“Desmonda, got it.”
Janus simply nodded, but couldn't find a response to follow up. After all, ever since she was a child, she hadn't been particularly good at sparking a conversation with others.
“So… you enjoyed that show, eh?” Janus said, forcing herself to sound bold.

Desmonda simply nodded, “It was quite the work of art.” She said, “Speaking of art, what is that you're drawing? It looks interesting.”
Janus only blushed. “Oh this?” She asked, bringing the tablet to Desmonda's attention, “Just a stupid doodle, nothing more. Was gettin’ bored, so I just went for it. Ha.”
Janus paid no mind to Desmonda's face. She had already assumed what it would look like–what everypony looked like when they witnessed her foolish drawings.

Back home, years ago, she would often show her drawings to her classmates. They were far less detailed than what she drew now, but still creative in her eyes. Not in the eyes of others, however. The ponies would often make fun of her art. Claiming that they were too sloppy.

But that's what made her special.
At least, her father always saw that. He bore the name of “Prosper Frost,” due to his white colored fur, and light blue mane.
There was a memory from three years ago of him that she always kept deep within her heart. They lived in a small village known as The village of impurity, which had long been shrouded in mystery and whispered tales, welcomed her with the familiar scent of damp earth and wildflowers. The village, nestled between the everfree forest and a meandering river, separating it from Ponyville.

They lived within a wooden house near the river. It contained cobblestone on the sides, and small windows in the front. The chimney was also made of cobblestone. The floors inside were of course, wooden
Today, it was quite peaceful.

“These are impressive, Janus.” Prosper exclaimed, smiling hard while looking over her endearing sketches.

“Impressive? No way.” A young Janus rejected, shaking her head. “The anatomy is way too off. How could you like something like this?”
“Why?” Her father looked at her with widened eyes. “It has a ton of heart put into it… That's the point of art, correct?”

“I guess so, but nobody seems to understand that.” Janus said, looking down. “Every time I show these drawings to shame it and claim that they're awful. It's happened so many times that I, myself, even think the same.”
“Simply pay no attention to ‘em.” Prosper said, “Back in my day, I usually just-”
“The old days are no more, dad. You know that.” Janus spat back.

Prosper only chuckled, “Yeah yeah, that is true.” He then took a deep breath. “Alright… how would the new generation deal with something like this?”

Before he could even think of an answer, his wife called from the kitchen.
“You can’t just leave your food out like this! It’ll grow cold!”
Janus merely sighed, “I can clean that up for ya.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s my mess, after all.” Prosper said, exiting out of the room.

Motivated today, huh?
Usually, she’d be the one cleaning up his mess or recovering the items he needed for work.

Such was a surprise.
As she sat there, waiting for him to come back, she’d overhear their conversation. It did not sound mundane like the task at hand suggested, but about something from the past…

She couldn’t completely make out what they were saying, but she knew with those words…
It was a dark topic.
Janus was aware of the mysteriousness of her father’s wealth. It was something that used to be quite big for centuries. However, it did not seem to be the same for this century. The debt their family was in now was egregious, and it was only going to get worse within a year.

Her father used magic, which violated the law of “Magic can only be used by higher authority.”

That higher authority no longer belonged to their family. Years ago, their family were full of wizards–those who use magic for ceremonial purposes and war.
Suddenly, before she could process what they were speaking about, the voices stopped, and her dad emerged from the kitchen, his eyes tired.

“Father?” Janus looked up, meeting her father's eyes. “What was that about?”
Strangely enough, her father stayed silent for a moment, his eyes meeting the floor. “Worry not.” He said, “It was nothing.” He then sat back down where he was previously, forcefully putting on a smile as he stared at Janus.

“So, I think I have an answer.”
Janus's eyes were filled with interest.
“Please, do tell, father.”

“Well, if there's one thing we don't understand… It's magic. It's completely impossible to understand by itself,” he said, “but, the purpose of us wielding it is to use it in a way that's understandable to us. Whether it'd be war or just drawing.”
The word “war” ignited her interest.

“Speaking of such, father,” her voice was soft, “Your view of magic… what is it?”
“Whatever satisfies me is magic nowadays.”
He chuckled, unaware of the dark question.
“Would it be right to use it to kill someone if you see fit.”

Janus looked deeply into his eyes. They were wide, as if he was recalling a past event.
Such made her heart drop.
Without warning, his face was….back to normal? But that couldn't be. No pony could change facial expressions that fast.

“It would be right to use it in a way that hurts no one.” He said, his voice full of shame. “How do you use magic, dear?”

“Well, um,” still recovering from that look, she puts on a smile. “Art, of course.”

“Then that is all you need to hold onto. No matter what.” Her father assured with a smile. “That is your magic, so don't let ponies go around and tell you otherwise, okay?”
Janus smiled, a weight seemingly pulled off her chest.

“Of course, father.”
Now, here she was, expecting that same misunderstanding…
However…

“Ah, what imaginative art… have you ever considered being an artist?”
Desmonda's face was full of glee.

Author's Note

Should a story exist if flaws are present? I've always wondered