There is a silence, deafening the most heated thoughts of ponykind. She sits idly along the bank of the one creek that splits the enchanted forest in two, light on one side and darkness on the other. She rustles her hoof in the moonlit grass and gazes into the starry sky, wishing upon a star for something different and something real.
She wants life again.
Look. Across the creek stands a lover and his mare, a flick of the wrist, a look in the eye. The rock skips across the gentle surface and his heart skips a beat. Maybe two. Her face relays the message far too well, it is the message that once she too transmitted to a past lover. Electricity. The nonsense Is played out like an old favorite and remembers the pain like a scar.
May she never fall.
It is summer, and the Pegasi have ordered a still night. A faceless continuum of feathers rallies the clouds and reveals a purplish glow that hugs the lonely forest. If she could only spread her own wings and feel the warm breath of the atmosphere lift her into the third level of heaven. Alas, an earth pony cannot know what it means to feel weightless. Unicorns are not immune to the pull of gravity either. And yet, she bears so much more than one ever should.
She carries scars.
Look again. The lovers are embraced, lip and limb. The sweetness overpowers her like a bad dessert. She cannot stand the sight of such decency. The mere thought of completeness tears her to pieces with the sharpness of the blade of something forgotten. Something that was lost betwixt the cushions of life.
She never wanted it to end this way.
He was handsome, strong, the firstfruit of his parents’ continued labor. The crease from his smile was what she looked most forward to each day. He won every heart in Ponyville just as he had won the respect of every upstanding, disciplined stallion of the royal guard. He was charming. He was valiant. He was perfect.
He was hers.
Can it be said of love that only a privileged few truly understand it? Love, as it seems, would be nothing more than a label to slap across the mundane stuff of life. The ease with which one could identify it and use it and abuse it was what drove her most insane. How could anyone relegate the most powerful substance in the world to something that could be accessed behind the door of a broom closet? They did not understand. Not at all.
She is the princess of it after all.
It felt like yesterday but was actually more. The series of events seared into her mind and heart, equally burned with passion. If she could only forget the blinding power of darkness that overtook the sky, that overtook her wedding day, and that overtook her love’s most prized possession. But, as with many good things, bad things accompany. It is a rule. It is law and nature.
Good and bad must coexist for love to be.
How else would love conquer all? If not for a little controversy, where would the prize be? Would there even be a prize, and if so, could it still be labeled as such? The reward is for those who overcome the obstacles in their way. A gift is simply that: a gift. Not merited or deserved. Therefore, gifts cannot come from love but from obligation. From duty.
Duty was all he was about.
If she didn’t tell him, he would have forgotten he even had a stomach. Captaincy was not something that followed the schedule of someone’s life centered on love. The opposition was too mighty for him to pause and gaze into her purple eyes. If there ever was a sound she wished she could extinguish, it would be the snare drum tap of the door. And if she could blind her eyes from one thing. One thing that at command would vanish into thin air, it would be wood stain.
The kitchen table needed to be refinished, she noticed.
Look once more. How gay they must feel ensnared in each other’s love. The grass is a supple bed and the breeze is a satin sheet. She cannot take this sight anymore. Her hooves demand that her body relocate to more peaceful scenario. Preferably one that doesn't assault her heart with the reminders of a past not distant. But it’s too late. She is already remembering.
He was so tired when he came home.
She felt as if the royal guard was only good at guarding her from him. Pressure over time can do no good, the result is always the same. When he mentioned another military term that she didn’t comprehend, she exploded like something out of a failed experiment. He wasn’t trained tactically to deal with this however. What do you say to the princess of love when she feels unloved?
Nothing.
You say the world was created from nothing? You must jest. The brain is wired for patterns. Cause and effect are what dominate the thoughts of ponykind. Ask anyone why night is dark and they’ll tell you. The absence of light. Ask anyone why rocks skid across the surface of the water with effortlessness when thrown right. The absence of bumps. Ask anyone why love lasts and can only last.
The absence of silence.
Nothing cannot be created from. However, it can create. Just ask the mare walking along the bank of the only creek that runs through the enchanted forest in two, light on one side and darkness on the other. Ask her now, quickly, before she reaches the darker parts of the forest as she cuts through the low waters which gladly receive the contribution of her eyes. Don’t hesitate now, the forces of darkness will soon claim another victim in the name of its treacherous master.
It’s too late. You lost her, Shining Armor.
You lost Princess Cadence to nothing.
