”
Opaline keeps staring at her. “What is the purpose? Of ‘bedazzling’?”
“To look nice.”
“Where did you get them?”
“W-well, the sunglasses were broken. But not anymore! See, the lens on the right eye was kinda weird and if you pushed on it, it’d pop out which probably wasn’t at all a good thing, and I knew you wanted me to look into unicorn magic, so I wanted to go into town to get them fixed. With glitter. At Izzy Does It.”
“Did Izzy do it?” Opaline drawls, but the way her lip curls almost makes it sound like she’s joking.
Misty pauses. “No,” she says carefully, “oh, no, that’s just the name. Of the place. It’s a store, but not really a store? It’s on wheels, and it’s actually really cool—”
“Just give them here.”
Misty can’t get the glasses off her face fast enough. Opaline takes them, inspects them, checks the lenses and the frames they’re housed inside of, and sets them aside. Primly, she asks, “Anything else of note?”
“I don’t think anypony else was expecting it to be so cold out. I saw some ponies wearing—what are the sorts of boots you wear in the rain?”
Opaline arches a perfectly shaped brow. “Rain boots?” she says.
“Yeah, yeah, those!” Misty says. “Some ponies were wearing rain boots. I really think none of them know what to do, when it’s snowing. I mean, I didn’t know. I bought a smoothie from Sunny—but with a different order than usual so she wouldn’t think it was me—which maybe wasn’t the best decision because it made my mouth all cold. But then I got this scarf from Izzy. It’s so warm I thought she’d made it with magic. And she even…”
Asked me if I wanted to go with her to a holiday celebration or get-together or whatever it’s called when you group up with your friends without an ulterior motive of stealing one of those friends’ baby dragon.
You know, the way how normal ponies hang out with each other.
Mentally, Misty berates herself. No, she thinks. Opaline would never let me go to something like that. Stupid. Maybe if I told her—
“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. Your words are even more worthless when they’re just sitting in your mouth.”
“R-right. Of course, Opaline. You know the ponies we’ve been watching?”
Opaline stops inspecting the shine of her hooves to glower instead. “Too well,” she mutters. “What about them? Have you gotten any closer to catching that dragon?”
And there it is, Misty thinks. Disappointment curdles like milk in her stomach.
“No,” she replies softly. “N-not really.”
Opaline’s expression does not change. Somehow, that only serves to frighten Misty. The thought of letting her down even more so.
Because a celebration sounds frivolous. A get-together sounds forced. But if Misty were to frame it in a way that Opaline couldn’t refuse…
It’s not infallible, but it’s still a line, and Misty seizes it.
“I-I could be!” she says, and Opaline looks at her, expectantly. “Closer to getting Sparky? My—”
Friend, she thinks. Your friend.
But Misty can’t have friends. She’s not allowed. With a swallow, she corrects herself. “The pony I’ve been watching after. Izzy?”
“The unicorn?” Opaline seems bored. But bored is better than upset, so Misty goes on.
“Yes,” she says. “She’s the one who runs the shop, that I’d stopped at, and everything. A-and she invited me to a holiday celebration. Get-together. That kinda thing. It’s tomorrow night. If I could go? With her? I bet I could get a whole lot more information on them and their magic. Sunny would be there. All of them would.”
“And the dragon?”
“Well, Hitch is sorta like his dad, and Spa—or, um, the dragon, he’s just a baby, and I know Hitch wouldn’t want to leave his baby alone. But it would be such a good opportunity. For intel. And knowledge. Don’t you think?”
Opaline sniffs. “Seems closer to a distraction,” she says. “After all, in order to infiltrate a celebration, one must celebrate. I’ve not yet trained you on that. Barely started my thesis.”
“But it’s not infiltrating. I was invited. They asked me to come.” After a moment, Misty adds, to sweeten the deal, “Their guards would all be down, too. Since it’s supposed to be a fun thing. They wouldn’t suspect me at all.”
“No, they probably wouldn’t. They’re hardly the brightest ponies.”
Misty thinks about Izzy’s blinding smile. How happy she’d been when Misty said she might come. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, because it’s better to agree with Opaline even when she’s wrong. “But you’ll let me go?”
“I’ll think it over.” With a flourish, Opaline turns away. “Now, back to your room. I have scheming to do, and I can’t have you interrupting me in my scheming.”
It’s hardly the worst goodbye Opaline’s given her. But it’s not really the best, either. As Misty retreats to the stairs, under her breath, she says, “Frostyshivers to you, too.”
Izzy had introduced her to that. Misty hadn’t gotten it, at first—still doesn’t, if she’s being honest—but it’s a traditional Bridlewood unicorn phrase. And she has to learn all she can about unicorns. Since she is one, and all. It’s not like Opaline is a beacon of knowledge on the subject.
Misty’s just reached the second landing when Opaline’s voice rises up from the throne room, steeped in irritation.
“Did you leave a window open? I told you to use the door, Misty. You live here. You’re guaranteed that much.”
Misty frowns, peering down at Opaline, who glares back. Misty shrinks away from the banister. “What?”
“Don’t give me that. Close it at once.”
“Close—what?”
“That window,” Opaline drawls. “Obviously. What else?”
Misty’s brow pinches together. “But I didn’t come through the window,” she says slowly. “I went through the door. You were there. You saw me?”
“Then how do you mean to explain that—rush of freezing air just now? I only felt it after you arrived, so it has to have been you. You’re the only pony who’s left all day.”
“Maybe there’s a crack in one of the windows?” Misty offers. But she regrets suggesting it as soon as the words have left her mouth, for Opaline’s eyes light up.
“Ah, that must be it. I retract my previous words; don’t go to your room. Instead, I want you to check every window in the castle. Make sure there’s no cracks and that they close properly. Clean them, too.”
The nice thing about living with Opaline is that it gets easier to hide your disappointment, the longer you’re with her. So Misty holds her tongue and just tries to give Opaline a smile, but she’s already engrossed herself in her evil documents.
Another nice thing about living with Opaline is that Misty has her schedule memorized. For the rest of the afternoon, Misty meticulously inspects each window. Sometimes she breathes on the chilled glass and draws funny shapes, just because she knows Opaline won’t see her. (Right now, she’s… probably still downstairs plotting. That seems to take up most of her time these days.) Misty even practices being at the party. Puts on a big grin, and waves her hoof the way that Opaline does, all pleasantry.
“Frostyshivers to you, too,” Misty tells her reflection. “Oh, hello! Frostyshivers! What a great Wishieday we’re having, am I right? Wishtime? Frostyshivers!”
She completes the rest of her chores in a similar fashion. Sweep the floor, clean the tiaras, alphabetize Opaline’s memoirs, try and talk like a unicorn, continue to check the state of the windows. All very standard fare. Upon Opaline’s insistence, Misty triple-checks the windows, but none of them are broken. They all close properly, too. Not that it matters much—as night replaces day, the lair seems to get even colder, and Opaline’s mood sours in tandem. She bemoans the lukewarm temperature of her daily bath, an activity she always looks forward to. When Misty tentatively dips her hoof inside the tub, the water is boiling hot.
“You have got to learn a thing or two about drawing a proper bath,” Opaline snaps as Misty sticks her hoof out the window, trying to alleviate the heat. Opaline sinks deeper into the tub, grumbling. “There’s not nearly as many bubbles as there should be.”
Still, Misty tries to push through it. The work is tedious—it always is—but this time, she has something to look forward to. Every time she catches a glimpse of herself in the polished glass, wearing Izzy’s beautiful scarf, she feels warm from the tip of her horn all the way down to her hooves.
And that warmth lasts well into the next day; even as she polishes the tile and organizes the library and checks the windows a fourth time, Misty feels… excited.
It’s new. She likes it.
“Frostyshivers,” she whispers to herself, like a mantra. “Frostyshivers.”
When she descends the stairs, she’s not exactly a character from the pony tale books, but it’s as close as she can get. Opaline reclines on her throne, reading a rather large book. She doesn’t look up when Misty enters and doesn’t look up as she crosses to the door. It is only when her hoof grazes the ornate handle that Opaline speaks.
“What are you doing?”
Nervously, Misty adjusts both her scarf and her smile as she turns to face Opaline. “Going out,” she answers. “To the celebration. The holiday one. For intel. About the dragon. And the ponies. The ones we’ve been watching, and all. It starts soon. Don’t you remember? I told you about it.”
“I do,” Opaline replies, flipping a page in her book, “but I’ve changed my mind. You’ll be staying here tonight.”
Misty’s mouth opens, closes. The scarf feels tighter than it did a moment ago. Not quite as comforting. When she finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “What?”
“You’re to stay in and fix the windows. You know where the supplies are. Get to it.” And Opaline does the sort of movement with her hoof that one might use to shoo off a buzzing insect. Misty’s familiar with this one. Normally, it’s enough to send her scurrying away, but this time, Misty doesn’t.
She stands, stock still, one hoof hovering above the handle. It’s like the blistering wind outside has crept into the chamber, leaving her a frozen statue. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest.
“Has the weather ruined your hearing, too?” Opaline asks. “I said—”
“I heard you,” Misty says. “I guess I just don’t understand?”
Huffing, Opaline sets her book to the side. “Evidently not,” she says. She pitches her voice up in the sort of voice used to speak to a foal. “I, Opaline, want you, Misty, to remain here and fix the windows. I don’t care how many other times you’ve checked them, because I don’t believe you every time. They must be broken. It’s cold in here. I’m cold. Do you know the kind of message it sends, being a fire alicorn with a frigid castle? A contradictory one. And I won’t have that on my hooves.”
“You told me that you’d think about it.” Misty doesn’t mean for the words to slip out, but they do. Eyes wide, she pulls Izzy’s scarf up until it reaches her cheeks. It’s futile.
“Think about what? That silly holiday get-together?” Opaline laughs. “I already have. And I don’t want you to attend. Your obligations to me are more important.”
“But my friends are expecting me.” Now that she’s started talking, Misty can’t stop herself. Tears prick at her eyes. “If I don’t go, they might think that something happened. Something bad. A-and I won’t be able to get any information, about them or the dragon. Not when I’m stuck here.”
Opaline just scoffs. “Why do you care what those ponies think? I’m sure they’ve forgotten they even invited you. And you can get plenty of information here. Like how to fix those cursed windows.” She lets out another laugh, like she’s told a funny joke, and makes to retrieve her book.
“But you told me—” Misty’s voice cracks, right down the middle, but she tries to go on. “Opaline, you promised that I—”
“Oh, did I, now?” Opaline snaps back. In an instant, she flings the book down on the floor. Misty flinches away. “Did I ever promise? Did I ever tell you yes? Or did you just spend the day picking out the words of mine you wanted to hear and left the ones you didn’t on the plate? Of all the things to wear, pride is hardly a good look on you. And neither is that scarf.”
Something in between a yelp and a cry gets caught in Misty’s throat as Izzy’s gift is pulled from her neck. Wrapped in Opaline’s enchanted flames, the hoofmade scarf looks like it’s burning.
Misty scrambles to reach it, but Opaline has more magic than she ever will and the floor is so slick it shines. She has only just lunged for the scarf before she’s already slipped, her body landing hard on the polished tile.
“You said that unicorn gave this to you?”
It’s always scarier to look up at Opaline. She is stroking the scarf, as if deep in thought. In her grasp, the gift just looks wrong.
Misty’s back hooves throb where she fell on them. She swallows thickly. “Her name is Izzy.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you.”
“I-it was a present. You can’t—”
Opaline is nowhere near her full power. Misty knows this, because she never stops complaining about it. But you don’t have to be at your full power to light a fire, and the scarf is set ablaze in an instant.
Ordinarily, the smoke would make Misty’s eyes water. Now, it doesn’t matter—her face is already wet, shoulders hitching with sobs. How long did it take to knit? An hour? A day? A week? The fire unravels Izzy’s hard work in what feels like no time at all, as Opaline’s magic continues to eat away at the material. She watches it, reverent.
“Friendship, attachment. Celebration, distraction. No matter which way you put it, neither is of any use to a pony like you, Misty. Not when you’ve got a job to do.”
“I know.” It comes out plaintive and quiet. “I’ll do better next time.”
Opaline may hate the cold, but her gaze isn’t all that different from it—icy and awful. “Yes, I think you will,” she says sweetly. “Now, be a dear and start up a fire, will you? Something to combat this horrid weather.” Her eyes scrape up and down Misty’s form. “Because you won’t get to go to that party, I suppose it’s only right to do you a kindness, this time. How’s this—I don’t even think you’ll have to go out and collect kindling.”
Misty rubs at her eyes, not daring to hope. “I-I won’t?”
“Oh, of course not. Why would you need to?”
Suddenly, there’s a weight on Misty’s shoulders. But it’s not Opaline. It’s something else—something soft and familiar. Something warm.
If the yarn wasn’t singed black, it could have been a comforting gesture.
But Misty knows better.
Still, that doesn’t stop her from clutching the ruined scarf tight as Opaline tucks a curl behind her ear and murmurs, “You already have plenty.”
Author's Note
You know how the Marestream was made with six seats, not five, even though it would've made more sense for it to not have that extra seat? You know how Izzy had two—not one—pre-made ornaments for the Wishing Tree, "just in case" she lost a game of charades, even though normally those decorations are hung in pairs? You know how the unicorns said hello and goodbye during the holidays using a spell so ancient they didn't even know it was one? I know. And it makes me sad.
