Love

In a Stone House gifted by her father, Genesis Fae sat alone. She cradled the shivering body of a newborn foal before gently placing it on the floor. Leaning against the wall, her hind hooves resting on the ground, she listened to the colt's cries. Her once delicate curls that covered her masked features became entangled in the brick behind her. Her face now revealed a hollowed, blank look as she gazed at the infant. This was clockwork for Genesis, wondering how long it would take for his thin layer of foal fur to turn blue. Yet somehow, she always found herself scooping him back up as the baby would jitter so much one could say he was truly frightened. But he was too young to know anything of love and loss, and too young for his soul to bond to his feeble, weak body. Still, the mother swaddled him in blankets knitted with tight lace and silk as she brought him back to his crib where she had taken him in distress prior. Tired from his grating hollering, his breaths were quick as he lay there on the off-white fabric in his crib. Genesis hit the mobile with delicate crystals featuring the moon. A soft twinkle of the melody “Luña May Bird” played as the mobile continued to rotate, soothing the foal's breaths.

“She would have loved you. She was known to be foal crazy,” Genesis said, her voice just above a whisper. “It's such a powerful word, isn't it? Love. I only truly loved one pony. Strange how much a pony could love.”

It was almost quiet. The much more pleasant song was the break her ears needed. Stillness took over the room and the foal below. Genesis lay against the bars of the crib. The whole fixture creaked and moved back under her weight. Both forehooves hooked on the side of the bars as she rested her chin on top of her pasterns. The baby's face was round and pudgy. A smile crept up on Genesis's face; when he wasn't loud, you could mistake him for being cute.

“I can't love you, at least not in the way I'm supposed to,”

Her eyes felt heavy. Taking the burden of her weight away from the crib, Genesis left the scene as it was. She lingered at the doorway. It would be a day and a half until the father would come around. It would have taken longer to send a pony out to give him the news that his foal was finally here. None of it bothered her; the absence of those you cared little about had less of an effect on you. Before the door shut, sealing away this picture, the mare felt a longing in the near empty room.

“Let's pretend, Pixie Dust. You'll be my good boy, and I'll be your loving mother.”

With a creak, the door met the frame. It's strange how fast a child can mature; yet, inevitably, they all find themselves sobbing on the floor. The only distinction being the passage of years and newfound mobility. Physical changes were also expected. Pixie's eyes as a baby were almost ghost white. Now, the vibrancy in his eyes only intensified with his age. They were a deep blue hue, like the colors from the deepest parts of the sky. You could see the moment when thought entered his head. The moment where his soul truly bonded away from the moon and into his mortal body.

The colt toed the line to the kitchen. That's where he kept his body firmly on the side of the dining room. He was still stupid; he thought his mere silence would be enough to hide him. Genesis shouldn't have expected more from a pony who could only write down his own name. At least he was wise enough to heed her warnings when she was busy cooking in the kitchen. Raising Pixie proved easy compared to his older sister PicPuck. If Pic were his age again, there wouldn't be any line she wouldn't cross. Instead, she'd probably be in the kitchen by now. That's where she'd try to trip Genesis by standing directly under her.

Genesis blew the cabinet door open. The smell of vinegar filled her nostrils. Not surprisingly from the amount she scrubbed the furniture with it. It may as well be a part of the Bricked House. Many things were stacked on top of each other. Mostly cups and bowls, some salts and peppers, vegetables who were beginning their first stage of rot. The mare rummaged through the compartments having porcelain jars scraped together as her hope perished with each open container. The jars were labeled but she was expecting her only gift from the moon, her idoncey, would make her misplace something. but at last nothing. Slumping down, Genesis placed her head on the counter top cheek close enough to touch the edge of her cutting board. Her forehoofs circled around her head, shielding her.

Was this really what the moon thought best for her? Quickly snuffing out her blasphemous question, her focus fell elsewhere. She listened to the noise of hooves walking on quartz and cement from the curtained windows. The soft light made the fabric near transparent as the noise muffled against it. Still Genesis could point out each and every neighbor from the sounds. It was two ticks away from The Festival Of The Newborn Light. Its excitement was contagious among Luna's children. There were foals giggling outside, a wagon being pulled. She could even hear the barks of Memory's old dog. Just life. Always moving around her. Genesis was never too fond of them, even with her notable personality shift.

Grappling around her leg like a ball and chain. Something clasped itself on to her back hoof. It was shifting, replacing its hold on top of each other, resting a warm beating sensation against her skin. Bringing her muzzle away from the countertop, her eyes rested on a foal. Pixie Dust, who has found the courage to pass the line into the kitchen, was hooked onto Genesis. His face was nestled into her sprint bone, eyes closed so tight you would have guessed he glued them. He may have hidden his eyes further into Genesis's fur if it wasn't for that horn on top of his head. Genesis settled back onto all fours, and the sound immediately caught Pixie's attention. His eyes snapped up to his mother, still believing his silence hid him. The foal sniffled as he wrestled his face back into her leg. The mare brought her hoof up, leaving the warmth the child offered. He nearly fell to the floor. Luckily for her, the uncoordinated little thing didn't.

Quiet. Emotions played across Pixie's face like a movie. Whatever it was, be it anger, sadness, or failure. For now, he didn't wear any tears, he only averted his eyes down with Genesis's stare. His breathing, sharp and heavy, caused his tiny body to tremble. Still, the child held his air in, falling in his attempt to steady himself. A Sparkle that twinkled off of a light fell down onto the foal's muzzle. It caused him to freeze. Pale yellow in color, a mist encompassed a part of Pixie's forelock. Genesis pulled the strands of his multicolored mane with her magic, trying to reset what he had tangled. Pixie's ears tilted forward, observing how the stars in his mother's levitating spell always twinkled into nothing. Easily managed, even as his mother tilted his face up with a hoof to have him look directly up at her. With a defeated sigh, the magic returned to its origin.

“Brush your mane and tail, make yourself presentable” she said,

Orders like that could only mean one thing. Those directions got an audible gasp from Pixie. So, making himself as tall as he could by straightening out his neck and legs, he nearly hopped off the ground to look big. The foal couldn't suppress his grin as he practiced his serious look, nodding before turning to hurry off to his room. With Genesis left to pack up the early stages of her prep work, she, too, would vanish once she finished.

Traditional garb consists of flowing clothing covering every part of your body. If you don't have a horn, a false one will be sculpted onto your mask. Yes, everypony wore a mask here. All crafted to their personalities and status by the chosen few who were gifted the opportunity to cultivate an outer face. Children, those who have yet to reach adulthood at 12, don't need this modesty. Still, it was the mare's duty of the house to make sure all represented the moon in her glory. Even if it meant a constant battle. Genesis had already pinned her mask on. Her curls frame that hard shelled face. The strife of adulthood took hours to mirror the image of the Moon. Yet, the pearls she'd adorned in her mane felt loose.

The time she took should have been long enough for Pixie to accomplish a simple task. But at last, there Pixie was, balancing on a stool, shoving those bristles deep into that mane of his. Genesis would give him a moment. Observing her foal wet the paddle brush down, trying to tame his hair. Yet, every stroke was teasing his hair into spikes. He was not old enough to master the art of telekinesis; it was a wonder how any ground pony could coordinate with anything. She must have caught his attention because that wooden brush slipped from his hooves, clattering onto the floor. His breaths still heavy, his eyes darting up and down. Blue yet glazed over, puffing tears out like smoke despite his effort to contain them.

Genesis moved into the bathroom, her movements deliberate. Sweeping the brush off the floor, she didn't let that distract Pixie from this simple task. No, she directed him to face the mirror. The right handle of the sink glowed yellow before it turned; the water ran at full force. With the same hoof, she used to guide him earlier, she pressed onto the base of his neck, pushing him under. Pixie sneezed, which shortly turned into a cough. Phlegm from his little outburst earlier mixed with the water running down the drain. Only when he was soaked did she release her pressure. The foal fell back on to his hooves, having to stretch himself to reach that far into the bowl. Gasping, he moved his arm to muffle himself out, tiny coughs beating against his skin like a heartbeat. This wasn't in vain, it allowed his mother to fulfill her duty as the mare of home.

“Are you pretending to be incompetent?”

Pixie's ears perked up, nearly turning to look his mother in the eyes until she set him back into place with another pull of the brush. He ended up staring at her reflection, trying to see through the darken shell where her eyes would be. The foal wanted to catch her feelings beneath it. “Incompetent.” That word was long… the type of word grown-ups used, when they knew you could be eavesdropping. Yet pixie could feel every bit of meaning behind it. Shaking his head, all there was to answer him was the sound of flowing water and the pull of fibers from his scalp.

…..

Loud chatting surrounded the pair. Genesis avoided contact with her peers as she checked off the list of supplies she needed to fulfill her duty of the house. Magic hugged around her pen, floating near her head until Pixie insisted on carrying it. That boy always had to stick his muzzle into everything. Keeping a close watch of him, from the corner of her eye, she could see her foal sniffing around in the air. His eyes closed as he cantered ahead, pen in his mouth until it was ripped away to check another box. The world outside their stone home was small to Genesis, but it only the more distracting to her son.

“Pixie, don't kick up the sand,”

“Yes Ma'am,”

Pixie slowed to a near crawl, watching his mother's hooves to match the pace she was going. They nearly disappeared into the crowd now, bringing a gentle sense of ease to the old mare's heart. Right until that dog barked up at the unit. Memories’s old mutt, a large, white, dog with floppy ears. It was a mess, it couldn't keep its spit in its own mouth. She couldn't believe anyone would allow that thing in their own home, let alone near them. But Naive Pixie gasped, flinching at the sheer loud sound but smiling when he saw the dog. Both mutt and Pixie looked to their caretakers until they gave the go ahead for them to meet.

“Mayo!” Pixie exclaimed bringing his hooves around the neck of the animal,

Pixie is getting a bath tonight, if it wasn't just for touching the dog, he was being drenched in its spit.

Author's Note

Fuck hi! names Lurker I'm long time lurker get the name EHEHEHE, I don't expect really anyone of read this. 1 it's OC based, 2 it's really not for the faint of heart. The first arc is done, and I'll be posting every full moon unless stated otherwise. Cheers!