Sarabande, a little, light green unicorn filly with a dark green mane, walked calmly down the hallway of the one floor house she called home. She had previously been called down to breakfast by her mother. The sun had already risen and Sarabande reveled in the late mornings she awoke to now that school had been closed for the summer. Humming a light joyful tune, Sarabande quickly made her way into the kitchen where her parents sat.
“About time little missy.” On the other side of the table sat a robin’s egg blue-green unicorn stallion with the same dark green mane, whose light voice reflected that fact he was not perturbed at all by his daughter’s tardiness.
“Good morning daddy.” Sarabande trotted to the other side of the table and nuzzled her father’s side. A light pressure on her back told her that Countertenor, her father, returned the embrace.
As if Countertenor had just had his morning coffee, all traces of weariness left his body. As Sarabande pulled away, Counter straightened himself up and smiled warmly at his daughter.
“And what about me?” said an amused voice. Sarabande whirled around and immediately hugged her mother, Swift Stroke. Swift Stroke was a yellow, red-maned Pegasus whose only other distinguishing characteristic was her extremely pregnant body.
“Good morning to you too.”
When Sarabande pulled away from her second embrace of the day she looked into the happy emerald eyes if her mother, the same eyes she possessed.
“Let me just get you your plates.” Swift Stroke turned towards the counter to pick up the day’s breakfast but Countertenor immediately sprung off his stool.
“Here, let me help you.”
“I don’t need help with everything”
“Just let me help you”
“You want to help me with everything nowadays. I can’t lift a hoof without you running through the house and picking it up for me”
As Sarabande climbed onto her stool her ears picked up the tone of her parent’s conversation. Their words held no malice, but rather amusement as if they found the argument funny. Her attention then turned to the walls of the kitchen which were covered in paintings. It was her mother’s special talent, painting. The cutie mark on her mother, two crossed brushes, showed this to everypony. The pictures on the wall all had a similar theme. They showed great landscapes and beautiful sunsets descending on lakes and rivers. The images gave off a feeling of grandeur; pink skies turned to crimson as Sarabande’s eyes traced a path down one painting. All of her mother’s paintings were like this except one. On the far side of the wall was one painting that didn’t match the rest. It was a painting that was quickly done. When one was close every single brushstroke could be easily seen. But at a distance an imaged formed of a dark clearing. Large trees stood around a single gray tombstone like sentinels. A small ray of light shone upon the grave, lighting up the surrounding area, but the edges of the painting looked pitch black. Simply thinking about the painting seemed to force Sarabande to look at it. The painting just seemed so off and gave her bad vibes.
Her observation of the painting was cut short as a plate slid in front of her. The green aura quickly disappeared as the plate settled. Sarabande looked up to see her mother seated and her father sliding back into place. Sarabande’s attention turned from her family back to her own plate. Instantly, the gloomy picture was forgotten when Sarabande saw her meal. Blueberry pancakes and syrup, her favorite!
As Sarabande devoured her meal in a way not suiting a little girl her parents settled into conversation of the going-ons of the town. The family lived on the outskirts of Summerton, named after its founder Summer Rain. It was a tight-knit town of about 400. The town mainly rested on a flat expanse between two hills, part of the town rising on one hill. Their house was nestled on top of the opposing hill, giving Swift Stroke a commanding view of the town, but more importantly the Everfree forest which lay just on the other side of the hill away from the town. The expanse forest and high mountains were all the inspiration Swift Stroke needed to create her beautiful pieces of art.
“Urgh”
Sarabande looked up with a full mouth to see her father furiously scratching his back. While this was a little weird in and of itself Swift Stroke paled and looked directly at Countertenor. Sarabande wisely swallowed her food.
“Dad, are you all right?”
“Yeah, it’s just something…”
Swift Stroke turned to her daughter. “Sarabande why don’t you go find your friends. You already finished your breakfast.”
It was true; Sarabande had eaten her pancakes like there was no tomorrow.
“Sure, but-“
“Sarabande, listen to your mother, we’ll deal with this. And don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Despite the crazy sensations running across Counter’s back he still managed a smile that would have been reassuring if he didn’t look so pained.
Unsure of what to do Sarabande left the table. “Um, Ok. I guess I’ll be going now?” Sarabande said a little awkwardly.
With one last smile and nod, this time from her mother, Sarabande walked down the hallway that led to the front door of her house and opened the door. As she left Sarabande heard the sound of a stool screeching against the floor.
Sarabande closed the door and walked out into the sunshine. Sarabande’s mind buzzed as she thought of what she could do today. She could find her friends, Amber Wheat and High Sky, or she could maybe look for something to buy for Star Twinkle’s upcoming birthday. As Sarabande trotted down the little path that led down the hill and to the town proper she decided that buying something for Star was a great idea. And she had bits!
Sarabande immediately stopped and smacked her face with her hoof. Bits! She left them in her room. Her parents obviously wanted her out of the house and now Sarabande was in a dilemma. She could return and risk the possibility of being found by her parents or she could find her friends. But to Sarabande today seemed to be the perfect day for shopping for a birthday gift. From her vantage point on the sloping hill she could see that all the stalls were open in the town square. Sarabande decided she could sneak into the house and take the bits with nopony the wiser.
Sarabande trotted up the hill back to her house and approached the door cautiously. She slowly opened the knob and snuck inside, turning the knob again as she closed the door so it would not click. Sarabande froze as the water started up in the kitchen which was just down the hall. Soon after an agonizing ten seconds, where Sarabande’s blood turned to cold ice, the spigot stopped. The clopping of hooves could be heard and thankfully moved away from where somepony may have been able to see her. After a moment Sarabande quickly but quietly made her way through the hallway, past the kitchen, to the other side where the hallway continued, and into her room. Sarabande quietly opened the door and looked throughout her room
Her room was painted a light green like her coat. A bed, headset pressed up against the wall, stuck out into the middle of the room. On top were several pillows and plushies. Beyond the bed was a dresser topped with a mirror; on top where several knickknacks that Sarabande didn’t care about at the moment. She instantaneously made her way to the dresser and opened the top drawer. There, nestled between the edge of the dresser and a box full of crayons, was a bag of bits. Sarabande thought about bringing her saddle-bags but decided against it, rationalizing that she was only buying one thing. Sarabande bit down on the neck of the bag of bits and closed the drawer with her hoof.
Exiting the room with the same stealth she had entered it, Sarabande checked left and right, craning her neck. She decided she could make it to the door with no problem. Sarabande soundlessly began to make her way to the door. On the way there she could hear her mother’s voice clearly.
“That was close. If this happened at the table I don’t know what we would have told her.”
Sarabande stopped, puzzled and curious. Unexpectedly a voice with a buzz to it like heavy reverb filled the house.
“I hate molting but that doesn’t mean you have to help me. You’re due anytime soon and I won’t have you straining yourself, especially on my behalf.”
Sarabande perked her ears and continued to listen, the reason she had reentered the house completely forgotten. What were they talking about? And why did they mention molting? And whose voice does that reverb belong to? Where was dad?
Sarabande walked slowly through the kitchen to the other hallway that contained several rooms. She could still hear the voices coming from the last door on the left, her parent’s room.
“You know one day she’ll have to find out.” her sweet mother’s voice came down the hall.
“I’ll tell her when she’s older; I don’t think she’s old enough to understand the situation. Everything is so simple to her. Either something is one way or it is the other way. It would be hard, I think, for her to make an exception in her mind.”
Sarabande finally made her way to the edge of the door. She tilted her head, peering through the door. The only thing Sarabande could see was the back of her mother and a figure bulging under the sheets of her parent’s bed. Her mind was not sated. Sarabande wanted answers; curiosity raged through her mind like a tempest, untempered.
The reverb returned. “I just want her to-”
Swift Stroke moved, beginning to trot to the other side of the bed. The morning light, shining through the windows of the room, brightened the light colors of the bedroom. And there, a sharp and dark contrast to the holy light of Celestia pouring into the room, was a changeling.
Maybe it was the sharp gasp, or maybe it was the doppelganger’s peripheral vision, but when Swift Stroke moved the changeling locked eyes with the small filly and opened its mouth, though no words came forth.
Sarabande was scared. What was a changeling doing here? Why didn’t mommy care? Did she hug the changeling this morning? And most importantly, where was daddy? Was he alright?
Sarabande darted down the corridor, making a beeline for the front door. She burst through the door as fast as her little legs could carry her. Her thoughts were scrambled but she could form one idea. Get help.
Sarabande was running down the hill when a sudden flash of light and a pop was heard. Closing her eyes for a split second, Sarabande was horrified when she opened them. There, standing in front of her one hoof upraised as if to say stop, was the changeling.
“Sarabande, please listen-“
“Shut up!”
“I know how this looks to you-“
The changeling was startled when Sarabande suddenly turned around and bucked him. And then again and again and again. Her hoofs hit the soft and squishy flesh of the changeling that was yet unarmored. But the damage done was not physical. Every hit was accentuated with a word.
“Go. A-Way! What. Did. You. Do to. My. Daddy. I. Hate. YOU!”
Sarabande could not see the falling face on the changeling.
“Do- Do you really hate me?”
Her strength diminishing, Sarabande delivered one final blow.
“YES!”
Then Sarabande took off, leaving a lonely black figure on the verge of breaking down.
Once Sarabande reached the other side of the hill, running became easy as she tore down the slope. Too easy. Sarabande tripped and rolled a long path down the hill, tearing up many flowers in the process. Sarabande ignored every blow, however, her mind to distracted to care. Sweat and flowery debris matting her frame, Sarabande finally righted herself and took off into the tree line. She was dead set on getting away and hiding from the changeling. Running over roots and rocks, Sarabande finally began to cry. As she ran her mind became befuddled, her eyes became tear blinded. Sarabande tripped again, this time too exhausted to stand back up.
When Sarabande finally opened her eyes she could see an opening in the leaves above the canopy. Though it was a bright day the area was dark and foreboding. Looking around Sarabande could see tall thick trunks all around her. Looking back to where she came from, Sarabande could see she tripped on a large root which belonged to one of the trees. The trees themselves seemed wrong. They were grayer than brown and seemed sickly. But there, in the middle of the entire, was an object that took Sarabande’s breath away. Sarabande instantly recognized this place, one she didn’t even know truly existed. And the vibes this place gave her were suddenly justified. In the middle of the clearing, with the light shining down on top of it, was a tombstone. It read “Here lies Countertenor, loving husband and father, whose early death will be grieved.”
The buzzing returned.
“Sarabande, I-” a pause. “I didn’t want you to find out this way”
Sarabande barely registered what the beast was saying
“I know this looks bad but-”
“Why did you kill my father?”
Sarabande’s voice was weak and tired. Crying and running so much had cleared her mind somewhat and now she wanted answers.
“I didn’t”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Just let me explain.”
With no answer coming from the filly curled up on the hard ground, the changeling began.
“When your father was alive, I took his form and used it to gain some love. I then left. My mission was to make it to Canterlot and scout the area. However, I was found out by some perceptive guards in Berryton and retreated here to lay low. I took on your father’s form once again but… your father had gone. I didn’t know that so when I arrived at your house, you were only two years old at the time, your mother beat me mercilessly. I didn’t have any other options so I told her I would work for her if she just let me stay. Your mother didn’t have a lot of bits and needed to earn money, but you can’t make so many paintings in so little time and still get good prices. We worked out a deal. Your father had had a stroke and everypony thought he was dead. He was still in your parent’s bedroom; your mother simply couldn’t take him out. Everypony was astounded when I strolled through the town and I spread a rumor that Counter’s death was a rumor and the entire time he had been recovering. Everypony was convinced somepony made a mistake somewhere, I was living proof that Countertenor was still living. Of course there was some suspicion, but more than that there was relief. Very few ponies knew about changelings at the time.
“The time came when I was going to leave. Your mother had helped make a story for my sudden disappearance, mainly because I had been such a help to her. But that night as we discussed plans you came along and, without any prompt, curled up against me. And I, without any prompt, picked you up and held you close. After a month living with you two it just came to me like instinct. Your mother saw what happened and the next morning, rather than letting me leave, your mother told me to stay. She wanted you to have a family and by this time I wanted that for you too. Your father had long since been put into a coffin and we buried him here. The tombstone was shipped in from another town so that no one would know. You didn’t come with us. All your mother did was say some words telling your father that she would take good care of you. Then I did too.”
Sarabande stared straight into the cool blue eyes of the changeling. She was still curled on the floor but her head was raised. Her face was not one of hatred but of rapt attention.
“Remember four years ago when you were seven and your mother and I reinstated our vows?”
Sarabande nodded.
“That was your mother and I getting married. Five years of living together for your benefit brought us together. It was the greatest day of my life. And your mother is now pregnant with your half-sibling.”
The changeling approached. Sarabande regarded him wearily but made no move to move away.
“Sarabande, I may not be your father, but I’m your daddy. I’m the one who bathes you, I’m the one who sends you to sleep, and I’m the one who sings you lullabies. And I don’t want to be anypony else.”
With those words the changeling hugged Sarabande and she hugged back. She felt guilty for everything she had said about the changeling and wanted to make it up… to her daddy.
When they pulled away from the hug Sarabande felt a tug on her mane. Looking at her dad she saw a flower in his mouth. ‘It must have come from the fall’ Sarabande thought. The changeling offered it to her and she took it with curiosity. The changeling faced the grave and Sarabande immediately knew what was going on.
Sarabande slowly neared the silent grave. When she was close enough she laid down the flower at the foot of the tombstone.
A period of silence reigned in the clearing. Even the forest seemed to silently pay its respects to the departed.
“I want to go home.”
Sarabande turned towards the changeling, but found Countertenor standing in his place. Without another word Countertenor levitated Sarabande onto his back.
“Sure thing. Besides, you need a bath.”
Sarabande sighed and buried her muzzle in the false mane, but it was real enough for her.
As the pair began to leave the clearing Countertenor took one last look at the grave. Under his breath he said “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise.”
Author's Note
If this gets a good response, I will make more stories. I just wanted to do something deep.
