The first things I remember are sounds. Familiar and soothing voices flowed through my ears as I took in the music of the ponies surrounding me. Then I remember light, a very bright light that was nearly blinding. I reckon I decided to finally open my eyes for the first time. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw two ponies. One had a very well kept mane and tail that was tinted with the color blue. The mare’s body was colored with a soft and warm white, a color that seems to repeat quite frequently in my life. The pony standing beside her had a grey coat and a dark grey mane and tail. This stallion had a cold and strict face, but his comforting smile told me otherwise.
I stared at them and they stared back, until the stallion’s mouth moved and his harsh voice filled my ears once again causing me to cringe at the unpleasant sound. The mare’s gentle voice replaced the other pony’s. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but all I cared about were the sounds, the music I was hearing. Though now I do understand, this was what they were saying.
“She needs a name,” the stallion rasped while he glanced at the mare.
“Treble,” they both laughed at the thought. One of the last times I would ever hear them make that lively sound I always loved.
“Octavia,” the mare finally decided. She looked down at me with an expression I will never forget. It was filled with love, care, and new life; her purple eyes dancing like a flame. Little did I know that the fire that burned bright on that day would dim out and extinguish, never to return.
The stallion, my father: strict, cold, to the point, and emotionless. The mare was my mother. I remember the days she was happy and gentle. But something happened, something to this day I still can’t explain. She became much like my father and his apathy soon took over her mind, spreading like a parasprite. I know it wasn’t his fault she became so heartless, but deep down I wish I could see her smile one last time.
Due to both of their incredible adoration for music I was raised to be like them: classy, polite, and musical. Don’t be mistaken, I love music as much as the next musician, but I didn’t learn to become one like many did. Various ponies found their love of music and playing with natural means and others were forced upon music. Me, I was born to have music forced upon me. A curse some ponies might call it, a gift maybe; whatever one might name it, it was my life. Although I hated it, I owe my cutie mark to my childhood and parents. If I were not raised the way I was, I might have never discovered my true gift, my destiny.
What was my life like? Well it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. I knew my parents loved me, but they never were able to show it. My father wanted me to grow up “proper” so he set down some rules. The first and most important was to call my parents by their real names. Instead of father, it was Apollo or Mr. Philharmonica; not mother, but Melody or Mrs. Philharmonica. Sometimes I could get away with Sir or Ma’am, on rare occasions. Another rule was to never speak unless spoken to. Music came before anything else; before dinner, before school, and before family. Though it is a bit ironic, I would usually find an escape in music. I could be anywhere I wished, anywhere away from home.
Now I am not being completely fair. After all, I had all I ever wanted. I had family, music, and every instrument I could ever ask for. But then again, I never did ask for them. My parents bought them for me. I still remember the first one they had bought for me. Many ponies are surprised to discover my first instrument was not the Bass or the Cello, but the Violin. My parents didn’t think that the sound the Violin played wasn’t quite “sophisticated” enough. In fact, the only reason they had gotten me it was because I was too small to play anything else. I was only a filly after all. But I seemed overly attached to the instrument so when I grew in size, I received the Cello. Oh how I remember that day. My hoof pulled the bow back and forth with so much emotion, so much love and happiness. I will never forget the day my parents looked at me with pride, the day I got my cutie mark.
Ever since then, I have loved performing. At concerts, parties, and dances; I always feel complete when I finish playing the sea of notes and stand in front of the adoring fans who lightly pound their hooves on the floor. All I ever wanted was fame and fortune, but was this life really worth it? Was it worth it to leave behind everything just to follow my dream, my parents’ dream?
My name is Octavia Philharmonica: the most famous cellist in Equestria and the loneliest. I am like many other ponies in Canterlot: sophisticated, classy, well-mannered, polite yet rude to those not like us, the pony my parents always wanted. The only difference is my lack of knowledge. I don’t know who I am. What can somepony like me become if they have lost everything they had? I am Octavia and this is my life, my story, my song.
