A great temple sat upon the crest of a lightly sloping hill, reigning tall as it sat supreme in its surveillance over the greatness of its domain, although standing high for no greater purpose than the aggrandisement of its owners. Eight uniform pillars of pure white marble were set central in the building’s front, supporting above a dual slope of stark black tiles forming a sharply pointed roof. All was a merger of traditions, cut from a stylistic mould of both Cloudsdale sky-mansion and imperial palace to form a single elite symbol on its own plinth like peak. But this was not Cloudsdale, it was Canterlot, nor was the place invested with the righteous majesty of Equestria’s royalty but rather was a product of aristocratic “old money”, shouted out without subtlety in its form. At either side of this sharp nexus extended two separated and yet connected wings, each several houses in scale in its own right, fronted by vast windows of interlocking panes, capped by arches of glass with stained accents. All this hinted at vast vaulted halls in the restricted world beyond.
Home sweet home.
Embarrassing although it was to admit (and even harder still to accept), this was her home, the place being far too tightly wrapped in not distant enough memories to allow for denial. Stood before its insistent magnificence this inescapable reality was made to hit all the harder, as if the building had eyes which could not just see her, but see into her and therefore force her full awareness. Placed atop its mountain, extending its many stories skyward beyond this height as its recesses grasped at the ether, it could make anypony who beheld it feel small. It was undoubtedly constructed at least to some extent with this purpose in mind, and to this she was no kind of exception, made ant like in its shadow under the sun.
She stood outside its environs for a few moments more, cast statuesque on the pavement beneath its stare, drinking in her foe, preparing herself within and concealing this without. Then she was in motion. Advancing the few steps forward she met the wrought iron obstacle of its front gateway. Set in the fortifications of high walls, made taller by being topped by similarly black metallic fencing (with whom she was far more accustomed with stealthily scaling in the dead of night), its two gates were a beautiful interweaving of false plant life, vines snaking together in a lattice with thorns shining out in painted gold. These were all woven naturally around thick bars, whose tops ended in the equally golden spear points of her namesake. For all its artistry however it was nothing more than a sharp dividing line. With a deep breath she lifted the latch, swung the portal wide open and was at once inside.
Foregoing the path proscribed her; a long winding gravelled serpent of a driveway, coiling back and forth to scale the hill at an easier incline, she stepped instead into its surrounding gardens, letting their perfume wash over her. Each laboured step on the ground (hallowed by its past) already was a journey in itself, so she resolved on the “scenic route” over a direct assault, to maintain herself for the destination at its end. On either side now rose the trunks of trees, gnarled fingers covered by gloves of thick blossoms, thickly heaping their outstretched branches yet lightly fluttering in a slight breeze felt only by them. Her slow walking in the colourful under canopy brought her to a break in the vegetation, a grotto centred on a pond encircled by stone, secreted in the patch of woodland but already known well to her. Floating on the glassy surface of the water a shoal of pale lilies drifted, matching the unicorn’s face reflected with them through the ripples. She had always preferred the flowers above to those imprisoned in the mirrored pool as ornaments. They in contrast proudly spread their beauty in rose-tinting the passing sunlight, even before they fell as snow on the wind, uncaring if they flew beyond their nominal owner’s domain.
She moved onward, passing through a fresh tunnel of flower laden fronds and then out again, crossing a lawn of neatly trimmed grasses (one of many), more like a field of a fiefdom in its size. Prominent within this green expanse stood the airy wooden structure of an open gazeebo, painted and styled to match the house at its back, supported by a quintet of carved pillars with flowing vines allowed to creep into its eaves. The edifice’s position was alien to its nominal purpose, that of a private space in any garden, in both being sited before its associated domicile and in its state raised to prominence. It was therefore at best a viewing platform, from which its master could gaze possessively outward, or at worst a display cabinet for those that might inhabit it, to show them off to the passing world. In either case she passed it by, ignoring the polite voices and forced laughs which echoed within its empty shell.
Cresting the hill her, until then muted hoofsteps gained new noise, crunching into the white river of chalky gravel which formed her penultimate obstacle, leaving little room for further procrastination even if she tried. Her scraping hoof-falls turned to sharp clicking as they hit the first in the long series of the front steps, ascending yet further to the pinnacle of this dominant rise. Her prolonged climb finally ended, faced down by the sheer blank visage of a thick panelled doorway, the route of her ascent stretching far away behind her. Despite this she was neither here nor there, on the cusp of her goal and having passed through a world that she had known well, yet at the same time feeling out of place, like she was an intruder.
Remember to breath.
She stood stock still on the doorstep, unable to take the final leap. Too much lay on the other side, her mind set deep in work conjuring yet more to potentially be awaiting her, its threat seemingly putting at risk everything in the happy ignorance of her outer world. How would they react? What would she say? What would be said in reply? Her conclusions were only despairing, expecting nothing but disappointment, anger and misunderstanding, disgust even, in passing through the portal. Her eyes, preferring the less portentous view of the floor, kept themselves locked to her hooves, the shield of her mane falling as a redoubt against the sight. From beneath this pink striped curtain a pale brown forehoof came to hers, laying itself upon her with a comforting pressure. She tossed back her hair, revealing the hoof’s source, two azure irises meeting hers, silently telling her that they and their owner were there and that everything would be alright (or else did not matter). The beautiful earth mare beside her simply leaned up and their lips met tenderly, another touch loaded with unflinching support. Her eyelids fluttered closed, content where she was and made strong enough to advance a little further, letting her magic reach out and press the doorbell.