Author's Note
Hiya! I'll keep this brief, but thank you for spending time reading my first fic! I appreciate any and all feedback, and I'll try to get chapter two out soon. All credit to Disneyfanatic2364 for the BOD/DOD Universe. I hope you enjoy <3
Silent Solitude
Dull stalks of grass licked at the bottom of Mothball’s pants as he walked. Scraping against the greenish hue of the fabric. Hunting for a taste of normalcy.
The screen strapped to his arm was the only source of light for now. It gave off its usual soft pink glow and the occasional chime, which he’d learned to mostly ignore.
Not that he needed it, of course. He, like all changelings, had no issue navigating the dark. The everlasting night was one of the few things they had adjusted to with ease. Along with the temperature, although it was still most unpleasant.
It was worse here now that he’d returned. Even more bleached foliage had swarmed over the estate.
At first, new life erupted. Without anypony to halt the hostile takeover, the plants flourished. Grew wild. Seeking to swallow the unattended Canterlot Gardens whole. It was hard to imagine that this place was once the city's grandest tourist destination. Not that he would’ve dared to step a hoof into the gates back then, of course.
The change was quite evident during his first visit. He paused.
Which was… a year ago? Had it been that long already?
The shortages. The device. The sun. The stars. And, of course...
Why, yes. With the holidays upon them, it had nearly been a year.
Unbelievable. Still didn’t quite sink in. He squinted, then resumed his usual survey of the area.
In the trips following, he’d observed the slow but steady shift in the garden’s condition. In the very air it gave out, even. The endless darkness stowed away some moisture. But it could not shield all of it from escape. Slowly, it seeped out of the soil and into the air. Without any pegasi to replenish the rain and nothing more to consume, Equestria’s flora succumbed to starvation.
The grass soon turned brittle. Hollow. And the rest of the land followed suit.
Dry death swept across the garden. Washing away its colour.
Patches of moss that drooled across the path were the only real remnant of greenery left. Still clinging to what hope the cool night protected. But it, like everything else, was quickly wilting. When he was last here, it was only just turning brown.
Miss Fluttershy said something about moss escaping the brink once. At least from what he could remember. It could survive, hidden from the light, for years, she had said. It would shrivel, then emerge as good as new again with a little care.
Maybe they would do so too, someday.
He mumbled to himself. What an awful sentiment for him to have.
Nevermind now. Dwelling on thoughts like that had, in his opinion, expired well past its usefulness by now. At last, something he and the princesses could agree on.
Either way, he had far more important issues to attend to. Such as how anypony else coming for Hearth’s Warming was supposed to navigate without even moonlight to guide them. He pressed on. His boots gnashed against the smooth pavement as he dragged himself towards the lamppost. He was almost there when the device let out another grating chime.
Panting slightly, he paused to rest against the pole a moment before continuing his work.
He paid no mind to the intricate cover of the original lamp. Nor the lifeless bulb that it encased. Instead, his attention favoured the far less assuming lantern just below. Plastic. Hung in place by a bent nail bolted into the pole. He had to kneel to reach it.
Not his finest contribution, but practical. He opened the lid. Soot and scorches marked where the previous flame had begun to chew through it. Yet another thing due a replacement.
As the Gardens were no longer open to the public, the power supply had been severed from most of the area. Too wasteful with nopony working. The only exception being the guard post he had passed at, the now-lone entrance. He scowled as he hunted for the matches.
The pair he’d met there must have been new recruits. After all, the guards back at the castle were much more polite. He’d never seen them flinch when he walked past.
Honestly. One would think the ponies ought to have gotten used to him by now.
The sticks rattled as they slid around. He’d tucked a set away in the first lamp moons ago, in case he or anypony else was without a lighter. He struggled to free one with such shaky hands. An ashy scent hit him as he continuously struck it, to no avail.
Besides, what in Luna’s name did those guards expect from him anyway?
For him to lunge out and bite them, or something equally ridiculous? They’d certainly stared at him like he was some sort of carnivorous beast when he first showed up. At last, the match finally hissed into flame.
There was no reason to be on edge; he felt as bad as he looked, and he looked even worse than they did! The civilians at least made some sense. At least they had their history as an excuse. So much for unity. Occasionally, he wondered if all that time spent talking to dignitaries, ambassadors, diplomats, and the like, had as much of an impact as everypony else said it did.
He huffed a long strand of hair out of his face. Had he had magic, he would have made himself less intimidating for them without a second thought. He reached in and lit the wick.
He wasn’t permitted to use a proper disguise in Canterlot, but he heard no previous complaints about the odd little tweak for public appearances. A little height off here. Duller fangs there. Sometimes he’d even go to the trouble of giving himself rounder pupils, and that was always tedious to keep up.
The white gloves he wore while in uniform even hid all but one claw. His ring finger. The same went for the sturdier black pair he had on now, and he’d always kept the edges safely filed down.
Clearly, nopony had appreciated his efforts to make their lives easier. He shut the lid.
Not anypony still around, at least.
Suppose the holiday spirit just wasn’t running all that rampant today. He couldn’t possibly comprehend why not.
Another chime. He
Still, suppose somepony else did show up later in the day? He slid the matchbox closed and slipped it into his pocket. After all, it was still fairly early.
…Probably.
After a moment's reprieve, he kept on towards the heart of the garden. It would be best to light the rest of the lanterns, just in case he was wrong. He mindlessly lit each candle as he went. He struggled less with the matches, but the walk between them still felt miles longer than it should’ve.
On to the next, then the next, and the next and...
Besides, he needed frequent breaks anyway, and there should still be plenty of wick left to keep them lit once he returned to the castle.
He squeaked, startling himself. He’d accidentally snapped the lid of the latest lantern shut.
There was?
He’d been too distracted to notice at the last stop, but checking properly, the wax was not as burnt low as he’d thought. He'd expected the candles would definitely need replacing by now.
It was the first thing on his long list of to-do's once he was done here.
A year. A whole year. They’d lasted a whole year, with plenty to spare.
He kept stumbling onwards as he tried his best to ignore the ever-growing hole in his gut. Really? Had he… had nopony been to see her as much as…?
He’d never felt all that great about missing the odd month, but...
Surely. He’d at least anticipated that others had been to visit in the meantime. Had he really let her be left all alone that often? No. Surely not.
Of course others had been. And he was spending his time productively when he wasn’t with her. Helping as best he could. planning, plotting, discussing, theorizing, experimenting. Trying to find a way to get magic back, to get her back.
She… she understood that.. she had to… she had to.
It was the most logical course of action. Of course he’d choose that over
seeing her like...
Well, it was almost as bad as not having her here at all.
It only made sense.
It was perfectly logical of him.
The reminder of exactly the reason why that was gnawed at him.
Ah. Now he’d acknowledged it. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Guilt once again opened its filthy, aching maw, scraping, crushing, clawing, and digging into his chest. He’d been feeling that a lot lately. It was one of the rare sensations left that he could still clearly identify.
Everypony knew it, too.
A harsh beeping tone jolted him back to reality.
He started down at the device on his arm. Its idle hum was no longer as it fully awoke into life.
It was so well moulded into this new life of his that he’d almost forgotten about it. The awful invention and its awful noise were practically part of him now. An extension of his flesh.
Well, he supposed he was meant to be grateful. It had been a welcome addition, once. His head burned.
Mothball trembled, his whole body heavy. He scrambled to keep his balance.
His claws dug through the gloves and into the nearest light pole. He desperately held himself up with it as he fought to stay upright. No doubt he’d just added even more scratch marks to it.
His thoughts and vision seethed with stars long vanished from the sky.
He had gotten used to it.
But this time he’d been far too occupied to notice just how tired he had gotten.
It was usually well managed. He was usually more careful.
He was fine.
The device clunked, and bright liquid love flowed down the IV line. Warmth seeped out into his arm where it bit through his skin, tucked neatly and securely under his gloves. It bubbled up in his throat and stomach, then up into his head.
He sank into the stone, and it slowly swayed under his hooves. So did the earthy wall of hedges surrounding the most precious section of the gardens. Writhing along with the intricate metal of the gate. He swept his tail around to support him as he gripped the post and closed his eyes. Still, everything kept tilting back and forth. He leaned his head against the pole. Surprised he hadn’t managed to pass out this time.
When the nausea had eventually passed, he slowly pushed himself to stand upright. He took a moment to recuperate. Never mind that now, it was of no use to him to get upset. After all, it's the thought that counts, right? He cautiously carried on, trying his best to keep steady. The side effects slowly eased off. He approached the central section, barred off from view by a fence of, thankfully, now completely static, tall, bare hedges. Finally.
He pushed the gate open, and it screeched. The garden unhinged its jaw and released its hold on him.
He stepped through.
