There's something to be said about prosthetics. Most of them are terrible. They're cumbersome, expensive paperweights that never do everything their user needs in order to feel normal again. A pale imitation that, while better than nothing, serves as a constant reminder of what you lost.
He hated them. But that's only most prosthetics. In his home world, that would've included all of them, even the most advanced ones. But here on Equus? In a land where magic is just as real as gravity? Things were different. In some ways worse, but in others, better, and he worked tirelessly to make it better still.
Anon finished screwing the pastel-blue hoof onto the filly’s stump, right below her withers. The parents: a scowling turquoise stallion stood behind him, and his partner, a worried white unicorn sat off to the side, had been very hesitant in agreeing with the operation. Osseointegration sounded very scary on paper, what with it requiring the installation of a metal rod into the leg bone, but after going through the benefits, they eventually yielded.
Though, that might've had something to do with the pleading look their baby blue daughter sent them.
Part of that fear was understandable. For a race that rarely, if ever, had to resort to surgery, the idea of having your daughter cut open by a stranger would be terrifying. But magic couldn't fix everything, and with how reliant pony-kind was on the stuff, they were severely behind when it came to the technology side of things. Pony-made prosthetics were barely any better than medieval era ones, with rudimentary control and piss-poor dexterity, even with magic filling in the gaps for any missing joints. They would lag behind a user's wishes, provide no sensation, and ultimately fail to feel like an extension of the body.
So yes, Anon could understand why their daughter hadn't been happy with them.
“Alright, go ahead and give it a go. There might be a bit of pain when you first put your weight on it, but it should subside quickly,” he explained, scooting back from the bed. The enchantments running along the metal bar in her leg would ensure of that, once they activated and started feeding off the mare's natural magic reserves.
Anon watched as she hesitantly leaned off of the bed and pressed the newly attached foreleg onto the ground. The limb was clearly artificial, with none of the fur coating her real legs, but besides that and the openings where joints were housed, it was relatively inconspicuous. She winced, of course, but once the pain faded her expression quickly shifted into a look of wonder.
“I-I can feel it!” she exclaimed. Standing from the bed, she began stamping the leg up and down, her smile growing with each passing second. She giggled, hopping excitedly in place with a rhythmic clop, clop, clop. Even he cracked a smile at that.
“That would be because it's connected to the bone of your leg. The force of it hitting the ground is traveling up the limb and into your body, so it feels more natural than a regular prosthe–,” he stopped as he felt the filly wrap tightly around his leg. She buried her face into his pants, staining them with tears.
She looked up at him with a hiccuping, watery smile. “T-thank you, Mr. Anon!”
The girl's parents smiled in relief. The wife looked at him.
“We can't thank you enough, Doctor. We haven't seen her this happy in… in I don't even know how long,” she said. The stallion next to her nodded mutely, not looking away from his daughter.
Anon hesitantly patted the filly’s head as he responded, “You are… quite welcome. I'll say that with how much you two have paid, I don’t really think a thanks is necessary.” Their initial offer had been, quite frankly, ludicrous. The kind of money that would see him richer than most nearby towns. It had taken some time to talk them down to a more reasonable sum, but even then it was still far more than he was comfortable taking.
The mare snorted in amusement. “No amount of bits is worth more than our daughter’s happiness. You gave her that, and a thanks is the least we can give.”
From there the two unicorns gently coaxed their daughter into letting him go, after which he walked them back to his living room. Seating themselves—minus one giddy filly—Anon explained how to take care of the prosthetic; simple stuff like taking it off before bed, cleaning it, examining it for damage, etc. He also showed her how to extend it, so that as she grew she could continue to comfortably use it. Then he handed them a repair guide and a few other documents, all hand-written. Printers were unfortunately beyond him.
The wife went through them silently, with an ease that spoke of familiarity with paperwork. Her eyes widened as she examined the last few pages, however.
“Are these… blueprints?”
Anon nodded. “Yes. In the event that it's damaged beyond repair, I felt it prudent to include them so that you can have another made back home.” They were of course free to come to him for another, but there was a chance he wouldn't be around next time, either having moved away, or spontaneously died.
The mare glanced between him and the pages of meticulously copied diagrams like he'd gone insane. Finally, she found her voice, “You–... you know that we could–”
“Sell them? Make your own?” Anon nodded. “I'm aware. And I don't care. I'm not doing this for money, so if you wish to use my work for profit, feel free. All I ask is that you make them as easily obtainable as possible.” He had of course considered bringing his work to pony researchers himself, or even griffon ones, but it… wasn’t good enough. Not yet. Not to him. Not until they were perfect, and they could carry all the hope placed upon them.
“I… I see. If we–if we do, we will ensure that you are properly compensated, I swear it,” she nodded seriously, a strange emotion flickering across her face.
He believed her too. They had found him after all. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money they had dumped on searching for a solution to their daughter’s plight. Somehow, they had heard of his work all the way on the outskirts, nestled right between the Crystal Empire and Equestria. If anyone could find him again, it’d probably be the two obscenely rich nobles sitting across from him.
But that was fine. He made no effort to hide himself, so if they wished to use his research for profit and give him a cut, then more power to them. His prosthetics, while woefully inadequate compared to real limbs, were still far, far ahead of what ponykind had. They would easily be able to corner the market. The extra bits would certainly help his work, he supposed, but not nearly as much as one might think.
Anon received another hug from the filly, and, surprisingly, the mother, before they went. Outside, they boarded the elegant white chariot in front of his cabin.
He stood in the doorway as it left, kicking up dust all the way down the road, until he could see it no more.
Anon thought back to the smile of the filly as she hugged him. As if he had given her the world. As if he had given her her leg back. He didn't deserve that smile. It was just a hunk of metal, magic, and plastic; and despite what she had said, she couldn't really feel it. He doubted she would even be able to pick things up with it, like regular pony hooves could.
Anon sighed, rubbing at his eye. He needed a drink.
Anon stumbled back to his room. He'd have to head into town tomorrow, pick up more wine. Food as well, maybe. He could probably afford to import some meat from Griffonia now, instead of just eating produce from the market and what few fish he could catch from the nearby lake. That sounded nice. He was sick of salads.
The door to his bedroom opened. A wobbly Anon stepped through and closed it behind him. Sitting on his bed, Anon leaned down and pulled up the fabric covering his right leg, before unscrewing the prosthetic limb and letting it fall to the side. He then reached up and tugged the false nose free from his face and the glass eye from his socket, dropping them into a box on his end table. His left arm was slowly unstrapped from around his shoulder and dropped carelessly onto the floor.
The filly’s smile flashed in his mind before sleep took him.
Just a pale imitation…
Her hooves crunched against the snow-dusted ground while dark, stormy clouds gathered above. She pulled her hood down as the town came into view. A sign in the distance read Lynville.
She quickened her pace. This is it. This is the place.
She trotted along the well worn road into town, her eyes scanning the surrounding buildings, searching for clues on where to go. Ponies glanced at her curiously, but made no move to bother her. All the buildings looked similar, made from stacked logs and wooden shingles, with only a few having signs denoting shops and the like. She hadn’t thought to ask where he lived.
As she rounded a bend in the road, a larger log cabin came into view. A red plus adorned its front, right above the entrance. There, she thought. The building stood out from the rest, with glass double doors and tall windows. A comforting orange glow emanated from within.
The door swung shut behind her, a whoosh of warm air replacing the crisp bite of the outside. A large stone fireplace dominated the side wall, its flames crackling pleasantly. The worn faux-leather couches flanking it sat empty, save for the lone mare stationed at the front desk, casting a curious glance her way. She approached.
“Hello, I’m looking for Dr. Anon. Is he in right now?” She hoped that she wouldn’t have to make an appointment, but if so, she could wait. There were enough bits in her saddle for a few nights at a tavern.
The mare blinked owlishly at her. “Dr. Anon? Uhm, I don’t think we have a… Oh.” She sighed. “Anon isn’t a doctor here. We would love to hire him, but he’s turned down all our offers. Was there something else you needed help with?”
What? She pursed her lips in confusion. He’s not a doctor? But…
“Do you know where he lives?” she instead asked. “I was… hoping to talk to him.” If what the family said was true, then he was her best chance. She had to find him.
The mare’s expression flattened, her polite smile vanishing. “Ma’am, Anon doesn’t wish to be disturbed. It’s not my place to tell you where he lives. If you need help with something, I’m sure our staff can–”
Tempest interrupted her by pulling down her hood.
No they can’t, she nearly screamed, broken horn on display.
The mare’s mouth fell open. And then her brows knit together, forming a conflicted expression laced with… pity. Tempest bit her tongue. If the mare wouldn't offer the address, then she would just have to search house by house. The town wasn't small, but it wasn't big either. She could get it done in a day or two.
The mare suddenly slumped in her seat, sighing in resignation. She raised her hoof and pointed at the entrance. “His house is on the edge of town. Head up the road until you reach a hill… can’t miss it.”
Tempest left without a word, a bitter taste in her mouth. It was always pity that got to her the most. Fear she could understand—it was what she had grown used to working for the Storm King—but pity? It… brought unpleasant memories.
Outside, the roiling grey clouds had grown, a veil of rain beginning to fall. Ponies hastily ran past her, eager to escape the light showering. She raised her hood. The rain pitter-pattered softly against it, while her breath frosted in front of her as she walked, the cold biting deeper everywhere the water touched.
The plodding of her hooves echoed in her ears as she followed the path the mare had indicated. Just as she had said, there in the distance, she could just about make out a modest log cabin sitting alone atop the hill. It was far, with an arch of pine trees framing the dirt road leading up to it. The windows glowed with light.
Tempest paused as she looked at it. Why am I doing this? After all this time, why was she still searching? Hadn’t she accepted herself? Hadn’t she accepted that nothing could give her back what she'd lost?
All she was doing was re-opening the wound. Allowing it to hurt again. Nothing good would come of this. Nothing. Depending on others had only brought her pain and disappointment. This would be no different.
So why? Why was she allowing herself to hope again?
Her breath quickened. Against her will, her legs began to move, taking her towards the cabin.
It isn’t going to work.
Her legs trembled, slowly picking up speed beneath her.
Nothing ever does.
A memory surfaced, unbidden and unwanted. It was of her, when she was just a filly, staring up at the somber faces of doctors. She remembered their voices. Their words. Their empty platitudes.
“...nothing can be done…”
It was always the same, no matter where she went.
“...nothing can be done…”
Ragged, icy breaths tore at her chest. Soon, she was galloping towards it, the light of the cabin growing brighter as the sky darkened, but she was still so far away. The storm growled above.
“...nothing can be done…”
“You didn’t even try!” she shouted, voice cracking. The pouring torrent swallowed the sound. Her blurring vision had nothing to do with the rain.
When finally she stood before the large wooden door, she felt like no mare at all. It was as if she were just a filly again, sitting in front of yet another hospital, waiting to be told that nothing could be done.
Tempest squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath. Raising her head to the sky, she let it wash away her shame, her hood falling around her neck in the process. She would not meet him as some pathetic foal. She refused. Her pride would not allow it.
Once her breathing had calmed, she slowly raised her hoof and knocked.
In the basement of his home, Anon worked. Mechanical tools, books, and scrapped parts littered the tables around him. Countless prosthetic limbs hung from the walls; some resembling human arms and legs, while others were of pony and griffon appendages. In front of him laid an arm, his latest attempt at granting himself sensation. The top panel was opened, revealing the threads of magical fiber acting as tendons, and the central shaft of metal engraved with the new runic sequence.
Runes were… frustrating. Interesting as well, but mostly frustrating. All magic seemed to follow loose rules that he could not for the life of him determine with any level of certainty. Runes were no different, but they were at least better. In many ways, it was like programming in his home world, with each symbol representing an instruction—a method—where you gave it the variables it needed and it would perform the desired action in a sequential fashion. But in many other ways, it was more like… like writing a book, or a passage, where each sentence was a function—a grouping of instructions designed to fulfill a specific task—and you were simply telling the story of how it happened. It felt so easy sometimes.
But issues arose when the words you needed simply did not exist. There was no ‘feel’ rune, no ‘touch’ rune, no ‘nerve’ rune. There was not even a ‘brain’ rune; the closest thing to it being the ‘mind’ rune, but that one only served to take inputs from the mind and transmit them to other runes, not the other way around. It was like trying to write a scientific paper with the vocabulary of a child.
Anon brought his prosthetic hand closer and mentally activated the laser within the pointer finger. He had a number of alternative prosthetic hands, each designed for specific tasks relating to his work, but this one was his ‘Enchanting Hand’. He snorted.
Truly, a fountain of creativity, Anon.
Focusing, he carefully guided the digit in a series of nearly imperceptible movements, drawing the final series of runes. One of the exceptions to the ‘passage’ analogy was that you could still reference variables, or ‘characters’ as some of the textbooks referred to them as, in disconnected sentences elsewhere on the object. You could even have them entirely isolated. In this case, he had five ‘contact’ runes engraved on the ends of each finger, connecting to a ‘link’ rune and a ‘self’ rune located on the central rod. Theoretically, it should allow for a muted sense of touch, if nothing else.
Finished, he mentally shut off the beam. Unstrapping the enchantment prosthesis, he set it on the side table and reached for the new one. Not bothering to put the panel back on, he balanced the limb on his knee and went about awkwardly strapping it to his shoulder.
Moment of truth, he thought.
He sent the mental command for it to angle itself towards the table. Palm an inch above the wooden surface, he ordered all five digits to lower themselves. The tips tapped lightly against the wood.
…
Nothing.
Anon let out a long, suffering sigh. He leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the storm outside. Both arms hung limply beside him.
Another failure.
Why was he even surprised at this point? It never worked.
It never will.
Anon grit his teeth. No... I have to keep trying. I have to. Sitting up straight, he reached for his copy of Thaumaturgic Enchantment Vol 2. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the ‘self’ rune, or maybe there was anoth–
knock knock
Anon stilled.
Tilting his head up towards the ceiling of his basement, he frowned. Someone was at his door. Who would possibly walk all the way out to his house in this weather?
…
An uneasy feeling settled in his gut. Anon stood from his chair with a creak of wood and made his way up the stairs. Entering his living room, he walked to his front door and carefully brought his eye to the peephole. It was hard to make out much through the rain and darkness, but he could see… what looked like a pony wearing a cloak, with a drenched rosy-colored mane, a dusty purple coat, and–
Anon clenched his jaw. A broken horn.
Knock Knock!
The mare beat her hoof against his door once more. He briefly entertained the idea that she wasn’t here for what he thought she was, but her expression… And so soon after he had made the filly her leg?
“Doctor Anon? I-I wish to speak with you!” the mare shouted over the cacophony of rain.
Anon knew what she wanted from him. He knew that tone of voice. That quiet desperation. He had heard it before.
He didn’t know what to do.
Anon had only accepted the noble family’s request because he knew his work was still better than pony-made prosthetics. That the daughter would at least have the best possible replacement she could, even if it wasn't perfect. But he had nothing for a horn. Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even know where to begin. If he couldn't manage an arm or a leg, how would he ever manage a horn?
I can't...
“...Hello? Anyone?” Her voice wavered. It was barely audible over the storm.
Something in his chest ached. His hand slowly raked down his face, trying in vain to distract himself from the guilt eating at him. It didn’t work.
He didn’t have the heart to refuse her—he just couldn’t. Either way, she would realize he couldn’t help her, even if he said no right now. No good deed goes unpunished, and the crushing weight of her despair was to be his. If he were a braver man, he would’ve opened the door and told her in no uncertain terms that he couldn’t fix her, just to get it over with.
But Anon was not a brave man. And so, he would choose to delay the inevitable. Allow her to believe that he was her savior, until she inevitably realized he was nothing but a liar that couldn’t even save himself.
Knock Knock!
The mare banged against his door, more insistent. More desperate. “Please! I… I’ve heard of what you do! You’re the only one that can–!”
He opened the door before she could finish that damnable sentence. The cloaked, dark purple unicorn took a step back in surprise, staring up at him with wide, green-blue eyes. They shone against the light from inside his cabin, reflecting his own silhouette back at him.
She hadn’t expected his appearance. He wondered what she had been told.
The mare’s expression hardened, stepping closer, preparing to speak. He raised his hand to interrupt her. The real one.
“Let’s talk inside.”
The rain was bad enough, and he wasn't about to have this conversation in it. Without waiting for a response, Anon turned around and walked back into his living room, making his way past it and into the kitchen to start some tea. The mare was soaked and probably freezing. This far north, the weather was much colder, and there was only so much pegasi could do. He heard her trotting inside behind him.
“Thank you…” she murmured.
Anon could feel her eyes crawling across his broken body.
The mare’s name turned out to be Tempest. Her horn had been broken years ago when she was just a filly, and she’d been searching for a way to restore it since. She’d heard about him from Canterlot—the prosthetic foreleg he had made for that noble family’s daughter had apparently been featured in the newspaper—and from there she had looked deeper into it and asked the family directly where they had gotten it. They pointed her in his direction.
Anon rubbed at his head. Because of course they did.
Tempest remained silent on his couch, awkwardly looking around the living room, trying and failing to hide her glances at his arm and leg. The tea in her hooves was probably cold by now.
She spoke, “So… can you do it? Can you fix my horn?” The hope in her voice was agonizing.
It was such a simple question. The answer swirled in his mind, his tongue only needing to speak it.
“I don’t know,” he decided. It was true even, but only technically. A veneer of truth wrapped in comforting lies. His specialty.
And yet, the unicorn across from him leaned forward with wide, hopeful eyes, grasping at his answer as if he had said yes. “It’s possible then? You think you can do it?! I-I don’t have much in the way of bits, but-but I can work. I’ll do whatever you wish, please just–”
“Stop,” he said, holding up his hand once more. He needed to word this carefully. “I did not say yes. I’ve never tried fixing a unicorn horn, and I don’t even know where to start. Ponies would have more experience than me on that front, and given how much they love their magic, I imagine it would be a bit higher in priority than other things.”
Anon sighed. “What you’re asking me to do is to find a solution to a problem that has existed for longer than I have. That has been examined by some of the greatest minds pony-kind has to offer—including an immortal sun goddess—and find an answer that they couldn’t. I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but…” he trailed off.
Anon could see her eyes glistening with every word, the subtle tremble of her lip marking the first crack in her carefully crafted mask. An old, old mask. A few more and the dam would break. He wasn't sure he would survive that.
“...But I will try,” his traitorous tongue said.
Anon watched as the cracks froze, then glued themselves back together using his own damn words. The scarred mare leapt at him. Dark purple hooves wrapped tightly around his chest in a hug that he didn't deserve.
Stop, he thought.
The mare sobbed into his chest, a broken sound from a broken soul. It reminded him of himself.
Please stop, he begged.
But Anon said nothing. His arms raised of their own accord and slowly wrapped around her, stroking gently through her mane. His false hand burned.
He would try.
Author's Note
Tempie gen
