Gothtavia

Passing by a jewelry store, her own reflection in the window made Octavia stop dead in her tracks. She took a moment to fix her bowtie before facing that reflection again. For a moment, it felt as though that simple piece of pink fabric was the last remnant of innocence she had left – the only thing keeping her from sliding down into an abyss of darkness that gazed back at her.

In addition to her reflection, she could also see the baffled looks of passersby. Their stares brought her back to reality; mares, young and wide-eyed, old and squinting, and stallions... it was hard to decipher their gazes, but Octavia chose to feel elated by a selected few.

And for a good reason. Not even Rarity could weave something as neck turning as her. The perfectly coiffed raven-black hair cascaded down her back. A dark, irresistible allure framed her pitch black eyeshadows and mascara. She was a statue of living obsidian, cold and hard, drawing each eye. The kind of mare that any pony would aim to impress.

Was it envy, or just Octavia's overwhelming confidence? Did it matter? In either case, they only got to admire her from afar – as she'd have it. Harder to approach, and thus, harder to bother.

But of course, some ponies didn’t get the memo.

“Octavia Melody!” Spoiled Rich stomped her way to her, dragging behind her a sheepish looking Diamond Tiara, “There you are!”

Spoiled Rich. To Octavia, she was as simple as she was pitiful; a mare who thought her money could buy her actual status, but without the class needed to be actually esteemed. Octavia had come to learn this since she began teaching piano lessons to Diamond Tiara . More time with the piano meant less time with her mother, after all.

That was when their disdain for each other started.

Octavia turned to the filly first. “Hello, Diamond Tiara. I hope you haven’t given up on your piano lessons.”

As the filly shook her head, Octavia's tone dropped a few notes. “Spoiled Rich.”

Spoiled Rich glanced at the store window with a raised eyebrow, then back at Octavia. “Planning on buying something?” Her eyes wandered for a moment before she scoffed. “Pretty trinkets, I admit. Our other store has the same kind of assortment. I buy these for my daughter all the time. If you mention me, they might just give you a discount.”

“Unfortunately, these are all too gaudy for me. I must decline.” Octavia said flatly.

Spoiled's answer was a firm huff, and a dig of her hoof against the pavement. “Octavia, if there was any trace of dignity and class within you, you would be ashamed!”

“For refusing to accept discounted antiques?”

“Antiques!” Spoiled scoffed again. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“I think I don’t have the time for playing guesses today,” Octavia said coldly, turning around. “I’ve got somewhere actually important to be.”

“The graveyard perhaps?” Spoiled's voice snapped sarcastically, stopping Octavia dead in her tracks. “To hang out with your ghost friends?”

By this time, Spoiled's voice had risen enough to command the attention of the entire street. But some things, the musician simply could not let go.

Spoiled wanted to make a scene, and Octavia would now give them a show.

“Sorry, come again?” she asked despite her better judgment.

“The lyrics of your songs,” Spoiled noted, curling her nose. “The profanity... Do you have any idea how that influences the ponies that listen to you? The things fillies like my daughter pick up from your music?”

“Mom, she only plays instrumental musi—”

“Quiet Diamond Tiara, can’t you see the adults are talking?”

Octavia could hear the chattering of their ongrowing audience. Diamond Tiara shrunk, flushed with embarrassment. Her mother, however, seemed to have all the bravado in the world. She shook her head and continued:
“And that’s not to mention the drugs you take before your concerts!”

“Fascinating. Last time I heard, the Gabby Gums gossip column has been long defunct.” She smirked at Spoiled's wince, but the follow up was already passing her lips “No need to keep parroting these rumours, is there?” Despite her momentary victory, Octavia could not help but put a hoof to her bowtie; like a guilty foal putting a hoof to their muzzle when they lie.

The gesture didn't escape Spoiled Rich. “That’s a cute and elegant bowtie you got there, miss,” she purred venomously. “Mind if I take a closer look… at its contents?” She said, eliciting some gasps from the crowd.

Octavia clutched her bowtie at these words, indignant. “What I decide to keep inside of my bowtie is none of your business.”

“I am appalled that THIS is the example you give to our youth!” Spoiled Rich declared loudly, looking around the gathering crowd. Their eyes pierced Octavia; she wanted to move away, but they were all around her.

“What are you even on about?” Octavia tried to keep her look straight to Spoiled’s eyes, but it kept darting to the sides and towards the ground.

“You and your... solemn mood!” Spoiled almost spat. “A veritable advertisement for depression!”

She continued her tirade while stomping closer towards Octavia’s face. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Octavia!”

“I’m sorry my lifestyle disrupts the delicate fabric of your comfort and threatens to expose the artificial constructs and facades you still cling to in your daily life. I really, truly am.” Octavia did her best to give Spoiled her most unapologetically ironic apologetic look.

“Excuse me?”

Octavia smirked. “I’m fully aware why ponies like you don’t like me.” She shook her head, raising her hoof to prevent any retorts. “It dawned on me quite recently. You are all perfect, aren't you?”

Spoiled Rich scoffed and frowned, opening her mouth.

Octavia continued, not letting her respond. “Nary a hint of a shadow may fall on your perfect lives, can it?” Her mouth had long since twisted bitterly. “Tell me”—she was the one to scoff this time—”have you ever let yourself feel despair?”

Spoiled blinked and took a step back as Octavia stepped towards her.

“Have you ever let yourself feel pain?” Octavia cocked her head. “Do you feel grim, when life is grim?” She let a little smile dance on her lips, then nodded sadly. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“I—” Spoiled started, but Octavia interrupted her.

“You can't even stomach hearing a simple word—”

She smirked as she saw Spoiled wince.

“Die,” she almost whispered. The word washed across the crowd, and to Octavia's childish joy, Spoiled slapped her hooves against Diamond Tiara's ears.

In the shocked silence, Octavia raised her head. “To die,” she stated clearly. “Not to 'go away', not to 'pass on', not to never be talked about again – to die!”

The crowd was silent and still like a painting.

Octavia sighed. “I know what it means. I accept death as it is; can you say the same?” She didn't wait for Spoiled's response. “Memento mori, Spoiled Rich. You will die one day, and there are many who have perished before. Do not forget them, and do not delude yourself by pretending your life is perfect and happy.” Octavia looked around now. “Be grim when life feels grim; be happy when life is happy; be willing to see the worst of life, and the best of it.”

“And frankly, If I was you, Spoiled Rich, I would be more concerned about the kinds of things your daughter picks up at home, besides awfully expensive trinkets.” Octavia spared an empathetic glance for Diamond Tiara.

“How dare you?!” Now it was Spoiled Rich’s turn to gasp.

”Sorry, I just don’t like ponies prying into my personal life, a silly pet peeve of mine.”

“How about we see if it really is a rumor then?” To Octavia's surprise, Spoiled Rich lunged forward, her perfectly made up face contorted into a mask of rage that rooted Octavia to the ground for a split second, as she attempted to tear her bowtie. The unexpected boldness gave Octavia no room to react, or get out of the way. Not that she needed to anyway.

“OW,” she exclaimed suddenly, retracting her hoof. There was a drop of blood on it. And on the spiked collar underneath the bowtie, too. “The edge!”

“Want to know what’s inside my bowtie? Then I will gladly show you.”

She opened the fake knot of her necktie, revealing a hidden compartment, and green powder therein.

“I knew it!” Spoiled screamed, her voice jumping up an octave. “Such debauchery!”

“Steady. This is mint powder.” To demonstrate, she took a bit and put it under Spoiled's nose – the other pony took a sniff and bent over in a violent coughing fit. “You see,” Octavia explained, “I use it to clear my clogged sinuses. A lady gets a cold some days. Or perhaps...” she smirked bitterly, “she cries too much.”

“Or perhaps she sniffed a bit too much of it,” she added with a sigh, her stern tone faltering, then shook her head. “Either way, it gives something of a kick, but nothing anywhere close to real drugs.”

“Who in–” Spoiled coughed, still trying to get her bearing, “Who in Tartarus would keep that stuff inside a bowtie?!”

“When my own music started to sound like requiems for me,” Octavia explained solemnly, “when I could no longer stem the tide of grief...” she sighed theatrically, “I became grateful for that minty whip's snap that reminded me that I yet live!” She paused, and then, shrugged, “Also, a lack of pockets. Now if you will excuse me.”

The ponies that were gathering them made way for Octavia to trot through, mouths agape.

“This! Isn't! Over!” Spoiled Rich tried to screech between coughs, while Diamond Tiara mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ from the distance.

”Memento mori, Spoiled Rich.” Replied Octavia, “Memento mori.”