"The Mare in The Moon... Are you watching?"
The lone figure raised her forelegs to the night sky. A mad pained smile was distorting her muzzle.
"Are you witnessing me?"
Now she
Teeter-tottering,
Tinkering, tampering,
a wicked mare with a fiendish glare.
A forlorn recluse, planning a devious ruse.
All who live in Hoovesville heard of her.
How she
Plotting, beguiling,
Building, devising,
Roaming, nickering,
Thieving and bickering,
that churned and crooked vile hag!
"despicable crone!"⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"haughty old bat!"
Nopony likes her, no one calls to play.
All would breathe easy if she goes away.
But she
Lingering, lumbering,
Seething and slandering,
Preying and prying,
Creepily crawling,
Hacking and hewing away in her shed,
Plotting for everyone an odd cruel end.
SO
When the Moon rises high, and the Mare casts a glare,
If smart ponies hear her, they remain in their bed,
Or she'd steal them away in her shabby, dark shed.
Just as
she took
a trinket from the shelf,
a page from a diary,
a lock of hair,
a rusted horseshoe,
a small stuffed toy,
a shriveled rose,
even a slice of raspberry pie!
She's like a magpie!
That's what she puts in her greasy, torn bag
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sleazy old hag!
But one little girl⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The bright-eyed little girl⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀didn't know what she had wrought.
Foreign castaway, her kindness she sought.
"What are you, mad?" spoke all in Hoovesville.
"Stay away from the old hag!"
"The hag don't really care (The hag can't really care)"
"It'll be just unwise! (All good she'll despise)"
"Act just like we do, stay safe as thus (And I won't dramatize...)"
"Your future's with us!⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and with our white little lies~♫"
All of their warnings the girl took in stride.
All of them wanted the threat to subside.
Thin as a flower, the girl was astute.
Sour and dour, not fueling dispute.
Her mind resolute.
Fate took the reins before she could act.
The hag had a plan that she had to enact.
In moonlit candescence, her desire was shown:
To steal ponies' essence and make it her own.
The girl met her alone.
The crone loudly sneered in front of such sight:
"Is that bloody orphan? What could be more trite!?"
Miasmal and crude words hitched in her throat,
Went away like the dew, as she started to note
How in light of the errant,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀weathered Moon,
In filly's voice rang transparent,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀measured tune.
The girl closed in.
Clumsily, without any grace,
She took the stunned hag in an honest embrace.
"Can you hear-hear?
Hear hear
Hear-hear
How knock-knocking it into your chest?
Like a silken touch,
As a gentle nudge,
Can you hear how it is calling out?
the Magic of Love?
to your heart?"
"NO!"
With all the feeble strength she could muster, Prismia brought her hooves mercilessly to the little pegasus' head, striking her down. And immediately, she gasped, as a chilling sensation rose in her chest, drowning out the last vestiges of doubt about one single and undisputable thing—she is, in fact, a bad pony. Everything that was ever said about her was true.
But even now, despite being in the mud on the ground, this pathetic little pink thing kept looking at her without any judgment. Prismia shrank away under this look, struggling with sudden regret. Her muzzle was contorted into a unsightly grimace. She wanted to scream, to dash away, to tear out her hair in frustration, and to throw away the medallion that worked as a conduit for magical power. Being torn up by these wants, instead, she just stood and shook like a leaf, keeping staring with widened eyes.
That damnable filly slowly rose, not caring for the bruise in the slightest. She remained soft-spoken: "I know why you are so sad and alone. I get it now. You pushed everyone away, right?"
"Y-you! How dare you!? What do you even know!?" Prismia bleated.
"No, I understand it. I really-really am. I don't have anyone else either. I don't even know where I came from. That family I'm with, t-they just f-found me in a forest, completely alone." The filly nervously smiled, and took a step closer.
The enchantress recoiled from her like a snake.
"Get away from me! I'm warning you, stand back!" Her horn lit up, but despite it all, she just couldn't force herself to call magic upon this stubborn, obnoxious child.
The filly did not listen. She, a miserable tiny thing, was forcing her to keep backing away, right where her machine was creaking and cracking on top of the hut, still surging with power, as it kept leeching love from the denizens of the city. The filly wasn't even looking at it. Her gaze never left Prismia, as she kept talking quietly and insistently, "The family that took me in have their own children. I have many sisters now. They don't need me at all, you know. They kind of just enjoy it when I am around, but I know how they act behind my back... I am not like them. They are afraid of you because you're not like others too, right?"
Prismia stiffened. 'What, is she spewing her guts now!?' This strange eagerness to talk was just as abhorrent as her sincerity, which the enchantress couldn't deny, even if she could hardly believe what she heard.
The girl was right in front of her. "It is never too late to open your heart again," she whispered. "It is not your past that keeps it closed, only you."
'What's with this kid?' Prismia sucked a deep breath through her teeth. She needed to calm down...
"You need me much more than anyone else," the filly placed her little hoof on Prismia's own. The warm, incredible sensation from the touch oddly reminded Prismia of her mother.
Why did she never have kids of her own? No one ever looked at her like this filly, because she... that's right, she decided to...
Prismia realized that she was slipping. She couldn't stop the avalanche of emotions that was rising within her. Was it an overabundance of excessive love magic at fault, or the fact that her senses were sharpened as a side-effect of ongoing manipulation of the essence, but her heart panged with the dull pain with which old wounds open up, of the kind that never healed properly before.
She remembered vividly how she thought that she was special, and how the world decisively showed her that she never was. All her bitterness, all her plans, projects, and research that were never needed, never required...
This filly seemed to be young enough to be her daughter... No, she realized, as she remembered her own age. She could've been her granddaugther just as well... When did she become so old and bitter?
The girl smiled and stayed close despite Prismia's unwashed body and rugged clothes, or the chugging infernal machine, saturated with pinkish green energy. She was the only one among all those ingrates and imbeciles in the town who had shown her any tolerance. Her innocent eyes were soul-churning, burning Prismia harsher than any brand.
And Prismia couldn't look away.
"You are just some nameless, useless orphan!" she whined at the top of her lungs. It was all kinds of disgraceful.
The girl nodded solemnly. "Yes. And it is alright." She smiled bittersweetly, and Prismia's heart pushed into her throat. "If my purpose is to be here and help you, then I don't mind it at all."
"I d-dont need y-you... I don't need..." She was the great enchantress, a sorceress, an artificer, an inventor... How did she let herself become so weak?
"Come, now," the filly hummed gently, "every pony needs a little help, now and again."
It hit harder than any blow. Her father spoke just like that, with exactly the same words. Prismia whinnied, fell onto her knees, and clenched her temples with her hooves. She wanted to make him proud of her, but it was long before life in Canterlot became too demanding and she ceased speaking to her low-born family... It is all this vile love power... She lost control over it, there could be no other explanation. Why does she feel so wrong?
"I'm not worth anything..." she groaned, as more memories began to emerge from the furthest outreaches of her mind. All guilt and pain, mostly self-inflicted, everything that could've been avoided...
"No, no..." the words were spilling out of the filly's mouth like a little waterfall of love, "You are the entire world."
Prismia jerked her head up and stared with a bewildered glare. She mustered just enough dignity to not let self-pity take control of her mental faculties and scrambled up to her hooves. Enough of this.
"I..." she tried to speak and then shook her head, clenched her teeth. Enough of this.
Enough of this.
Like in a daze, she moved in a haze, a rat in a maze filled with wrong choices... Facing the hut, she lifted and gripped tightly the woodcutters' axe, then lunged forward, and climbed the small ladder at the side of the building. There was the nexus of the machine, its soul, while most of the ugly body was concealed down below. Years of hard labor went into this thing. Priceless gemstones were laid as the foundation of the project, hidden away in the houses of ponies to serve as absorbers and conductors of their natural-born love. Dragon scales adorned the device, as well as an exact replica of the medallion on her chest, exquisite and precious, now heavy as lead... Prismia adored the machine, the culmination of her life's work.
'What am I doing?'
Her eyes went over the darkened town, and she noticed for the first time how the trees and grass near the hut became a dull gray-brownish color, as if her laputan device was draining something from the air and ground itself. Tears streamed down her muzzle. If it continues like that, many innocent ponies will just wither away overnight. And all because she was experimenting and guessing, trying to decipher what lies behind the emotion, or rather the power, of love...
'What have I done?'
The filly was still nearby, she flew on the rooftop after Prismia. The enchantress weighted the axe in her wrinkly hooves, now unsure.
"You have to go. Run off to your family. It isn't safe," she croaked in harsh, abrupt sentences.
"I'm staying," the filly simply responded.
"You don't get it. I don't know what will happen if I... when I... The extrusion effect, the energy..."
A tiny filly placed a hoof on her own, and again, there was this warm tingling sensation... Illusory images went through her mind, akin to a breath of wind from days long past. It brought the smell of a hot pie, fresh from the oven. Father's smile. A sunlight-filled field. A sudden letter, received from a dear friend on the other side of the country. Simple words: "I miss you"... A walk through the park when she was still young while wearing a beautiful summer dress... Hours on end, spent with her friends, just fooling and playing around... She remembered so vividly that other life, when the world was filled with fillies like this one, when she was just like her, long before she wanted to be feared, revered, and cherished, swayed by all the visions of grandeur, and met by all the burdens and heartbreak...
Prismia smiled painfully. "You won't leave me..."
"Let's do it together," the filly helped her lift the axe.
"Yes." She could never do it alone.
They brought the axe down right on the heart of the machine, and the blade sank deep into the spot where the stored power was most condensed.
At first, the girl couldn't understand what was happening. The place was unlike anything she had ever witnessed.
Did she die? Just like that? The girl felt sadness, but not much else. She knew that she did the right thing, and that was all that mattered.
Hesitant but curious, she took a reluctant step forward, and then someone appeared from a shimmering void.
It was a tall, angelic, radiant figure with giant wings, each one as long as a dozen little fillies like her... Tales and pictures came to the girl's mind, and she quickly recognized who she was. Truly, she was like an art came alive, painted over the canvas with twinkling stars. With bated breath and weak knees, the filly leaned into the deepest bow, not daring to look any longer than necessary.
Her presence was so warm... "Oh, here you are, Mi Amore Cadenza!" her voice flew like the water of a mountain spring, pure, soothing, and chipper, "Hitherto, but one alicorn watched over this world, and now it will be two. You may stand, and be proud, young Princess. Many great deeds are expected from you."
The girl disappeared, or maybe she never existed at all. Prismia didn't care anymore. Lacerations from splinters were on her hooves, and her muzzle was widened in a maddened grin.
The encounter with the girl was tragically short, sure. It helped her realize something important, though.
She hacked until her forelegs were on the verge of giving out, and only then, when the mechanism ceased to work completely, did she move into her crumbling shack. She looked around in it and saw it in a new light for what it was: a miserable little hut with an old dying mare inside, nothing more, nothing else.
"Well," she growled grimly, kicking open the chest she brought from the Academy. Reached in and threw out the papers. Old correspondence littered the floor: ideas, plans, diagrams, unrealized thoughts, and unresolved ambitions...
'So ridiculous,' she thought, smashing down trinkets as well as the dusted alchemy station, placed on the table, 'so much effort went into something that happened to be so simple. Exquisite abstractions, embroidered with the richness of mathematics of emotion... All I've managed was a drawing drafted from my memory, while I could've just opened the window and taken in the sight.'
'But really,' she laughed, generously pouring down lamp oil. 'How could I ever hope to grasp something so elusive? Was it because I happened to be too scared to face reality earnestly, and was hiding behind all those edifying denominators? A constant conception of meaning, without realizing the meaning itself.'
"It can't be helped now," she murmured, raising the lit candle over an equine-made mess of her life. "I can't blame anyone else for my own mistakes. This goes out to you, for all my teachers. I'm sorry. I am a disgrace."
Long ago, she was in Canterlot's finest circles... Stallions were at their knees at her hooves, her wit and intellect were unparalleled... Now, the hag that remained was but a mere shadow of her old self, and to this moment, she tried to be blind to this truth.
'Their envy—that's what secured my downfall back then,' she wanted to think. 'That is what brought me down, yes. Their plotting and scheming made them all want to see me in this misery and squalor.' But it just wasn't so. Ever since she decided that the world was against her, nothing she has ever done was genuine.
'That's right. None of what I did,' she thought, as she looked around, 'was genuine.' It will never be genuine. She forgot how to live.
She stumbled back, looking at how the flames swiftly destroyed everything. She felt weary and tired. Just as a mare like her should. 'Enchantress,' she thought of herself, her smile full of bitterness.
She crawled out of the building just in time to see locals, encircling it. So, after all, her little experiment hadn't gone unnoticed... She remembered the stones they were throwing at her, all the evil glares, and all the promises of revenge she uttered, sharing them with her only companion, the Mare in the Moon—a patron and saint of all who were unjustly wronged by the others.
Old grudges and grievances kept bubbling up on the surface. She laughed hoarsely, hearing how the hut behind her began to collapse into itself. No way back now. Some of the ponies brought pitchforks, she noticed. Good. Fitting end...
Prismia sagged down on the ground, and her laughter became the wail of a madmare. Her hooves scratched the earth deeply, and she jerked her tear-filled muzzle towards her would-be executioners, howling and spewing, "Look at me! Look at what you've done to me!"
All those middlebrows! What could they know, with their glazed looks and unambitious lives, still happier than her own... Prismia was ready to throw herself at them and finally put it all to an end, when a sudden voice distracted her.
"Why do you cry?"
It was that filly. But where is she? Desperate, Prismia turned to the burning hut, and her mouth dropped agape.
The girl was walking slowly through the fire itself, shrugging the ash from her wings one by one, completely unimpeded and untouched by the heat. A horn shone brightly on her forehead, stealing all the attention.
"A pegacorn!?" Prismia drew a small, astonished gasp. Right in front of her was a living miracle, the second of its kind, something unseen in Equestria for dozens of generations. Ponies around were already prostrating themselves or praying fervently to Celestia, and Prismia was so stunned, she even forgot how to blink.
Young pegacorn haven't paid them notice. Her searching eyes looked deeply into Prismia's. A gleam of celestial beauty was reflected in her modest smile.
This miracle was here for her.
"Please-please do not cry," the filly asked concerned.
Hearing that, Prismia cried even harder. "Don't you dare break my heart!" she whimpered, reached out to her, and pressed muzzle into the multicolored mane.
The filly returned the hug and giggled tenderly, "I shall not break your heart. I am not a pony who breaks hearts. I am a pony who mends them~"
Author's Note
Thanks for reading.
