Perfect. It's the only word I can use to describe her. She had a golden mane that was cut to be quite short and her coat was a deep silver. She was the first thing to catch my eye as I ventured into the streets of Canterlot for the first time.
I write romance novels, which is funny because I don't believe that I've ever been in love.
And yet, it isn't her beauty that captivates me. It is her voice. She sits there on the corner of the street, playing a violin and singing a solemn tune. In front of her lay a jar with a few bits in it. As a prestigious writer I've never really been hurting for money so I figure why not be a bit generous.
Love at first sight is always cliche, but I guess love works in mysterious ways.
I walk up to where she sits and pause a moment to listen. She doesn't notice my presence, her eyes shut in concentration. The music brings a tear to my eye. I reach into my saddle bag and procure ten bits which I drop into the jar. The clatter makes her lose concentration and she opens her eyes.
I must admit, music has power that the written word does not. It can convey more powerful emotions in less time.
"Oh," she stops playing and looks to me, "why thank you very much, that's very kind of..." her beautiful voice trails off. "Hold on, you're Spectair, the famous author. Oh, geez, I mean, wow. I'm a huge fan of your work.”
Even after a few years of being recognized as the writer I am I still have not become used to it. "Oh, yeah, thanks."
And there we stood, a couple of dopes too shy to speak but not wanting the conversation to end. "That piece was beautiful."
Beauty is always an interesting topic, nopony can really define true beauty. Is it skin deep or is it to the soul.
"Really? It's just something simple that I wrote." She rubs her head and blushes.
If I don't ask, what are the odds of ever seeing her again? I inhale sharply, "Do you wanna go grab something to drink, at the cafe, with me?" My face begins to warm as blood rushes to my cheeks, I’ve never really been smooth with the mares.
How humorous, my characters are always the most eloquent of speakers. Yet, in the face of infatuation, here I am, stumbling over my own words.
“Me?” she replies, sounding a bit shocked.
“No, your violin.” I chuckle “Of course you.”
“Oh, well I’d love to,” her face reddens even more.
When writing, it is important to remember the little things, a character with flush cheeks speaks volumes.
“Actually, I should have thought this out a bit. You see, I’ve never really visited Canterlot before and therefore have no idea where anything is. Could you kindly show me around a bit?”
“I’d be honored.” With her reply we took to the streets of the city.
It’s quite ironic. In my novels I always made a point to make romance seem to be immensely complicated, and I guess that has skewed my perspective a bit.
The two of us trot to the cafe. We both order the same kind of tea. A coincidence maybe, I shook off the feeling. We chat for a bit. I finally learn her name after a while. Her name is Vosare, and she is perfect.
I always thought love had to be convoluted, that there was no such thing as true love. Yet, as time passed, I realized it wasn’t so.
After discussing my works and her music, I muster up all the courage possible. “Do you have any plans for dinner tomorrow night?”
I think I caught her a bit off guard as she stammers, “Well, I, um...”
“Oh, it’s fine, I understand if you’re busy,” I try my hardest to not sound disappointed, but my facade is weak.
“No, I mean, yes, well no, err,” even the way she stumbles across words is adorable. “Okay, no I don’t have plans and yes I’d love to go out with you for dinner tomorrow.”
It’s always a case of love that shouldn’t be, a love that will be battled on every side. But this wasn’t that. We were just two fools in love.
We begin to see each other regularly, a few romantic dinners, a couple shows at the Royal Canterlot Theatre, an afternoon picnic or two. We are in love, simple as that.
I guess there’s a reason I never wrote about a love like this, it’s boring and straightforward. But it is pure and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The cold bite of winter surrounded us as we strolled through the palace gardens. I see her shiver out of the corner of my eye. I outstretch my wing and place it over her. She comes closer to me, resting her head against my neck.
Interesting how one person can change so much. I’ve always been objective about love. I’ve never really been close enough to love to be able to observe it.
We came upon a small bench. It was all quite picturesque. Snow lay softly over the ground, our hoofprints were the only disturbance. Yet in this serene, frozen world, a blazing lump of nervousness was lodged in my throat.
I'm never nervous about the outcome of my characters, I always have control of them. This being said, the anxiety of the next moment gave me a large dose of perspective.
She sat down and I kneeled before her. “Vosare, I truly love you, will you-” Before I can finish my proposal. she tackles me to the ground, giggling.
“I will.”
A happy ending, something I usually tried to avoid. So sickeningly sweet, like old candy. However, this time, I could deal with it.
This time, love could be just that: Love
