> Sisters at Heart
>  by Lunatone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter One: The Call
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart 

Lunatone

Chapter One

The Call


I became what I am today at the age of eleven, on a rainy, frigid autumn night. I remember the exact moment when it all happened. But that was a long time ago. And although it’s in my past, I still think about it every day.

I’ve learned, from experience, that you can’t simply run from your past. Your past might be in the past, but it’s still with you in the present. Wherever you go, there you are. You can have all the money in the world and you can try to drown yourself in all the hard liquor that you want, but you can’t escape what you’re trying to run from. Looking back now, I realised I have been doing exactly that for the past eight years.

One day last summer, my friend Bon Bon called from Manehattan. She asked me to come to visit her. Standing on my beach house balcony with the receiver against my ear, I knew that it wasn’t just Bon Bon on the line. It was my daunting past creeping up to me. After I hung up, I went for a walk in the nearby park, right along the Las Pegasus beach.

It was a sunny afternoon, and the bright sun sparkled on the blue ocean, like glistening diamonds. Countless sailboats cut through the sparkly water, propelled by a crisp breeze. Then I glanced up and saw a pair of blue jays making rhythmic swirls in the soaring sky. They flew high above the elm trees at the east end of the park, flying like a pair of Wonderbolts glaring down at me and Las Pegasus, the city I now call home. 

I sat down on a bench next to an old elm tree. Then I thought about something Bon Bon had said before we hung up. You have to resolve your past for your own sake. Then I heard the soft melodies of the two blue jays as they flew by me. I couldn’t help but think about my fillyhood with Vinyl. My father. Dusty. Bon Bon. Manehattan. I thought about the life I had until that night came. The night that changed our entire life.



> Chapter Two: The Simple Days
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Two

The Simple Days


When we were fillies, Vinyl and I used to swim in the in-ground pool at my father’s estate and annoy our neighbours with our loud, playful screams and splashes. When we got out of the pool, we sat across from each other on the patio chairs, our wet hooves dangling and dripping water. My father brought us mulberries, from his garden, and lemonade for us when we got out of the pool. Sometimes, if we were in a humorous mood, we would pelt each other with the mulberries and run around the pool, giggling, laughing; I can still see Vinyl running around that pool, her lustrous mane shining in the sunlight.

Sometimes, when we went swimming, Vinyl talked me into throwing water-balloons into our neighbours’ yard just to annoy them. I never wanted to throw them though, but I knew how much fun Vinyl had when she did such silly things. But we always got a really good laugh out of it. Vinyl’s father, Dusty, a white unicorn stallion with a magic wand and hat for a cutie mark, used to catch us and get angry, but his gentleness got the best of him. He would wag his hoof, waving us away from our balloons. He would take the balloons away and tell Vinyl that wasn’t the proper way to behave.

“Yes, Daddy,” Vinyl would mumble, looking down at her hooves. 

Believe it or not, Vinyl had lived with me since she was born. Dusty and my father grew up together in the same neighbourhood, and they even went to school together. According to my father, Dusty’s parents went missing and were never found. My father told me that his parents took Dusty under their roof as their own child and raised him along with my father.

Everypony agreed that my father, Jazzmere, built one of the most beautiful houses in all of Manehattan. A cobblestone driveway led to an entryway, leading to the sprawling house of marble tiles and the large bay windows. Upstairs was my bedroom, Jazzmere’s room, along with his study, and Vinyl and Dusty’s room. To Jazzmere, his study was his place of peace, but sometimes he would invite his friends over to join him in a discussion that always consisted of three things: music, business, and literature. 

Sometimes I would ask Jazzmere if I could sit with him in his study, but he would stand in the doorway. “Octavia, my dear, this isn’t the place for you to be. Why don’t you go play with Vinyl instead?” Then he would close the door on me. Sometimes I sat next to the closed door for hours, listening to their laughter and chatter, wondering what they were really talking about.

The living room downstairs had a large marble fireplace. It also had a curved wall, leading into the dining room. In the centre of the dining room, there was a beautifully carved table made from teak.

A large sliding glass door lead into the backyard, where the pool was, and two large yew trees stood on the right and left corners of the backyard. My father and Dusty had planted a garden on the west side of the backyard where they grew mulberries, lemons, and strawberries.

One night, Vinyl and I were walking to the Manehattan theatre to see a new play. Jazzmere had bought us tickets before the play even came out so we could have the most luxurious seats. We decided to take a shortcut through the local park where dozens of streetlamps lit up the paths, illuminating the park. At the exit gate, leaving the park, a group of what looked like rough, spiteful, older stallions were leaning up against the gate. I told Vinyl to keep walking and avoid paying attention to them. One of them saw us, and prodded the pony next to him. Then he called out to Vinyl.

“Hey you!” he said, looking towards Vinyl. “I think I recognize you!”

Neither of us had ever seen him before. He was a fat stallion with an oleaginous beard, and his teeth were yellow. The way he leered at us scared me. It was like he was about to do something horrible to us. “Just keep moving,” I muttered to Vinyl in a low tone.

“Hey, I remember you now! I use to know your mother! Did you know that I was her ex-stallion friend?”

Vinyl never talked about her mother, as if she never existed. I always wondered if she thought about her. What she would be like. What her favourite colour was. What she even looked like. I always thought about these things when I thought about my own mother, who passed away after she had given birth to me. When Vinyl’s mother, Medli, gave birth to her, seven months after I was born, she left Dusty because she didn’t want to deal with her newborn.

I had heard, from my father, that Meldi wasn’t the most positive pony to have around. My father once told me that she was an unruly, unscrupulous mare that had a horrendous reputation for using other stallions. And since Dusty had quite the income, at the time, it made him an easy target, for her at least. And Dusty, being the gentle and kind character he was, didn’t feel like he had the right to judge somepony else, despite what they may had done, so he fell right for her with ease. 

It wasn't until Medli got pregnant with Vinyl that she started to shun Dusty from her life. Shortly after she gave birth to her new filly, she called things off with Dusty, leaving him with nothing but the little filly.	

“What a worthless piece of trash your mother was! You must be a lot like her,” he said, while he leaned against the gate. The stallion then proceeded to thrust violently against it. “That’s what I used to do to her all the time!” His friends laughed loudly with him. I wanted to say so many things to him, but I kept myself collected and witted, as we finally walked passed the stallions.

When we made it to the theatre and took our seats, the play began in less than ten minutes. After the play had started, I began to hear short, rhythmic sobs in between breaths. Tears were streaming down Vinyl’s cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot. I reached over to her in concern and wrapped my forehoof around her neck so she could rest her head against my chest. “Don’t worry about those awful stallions, Vinyl. I’ll always be here for you,” I softly whispered into her ear. “I’ll always be here for you.”

After the play, we were on our way home, but, this time, we didn’t go through the park. Vinyl still seemed pretty shaken up from what we had heard earlier that night.

“Vinyl, are you sure you’re all right? I hate seeing you like this,” I said facing her, my voice soft and sincere. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll always be fine as long as I have you,” she said turning to face me, giving me a warm, comforting smile.

Then leaning in, I softly kissed her on the cheek. Her face flared red, her features seemingly brightening.

“W-what was that for...?”

“You’re my everything, Vinyl. And I love you.”

“I-I love you too, Octavia.”

We didn’t exchange any more words on the rest of the way home. Looking back on it now, I realised that everything that followed after that night was because of those three words.

> Chapter Three: The Fault in Our Doubts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Three

The Fault in Our Doubts


Folklore has it that my father won the Equestrian Classical Music Contest on his very first attempt. If the story had been about a random contestant, it would have been dismissed as nothing special. If ponies bragged about having their fillies competing in the contest, chances were they competed in a paltry music contest at their fillies’ middle school, since this contest only selected the best musicians in Equestria to participate.

Bon Bon, a loyal friend of my father, whom he had met at Manehattan University, always called him “The Magical Stringed Musician” since he had a miraculous gift to play most stringed instruments. Specifically, the cello. My father was a force of nature, with a small beard, a cutie mark of a music note with a glowing fissure in the middle, a simple black mane, and an ivory coat. 

Jazzmere was nearly impossible to ignore, even in his sleep. When he slept, his snoring sounded like an angry hydra. I used to bury myself under my wool blanket, and still the sounds of his snoring resonated through the thick walls of our house. I wondered how my mother managed to sleep with his chronic snoring. That was one thing of the many things I would’ve asked her if she was still alive.

When I was about three years old, Jazzmere had contested in the ECMC for the first time, so he could prove that music comes from the heart, and not from anywhere else. I heard this story through Bon Bon. She told me Jazzmere had written a two and a half minute lament that expressed his sorrow for the loss of his dear wife—my mother—through the use of musical form.

When he submitted his own written music piece for the competition, everypony laughed at him because he wasn’t a “professional composer”; they told him to use a piece of music that was already well-known since his piece wouldn’t catch the audience’s attention. 

But, of course, Jazzmere refused to use anything but his lament. And he did. When he got on stage, everypony shook their head in doubt at his supercilious ways. Then, through all the doubt, he succeeded, winning the contest with flying music notes, and everypony in the audience sat there stunned, speechless. 

I remember, precisely, the day before the contest started. Jazzmere took me, Vinyl, and Dusty to the Manehattan lake for a picnic, so he could play his lament with his cello for us while we ate. What I heard was heartwarming. And it wasn’t until that day, at the age of three, when I took a serious interest in music and the cello. 

The euphonic melody had attracted what looked like outsiders, and other ponies of the Manehattan community. They all stood around us, in awe, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I would ever become a successful musician like my father.

On the day of the contest, at Manehattan City Music Hall, they, for the first time in years, ran out of seats. Many ponies were forced to stand to watch the contestants play. Luckily for us, Jazzmere had managed to get us front row seats. We didn’t see Jazzmere up on the stage until near the end. And when he got on stage, he turned the entire hall into something impossible to explain: I saw ponies began to cry because of how stirring it was; others sat there with their jaws dropped in silence. 

When he finished his lament, ponies stood up and cheered for him in admiration. He was declared winner of the ECMC that year, and his name was put on a plaque, along with the other past winning contestants.

Yet—despite Jazzmere’s success, ponies were always doubting him. They had told him that musical talent wasn’t in his blood, or in his family’s heritage. That, instead, he should go to medical school and study biology—and become a doctor, like his parents were. Yet, he proved them wrong by winning one of the hardest music contests in all of Equestria. Even then, ponies still doubted his abilities.

When I started the fifth grade, we had a teacher who taught us about the history of music. His name was Crazy Strings, a short and stubby stallion with a pencil thin mustache, a quaver for a cutie mark, and a deep, raspy voice. He lectured us about the fundamentals of music, and how it came about in the first ages of Equestria. Then he made us memorize notes used in musical notation, telling us that we could only become a successful musician by creating something everypony would love.

“I want you to remember this, fillies: You can’t be a passionate musician, and be a successful one at the same time,” he said to us before the bell rang. “You cannot, and I’ll say it again, you cannot be a passionate musician and be successful!”

On my way home that day, I thought about what I had learned in class. I didn’t quite understand that statement he made: “You can’t be a passionate musician, and be a successful one at the same time.” Why couldn’t one be successful and passionate at the same time?

When I got home, I went to the living room to lie down and relax for a little while, but I noticed Vinyl, sitting on the couch, scrawling something on a piece of paper. She quickly concealed the piece of paper with her hooves when she saw me, and hid it under the couch. 

“Um..h-hey, Octavia...how was school?” she asked me, her voice choking midway in her sentence.

I took a seat next to her before telling her what was on my mind. Vinyl was always the one I turned to for advice when I was unsure about something.

“It was...well, I’m not really sure,” I said. 

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Strings, my music teacher, had told us that we couldn’t be a successful musician and a passionate one at the same time. Everypony in the class seemed to agree with him, but I didn’t. Now I’m not so sure if I’ll ever be a successful musician.”

“You not being successful? C’mon, Octy, don’t be crazy! You’re the most talented pony I know,” she said, getting up from her seat to stand in front of me. “Although I don’t go to school like you, I know what your teacher taught you today is totally stupid.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. You’ll be a very successful musician! And you shouldn’t doubt that for a second,” Vinyl said with confidence. The way she spoke was unlike anything I had heard from her before. Never had I thought that she would be this persistent to help me.

“That means an awful lot to me, Vinyl,” I said, getting up to give her a warm hug. I just didn’t want to let her go. It felt like I was melting right into her hooves. Not wanting to let go, I slowly withdrew from the hug before we continued our conversation. “Perhaps I should go talk to my father about this. I’m sure he’d like to hear about my day.”

“I’m sure he’d like that. I’ll catch ya later for dinner,” Vinyl said as she went back to do what she was doing before I interrupted her.

I went upstairs to Jazzmere’s study and stood in front of the candle lit fireplace when I told him what Mr. Strings had taught us in class. Jazzmere was pouring himself a cup of tea from the tea-bar he had made at the corner of his study. He listened to me intuitively, bobbed his head, absorbing everything I was telling him about today, and took small sips from his teacup. 

Sometimes when I told him things, I wondered if he was actually listening to me.

Then he took a seat with me standing in front of him, on his reholpulsered sofa made from synthetic material. He put his teacup on the side table, then propped me up on his lap.

“I noticed, from what you’ve told me, that you’re obviously confused with what you’re learning in school from actual education,” Jazzmere said, his voice deep.

“But if what Mr. Strings said is true, does that mean I won’t be a successful musician?”

“Hmm.” Jazzmere picked up his cup of tea, took a small sip. “Do you want to know what I think about this?”

“Yes, of course, father.”

“I’ll tell you then,” Jazzmere said, “but I need you to understand this, and understand it now, Octavia: You’ll never learn anything from those senseless idiots, we call teachers.”

“You mean, Mr. Strings?”

“I mean all of them. I would set their university degrees on fire to have them dismissed as teachers,” Jazzmere said, before taking another quick sip. “I’ll have you know, they do nothing but fill your minds with absolute nonsense that you’ll never use in day-to-day life.”

“Then why do I go to school if I don’t learn anything that I’ll ever use?” I asked in between Jazzmere’s periodic sips. “I mean, I thought school was a place to learn.”

“Octavia, my dear, you asked me about being a successful musician, are you listening or not?”

“Yes, father. I’m sorry.”

“Good, now listen up. These buffoons who we call teachers nowadays aren’t doing their job correctly. If they were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

I kept my lips sealed, not saying a single word since he asked me to listen. But then I noticed that Jazzmere was heaving a sigh of impatience. If I had known he wanted me to answer his question, I would’ve. But he answered it for me.

“The answer is no to that question, Octavia. Anypony who thinks that you can’t be a successful musician because you have too much passion for playing music, should go back to kindergarten school. When somepony says music doesn’t come from the heart, they’re lying. 

“And when you lie to ponies, you steal their right from the truth. And in this case, this idiotic Mr. Strings has done exactly that to you. Don’t believe anything he tells you from now on, all right?”

“Yes, father,” I mumbled, trembling with my speech. “But may, I ask you something?”

“You may,” Jazzmere replied, finishing his cup of tea.

“What if I don’t become a successful musician? I mean, there’s always the chance of failure, and I don’t know if I can do it,” I said, my voice hasty and nearly indecipherable. I looked down at the beige carpet that had a diamond pattern. 

“You will be. Never doubt yourself, Octavia,” Jazzmere said simply. Then he propped me down from his lap and went back to his tea-bar again. 

I watched him refill his teacup and wondered when we would talk again. For some reason, I always felt that my own father disliked me a little, but I never understood why.

Then Jazzmere turned around. “I think dinner is ready. Why don’t you go back downstairs and eat dinner with Vinyl while I have some alone time up here?”

“Yes, father,” I said, leaving quietly, my ears drooping down. 


§


After I had dinner with Vinyl, we lay in front of the fireplace. It was a rainy night, and it was quite cold. Vinyl nuzzled into my chest as I softly held her by the fire. She was still a little rattled from the other night, and I promised that I would be her protector when Dusty wasn’t around. And I intended to keep that promise. 

Eventually, Dusty called Vinyl up for bed. I gave her a quick kiss goodnight and told her I’d see her in the morning. Then I went to bed myself. But before I went to bed, I noticed Jazzmere’s door was slightly ajar. I saw him sitting behind his desk, on his wool chair, talking to somepony on the speakerphone. When I heard the voice on the other end, I knew who it was: Bon Bon. She was talking to Jazzmere in a really serious tone.

“So what’s really the problem, Jazzmere?”

“I-I don’t think I have a lot of faith in my daughter. She’s a very smart pony, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like she’s going to make a poor decision later on in life.”

“What? What got you to believe such rubbish? She’s a young filly for buck sake! How can you expect so much from her?” Bon Bon said. It sounded like her voice was starting to cut out from the rain.

I heard Jazzmere’s chair creak as he shifted on it. “I don’t know, Bon Bon. She told me earlier tonight that she doesn’t have much faith in herself to be a successful musician. If she doesn’t have faith in herself, why should I?” Jazzmere said, his voice thick and stern. 

“Because you’re her father!”

“I don’t know, Bon Bon. Not to mention, she’s way too polite in social situations. She doesn’t seem to have any guts to stand up for what she believes in. I mean, she’s smart enough to tell the difference between a truth and a lie, yet she couldn’t tell that her teacher was lying to her today.” 

“So what if she comes off as naïve. It’s expected with young fillies such as herself,” Bon Bon said. Her voice started to sound staticky, yet clear enough to be decipherable. “There’s nothing wrong with not having a mean side, especially for a pony such as herself. I can’t picture Octavia being mean to another pony. You’re overthinking this too much.” 

“No, I don’t think I am.” Jazzmere sounded frustrated, almost angry.

“Do you have to always be this stubborn?”

“Arrgh! There’s just something missing in her. I know it,” Jazzmere said.

“Yes, a mean streak.”

“Stop playing with me, Bon Bon please.” Jazzmere inhaled deeply. Then he exhaled afterwards. “I just feel like a failure as a parent. I promised my wife, before she passed away right in front of me, I would do my absolute best to parent our dear Octavia.”

I didn’t want to hear anymore of their conversation, so I withdrew myself and went to bed. I heard the rain tapping against the roof. I couldn’t help but sob into my pillow remembering their conversation, every word of it. Eventually, I fell asleep.


§


The next morning, I went downstairs to make myself some toast and marmalade, my favourite breakfast. Vinyl usually woke up earlier than I did, so she was already at the table eating her breakfast. She saw the despondent look I had on my face and asked me if something was bothering me. I didn’t answer her, though. 

So we ate our breakfast in silence. 

> Chapter Four: Undeniable Chemistry
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Four

Undeniable Chemistry 



Dusty and Jazzmere grew up together as foal playmates—just like Vinyl and I grew up together a generation later. Jazzmere was always talking about all the obstreperous mischief he and Dusty used to create. Never in Jazzmere’s stories did I hear him refer to Dusty as a “brother” despite them growing up like brothers.

The interesting parallel was I never called Vinyl my sister. Not in the usual sense at least. Never mind that Vinyl taught me to ride a tetracycle, like sisters or brothers would do, or to teach each other how to play a specific instrument.

But Vinyl and I were fillies who had learned to crawl, speak, and walk together. We even fed on the same bottle and slept in the same crib. Nevertheless, Vinyl and I weren’t blood sisters—and nothing could ever change that. Nothing. I spend the first eleven years of my life growing up with Vinyl in that house. Sometimes, it felt like it was just one long hectic summer with her, running around my father’s pool, throwing water balloons at each other, playing hide and seek, understanding the ways of life, and learning how to play musical instruments. 

We played our first musical instrument at the age of six—in the studio my father ran as a business in the Manehattan music district. When I played the cello for the first time, it didn’t go as well as I had anticipated. It sounded like somepony scratching on a chalkboard. But Vinyl didn’t have any impediments playing the acoustic guitar. Her calloused hooves struck the strings, full forced, syncing each note accurately, and I would sit in front of her, wondering how she did it.

I remember asking Jazzmere if I could play the way he did during the ECMC after a few at plays. Jazzmere burst into peals of deep laughter, and, when he could speak again, explained that it takes years for a somepony to master the cello—since it was one of the more arduous instruments to play.

As the years went by, we got better at our selective instruments and started to practise less and less in my father’s studio. Instead, we did other activities, playing tag and reading, when we weren’t at practice. 

We played tag in the outskirts of Manehattan, near the meadows to the north. The open fields made it easy for us to play, and it was more enjoyable to play there than in our backyard. We ran and ran, all day, and neither of us could catch our breath, let alone each other. We kept playing. Playing and chasing each other around, losing our breath even more. 

By the time we completely lost our breath, we had lain in amid meadows, wheezing, not being able to speak to each other. But as we lay still on the quiet meadow, Vinyl crept closer to me, poked my nose with her hoof. The fact that she touched me didn’t help. My heart was racing from the strenuous running we did, and her silken touch made it race even faster. 

We drank cold water from a nearby stream, and it was among the freshest water I ever drank. It had come from the mountainous plateaus, the snowy peaks, just north of us. After several minutes of drinking, Vinyl grinned, leered, at me in a mischievous way. It looked like she was up to something, but she did a fine job of hiding it.

“Vinyl, why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, curious. 

“Just admiring your cuteness,” Vinyl said nonchalantly, taking another drink.

“You’re too adorable, Vinyl. ” Then I went back for a last drink.

“Hey, Octy, look out!” Vinyl said, splashing me with cold water. “Ha ha, gotcha!”

“That’s re-ally…c-cold!” I said, my teeth chattering rapidly. “I knew you were up to something!”

Vinyl came up to me, gave me a hug. “I’m a cheeky imp. You know how I get.”

We played another game of tag, chasing each other until the sun set to the west, until we lost our breath again and were forced to go back home with our sheer exhaustion.

It wasn’t until the school year when my time with Vinyl was affected. She didn’t go to school because Dusty didn’t have a high enough income to pay for his daughter’s tuition at the private school in Manehattan.

Everypony had a daily routine when the school year came into play. When I shambled my way to the bathroom to get ready, Vinyl had already washed up, lit the living room fireplace, and prepared a breakfast for me, with the help of Dusty. It varied from day to day, but I had no complaints. She had always insisted on helping me during the school year because she wanted me to have a “stress-free life.” When I ate my breakfast and apprised the balderdash I learned in school the previous day, Vinyl made my bed and gathered my saddle bag I used for school.

Then, Jazzmere and I rode in his personal carriage, pulled by drivers, to my school. Vinyl stayed home with Dusty to help with the day's chores: Washing the dishes, putting fresh water in the pool, harvesting the fresh fruit from the garden, and sweeping the patio.

After school, Vinyl and I met up, grabbed a biography of a famous musician or documents relating to music, and bustled to the left yew tree in our backyard. Then we sat down underneath it. Awhile back, Vinyl had used one of Jazzmere’s knives to carve our name into that very yew tree. It read: “Octavia & Vinyl will be best friends forever!” Those words made it official: That tree was ours, and our friendship would be evermore. 

There were red, fleshy arils that fell from the yew tree, and we ate them when they were in season. Dusty had told us that we could only eat the red fleshy part of the berry since the seed in the middle was toxic. After we had eaten the plentiful berries, we wiped our hooves on the grass, staining it with a blood red colour. Then I read to her.

Sitting cross-hoofed, shadows of yew branches gyrating in Vinyl’s face, Vinyl, not knowingly, chomped on amid arils as I read material she couldn’t read herself. She grew up as an illiterate pony since she never went to school to learn how to read and write, so I read to her. She could, however, write simple things, and speak fluently when essential. 

Despite her illiteracy, or maybe because of it, Vinyl was drawn to the enigma of words. I read her novels, poems, and biographies my father kept in his study, and, when I read a new poem or story to her, it never ceased to amaze her. We sat for hours under our yew tree until the sun set to the west, but Vinyl insisted that we had enough time for one more story, one more chapter, one more poetic verse.

The next day, I decided to try a different approach with Vinyl. Instead of me reading to her, I played a song with my cello from some sheet music my father had bought me to practise with. But I wasn’t playing from the sheet. I was turning the pages regularly, but I had abandoned the sheet music altogether and made my song forthwith. Vinyl was oblivious to this. She sat there, hind hooves and eyes wide open, her forehooves touching the grass, staring at our home as if she wasn’t coherent of what was going on around her. 

After I had finished my song, I asked Vinyl if she liked the song I secretly extemporized, tittering building in my throat.

“Vinyl, what in Celestia’s name are you doing?” I said.

“That was one of the best songs you’ve ever played, Octy!” she said, jumping up and down.

I choked in my laughter trying to talk to her. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

“You’re too charming,” I muttered.

“It was great, Octavia! Without a doubt!”

“Charming,” I repeated, a little agog, feeling like a young pony who just got her cutie mark.         

Walking back to the house with Vinyl, perpetual thoughts were going through my head. Best song you’ve ever played, she’d said. 

That same night, I wrote my first music piece, after Vinyl went to bed, using the chromatic scale, and it took me an hour to write. It was a sad lament relating to a story I read to Vinyl once. The story was about two ponies who were happily together, but, when they grew old together, they developed an unknown disease, and neither of them remembered each other. They died without knowing their lover was right next to them. The lament consisted mostly of minor strings, and it ended with a shift in the pitches to deepen the tone.

Then I climbed the stairs and made my way to my father’s study with the three sheets I wrote my music piece on. Jazzmere was sitting down on his couch reading a newspaper when I came in.

“What is it, Octavia?” Jazzmere said dryly, turning around to face me, his hooves touching the arms of the sofa. His glare made my throat dry, but I cleared it when I approached him and told him about the song I wrote.

“Well, that’s good now isn’t it? Practice like that is good for you. May I see it?”

I stood in front of him for what seemed, to this day, the longest minute of my life. There was an uneasy feeling in the air, and it got denser as each second passed, making it nearly suffocating, and my heart raced, beating more violently.

“This is quite good,” Jazzmere said, looking dumbfounded to see such a piece from me. “It’s very good.”

Then he said nothing more. He didn’t even ask me why I wrote it, or what the song was about. He gave me back the sheets, got up from the sofa, and walked to the door. But he didn’t leave yet because Bon Bon was standing in the doorway. 

“I was looking for you,” Bon Bon said. “You ready to go? I need to be home soon.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get ready now.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, Bon Bon.”

“Yes?”

“Good business talk this evening. I enjoyed it. I’ll see you downstairs when I’m ready,” he said, leaving.

At that moment, I collapsed to the ground with tears pooling in my eyes. Convulsive gasps suffocated me with each breath I took. Bon Bon, when she could, always came to me with reassuring words when she saw me in a despondent mood. It was never my father who asked me how I was doing. I always had a feeling that he expected others to cheer me up, in spite of me being his daughter. It was either Dusty, Vinyl or Bon Bon who asked how I was doing. Never my father.

“Octavia, please don’t cry,” Bon Bon sad, kneeling before me.

“You heard everything?” I asked, rubbing my eyes while trying to sit up properly.

“I did, yes.” 

“I don’t think he meant any of it,” I croaked.

Bon Bon wiped a tear that was streaking down my face with a tissue she had with her. “You know how your father can sometimes get. May I see what you’ve written, Octavia?”

Before I said what was on my mind, I pushed her hoof away and smiled. “You’d really look it over for me?”

“I’d love to look it over for you. I took advanced music classes with your father in university, so it shouldn’t be a problem. And coming from you, Octavia, it has to be awesome.”

Once those words registered in my head, I gave her my sheets. “Thank you, Bon Bon. It means a lot to me.”

Later that night, when the sky dwindled from a pale blue sky to a star-painted one, Jazzmere left to take Bon Bon home. On her way out, Bon Bon handed me a note along with my sheets. She gave me a smile of a good impression. 

“This is for you. Look over your music sheets again before you read my note.” Then when she made her way to the front door, she turned around and said one word that meant everything to me: bravo.

After they had left, I went to my room to lie on my bed. I read her note over and again. It read like this:

Octavia, I enjoyed reading the piece you wrote here. When I got the first-line playing in my head, it was heart melting. You have a gifted talent. From what I learned and experienced in university, writing music, through musical notation, takes years of practice to do well. You have done just that with your first try at the age of ten. And I can tell you why. You have a passion. And you clearly showed that in your piece. I highly encourage that you continue to write more songs. And when you do, please show them to me.

The door is always open to you with me. Your friend Bon Bon.

Reading her note enkindled the fiery confidence I needed again. And with that, I grabbed my sheet music and rushed to Vinyl’s and Dusty’s room. They’d been asleep for awhile now, since it was quite late, but I wanted to play my song to Vinyl when I still had my slowly decaying credence.

I shook Vinyl, trying to wake her up, but I also took the precaution not to disrupt Dusty. She slowly rubbed her weary eyes in confusion and stretched her stubby forehooves. “W-what time is it, Octavia?”

“It’s late, but that’s not important right now,” I said, clearing my throat quietly. “I want to play you a song.”

“But, Octavia, it’s late.”

“This song is special. I wrote it myself, and I want you to hear it.”

“If you wrote it, it’s gotta be dope,” Vinyl said, jumping out of bed.

When we got to the living room and got settled in, I acroed my bow against the strings of my cello, in front of the crackling fire, and the notes played out just as I had imagined. When the song came to an end, Vinyl silently, but lightly, bashed her forehooves together. The way she grinned with her wide eyes told me everything she thought of it.

“Well done, Octy! Bravo! Bravo!” she said, her expression beaming.

“You liked it?” I asked, surprised.

“I loved it! It was, how did you put it…charming!”

“You exaggerate too much, Vinyl,” I said, loving her for it.

“I’m not kidding! You’ll be an amazing musician I just know it,” she said. “Did you show your dad?”

Those last five words punctured through me—worse than a thousand acupuncture needles ever could, and it left me in a hunched, curled, form on the ground. Tremors radiated out from my stomach to my extremities, and I wanted it to be over. And I knew what to do. Because Vinyl could take me to paradise—a place where I could forget about life and be with somepony who cares about me.

“Octavia! What’s wrong? Why are you on the ground?” Vinyl said, her excitement fading to genuine concern. “Was it something I said?”

I kept quiet because I was about to do something that would change my life. Actually, our life. I told her to sit with me in front of the fire. Neither of us spoke nor took our eyes away from each other. The way she looked at me was invigorating. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I pressed my lips against hers, and that’s when she shrieked. Her lips were dry and cracked, but they quickly moistened as I kissed her.

By the sounds of it, I had thought, when she squealed, that she would immediately shove me away, run upstairs, and tell Dusty that I had kissed her. But she didn’t. She kissed me, and my blood boiled, which electrocuted me. As minutes went by, each kiss filled me up with her warmth. And then she finally did it: She took me to paradise. Our lips were glued together, and I never wanted it to be over.

The fire eventually diminished down to embers, leaving us in the quiet, dim room. Vinyl let me lay on her chest as we silently endured each other’s company in the stillness of the night.

And that’s when our lives changed forever.
> Chapter Five: Our Deepest Fears
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Five

Our Deepest Fears


The next morning, I found myself still on the floor, where Vinyl and I had our special moment, and I was still lying on her. But something was different: Jazzmere wasn’t home. If he did come home last night, he would have broken Vinyl and I apart, and we would have been lectured on how being intimate with a pony of the same gender wasn’t a moral declaration in society.

Instead, I woke up to a blanket being on top of us, the fireplace rekindled, and the fresh aroma of oatmeal and toast. Dusty didn’t have a problem with Vinyl and I being intimate, considering that he put a blanket on us—after seeing us together in each other’s comfort—so why should my father have one? 

Then again, Dusty had a recalcitrant attitude when it came to the views my father had. Dusty had a more liberal standpoint than my father did, and they would get into heated arguments, Dusty often being the one who gets angry, about topics such as this.

In these types of situations, I wished Dusty had fathered me instead of Jazzmere, because Dusty was not only more understanding, but he was also more interested in me.

Sometimes I imagined giving Dusty a hug, crying into his chest while telling my father that I hated him, in hopes I would feel Dusty’s gentle, warm touch to make my foreboding vanish.

After I had that thought, I bolted to the bathroom and threw up in the sink, releasing the revolting guilt that built up inside of me from the thought. Vinyl, apparently, wasn’t too far behind me, and she hasted to the bathroom to see if I was well.

“You doin’ okay there, Octy?" Vinyl asked.

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” I said, rinsing the sink. “I’m comfortable with you here.”

“Is this about what happened last night?” Vinyl asked, walking in.

“No, not at all. I have no regrets with what we did last night,” I said. “It felt good. Really good.”

“I know, right? I was surprised you’d make a move like that, Octavia. I didn’t expect that at all, you crazy filly.”

“You make me happy, Vinyl,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “How about we go get breakfast? I’m sure you’re hungry, and I think Dusty is calling us.”

Vinyl wrapped a hoof around me and smiled. “Let’s get some grub.”


§


We found our breakfast laid out neatly on the dining table: hot oatmeal, dry toast, and apple juice. Dusty was already at the table eating his breakfast. Vinyl and I took our seats opposite of each other, so we weren’t sitting next to each other for obvious reasons.

“Thank you for making breakfast, Dusty,” I said. “And for putting a blanket on us when we were asleep. My father wouldn’t have been too happy to see Vinyl and me sleeping together.”

“Yeah, that was cool of you dad, thanks,” Vinyl said, smiling. “Means a lot to us.”

“I was happy to do it. I know how close you to are, and it doesn’t bother me one bit that you two were intimate,” Dusty said, finishing his meal.

I took a sip of my juice. “Say, where is my father? He didn’t come home last night, did he?”

“I believe he attended a party of some sorts last night. Not sure where the party was held, though. He may still be there. That’s everypony’s guess.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, short sobs heaving between my words.

“He’ll be back, Octavia, don’t worry,” Dusty said, reaching out to me with a hoof. “Say, rather than being stuck in here all day, would you two like to tag along with me to the market in a bit? I have to do some errands, and it’s quite a nice day.”

“Pop, Octavia and I love being outside. Of course, we’ll tag along!” Vinyl said.

My smile broadened. That was another thing I loved about Vinyl. She always knew when to say the right answer when it was called for.

“Okay, then. You two go get ready while I clean up these dishes.”

Vinyl and I went to our rooms and got our saddlebags. Before we left, I had taken the liberty to take some bits that were on my father’s desk, so I could get a present for Vinyl.

We crossed the residential streets and were trekking our way to the busy Manehattan market. Garrulous ponies surged through the many aisles of the merchandised kiosks, articulating indecipherable words. There were sale associates left, right, and centre, trying to sell their newest items in stock. When we approached the market square, Dusty had stopped us midway.

“All right you two. Meet me back here in an hour, okay? Be safe. Oh, and take these,” he said, giving us some bits, not knowingly I already had some. “If you find something you like among the millions of kiosks here, get something nice for yourselves. See you in a bit.”

Vinyl and I hustled to the empty side of the market, to get to the kiosks that sold items to our liking: musical accessories, aluminium balloons, and homemade candy. Vinyl usually cavorted at the sight of homemade candy, a specialty around here, for Manehattan had been, and still is, known for its famous confectioners.

We paced through the multitude of kiosks until, suddenly, a rock struck the back of Vinyl’s head. We whirled our heads around, and my heart sank into the abyss. Bulldozer and two of his friends, Chains and Bloody Knuckles, were approaching us.

Bulldozer was the son of one of my father’s friends, Arrowsmith, a fletcher and blacksmith. His family—despite them being rich—lived in the slums of Manehattan, place where you could get mugged at night, or even killed. If you were a filly or colt growing up in the Manehattan slums, you knew about Bulldozer’s renowned stainless-steel brass horseshoes, crafted by his father, though—hopefully—not through personal experience.

Born to a rich mother, and a devious father, Bulldozer, with a yellow mane, and dark green coat, grew up to be a relentless colt. He towered over the other fillies and colts, tormenting them, physically and mentally, with his brass horseshoes. He attended my school when grade three started, but the principal expelled him the same day for his unspeakable act. 

On the first day of grade three—during lunchtime in the cafeteria—I saw him beat another poor colt over his lunch. I will never forget how he grinned—how he laughed—as if he took abhorrent pleasure in his act—as he pummeled the poor colt unconscious.

Flanked by his obeying friends, they roamed around my neighbourhood, like evil minions about to commit sinister acts, through its eager-to-please entourage. His views were purely by law—and, if you needed a little education, those brass horseshoes were the perfect teaching device.

And now he was heading for Vinyl and me, grinning, kicking small pebbles our way.

“Hey, it’s my favourite dykes. How's it going queers?” Bulldozer asked, waving. That had been two of his favourite insults he used against us, merely because Vinyl and I were never apart. Vinyl retreated behind me as the three stallions closed in on us. Their shadows blocked the sunlight, beaming on us, and all we could see were the grins on their face, silhouetted by the sun.

Bulldozer tipped his chin to Vinyl. “Hey, Vinyl,” he said. “How’s your cracker of a father doing?” Vinyl didn’t say anything and took another step back behind me.

“What do you want, Bulldozer?” I asked, taking a step back too.

“What I want is for you two to make out right here in the middle of the market for us. That’d be hot,” he said, laughing among his friends.

“You have a twisted mind,” I said, stammering. “Just leave us alone, all three of you, or else I’ll tell my father about this.”

“Or else I’ll tell my father about this,” Bulldozer said, mimicking me in a whiny voice. “Did you hear what she just said boys?”

Chains and Bloody Knuckles nodded at Bulldozer’s question, their grin widening. They stepped closer, and each step increased my heartbeat.

I wondered if anypony would hear me scream in this remote section of the market. I wished we stayed with Dusty instead.

“Your father doesn’t care about you, one bit.”

“Of course he cares! He’s my father!” I snapped, scowling. “He loves me, as his daughter.”

Bulldozer snickered. “Oh, really? You think he cares about you? Then why didn’t he come home to his precious daughter last night? I’ll tell you why. He was at my birthday party last night.”

“You’re lying!” I said, whimpering. “Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to believe me. You could just ask your father. He’d tell you the same thing I did.” Bulldozer guffawed with his friends as they exchanged hoof-bumps with each other.

For a brief second, nothing came to me as I stood in front of the towering stallion. Bulldozer gave me a cheeky grin and crept closer to me. His glare made me quiver, and I whimpered at everything he had said and done to me.

“Oh, look boys, is the little filly gonna cry now? Want me to get you a bottle?” Bulldozer said, rubbing his eyes like a crying filly would.

Suddenly, there was a rapid flurry motion behind me. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Vinyl reach out for something on a kiosk and quickly retracted her motion. Bulldozer’s eyes flicked at the movements going on behind me, and his grin widened. I noticed the same look on Chains and Bloody Knuckles as they both witnessed what was going on behind me.

I turned around and saw Vinyl holding a short bow with an arrow. Vinyl had pulled the cock of the arrow all the way back and targeted it at Bulldozer. The arrow had a blunt arrowhead, yet it still appeared as deadly as a broad arrow. Vinyl’s hooves trembled from the sheer strain of pulling the bowstring back, and beads of sweat trailed down the side of her face as she concentrated on keeping her aim steady.

“You leave her alone right now, Bulldozer,” Vinyl said. “Or else you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Bulldozer burst into peals of laughter again. “You’re gonna shoot me with that? You gotta be joking,” he said. “Put it down, you loose dyke.”

“Get lost, Bulldozer, I don’t want to hurt you!”

Bulldozer smiled. “Did you forget that there are three of us and only two of you?”

Vinyl nodded at the question but didn’t reply. To an outsider, Vinyl didn’t look scared, at all, yet she feared Bulldozer and his friends immensely. Her face told me everything I needed to know, for I knew all of its subtle nuances, since the day we were born, knew every twitch and flicker that rippled across it, and it told me that she had been scared. Scared plenty.

“There may be three of you, but I’m the one holding the bow with an arrow here. And if you make another move on Octavia, you’ll be the laughing stock of Manehattan.” The way she spoke her words restrained me to keep quiet.

Bulldozer’s mouth twitched. Chains and Bloody Knuckles watched this exchange with something akin to wonderment. Vinyl had challenged the great Bulldozer. She humiliated him.  And, worse of all, he was humbled by a girl. Bulldozer glanced from the readied arrow to Vinyl. He searched her face with every detail it had. What he found must have convinced him of how serious Vinyl’s intentions were because he stepped back away from us, because his grin, finally, diminished to the humiliating defeat.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life, you stupid dyke,” Bulldozer said with an icy glare. “This isn’t over yet, mark my words. Let’s go boys.” They all retreated, stepped back away from us, and ran in the distance, eventually fading to a black dot.

Once they were out of my sight, I rushed over to Vinyl, making her drop the bow and arrow, and clasped her in my hooves. Her silken mane slid through my hoof as I patted it. We both collapsed to the ground, and Vinyl held me in her stubby forehooves.

“Vinyl…he can’t be telling the truth! He…”

My throat closed tightly, and each word pitched higher than the last. I wept into her chest, and my cheeks itched from the tears that were streaming down my face.

“Don’t worry about those idiots, Octy. We’ll get through this together,” Vinyl said, her voice soft. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be here for you…”

After I had collected myself, we both got up from the ground. I turned around to focus my attention to Vinyl, who tried to tuck the bow and arrow in her saddlebag with her quivering hoof. It took her more than five tries to put them into her saddlebag, so I helped her with doing so. Neither of us said anything as we walked back to the market square in trepidation—certain that Bulldozer told the truth of my father’s whereabouts last night.

We got back to the market square and met up with Dusty. He had been standing near a street bench, levitating two paper bags with his magic. We ran up to him, and Vinyl gave her father an immediate hug.

“Dad, dad! Bulldozer and his friends…they said mean stuff to us and wouldn’t leave us alone,” Vinyl said, letting go.

Dusty placed the levitating bags down on the adjacent bench. “Wait, Bulldozer? The one that beats up fillies and colts? What did he say to you?” 

“Yeah, that’s him! He said that Octavia’s father never cares about her. Then he went on about how her father went to his birthday party last night.”

Dusty focused his eyes on me. His friendly look made my heartbeat pump at irregular intervals. “Is Vinyl telling me the truth? Did he say those things to you?”

“Well…he did say…” I hesitated in telling him.

Dusty stepped up to me, put a hoof on my shoulder, and smiled. “You can tell me, Octavia. Whatever happened between you and Bulldozer, we'll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

At that point, I wrapped my forehooves around Dusty, hugging him. “Vinyl is telling the truth! Bulldozer did say those awful things! And I…” My words stammered, and I couldn’t pull myself together. 

“Shh, it’ll be all right, Octavia, don’t you worry,” Dusty said pulling me in an embrace. “I know your father better than anypony else in this world. And he wouldn’t do or say such a thing about you. Shh, you'll see. Everything will be, okay.”

I buried my head into his warm chest and wept, again. Dusty held me close, told me everything would be fine, and rocked me back and forth until my tears dried, until my quivering stopped, and my frantic yells dwindled to indecipherable mumbles. In his hooves, I had forgotten everything that happened that day. And that was good.
> Chapter Six: Our Lives to Come
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart 

Lunatone

Chapter Six

Our Lives to Come




For two weeks, I didn’t see my father at all. I woke up, every day, hoping that he would be in the dining room helping Dusty out with the making of breakfast. Instead, for the past two weeks, I woke up to the usual: Breakfast on the table, Dusty and Vinyl calling me down to join them with still no sign of my father. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the smell of water vapour from Jazzmere’s smoking pipe. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to Jazzmere singing old Equestrian songs about the Princesses and how they formed the kingdom. No longer, for those two weeks, did I wake up to the hissing sound of the iron Jazzmere used to iron the clothes I wore to school.

My clothes for today were ironed and folded, left on the cane seat chair my father used to do his ironing. This was Dusty’s doing. Ever since the incident happened back at the town square, he had taken the role as a father toward me though he would never be a replacement for Jazzmere. Nothing could ever change that. Ever. Now only folded clothes, Dusty, and Vinyl greeted me. That, and a breakfast I could barely get down.

One grim and overcast morning, as I was spooning down a bowl of cereal, Dusty walked in levitating a pile of firewood for the wood burning stove. I asked him where my father was. “I don’t know, Octavia,” Dusty said, kneeling before the stove. He opened the little square door with his magic.

“Will he ever come back?”

Dusty paused with a log in the air. A worried look marked his face. “I sure hope so. I miss him, despite everything that had happened with him and Bulldozer. And I know you do, too. But lately, it seems all he wants to do is be alone. Maybe he needed some time to himself... Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Does he know about you and Vinyl having an intimate thing going on? I asked her if she thought Jazzmere knew anything about it, but she told me that you haven’t said anything to him about it.”

I took a spoonful of Music-oos, but didn’t say anything.

“Did you tell your father about you two?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. He would be the last pony I would ever tell this to.”

Dusty put the rest of the logs in the stove. “Okay, just making sure.”


§


Later that night, I asked Vinyl if we could spend time together. She was in her room, drawing an abstract depiction of something I couldn’t decipher. One of the many talents Vinyl had was drawing. Ever since Dusty had taken her to the art museums in Manehattan, she had been inspired by all sorts of artworks done by famous ponies. One day, she hoped she would be a successful artist. She put her pencil down, then took off her glasses. “Why not! I love spending time with ya, Octy.” Lately, Vinyl agreed to everything thing I asked. Not only that, just four nights before, she had asked me out to dinner so I could get my mind off things. 

“Wanna lie down together and talk?” she asked me.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Great. The two of us can have fun together.” Vinyl smiled. Winked. “I’ll keep you warm.”


§


Vinyl and I lay in my bed, her back pressed to my chest, my face buried in her prismatic mane. I remember the night when we shared our first kiss, not too long ago, and when I experienced love for the first time. I remember holding her close that night, whispering until our eyes drifted shut. That night, while the fire was dwindling, Vinyl had asked me something. She asked me if we would ever be together one day, start a family together, have foals of our own. I didn’t say anything though. Until now.

“Vinyl,” I said, my hoof stroking her mane.

“Sup,” she said. A long breath escaped from her mouth.

“I want to talk about the question you asked me a few nights ago. About us.”

“Oh, you mean about us being together and starting a family one day?”

“Yes, that one.”

Vinyl rolled over to face me, a smile creasing her lips. “Octavia,” she said, “I’d love to have that with you. Because you’re the one I love.”

If there was something I already knew, it was that I never wanted to be without Vinyl in any given case. And the idea of motherhood unleashed a swirl of emotions in me. Although Vinyl and I were both female and too young to even consider having a foal, I found the idea scary, dubious, and vigorous all at the same time. I wondered what kind of mother I would be. Would I be as kindhearted as my own mother was? I didn’t know.

“I’d like to have that with you too, Vinyl.” I drew her in, wrapped my hooves around her body. Seeing her smiling at me, her eyes watering over a little, I had a picture of the kind of mother Vinyl would be. “You know, Vinyl, you’d be a really good mother. You’d treat them with love and dignity, just like you do to me.”

“Aww, c’mon, you.” Vinyl kissed me on the lips, and I had zero intention of denying it. I imagined what it would be like if she and I were married, living together, making love together every night.

Pulling back, I then said, “I love you, Vinyl. And I always will. No matter what. You will always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.”

Vinyl stopped with her frequent strokes. Then a worried look crossed her face. “Do you promise me, Octavia?”

“I promise. No, I swear to you, Vinyl. You’ll always be mine. Always.”

“Always…” Vinyl whispered. “I want that to be our thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you know when you read a cheesy romance story, and the characters are all like ‘we should have a thing and make it ours’, sorta thing? We should do that with the word always.”

“I love that idea, Vinyl. Consider it our thing then. Always.”

“Always,” she said. She was pulling me in, our noses touching. Our lips were only millimetres apart, and it was then when a vortex of emotions spiralled inside me. Vinyl was like a sister by blood and I loved her for everything, including this side of her. The idea of having her, the one for whom I have nothing but genuine love and admiration toward, with me until the time of our passing made it invigorating, almost overwhelming to death. We were always going to be together, and nothing could ever change that. Ever.

Now I was pressing my lips against hers and she recuperated with the same amount of passion, love, and commitment. When I pulled back, she was smiling at me, as was I.

Later, when we were almost drained of our energy, Vinyl asked me something. “Hey, Octy.”

“Yes, Vinyl?” I said, slowly caressing her hair.

“What do you think it’d be like…being a parent?” Vinyl’s voice was sleepy.

She asked me a very good question. And to be honest, I didn’t know how to answer the question, but I did have an idea of what it would be like. So I told her.

“Well…I think it would be heartwarming…divine…bring a wave of awe just by looking at our filly kicking, laughing, crying. I think it would be the best feeling in the world to love something so small and precious, something of your blood. And I think you would do anything for your filly, which makes it a thousand times more meaningful. We’ll have our time, Vinyl. I promise you.”

“Mhmm,” Vinyl mumbled, falling asleep.

Under the wool blanket, my eyes closed, then, mercifully, darkness.


§


Waking up the next morning, still enveloped by the wool blanket and Vinyl’s hoof, I got out of bed. I don’t know why I even bothered, since waking up only brought a wave of joylessness because of my father’s absence—though I did hope he was back—while staying close to Vinyl gave me jubilance. In the event of a noise coming outside my room, Vinyl was considerably more conscious now, and she noticed me standing and staring at her.

“Morning, Octy,” she said, climbing out of bed. “Why the sad look? Is it about your father not being here?”

“For the most part, yes,” I said.

“Well, I’m always here for you if you want to talk about something, anything.” She gave me a sleepy grin and a quick peck on the lips.

“Thank you, Vinyl.” I wish I could have mustered something more than a ‘thank you.’

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” she said. “You know what makes me feel better when I’m down? Food. Let’s go get some grub.”


§


After we had eaten, I sat at the table and watched Dusty clearing the breakfast table. Waited for him to do the dishes, clean the countertops, and put more firewood in the stove. I had Vinyl to accompany me while I sat.

“So what do you want to do today?” she asked me.

“It’s quite a nice day out. Would you like to—”

My speech was interrupted by the intervention of the front door opening. My hearted pounded inside me as I waited, watched.

“Hello,” a familiar voice called out. It was my father. He walked in and closed the door behind him, then made his way to the table.

Rushing over, I clenched him with my hooves, and he did the same, though it was really brief. 

“You’re finally back,” I said.

“Of course, I’m back,” Jazzmere said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you tell us,” Dusty said. He sounded angry, almost furious. “Where have you been for the past week? Do you have any idea what you daughter went through while you were gone?”

“Hmm? What do you mean, Dusty? She seems fine and alive to me,” Jazzmere said.

“Really? You think that?”

Jazzmere nodded, then ensconced himself in the cane-seat chair. “What’s with the attitude? You better watch it, Dusty. You know I don’t like rude ponies.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Vinyl had switched chairs, so she could sit next to me and keep me close.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. Octavia has been living in hell ever since she found out that you went to Bulldozer’s party last week, instead of spending time with her. You know what he said to her? He said that you don’t care about her, and you said it yourself according to him.”

“Yes, I went to his party last week, but I didn’t say any of those things. I would never say those things about my daughter. How could you be so blind to think that?” Jazzmere asked, his voice insinuating sorrow. For once, he actually had a sad expression. “Did Bulldozer say that to you, Octavia?”

My throat was dry, and I could barely render the proper words to say yes to him. I was scared, frightened, and I didn’t know what he would think of me if I spoke such words about him. He’s my father after all. Luckily though, Vinyl held my hoof, squeezed it. That was enough for me to speak up.

“Yes, he did. He said awful things to Vinyl and me,” I said. Tears begin to streak down my face.

“Well, none of what he said is true, I promise you that. Come here, Octavia.”

Glancing back at Vinyl, who nodded that I should obey his command, I got up and stepped up to him. My heart raced, pumping out more blood as each second passed. “Yes, father?”

“Listen to me, and I want you to listen carefully.” He put a hoof on my shoulder. “I will always love you. You are my daughter, and you are, in fact, the most important thing to me. We may not be as close as you would like, but you are everything to me. And nothing can ever change that. You got it?”

I nodded. “Yes, father.”

“Good.” He withdrew his hoof and stood up. “And, Dusty, the reason I was gone for a week was because I was mourning the loss of my wife. It was our anniversary earlier this week and I wanted to pay my respects to her and her family. Next time, do not question my fathering toward Octavia, and do not give me attitude. We clear?”

Dusty was grumbling under his breath, his anger still lucid and obvious. “Yeah, whatever, I guess. Still, you could’ve at least left Octavia a note.” 

After Dusty finished what he had to say, he went back to his work for the day.

Then all was silent.


§


The early afternoon brought in a drizzle of rain, which ruined the plans Vinyl and I had; we were going to the northern fields to play tag, something we didn’t do as much. The fight that broke out between Dusty and my father earlier this morning didn’t help either. Never had I seen Jazzmere snap at Dusty like that, not in the usual sense at least. In the past, however, I had seen Dusty snarl at my father, though my father never retaliated with belligerence for reasons I never understood. You could hardly witness them get into a disagreement or a fight, but today was different it seemed. Almost too different.

Come later afternoon, Dusty had served lunch—a fruit salad with home-grown fruits—and Jazzmere retired to his study, as per usual. Nothing surprised me there. Vinyl and I decided to go eat in my room where we would have all the privacy we needed. Dusty didn’t mind that I spent a lot of time with his daughter, because he knew Vinyl made me happy, and I made her happy. And that’s all that mattered to him.

Currently, Vinyl and I were sipping mulberry juice, squeezed from the ones that grew out back. It was a little bitter, but I had no complaints. I was spooning down the fruits in my bowl, and Vinyl was asking me if I would ever write another song or a lament based off of a story or a poem I read, and, when I swallowed the fruit that was in my mouth, I said, casually, “I don’t know yet to be honest. Do you think I should?”

“Um, hell yeah, you should,” Vinyl said, beaming. “You’ll be an amazing composer. Just you wait. One day, when it happens, I’ll be there with you.”

I didn’t know what to think, or what to say for that matter. What would the song be about, and what would it sound like? I was an amateur composer, albeit, according to Vinyl and Bon Bon, the ones with whose critiques I trust, a very good composer. But then I have my father passively saying “it’s good” without any hint or indication as to why it was of that quality. Jazzmere was used to composing his own music, and, perhaps, he felt as though my song was poorly written, but he couldn’t say anything harsh about it because he didn’t want to hurt his daughter. Didn’t he have a right to expect the same thing from his daughter?

Vinyl ate her lunch and continued to talk. I imitated to listen, but I couldn’t listen at all (and I hated myself for doing it), because Vinyl’s nonchalant question had planted a seed in my head, a resolution that I would become a successful composer. Would there not be another outcome? There couldn’t be a possible hint of failure, especially when I have Vinyl and Bon Bon’s support. Maybe I would be successful. Then, when I do succeed, maybe my life as a phantom in this very house would finally come to an end.

I let myself dream: I imagined good conversation and positive laughter with my own father, instead of the dead silence that cast itself upon us during dinner. I pictured Jazzmere and I attending a high-culture music show in downtown Manehattan, where all the successful musicians go. Maybe after all of this, my father would forgive me for killing his beloved wife.

But then I thought about Vinyl, pictured the life I would have with her come my success. She would be very proud of me to achieve such a task, a goal, an achieved status. I envisioned her being with me throughout my life, helping me get through the impediments that feel almost impossible to overcome. Then I saw the joyous look on her face when I told her I had finally done it, that I had finally reached my dream.

Through my reverie, Vinyl was telling me all the things that I could do. I smiled, nodded, and laughed at all the right places, but I barely heard the words she spoke. It was then when I had a mission, an endeavour: I would become a successful musician no matter how arduous it would be. And I wasn’t doing it for my father. I was going to do it for Vinyl.


§


It rained heavily come evening. Vinyl and I were still in my room. We were playing a classy game of chess, something I had taught Vinyl a while back. Dusty had bought me this glass chess set for Hearth’s Warming Eve day. When I first got it, Vinyl and I spent countless hours playing chess, mainly because it was cold outside, and that was something Vinyl hated.

Vinyl killed my last knight, checked me twice, then killed my queen for the final elimination. Although Vinyl wasn’t book smart, she sure was able to come up with tactical plans to win games in chess. I wasn't bad at chess, but I was nowhere near as good as Vinyl. Ironically, I was the one who taught her, and she was better than her teacher.

Next door, in Jazzmere’s study, Jazzmere and Bon Bon were having their weekly business talk. I could hear loud laughter through the thin walls of my room.

Vinyl checkmated me, and I was forced to knock over my king. “You know, Vinyl, one day you might just become a chess grandmaster.”

“Is that good or bad?” she asked, handing me my lost pieces.

“Very good. Grandmaster is the highest possible title you can get in chess.” I began to place the pieces back on the proper squares. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you won a chess tournament.”

Vinyl giggled. “Oh, c’mon, Octy, I’m not that good. Okay, maybe I am good, but there’s no way I’ll ever get a grammaster title.”

“Oh, you will. Just like how I’ll be a successful musician one day,” I said. Another thought came to me. “In fact, I bet you’ll be an awesome painter, and a chess grandmaster.”

Vinyl’s face brightened. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“One day, I’ll make you a painting of me and you. I’ll be grand.”

Her saying that made me happy. Happy for who Vinyl was, and how she came to be about. For how’d she accepted the truth of reality, without blindness, of how she would grow to be a successful pony, despite her illiteracy and inability to write well.

Our chess pieces were back in place, and it was Vinyl’s turn to go first because she was the white side. “Get ready to lose again, Octy.”

I smiled.
> Chapter Seven: The Tournament 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart 

Lunatone

Chapter Seven

The Tournament


The next morning, as Dusty severed toast and brewed tea for breakfast, Vinyl was telling me about a dream she had last night. It was related to the things we had talked about in the last few days. Luckily for us, however, Jazzmere wasn’t at the table. “We were about fifteen years older, and it was our wedding day. Dusty, Bon Bon, Jazzmere, and other family members were there,” she said. “Your father was so proud to see you walk down the aisle, smiling. I think I even saw him cry out of happiness. Who knows.” She spread marmalade jam on her toast and poured a cup of tea, after which she put at least five spoonfuls of sugar into it and blew. “So everypony sat quietly as we said nice things to each other, and then as we kissed in front of everypony, they cheered and clapped.

“We walked down the aisle to leave, and flower petals were being thrown at us. I guess it was a thing they did. Anyway, your father was so happy to see you married to somepony you loved so much.”

“But my father would hate the idea of us being together. He doesn’t even know that we have a thing going on between us.”

Dusty sat at the table, reticently, chewing away at his toast as he listened to us talk.

Vinyl took a sip of her tea, then said, “It’s a dream, Octy. A dream that will come true one day. Even if your father doesn’t accept it, he will one day. Okay, so where was I?” Her voice was confident as could be. “Oh, yeah, after dinner time, we danced to a song you wrote just for me. I forget what it was called, but it was super awesome.”

“What did it sound like?” I asked her, taking a bite of my toast.

She shrugged and took periodic sips from her tea. “I dunno. I was hoping you’d tell me.”

“I would love to answer that question for you, but I can’t.”

“Sure you can! You just gotta think.”

I sipped some of Vinyl’s tea. She didn’t seem to mind. “Hmm… well, I suppose it would sound pleasant, soft, relaxing. Something you’d hear at a wedding.”

“Yeah, that’s how it totally was. See. I knew you could think of it.” She kissed me on my cheek, and I felt my face getting warmer.

“You know, between me and the two of you,” Dusty said, a smile crossing his face, “both of you are, like, perfect for each other. And I mean that in every positive way I can think of.”

“Aww, Dad,” Vinyl said, her voice hinting the slightest bit of embarrassment. “Octavia and I will always be together.”

“Always,” I said, feeling somewhat embarrassed, too.

“As long as you two are happy, so am I.” Dusty got up and took our empty plates.

Dusty always understood me. Sometimes I thought my father was blind while Dusty wasn’t.  


§


Later in the year, after I finished school, summer came into the calendar. Vinyl and I had a daily routine: Step out of the house early in the morning, our manes still looking like birds' nests, inhaling the fresh, warm summer air. Everything outside, the trees, bushes, the grass, and flowers had bloomed, alive and vibrant. I grinned at it all. The sky was clear, birds flying high, and the sun shone so bright, my eyes burned even when I wasn’t looking at it directly. I stepped down the small staircase, and Vinyl followed me.

Summer had to be everypony's favourite season. Why wouldn’t it be? Warm weather for an entire two months, as well as the fun summer activities. Sure, summer had its occasional downfalls with a few days of rain, but it always made up for it with the weather. In the summer, Vinyl and I always went outside to enjoy the season, though sometimes our separate responsibilities got in the way of us spending time together. But that was never a problem. Ever.

For a few unfortunate fillies, however, summer didn’t suppress the end of the school year. Some fillies failed classes in either first or second semester, and they have to attend summer school to make up for the poor grade. Luckily for me, though, I wasn’t one of them. Could there be any doubt? I heard rumours that certain ponies would volunteer to redo a course in the summer so they could improve their grade. Jazzmere didn’t enrol me in summer school, and I was grateful for that.

I loved summer in Manehattan, as did Vinyl. I really adored the way nature showed its pulchritude. I loved the season for the flowery smell it left in the air, the way the wind felt, the way warmth sank into my fur as I sat in the backyard, accompanied by Vinyl. But I liked summer mostly because we could sit under our yew tree, eat the ripe arils that grew on it, and read together. That was something I really loved doing with her.

But I also hated summer. Jazzmere was always more distant to me when summertime came. He had told me before that summer was the time he had to use to compose a series of songs for contests in the fall. Hence his reasoning for not spending time with me. A part of me wretched with pain and sadness for not being able to spend time with my father, but spending time with Vinyl healed that part of me, and that was something I could never put a price on. Ever. If I was being honest with myself, I would rather spend time with Vinyl than my father. And that was the truth of it all.


§


According to Dusty, Manehattan held an annual chess tournament in the city’s memorial park during the summer. Based off his knowledge of it, if you were competing in that tournament, you better be well-prepared, for that day was undeniably the highlight of the warm season. He said that it was a difficult competition to win, but it wasn’t impossible by any means.

Currently, Vinyl, Dusty, and I were seated in the living room. He was telling us more details about the event. “I competed in that chess tournament twice, back when I was fifteen years old, and lost both times. The night before, I would roll from side to side, grunting in frustration, trying to fall asleep. It felt like I was at war, trying to sleep in the madness. And it wasn’t so far off. Chess is war, and, like any war, you have to prepare yourself for battle.

“I gave it my best and made it to the semifinals the first time I competed. But then a better player made me look like an amateur. It was really embarrassing, but I kept my chin up and tried again next year, only to be defeated yet again. It’s a tough tournament, but if you have faith in yourself, you will do just fine.”

From what he had told us, all the chess games Vinyl and I played felt like they were only paltry trials compared to the competition. And I saw a dubious look in Vinyl’s face, making me want to enforce her confidence to restoration. 

“So do you think Vinyl could compete in the tournament?” I asked, glancing over at her. “She is really good at chess.”

“Yeah, Dad. I beat Octavia over twenty times in a row.”

Despite her remark, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t feel embarrassed because it was the truth. Had Vinyl been humble about her wins, I would’ve been embarrassed then.

“I don’t see why not,” Dusty said, smiling. “Anything for you, Vinyl.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Daddy.” Vinyl rushed over, wrapping her hooves around her father.

“No problem.” He drew back from the hug. “I believe the tournament starts today, actually. And it isn’t too late to sign up for it. We should head out now if we are going to make it.”

“All right, let’s get this show on the road,” Vinyl said, her voice uproarious.

I think Dusty was wrong about the being well-prepared thing.


§


I had never seen so many ponies at the Manehattan Memorial park. Fillies were running around screaming, playing, chasing one another, giggling. By the looks of it, the chess competitors were trying to meditate in an isolated area of the park, preparing their minds for the tournament. From afar, I could hear drums and trombones. Seats were placed around the competitors’ tables, where they would eventually falter to either a win or a loss.  

Dusty and Vinyl went to register for the competition, while I was in charge of getting a front row seat, so I could look at Vinyl, smile at her, hoping that she would win it all, even though she barely had any practice or preparation. Nevertheless, I believed in her, believed that she would come out of this tourney victorious.

By the time I had managed to get a good seat, I had heard Vinyl calling my name from afar. Her face was beaming with happiness, and, when she stepped up to me, I smiled back. “So, did you get in?”

“Yup,” she said, waving her ticket in the air. “Turns out there are only eight competitors, me being one of them.”

“We got to the registration booth just in time, too,” Dusty said, catching up. “I was surprised we even made it.”

“Well that’s great,” I said.

“Yup,” Vinyl said.  “Can I ask you something, Octavia?”

“You can tell me anything, Vinyl.”

“Will you be disappointed in me if I lose?”

My smiled faltered, lost all its momentum, because of Vinyl’s question. “No, I won’t be disappointed. I would have no reason to. Forget about what others would think if you lost. It’s not always about winning. Sometimes it’s about passion and perseverance. And you have that. And you should never forget that.”


Vinyl’s face brightened. “I’m ready to do it.”

“Good,” I said.

After our little moment, we heard the official chess adjudicator call out the competitors’ names, Vinyl being one of the callouts. “Good luck,” I said.

“Give it your best, supergirl,” Dusty said shortly after.

Vinyl closed her eyes. Nodded. And off she went.

I looked at the other competitors making their way to the tables, a dubious expression marking their faces. “Go get em, Vinyl.”


§


It was an hour into the tournament, and Vinyl had made it to the semi-final round. Right now, the current champion, Pawny, was in session, trying to advance to the semifinals. Since there were eight competitors, four would make it to the semifinals, and the two would make it to the finals. In other words, as Dusty had put it, the semifinals were the free-for-all part of the competition.

When Vinyl was competing, she had eliminated at least one third of her opponent’s pieces about six minutes into the game. She was like a fierce shark, roaming for prey. Within twelve minutes, Vinyl had defeated her opponent and advanced to the semifinals. I had wanted to go and congratulate her for her win, but spectators were prohibited from contacting the competitors for the prospect of cheating.

Currently, Vinyl was seated on a bench, not too far from the tables. We exchanged smiles and even kisses. I didn’t care if I looked silly, though. I only cared about Vinyl’s being.

Soon, the semifinals began, and my eyes were glued to Vinyl. To her luck, she wasn’t going up against the champion. She was playing a pony named Icicle Spears, a stallion regarded as a well-renowned chess player back in his day. Vinyl was thinking hard, her hoof rubbing her chin. I could tell that she had a plan already laid out to defeat her opponent. Within six minutes, Vinyl had accumulated a few pawns, a rook, two knights, and a bishop from her opponent, while he had a couple pawns, one knight, and one rook.

I kept stealing glances between them, wondered what Icicle had planned for her. They were moving their pieces all over the place now: Vinyl was advancing her knights and rooks, while Icicle advanced his pawns to charge forward. My eyes kept wandering over Vinyl, still thinking intuitively of the next move she should make.

“You know,” Dusty whispered to me, “Icicle has himself in a frizzle. If he slips up with one pawn, it is game over for him.”

“Really?” I asked quietly, looking at Dusty.

“Indeed. We’ll just have to wait and see what his next move is.”

I snapped my attention back to Vinyl, who now had Icicle’s queen. Vinyl had eliminated it with her bishop, essentially putting a hazardous factor in Icicle’s side. I averted to Vinyl’s competitor and noticed him shaking slightly. The queen, arguably, was one of the most valuable pieces a chess player could have; and by its elimination it would certainly put a dent in the player’s ability to defend the king. He moved another pawn, and it opened the line for his king to be checked.

I focused back at Vinyl. She was moving a rook to check her opponent’s king, only to realize that his king was unable to move because of the knight and bishop that was close to his king. Vinyl eyed the board, only to realize that she checkmated her opponent’s king. Grinning, she then said, snarly, “Checkmate.”

The adjudicator came by to inspect the play, and, after he did, he declared Vinyl a finalist in the tournament.

Everypony, including myself and Dusty, cheered, applauded for her victory. We were, however, asked to quiet it down, since the last two competitors were battling it out to get a seat in the finals.

An array of emotions thundered inside me as I stared at Vinyl, her face beaming with awe. I knew she could do it. And I knew she would beat the champion.


§


By the time the finals came into action, it had to be past three o’clock as the sun was well past its highest point. The array of emotions I had experienced earlier never dwindled or lost momentum, only gained thence. There was only one thing I wanted to do right now: Run on over and give Vinyl the biggest hug she had ever received from me. But I had to will myself from doing it, for the sake of rules.

Within thirty minutes, the finals began and it was now or never. I knew this part of the tournament would take a while because every move each player made had to be done carefully because the last two competitors, Vinyl and Pawny, were good; they wouldn’t easily fall into simple traps like the knight storming its way up to eliminate the queen and rook.

Fifty minutes later, the number of surviving pieces diminished significantly. Vinyl had collected at least six pawns, one knight, two bishops, and, surprisingly, both rooks, while Pawny managed to collect six pawns, and one knight. I pondered how he had so few pieces, considering that he was titled champion. Perhaps it was Vinyl’s tactical strategy she used.

Right now, it was Vinyl’s turn and she was thinking hard, as per usual. Then I noticed a small frantic look cross her face, which was the start of my momentum dying. Without any doubts, she looked right at me, smiled. I returned the smiled back and gave her a nod of enlightenment, encouragement. It was then when she regained all her lost momentum and dived back into the game.

Picking up the pace, Vinyl advanced her queen to check Pawny’s king. I snapped my attention to Pawny who had a look of horror on his face.

“Look at his side, Octavia,” Dusty said to me, “right now, he can kill Vinyl’s queen with his knight, but, in doing so, he will lose his own queen because of Vinyl’s rook placement.”

I nodded and focused back to the game.

Dusty knew the game quite well, and I couldn’t deny that. The tension in the air was as taut as the distance between Vinyl and Pawny. He had a look of annoyance, almost anger on his face. Vinyl was getting to him, and it was working quite well. He made a rash move by killing Vinyl’s queen, which resulted in him also losing his queen. He then eliminated Vinyl’s rook with his king. I then saw Vinyl smirking like a cheeky imp.

Vinyl eliminated Pawny’s knight with her bishop, essentially leaving him with only pawns and a king. He tried to move a pawn forward, but it was in vain. After he did that, Vinyl moved her left rook all the way to the other side, ultimately putting his king in checkmate.

It turned out that Vinyl’s bishops and her last knight were in the perfect places to render a checkmate.

Vinyl grinned once more and called it. “Checkmate!”

Everypony in the crowd gasped in surprise, awe, and inspiration. The adjudicator came to the table and examined the board. Then he said, “And the winner of this year’s chess tournament is Vinyl! Congratulations!”

I cheered, jumped, and yelled aloud for her feat. Dusty did the same, as did everypony for that matter. I hurried forward to Vinyl, and I couldn’t help but show her a smile, give her a warm hug. “You did it, Vinyl! You won!”

“Hell yeah, I did!” she said loudly. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Octy. Thank you.”

“Always.”


§


Later that night, after we had eaten dinner, Vinyl and I nested in the living room. Her head was on my chest, and I was stroking her mane. Jazzmere was still in his study, and, by the looks of it, he never left since we departed earlier today. He had no clue of what had happened today, what its significance was. But that was all right. Because I knew of it, as did Dusty. And that was all that mattered.

> Chapter Eight: The Party
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart 

Lunatone

Chapter Eight

The Party



I didn’t speak to my father until sometime next week. Vinyl and I had just finished our lunch, another serving of freshly grown fruit, and Dusty was doing the dishes. I, accompanied by Vinyl, was walking upstairs, going to my room, but then I ran into my father on the staircase. Vinyl went ahead of me so that I could speak with him alone. I asked him if he would like to do something today.

“It’s a sunny day,” I said.

“I can see that,” he replied.

“Would you perhaps like to see an outdoor play or a music show? It might be fun to spend some time together.”

He was descending the stairs, and I was following him. “You go do something with Vinyl.”

“I wish you’d come along,” I said to him.

“I got work to do,” he grumbled.

I paused. Silence. Then I spoke up. “What did I do to make you so…distant, Father? Can you please tell me? Why don’t we talk anymore? All you do is stay in your study, either alone or with Bon Bon.”

“You haven’t done anything, Octavia. I just have work that needs to be done and I cannot be disturbed. Do you understand?”

“I suppose…” I said.

“Good. Now go play with Vinyl.” He went out the front door, after which there was a quiet click.

I froze in place. A wrath thundered in me, and I wanted to break down the front door, chase after him and tell him off. Tell him that he should be with me instead of being all alone in his study. But above all, I wished he would reconsider his priorities, give me the time I deserve to be with him.

I went to my room, and Vinyl was sitting on my bed. I fell on her, buried my head into her chest and cried.


§


After I had that encounter with my father, I tried as hard as I could to minimize our paths from crossing. I did this because, when he was around, everything in the air was siphoned out, drained, leaving it airless and dry. My chest would contract and I wouldn’t be able to breathe, and my mouth would wither, leaving me unable able to speak. I would stand still in the airless bubble trying to suffocate me, and wheeze for whatever air was left—and I would use my will to speak, but only indecipherable slurs would come out my mouth.

But even when he wasn’t physically around me, he was still there. He was my father and I was his daughter. His blood was inside me, coursing through my veins, essentially keeping me alive. Sometimes I wished I could cut myself open and drain his cursed blood out of my body, despite how violent that might seem.

Early that autumn, a few days before the new school year started, Jazzmere decided it would be a good idea to have my cello cleaned and polished; so he and I sat in his study while we performed this task. Now that I thought about it, my cello hadn’t been cleaned since first semester of last year. My father always told me that I should be cleaning it at least once every three months, but I never did.

It was hot, humid, and sticky in his study, and Jazzmere was squatting next to me, trying to polish the base of my cello. He was telling me that one of the best ways to keep a cello in divine condition was to use oak wood polish on it. Then he told me how ponies believed using regular polish was the way to go. I listened intuitively, bobbed my head as he spoke and cleansed my instrument.

Later on, his voice dwindled as he became more focused on the polishing, and there was awkward silence in the air. I hated it. But then I came right out and asked the question that had been scaring me ever since that night. “Jazzmere, how would you feel if Vinyl and I were together?”

He stopped everything, dropped the cloth and scowled. Removed his glasses. Did I just enrage and stun him? “I beg your pardon? What did you ask?”

I swallowed a mouthful of muggy air. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

He grunted. “Now, why would you ask such a question?” His voice was full of anger and disgust.

“Because I would like to know, I guess. It was just a question, Father, there’s no reason to be angry.” My voice had faded into a suppressed murmur, and I already regretted asking him.

“You want to know how I would truly feel if you and Vinyl were together?”

“Yes, I would,” I said.

“I would condemn it,” he said, his voice harsh. “And I would be disgusted if you two were together. You are growing up with Vinyl. She is like a goddamn sister to you. And for you to even consider having an intimate relationship with her is just plain wrong.” He turned to me, and his face was as red as blood. “I’ve never laid a hoof on you, Octavia, but if I ever catch you doing something of this nature, or if you ever ask me this question again, so help me Celestia and Luna.” He pulled away from me, looked away. Shook his head. “I hate to say this to you, Octavia, but you bring me shame. Lots of it. Don’t even reconsider on being with Vinyl. We clear?” He put his glasses back on.

My ears drooped down like the leaves of a willow tree, and I looked down with tears pooling in my eyes. My hoof subconsciously scraped against the carpet underneath me.

“I said, are we clear, Octavia?” His voice was loud, angry, and serious. I could tell that he was genuinely angry, and that scared me the most. And because of that I didn’t say anything. “Answer my question, right now!”

I flinched, drew back. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry I even brought this up.”

“You and Vinyl will never have anything special together because the only thing you two will have is a good friendship and sisterhood.” He picked up the cloth he was using to polish my cello. Then he stroked it harder than necessary. “Never ask me this again.”

“I promise I will never ask you that question again.” Sniffles left my nose after I spoke.

We cleaned the rest of my cello in utter silence.


§


When the school year started, I was glad. Glad that I didn’t have to worry about running into Jazzmere at the house. But I was also dismayed because of the little time I got to spend with Vinyl. Homework was always something that came between us. My father had put very strict rules in place come this school year. I had to finish my homework first before I could go out and play with Vinyl. Ever since I asked Jazzmere the question of Vinyl and I being together, he had done things differently with me, put new consequences and rules in motion.

On school days, Jazzmere had his personal drivers transport us to my school. They drove down the cobblestone lane that lead to the entrance of the school, which was a three-story building with a modern look and feel to the place. The playground was mostly constructed of cobblestone as well. When Jazzmere dropped me off, he just drove away without saying a farewell.

The students on the playground had new backpacks, new notebooks, and sharpened pencils. Many were kicking dust into the air because of the sheer excitement for the start of the new school year. I was the quiet, distant, and reticent pony on the playground. The only thing I did was daydream about Vinyl.

When the bell rang, all the students, laughing and talking, marched forward into the building, filed in pairs. I sat in the front row, and, as Crazy Strings handed out our music textbooks for the year, I hoped that I didn’t get any homework on the first day. Homework was another unnecessary evil that I hated. And for the first little while, I was pretty occupied in learning the fundamentals and principles of music.


Later in the year, the leaves began to change colour, and it was the start of autumn. And one day, sometime in October, I asked Vinyl to come sit with me under our yew tree. Told her I wanted to do something special for her. She was drawing something on a piece of paper, and I saw her zeal by the way she hastily drew the lines to complete her art.

When she was done, we trotted to our special place. She asked me about school, what I was learning, and I spoke about my mindless teacher Crazy Strings, considering that he had no idea how to teach a class. She laughed at what a fool I made him out to be, and said that she hoped that I didn’t listen to anything he taught us, even though I had to believe some of it—otherwise what would be the point of me going to school?

When I had done my share of talking, I stared at her. Then told her something she would never believe. “So, I asked my father how he would feel if you and I were together.”

Vinyl’s eyes widened. “What did he say?” Her face was beaming.

“He said he would condemn us for being together. He said we will never have anything special together because, according to him, you will be nothing more than a friend and a sister to me.” My tone was dejected and heartbroken.

“That’s a load of horse apples,” she said. “We love each other more than sisters. And we always will.”

“I know, Vinyl. Which is why I don’t care what he says anymore. He can’t stop me from loving the pony I am meant to be with. And if he can’t accept it…well, he might just lose a daughter because of it.”

We sat against the tree, in the shade, rendered by the gyrating branches that moved about in the wind, and arils fell on us, rolled on the ground. Rather than having our favourite feature of our tree rot away, we collected them, put them in a pile, then removed the black seeds in the middle. Once they were safe to eat, we ate the ones we could salvage, but some of them tasted bitter since a few of them were overripe.

When we finished eating the good ones, I knew that now was a good time to put my plan in motion, the surprise that I had for her. I stood up. Smiled at her. “Um, Vinyl, could we maybe sit behind our tree? I would like us to do something.”

Vinyl’s smiled never faltered, only gained momentum. “Sure thing.”

When we were behind the tree, we were completely concealed, and had all the privacy we needed.

“What’s up?” Vinyl asked. The colour on her face brightened up after she had asked her question. Adjacent to her, there was a fallen aril that she picked up, removed the seed, and started to eat it. I knocked the aril out of her hoof and lunged forward. She was dazzled and taken largely aback. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

I was sticking to her chest like honey. Her fur was warm and tender, which only added to my reason for not getting up. “Kiss me, Vinyl,” I said. Vinyl looked from the ground back to me.

“Kiss me,” I said again. Vinyl did kiss me—and I could tell that she had no regrets—but she withdrew shortly after. She just stared at me, smiling, looking like a dazed stallion who just won the lottery when, only moments ago, he found out his house would be taken from him because of overdue mortgage payments.

Vinyl slammed her lips onto mine, eliciting a moan from my mouth. Then she planted her tongue in my mouth, and I could feel it against my own. I didn’t know how many times our tongues swirled around, getting tangled. All I knew was that, when we were kissing, our tongues entwining, my thoughts of reality vanished, and I had no hint, no sign, no trace of the stallion my father would become one day for whom I would have nothing but hate.

Eventually Vinyl broke the kiss, and I couldn’t blame her because we were both panting, in need of air. We collapsed abreast, on the grass. Looked at each other.

“Wow…” Vinyl said, gasping for air. “That was awesome and all, and I have, like, zero complaints, but what was that for?”

“I wanted to prove myself wrong,” I said.

“I don’t understand.”

“When my father told me that you and I would never have anything special, a part of me believed it. And, for about a month, my mind wouldn’t stop pondering if it was true or not. So I brought you here to prove myself wrong. Prove to myself that what we do have is real love.” I paused, looked at the sky. Thought about what I was going to say next. “And you know what…I’m going to tell my father that you and I are together. Eventually. And if he doesn’t like it, so be it. He can hate me all he wants, but it will never change how I feel about you. Ever.”

“But I thought your father said that he would always love you. Remember before the summer started? He said that. I know he did.”

I pulled back, glanced back Vinyl. “He made it perfectly clear that he would hate me if you and I were together. I got that impression. Sometimes it’s the pony you know best that you actually know the least.”

“Well, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you. Oh, and my father, too. He supports us.”

“And I am grateful for that, I really am. I just wish my own father could see who he really is…”

I put my head on Vinyl’s chest, let the tears break free. She let me cry into her chest, rocked me back and forth.

“We’ll get through this, Octavia. Just wait and see.”


§


I turned eleven later that autumn. Things between Jazzmere and I began to cool down a bit, and I was thankful for that. If I recall carefully, the main reason why it all started was because of the absurd question I asked him—hoping he would understand—the day we were cleaning my cello, about how he’d feel if Vinyl and I were together. I truly did regret asking him the question, yet I think, even if I hadn’t, the happy little interval would have ended. Perhaps it wouldn’t have ended so soon, but, like everything, it would have.

Near the start of November, breakfast and dinner time no longer consisted of silverware scraping against the plates, but rather of laughter and chatter because Jazzmere didn’t retire to his study come those times. A part of me was satisfied that he was no longer distant to me, but, at the same time, I wondered why he wasn’t distant. I thought about it, then I realised it was because my birthday was in the month of November, which meant one thing: a party.

And my father’s memo for a party was to have everyone in Equestria attend, or else it wouldn’t be a party. He did this so he could gallivant to the attendees of how much of a maestro he was, so he could be praised for all his accomplishments, even though the party was about me growing up, not about him. I recalled viewing the invitation list a week before my birthday, and not recognizing one-third of the ponies who were going to bring me gifts and congratulate me for having lived eleven years, that were coming. In reality, I wouldn’t be the star, it would be my father.

There was a party planner named Pinkie Pie, supposedly one of the best party creators. She showed up with all sorts of party attributes. She decorated the entire backyard with a large banner that read “Happy Birthday” and balloons. “This is going to be the superest, most awesome party ever!” I remember her telling me. I had never seen a pony so enthusiastic about making a party happen.

She climbed the yew trees with coils of bulbs that had fireflies glowing different colours, wrapping the coil around the tree. Then she set up tables, all around, with table clothes. Once her business was done, my father paid her and wished her a farewell. I had to admit, though, the decorations for my party were memorizing.

On the day of the birthday party, I was responsible for greeting the guests personally, and my father made sure I did that, since he didn’t want ponies to gossip about him raising a pony without proper manners and respect. I was forced to hug total strangers, kiss them on the cheek, give them my blessings, and thank them for the gifts they brought me. I thought all of this was completely unnecessary as I didn’t need all the gifts that were being brought for me.

Right now, I was standing next to Jazzmere, near the pool, when somepony said, “Happy birthday, Octavia.” My heart clenched and sank into the void. Bulldozer. His parents. His friends. They were all here. Bulldozer’s father, Arrowsmith, was bulky and tall and his mother, Goldspear, was of the same nature.

Bulldozer was standing between his parents, a grin marking his face, his hooves aggressively scuffing the grass. He walked toward us, and the look my father had was unimpressed and ashamed. When he was face to face with us, my body became dizzy, trembled with fear.

“How is my favourite gal doing on her eleventh birthday, hmm?” Bulldozer asked, grinning. I didn’t say anything to him until Jazzmere prodded me.

“I’m, um, doing well,” I said. My voice projection sounded unconvincing, almost dead.

“So, then,” Jazzmere began, “I was told by my daughter that you made some absurd comments of how I care for her. Care to explain all that to me, Bulldozer?”

Immediately after my father’s question, I interjected, gave off a half-suppressed laugh. “Now, now, Father, this party is a celebration, not about interrogating our guests here,” I said. My heart was beating faster than I could recall. My father looked at me. Smiled. Nodded his head.

“Octavia is right,” Jazzmere said. “This is a celebration, not a place to ask questions on something that is irrelevant. My apologies, Bulldozer.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said, his cheeky grin never faltering. Goldspear’s face flickered and her eyes shifted from her son to me. She grinned at me too, and it made me very uncomfortable.

“Still play rugby, Bulldozer?” Jazzmere asked. If it was one sport my father was into, it was rugby. I always thought of it as being a sport with unnecessary roughness.

Bulldozer still wore that smile, and he was directing it to me. “Certainly.” He still kept his gaze on me, and I felt like I was being choked.

“I wish to come and watch you play sometime,” Jazzmere said.

“Always pleased to meet a fan,” Bulldozer said, his voice loud and bold. He winked at Jazzmere.

My father blinked back, then said, “I like how confident you are. I always knew your father would never give up on parenting their filly.” Jazzmere prodded Bulldozer’s father with a hoof, though he barely moved on contact. There was laughter in the air, though it was barely convincing, and I wondered if my father was actually scared of Bulldozer and his parents. Bulldozer’s parents weren’t the ones renowned for their kindness or compassion, and that was something Bulldozer truly lacked. I pretended to smile and laugh at the conversation that was being made between all of us, but I knew Jazzmere didn’t buy it.

Bulldozer kept staring at me, smiling, as per usual. Then he spoke up. “So, Octavia, I guess it’s time for me to give you your gift.”

Hearing that didn’t make my mood on the situation any better. “Well, that is really, kind of you, but—”

“But nothing,” he said.

Then his mother interjected. “Bulldozer, you didn’t get a gift for her. Why would you lie about it?”

Bulldozer snickered. “Oh, trust me, I have a gift for her. It’s the biggest one she will receive from anypony tonight.”

I swallowed a mouthful of air, fretting of what was about to come.


§


The party was still going on strong. Jazzmere had brought out the cake for me, our guests sang happy birthday to me, and I blew out the candles. Made a wish. After that, Vinyl and I sat under our tree, lit up by fireflies trapped inside a transparent plastic ball, and ate a piece of cake. I hardly exchanged words with her because my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about what Bulldozer had said earlier.

Right now, Vinyl was talking about how awesome this party was, and how it would be a night she would never forget. I listened, bobbed my head regularly, but my mind came back to Bulldozer. From afar, I could see Bulldozer with his parents. He was laughing amongst his folks, and I wondered what he was talking to them about, whether he was talking about me.

Meanwhile, Jazzmere was accompanying the guests with small talk and jokes. Next to him was Bon Bon. She had made it to the party right before the lighting of the cake. When I noticed her presence, my once bogus smile transformed into a genuine one. It had been sometime since Bon Bon and I last spoke, and I hoped we would be able to catch up while we had the chance. I always hoped that we would talk. In many ways, I saw her as a motherly figure when she was around.

Right now, she was looking in my direction and made her way over to me to say a few words. “Octavia, happy birthday,” Bon Bon said. “It’s nice to see you again. You as well, Vinyl. It’s been awhile hasn’t it?” She sat in front of us, her smile never faltering.

“It most certainly has,” I said, returning a smile.

“Here.” Bon Bon gave me something. “I could never forget your birthday, Octavia. Happy birthday.” It was a pink bowtie attached to a collar. I rubbed the bowtie with a hoof. I smiled at the gift. “I thought it would suit you quite well, Octavia, with how sophisticated you are.”

“It’s lovely,” I said. “Thank you, Bon Bon.” I gave her a hug.

“Anytime,” she said. “Anyways, I have to head off for the night, but I will definitely come by to see you more often.”

I smiled. “I look forward to seeing you again, Bon Bon. Later.”

“Goodbye you two.”

When she left, Vinyl spoke up. “Hey, Octavia. I have a gift for you.” She handed me something, just like Bon Bon had done. I tore the wrapping paper from Vinyl’s present and my eyes began to water as I tilted the glass frame in the firefly-light. It was a portrait of Vinyl and I. “My father helped me put it together. We went through some old pictures of you and me, and I picked the one I thought you’d like the most. He got the frame and everything so—”

“Oh, Vinyl, I love it!” I hugged her aggressively and she returned the gesture. I pulled back. “It’s the perfect gift. Thank you.” I was going to kiss her right there and then, but somepony was calling out loudly.

We hurried back where all the guests were standing in the yard, their attention seized by something. The guests chattered quietly to their neighbours, wondering the reason for the cause of disruption.  Once Vinyl and I were able to pinpoint the source, a pang of insufferable horror struck me down, left me terrified. It was Bulldozer screaming aloud, trying to get everypony’s attention.

“Everypony, everypony! Can I get your attention, please?” Bulldozer called aloud. His parents were amongst the crowd, as was Jazzmere, and, by the looks of it, none of them tried to stop him from disturbing the party. “I wanted to get your attention, mainly because I want to give a toast to our birthday girl, Octavia! C’mon, give her a round of applause.” He saw me in the crowd, grinned at me as everypony, expect Vinyl, cheered for me, bursting into applause with each second passing. It was hardly necessary to say the least.

“Thanks, everypony,” I said dryly. I faked a smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Bulldozer said. “Now, then. It’s time for me to give Octavia her gift. A gift of humiliation.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Jazzmere said, charging in. “I won’t have you make a scene here, Bulldozer.”

“A scene? I’d hardly call this a scene. This is more or less payback for those two easy lesbians over there.”

Everypony, expect Bulldozer’s parents, gasped in horror after Bulldozer had spoken those words. My heart sank into a bottomless pit of fear, and I had no idea what to do. I looked at Vinyl, who was scowling, grinding her teeth in anger. Then my father went right up to him, stared him down as if he were an enraged dragon.

“What did you just say?” he asked him, his voice loud and angry. “What did you just call them?”

“I called them easy lesbians. And I’m not wrong either. In fact, I’m completely right. Why don’t you go and ask your daughter about the little thing they got going on between them.”

“You little…” Jazzmere was about to attack Bulldozer, but I quickly moved toward him, yelled for him to stop.

“Father, stop it!” I said. My voice cracked, sounded hoarse. “Attacking him won’t do anything.” Why was I defending Bulldozer? Maybe it was because I didn’t want to see anypony get hurt, regardless of differences or hate I might have toward them.

“It just might set him straight,” Jazzmere said, only centimetres away from Bulldozer’s face. The crowd was silent, watching in anticipation as the scene carried on.

“He’s not lying you know,” I said. I knew, at that moment, now was the time I had to be honest with myself and to my father. I not only owed it to myself, but I also owed it to Vinyl. I promised that she and I would have a life one day, with or without my father, and I couldn’t do just that if he didn’t know the truth.

Jazzmere released Bulldozer from his glare, focused on me. Looked less angry, almost sympathetic. “What are you saying, Octavia?”

Vinyl and I exchanged looks and we nodded. Together. Then we walked up to my father. Sweat trailed down my temples, and I was terrified of what was to come. Pulling myself back together, I said what needed to be said. “Father…Bulldozer is right. Vinyl and I do have a thing going on between us.”

Jazzmere’s sympathetic look turned into anger, enragement. “Are you telling me that you two are together?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. And I hope you can learn to accept it, Father. Because Vinyl and I love each other…more than sisters would. And nothing can change the way I feel about her. If you can’t accept it, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to live with it.”

The crowd whispered amongst themselves, and exchanged shocked looks to their neighbours, and I wondered if they were talking about my courage or stupidity.  

“Well, I can’t live with it. It’s wrong for two ponies of the same gender to be together, and I condemn it!” he yelled. His tone of voice was beyond angry at this point. “You are no daughter of mine. How could you do this to me? Now everypony here knows that I am the father of a lesbian. You bring me shame. Both of you. Especially you, Vinyl.”

Dusty dove into the scene, stood in front of us with a scowl upon his face. “Don’t you speak to Vinyl like that, Jazzmere.” He turned around to face the crowd. “Everypony, the party’s over. Please leave.”

Once the guests had vacated the premises, we resumed the heated conversation inside. Vinyl never left my side throughout all of this. Jazzmere was pacing back and forth, his hoof on his head. Then he spoke up. “Dusty, how could you side with them? It’s disgusting, and it’s not right.”

“Are you really that blind not to see the real truth here?” Dusty said, his voice calm.

“Blind? You’re the blind one, here,” Jazzmere roared.

“They love each other, more than sisters ever could. Can’t you see that?”

“No, I can’t. There’s no such thing as ‘real love’ between two ponies of the same gender. It’s all a pretence.” My father looked at Vinyl, scowled at her. Vinyl took a step back, as did I. “You influenced her, didn’t you, Vinyl?”

Vinyl didn’t say anything.

“Answer me, damn it!”

Vinyl was trembling, her eyes closed.

“You have no right to talk to her like that, Father,” I said. Anger rapidly built up in my throat, and, within a matter of seconds, I couldn’t preserve it much longer. A burst of rage erupted from my mouth. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of the way you treat me, Vinyl, and Dusty! For the past few months, you have been nothing but distant and cold to me. You show me no love or dedication of fathering me, your daughter. And on top of that, you don’t tell me what’s wrong, what you’re feeling, and I can’t take it anymore. You expect me to have all of these expectations of being successful, but how can I do it if I don’t have you supporting me? Bon Bon is more supportive than you for Celestia’s sake.

“And the sad thing is, Dusty has been more of a father during these past few months than you have been for the ten years of my life. I hate you, and I wish you were never in my life.” I ran off, tears pooling in my eyes. At the corner of my blurred vision, I saw Vinyl running after me. We went up the stairs and into my room. I collapsed and cried harder than I ever have in my entire life. Vinyl held me close, rocked me back and forth.

I could hear Dusty and Jazzmere arguing downstairs through my hollow door.

Dusty: “Jazzmere, in all the years I’ve known you, this is not you.”

Jazzmere: “Then you clearly don’t know me at all.”

Dusty: “I guess I don’t. Turns out the Jazzmere I once knew doesn’t exist anymore. The Jazzmere I know now is nothing but a stuck up prick who insults his own flipping daughter.”

Jazzmere: “Oh, go to hell, Dusty. You know nothing, and your paltry words and insults also mean nothing.”

Dusty: “I’m moving out tomorrow. And I’m taking Octavia as well, seeing as she hates your guts.”

Jazzmere: “Good. I’ll be glad to be alone in this Tartarus-forsaken house for once.”

And all was silent.

And that was the night that made me who I am today.

> Chapter Nine: The Move
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart 

Lunatone

Chapter Nine

The Move



Situated in the centre of my room the next morning, I opened some of the presents that I had gotten the night before. I don’t know why I bothered, mainly because I didn’t want half of them. Once they were open, I just gave them a meaningless glance and tossed them to the corner of my room. The pile grew: a film-contained camera, a pair of binoculars, a fancy parasol, and envelopes that had a birthday card along with some gold bits. None of them mattered to me. I didn’t want any of this. My father never would’ve thrown me a party like that if he had known that Vinyl and I were more than sisters now. 

Really, the only presents that had value to me were the ones Bon Bon and Vinyl gave me. They came from the heart, not from the blood money of my father’s friends. 

Right now, Vinyl was still asleep in my bed, and everything outside my room seemed dead. I had a hard time ignoring what happened last night.

I sat on the edge of my bed, turned around to look at Vinyl, thought about what our lives would be like now that my father didn’t want me, Vinyl, or Dusty to live with him. Maybe it would be for the best. It would lessen the amount of hate and suffering we endured. The same image kept casting in my mind repeatedly: My father yelling at Vinyl, scaring her. Either way, this much had become clear: We would all be gone, away from this place we once called home.

A moment later, Vinyl began to wake up. She was squirming around as her eyes slowly opened. A smile marked her face. “Hey…” she said, giving me a sleepy grin. She looked fragile, like a glass vase, when she woke up.

“Hey, you,” I said, leaning down to snuggle up to her. I buried my face into her chest, smelled her musty fur. 

“How’d you sleep?” she asked me, planting a kiss on my head.

“Not well. I kept dreaming about last night. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like this is one big nightmare that will never end.” 

Vinyl pulled me closer. “But it will end, Octy. My dad said it would. Remember the conversation he overheard last night? He said that we’ll be moving out today. That means we won’t be living with your father anymore!”

“But where will we go? Where will we live? We can’t just leave without having a plan.” 

“Leave that up to my dad,” Vinyl said. She sounded confident that we would, in fact, be in another place at the end of the day. “Trust me, Octy. We’ll be okay. You do trust me, right?”

“Of course I do. I’ll always trust you,” I said. 

“Always?” she asked.

“Always.”

Later that afternoon, I took Vinyl to our yew tree for the last time. Jazzmere wasn’t home, and Dusty was gathering our things for the move. It was his suggestion that we go to our special place before we leave.

 Vinyl and I made our way to the tree. When we got to the tree, my eyes were glued to the marking that Vinyl had chiseled a long time ago. Seeing that made me realize one thing: Vinyl and I had grown tremendously over the years, and we would, in fact, be best friends forever. 

We sat under our tree for some time, and talked about everything we had done in this house. Recalled the unforgettable moments we shared here, and how they would always remain in our hearts. Twenty or so minutes later, Vinyl and I kissed under our tree for one last time. I didn’t care if my father saw me or not. And that was the truth of it all.


§


Come two o’clock, Vinyl and I sat in the living room, seeking warmth near the fire. Jazzmere still wasn’t back from whatever he was doing. And I was glad he wasn’t here. 

Vinyl and I watched Dusty use his magic to stack the boxes containing our belongings near the door. Then I saw Jazzmere emerge from the front door, which made things really awkward and tense. My heart began to pound as I waited for him to say something. 

But then Jazzmere came right out and asked, “Are you leaving now? I want all of you out. By the end of the day.”

Dusty’s reply was a single word, delivered in a bold, harsh voice. “Yes.”

“Good.” My father looked at me and Vinyl. Gave us a nasty look.

I flinched, like I’d been hit. My heart sank into the abyss, but it was quickly restored when Vinyl squeezed my hoof. Then something became very clear: Life would be better if it were not here. If I believed otherwise, then I would be blind. And I refused to be blind like my father. He couldn’t see what he was doing to us, what he was doing to his best friend, all because of the eyeless rage that was within him. Jazzmere would never, ever forgive me. 

“We’ll leave once the carriage I called in arrives,” Dusty said. Shook his head. “Life here is impossible. I don’t know how you can sleep at night for doing this, Jazzmere.” There were a few tears streaking down Dusty’s face. “I saw you as my best friend, my brother. But now all I see is a stallion for whom I have nothing but hate.” 

Dusty cried. It scared me a little to see a grown stallion sob. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Jazzmere. C’mon, Octavia and Vinyl. Our carriage is here now.” 

I’ll never forget the way Jazzmere glared at Vinyl and me while we trailed behind Dusty. I didn’t even exchange a single word with my father before I left. 


§


Vinyl and I sat inside the carriage while Dusty placed the boxes in the mini-cart that was attached to it. Right now, thunderheads rolled in, painted the sky irony grey. Within minutes, rain came pouring down, the hiss of the raindrops swelling my ears.

Through the blurry window of the carriage, I saw Dusty place the last box on the cart. He had told us that he only packed our essentials and left everything else behind. 

Beads of rain slid down the window. I saw my father standing in the doorway, a grin on his face. Then he shut the door shortly after.

When Dusty joined us in the carriage, he leaned in and said something to us. He was telling us that everything would be fine, and that we would have a roof over our heads very soon. I took a hold of Vinyl’s hoof, and she smiled at me. Then she kissed my hoof—which gave me a burst of positivity, something I needed—as I was holding hers.

“We’re ready to go,” Dusty called out to the drivers.

It was then when I watched the home I once had fade away. I caught one last glimpse of the place before it completely vanished. The only thing I saw through the windows now was rain. And that was good.
> Chapter Ten: The Start of a New Life
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Ten

The Start of a New Life


We were a few kilometres west of Manehtten when the drivers pulled up to the entrance of a motel. The drivers told us that it was time to call it a night, and we would resume our travel in the morning. We were going to Las Pegasus, the place that would be our new home according to Dusty. Either way, as long as it was far away from my father, I couldn’t care less. Vinyl was still in my life, and that was the only thing that mattered right now.

I hopped down the side of the carriage, Dusty and Vinyl following me shortly after. It was night time, and it still rained every now and then. Saliva filled my mouth, and dizziness struck me, both of which were signs that I would soon vomit. I stumbled into a patch of nearby grass and waited for the bile to eject out. When it did, my retching attracted Vinyl and Dusty over to me. I continued like this for at least three more minutes, and I felt the wind, the rain, and Vinyl’s touch. 

Collecting myself, I then said, “Just carriage sickness. I’m all right.”

“C’mon, let’s get some rest,” Dusty said, helping me up. “We’ve had a rough day.”


§


It was past midnight, and we were in a motel room that Dusty had paid for. Vinyl was sleeping with me, and Dusty was sleeping in a separate bed. Vinyl was fast asleep, light snores leaving her nostrils. An hour later, and I still couldn’t sleep. I kept worming around as memories of my eleventh birthday sank into my mind. I sat up, placed Vinyl’s hoof to the side. A beam of moonlight shafted through the windowpane.

“I hate you, father. And I’ll never forgive you,” I said to nopony in particular. Vinyl writhed around a bit in her sleep, but she didn’t get up. I was actually hoping Vinyl and Dusty would wake up so they could hear how much I truly hated my father. But neither of them stirred. 


I fell back down on my bed, then looked at Vinyl. She was so precious and fragile, and yet so strong. I didn’t know what I would do without her, if that weren’t obvious already. Without her, I would have been living a life of hell under the views of my father; he would have made sure Vinyl and I would never see each other if I hadn’t stood up for myself...and Vinyl was the one who helped me do just that. Now I understood the nature of my curseless life: I was going to be truly happy for once. And my happiness would come from Vinyl.

I thought about the conversation Vinyl and I had, the one about how we would be married and possibly have a family. The thought made me smile. 

From that night on, I only allowed happy thoughts in my mind. And that was good.


§


The next morning, we boarded the carriage, one by one. Vinyl sat next to me, and Dusty sat across from us. I heard hooves striking the pavement outside, and the two drivers peered in to see if we were ready to go. Dusty nodded. 

When we were on the road, Dusty was telling us about the arrangement in Las Pegasus, and what we should expect when we get there. 

“We won’t be living in a grand house like we used to, just so you know,” Dusty said. “But everything will be, okay, I promise.”

I knew everything would be all right. I knew that when we moved into our new place, Vinyl and I would wake up abreast, every morning, without the fear of my father being there; and when we went to bed, she would be by my side, under the blanket, and I would read her a story to help her sleep. 

“Where will we be staying, Dad?” Vinyl asked her father.

“I have an apartment in mind. It’s near the downtown line. Not the fanciest of places, but it’s all we’re gonna have until I can get another place.”

“You know, Dusty,” I said, “I can’t be anymore thankful for what you’ve done for me. And Vinyl, of course. But I have to ask: Why didn’t you just leave with Vinyl? I mean, I’m not your daughter, even though I’m like one to you, so I think.”

A sigh escaped from Dusty’s mouth. Then he looked out the window. An open field of crops were dancing in the wind and were set aglow by the sunlight. He looked back at me. “Because, when you lose somepony you truly love and care for, the pain never goes away. I went through that once already with Melody.” He choked back his tears. “Look. I know that you are in love with Vinyl. And that means something to you. 

“I wasn’t going to let your father take away the pony you love, because I don’t want to see you endure the pain I did, and I sure as hell didn’t want to see my own daughter suffer because of some idiot who doesn’t understand what love is. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I could prevent that from happening. So that’s why I wanted to help you, Octavia.”

I didn’t know what to say. But then Vinyl said something. “Dad...that’s super cool of you to do that for her.” She gave him a hug. “You’re the best, Dad.”

At that moment, I had no reason to think over what should be done. I joined Vinyl in giving Dusty a hug, and he too returned one. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He pulled back. “You don’t have to. You’ve already done just that by making my little filly one of the happiest ponies in the world.”


§


We stopped at another motel come nightfall. We had something to eat and drink in our rooms, and Vinyl and I had some spare time before bed--as the sun was just beginning to disappear below the horizon. There was a tree on a low hill, near the motel, and we climbed it, then sat underneath it. It wasn’t anything like the tree we once had. But that was okay. 

Not a single word passed between us; and it wasn’t because we didn’t have anything to say or couldn’t make conversation, but rather because we didn’t have to say anything to one another. A light breeze rippled the cattails below us, and we heard the chirping of birds from amid trees. We shared a kiss in silence, after which we were summoned to bed. 

I lay next to Vinyl in the bed, wrapped a hoof around her, then wished her a good night. My eyes closed into the merciful darkness of sleep.

> Chapter Eleven: Our Lives Now
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Eleven 

Our Lives Now



Las Pegasus was entirely different from what I had originally envisioned; it was nothing like Manehattan, though many of the places and townsponies here were luxurious and rich—something that we weren’t, not anymore. One month had passed since Vinyl, Dusty, and I moved to Las Pegasus. We were still adapting to the change, as life here wasn’t the easiest, especially if you were a single parent.

We were living in a two bedroom apartment, just west of the downtown core. It wasn’t the most appealing place to live in, but it was better than nothing. When we had arrived earlier in the month, we were greeted by our surrounding neighbours, all of whom invited us to a welcome party. It was odd to say the least, but it was a warm welcoming nonetheless.

The first week we came here, Dusty had managed to get a job at a convenience store, not too far from the apartment. Five days a week, Dusty conducted a twelve-hour shift of standing behind the counter, running the register, answering questions for customers, and refreshing the stock. Vinyl and I would bring him lunch every day, and he would be happy to see us. He would tell us about how his day was going, though it made for a short conversation as his manager would tell him to get back to work.

On the same exact day Dusty was hired, he, Vinyl, and I went to pay a visit to our eligibility officer in downtown Las Pegasus. His name was Mr. Coffee, a medium build stallion with green eyes, a brown coat, and a pen and paper as a cutie mark. He had told us that he was one of the best officials in the city, and he would do everything in his power to get the most benefits for us. He supplied us with food stamps, and even though it was embarrassing at first, it became clear that it was the only way we could get food. “Thank you so much, Mr. Coffee,” Dusty said. “I know I have a job now, but I have to get anything that will help me and my girls survive.”

Our officer blinked. Then handed Dusty the food stamps. “I’ve done this job for more than twenty years, and I have not seen one pony accept food stamps from me.”

Dusty looked at him, as if he were contemplating on whether or not he was joking. “Well, like I said.” Dusty looked at us. “Those two fillies are important to me. They’re my daughters. And if using these food stamps means to humiliate my pride, then so be it.”

Vinyl and I smiled at him; he smiled back.


§


Six years later, I graduated from high school in downtown Las Pegasus at the age of seventeen. It was a publicly funded school, through the taxes ponies paid, so it wasn’t putting any financial strain on Dusty. That day was so special to me.

I remember an hour before the ceremony, Dusty came into my room, gave me a gift. It was a treble clef pin, and he said it suited me quite well. “I remember when you were just a small filly. But now you’ve grown up to be a smart, sophisticated mare. And I couldn’t be prouder than to call you my daughter.” He gave me a hug, and then a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be downstairs waiting.” He left.

At the graduation ceremony, I remember losing Vinyl and Dusty amongst the crowd; there were so many students dressed up in blue gowns, photographers shooting off their flashy cameras, and the swarm of families walking around. I found them near the outskirts of the crowds, their eyes moving around in search of me.  They appeared and then vanished behind the ponies moving between us. Dusty was wearing his black suit with a red tie, and Vinyl was wearing a sky-blue dress.

When they finally saw me on the stage, accepting my diploma, they waved and smiled. He got me to take my picture in front of the school. I smiled at him and Vinyl, and, in a way, this was my day, though it was their day too. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be here today, graduating with happiness. When the picture was done, Vinyl walked up to me, pulled me in for a hug, and kissed me right on the lips. I didn’t care that we were in a public place. Eventually, she pulled back. “I always knew you would be a successful pony. And I’m so proud to be yours.” Her eyes beamed with bliss when she said that, and I liked the look she had on her face; it reminded me of why I love Vinyl so much.

Dusty took Vinyl and me to a high-end restaurant so we could celebrate the occasion. We ordered way too much food, but it was worth it in the end.

We sat at a round table, and Vinyl was to my right, while Dusty was in front of me. I had disagreed with him for a while with regards to my post-secondary education as I didn’t want to put a dent in our savings; money was scarce for us, despite there being six years of savings, and I told him that I could get a job, help pay for the bills, save some money, instead of getting an education. But he insisted that I pick a college in Las Pegasus.

After we had finished dinner, Dusty took us to an ice cream shop, only a few blocks from the restaurant. The place was bright and lively, and the smell of waffle cones and cream filled the air. Ponies dressed in formal clothing stood in line making an order; fillies ran around, chasing each other.

We took a seat at a table, next to the front window of the shop, the glass clear as crystal. Dusty went to the counter to get us some ice cream. When he came back with the cones, he sat down, then said to everypony aloud, “I am very happy. Today, my girl has graduated from high school, and I couldn’t be more proud. Actually, I couldn’t be more proud of my girls.” He hugged Vinyl and me.

Dusty finished his cone in four bites and ordered another. He had four before Vinyl and I finished our first. I could tell by his actions that he was truly happy, or so it seemed. I’d never seen him be so ecstatic before, especially since our lives were difficult and challenging; perhaps I helped him escape my father’s curse—and I freed him, just like I did myself, from the tainted views my father had. Maybe the love I had for Vinyl changed everything.

When we left, everypony in the shop was unhappy to see us go. He told them that we would come back again sometime. We walked back home under the moonlight. Dusty was drowsy from all the work he had done today, and he was lagging behind Vinyl and me. We helped him walk to our apartment, and, once we got inside, Vinyl and I put him on his bed, tucked him in. It was a little weird tucking in a grown stallion. But he sat up when Vinyl and I were about to leave his room and said raspily, “Open my closet, Octavia.”

“Why, Dusty?”

“Please, do it. There is a case in there, and I would like you to open it. Vinyl will help.” I went to his closet, then opened it. I saw a black case with golden latches that sealed it. I pulled it out to the front of Dusty’s bed with Vinyl’s help. Vinyl and I exchanged looks, and then we opened it together. Inside, it was a brand new cello and bow. I was speechless, as was Vinyl.

“You’ll need it to go to college,” Dusty said.

I went over to him, and squeezed his hoof with mine. My eyes welled up and I was glad to have him in my life. “Thank you, Dusty.”

“Don’t thank me. Vinyl was the one who picked it out. She knew what size would be perfect for you. Now, run along now. I need to get some sleep.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “C’mon, Vinyl. Let him rest.” I wanted to say more, tell him how I was moved by his act of kindness toward me, how much I appreciated everything he had done for me up to this point, and everything he would be doing in the future. He smiled at us, then fell asleep.

Later that night, Vinyl and I were snuggling in bed, kissing each other on the lips, pulling each other close. Our bodies were pressing up against each other, and it felt good.

“You know, Octy, I’ll soon be dating a college mare, if you decide to go to college,” she said with a cheeky grin. “You know what that means?”

I laughed. “I have no idea what that means, Vinyl. But do tell.”

“It means that it’ll raise your already sexiness to a crazy amount.”

“I like the sound of that.” I kissed her on the lips, pulled her close. “I love you, Vinyl.”

“I love you too, Octavia.”

And then, mercifully, darkness.


§


The next day, I told Dusty and Vinyl I would attend a community college come autumn. It was breakfast time, and he was sipping on some black tea, and chewing on almonds.

“I’m thinking of going into the history of classical music,” I said. A smile crossed my face as I waited for one of them to say something.

“So. music?” Dusty replied.

“I think so, yes. That’s what I’m good at, right?”

“I think you should take that, Octy,” Vinyl said, smiling. “I mean, you’ve been playing the cello since you were a filly. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go pro.”

Dusty nodded. “Vinyl does have a point. You should go professional in the music industry. But…like anything, there are drawbacks for careers like that.”

Vinyl intercepted my speech before I had a chance to respond. “Like what, Dad?”

“Well, it may take Octavia a while to become noticed once she graduates. There are many musicians out there with a ton more experience. It’s a competitive industry. It’ll be tough, but I know she can do it.”

I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Oh, wait,” Vinyl said. “So, let me get this straight. You’ll study music for a few years to get a degree in music, and then you’ll become the best musician in all of Equestria?”

“Well…I mean, I could,” I said to her. “You’re too flattering, the both of you.” My cheeks burned from embarrassment after I had said that.

“I know you can do it, Octavia. You’ll always have us for support if you ever need a nudge here and there, right, Pop?” Vinyl nudged him on his hip.

“Always,” he said.

That night, Vinyl and I went for a walk—our heads close, smiles on our faces—for an hour or two, from our apartment to downtown Las Pegasus, through the grand park, and back to our place. We had been out for many strolls together since our move, and our favourite place to be, by far, was the grand park at night. We would walk on the park’s cement path, find an empty patch of grass, and lie down on it. Often times the park was deserted during the night, so we weren’t afraid to be affectionate.

Vinyl snuggled up to me, wrapped a hoof around me, and pulled me close. We gazed up at the stars and moon, thought about their mysteries. Then we witnessed a shooting star right in front of our eyes.

“Look, Octy, a shooting star. Make a wish!”

For a few seconds, I pondered what I should wish for, but it eventually became clear to me. “I wish that Vinyl would be my wedded bride one day, that she and I would be able to spend the rest of our lives together in bliss. Forever.” At that moment, Vinyl grabbed my head and kissed me on the lips. Neither of us let go until we absolutely had to. And when we did, I witnessed the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face.

“I wish for that too, Octavia,” she said to me.

We went back to our apartment later that night without exchanging a word. We kept stealing looks at one another, the occasional grin crossing our faces, but never said one word. When we got home, we saw Dusty sleeping on the couch with a newspaper on his stomach. He looked exhausted, but, luckily for him, he had tomorrow off. He really deserved it.

Before Vinyl and I went to bed that night, we put a blanket over him. Said goodnight to him.

Then we went to our bed and succumbed to the mercifulness of sleep.


§


The following spring, I finished my first year in college at the age of eighteen, and we moved from our old apartment to an expensive loft near the Las Pegasus beach. Dusty quit his job at the convenience store and found work at the local police station. He was in charge of all the paperwork that got sent in for the conviction of the captured criminals, and he seemed to like the job; it certainly paid more than his previous job, which allowed him to get a mortgage, specifically for our new home.

Built on a rocky mountainside, the loft was made entirely from wood and glass, constructs designed to withstand the winds the ocean would bring. It was a two-story place, and there were two bedrooms on the upper floor; Vinyl and I shared a room together while Dusty had his own. In the living room, there was a cobblestone fireplace and a chesterfield made from oak. A sliding glass door lead to the deck which faced the ocean, and you were able to reach the kitchen from the deck.

Some mornings, I would get up at dawn and go for a solitary walk to the lighthouse that was near the Las Pegasus beach. I would situate myself in front of it, lean against the metal railings, and watch the water currents move in the wind until sunrise. The way the currents moved in the wind made me feel sorrow; the ocean was like a river, roaring in anger at the unfortunate past it had experienced, and I could submerge myself in the water and let my past drown, filter out all the anger I still had deep within, and let it carry me to a far away place: Somewhere where there would be no hint or memories of the life I once had.

It was times like these when I wished I were isolated from the world, away from everypony, including Vinyl and Dusty. My life was bliss, no doubt about it, but often times you can never find happiness without experiencing a form of anger, which was something I still had a lot of. And I couldn’t afford to show them just how much fury and bitterness I still had within. So I came to this lighthouse to mourn all the negativity out of me, even though I knew it would only be a matter of time before my past caught up to me.

But for now, this would have to do.


§


By the time I had gotten back home from the lighthouse, the sun was already past the horizon, and I could smell freshly brewed tea as I walked in.  When I made my way into the dining room, I saw Dusty and Vinyl talking to an unfamiliar pony.

“Octavia,” Dusty said, motioning me over, “I want you to meet our neighbour, Houser. He offered to help us with any maintenance issues we may have with the house in the upcoming years.”

He had a wispy white mane, a grey coat, and a house as a cutie mark. He also wore glasses. I could smell some sort of fragrance on him, and he wore a navy-blue suit.

“Such a generous introduction of me,” he said, his voice raspy. He seemed well witted and intelligent. “Hello, Octavia, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I said shaking his hoof.

“So what do you do, Octavia, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I was going to answer his question, but the intervention of Vinyl’s speech beat me to it.

“Octavia is going to be a the world’s best musician,” Vinyl said. “She just finished her first year of college and earned all A’s and B’s in her classes!”

“Community college,” I corrected her while nudging her cheek.

“How wonderful,” Houser said. “Will you be writing music or conducting it?”

“Both writing and playing professionally. But right now, I’m learning about the history of classical music,” I said, pondering some of the interesting facts I learned in my first year of college.

“Ah, so you’re trying to preserve the history and art of the classics?” Houser said. “There needs to be more ponies like you. There has to be somepony to teach future generations about the lost art of the classics.” He put a hoof on Dusty’s shoulder. “It was nice to meet you and your family, but I best be going. Don’t want to keep the mistress waiting. Best of luck, Octavia.” He looked at me, then left with a smile on his face.


§


I was lying awake in bed later that night, thought about the walk I had taken earlier today, wondered if I would honestly prefer to be away from the ones I love most. I thought of Vinyl’s pointy nose, the way she smiled at me when she saw me, and the way her luminous eyes had held mine. My heart beated faster at the thought of not having her in my life. But at the same time, I could very well lose her if she saw how bitter and angry I really was. Yet, I knew, deep within, there would be no chance of me losing her. Not possible.

She would forever be with me; and that was all that mattered.




> Chapter Twelve: Good and Bad News
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Twelve 

Good and Bad News


Later in the week, Dusty seemed to have caught a bug of some sorts. At first, we thought it was a typical cold because of the sniffling and coughing he was doing. His sniffles subsided after two days of resting, but his cough persistently got worse and worse every day: I would see him hack into tissues and throw them out when he was done. Vinyl and I kept telling him that he should pay the doctor a visit, but he stubbornly refused since he hated going to the doctor’s office; the only time I ever heard of him being anywhere near a doctor was when Vinyl was born.

Three weeks later, Vinyl and I found him coughing up small amounts of blood in the tub. Vinyl immediately ran over to her father, looked at him, then said, “What’s wrong, Dad? Why are you doing that?” A worried look crossed her face. She looked more worried than a college student about to write its first exam. 

Then I had to ask. “When did you start doing that?”

He looked at us. “About an hour ago. Nothing to worry about, though I promise. What are we having for dinner?” 

Vinyl and I exchanged looks of worry. We had to do something, that was pretty clear to me and her. “C’mon, Dad, we’re taking you to go see the doc.”

Even though Dusty hated going to the doctor, her didn’t put up a fight since he knew this was a serious matter that couldn’t be evaded. We took him to the local hospital, and when we got to the front reception desk, there was an experienced resident—a white stallion with a blue mane, and a needle for a cutie mark—and he asked us what the emergency was. We told him that Dusty had been coughing up blood, so he sent Dusty down for a chest X-ray. 

After twenty-five minutes had past, the resident picked up the phone, whispered something into the receiver, then he motioned us to come to him. He was filling out a form, then he handed it to us. “Take this back to the nurse. You’ll need it,” he said. 

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s the referral for Dusty’s condition. It’s the list of recommendations Dusty should consider to help aid his condition.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Vinyl said, her voice cracking, sounding worried. A tear streamed down her face, and I held her close. 

The resident looked at us, took his glasses off, and then said, “According to the X-rays, he has a spot right on his heart. It needs to be examined further.”

“A spot?” Vinyl said. “What does that mean? I don’t understand. Can you explain what you mean to me?”

“The nurse who administrated Dusty’s X-ray scan suspects that the spot on his heart may be linked to heart cancer, but I want to run a CAT scan just to be sure. Heart cancer is extremely rare, and I have my doubts that it is. But there is always a small possibility. We’ll have more information with the CAT scan results. I can escort you to the nurse if you’d like.”

“Please, anything that will help my Dad,” Vinyl said. 

He nodded. “Right this way.”

We trailed down the white hallway until we got to Dusty’s room. We went in and I saw Dusty lying in a hospital bed. He was happy to have us there. “There’s my girls,” he said. 

Vinyl and I went up to him, hugged him. 

“Dad,” Vinyl said, “we heard the news.”

“What news?” he asked.

“The one about—” Vinyl was cut off by the nurse.

“We have the results of your X-ray, Mr. Dusty, but it isn’t good,” said the nurse, posting the scans on the wall. She was a white mare with a surgical cap, and she had a band-aid for a cutie mark. “From these scans, it shows that you have a hole in your heart. I suspect that it is linked to heart cancer, and the resident here recommends that you get a CAT scan for more precise results. Will you be willing to take the CAT scan now?”

“I…I could have cancer?” Dusty asked dryly. He almost broke out in tears, but Vinyl smiled at him, bringing him back to the light.

“Possibly, yes. It’s suspicious,” the nurse said. 

“Can you tell me more? I have questions.”

“We’ll be able to answer any questions you have once the CAT scan results are in,” the nurse said. “Would you like a moment to think it over?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll do anything I can that will help me know what I’m going up against.”

“Very well,” the resident said. “We’ll begin your prep in ten minutes. Please excuse me.” The resident and the nurse left without saying anything else. 

“Dad…” Vinyl said, trailing off. “You have cancer?” She was starting to choke up with tears and sniffles. I felt obligated to comfort her, but I knew this was a moment between father and daughter that should go uninterrupted. 

“Hey,” he said. “Why are you crying? We don’t know if that’s the case yet.” 

“But what if it is? What if you don’t make it? I can’t lose you, Dad…” Vinyl sobbed into her father’s bedside, snot and tears mixing on her face. I wanted to have my say on the current situation, but I couldn’t; and that was the part that hurt me the most. 

Dusty propped her chin up, smiled at her, and said, “You’ll never lose me. Ever. I promise you that. Look…we’ll know more when that results are in. Until then, don’t worry.”

Vinyl collected herself, wiped the tears from her face. “I love you, Dad. And I won’t worry. Not until we know more.”

“That’s my girl.”

A few seconds later, the nurse and the resident came into the room. “We’re ready for your scan, Mr. Dusty,” the nurse said. “One more thing before we continue.” The nurse looked at Vinyl. “You’re Vinyl, correct? Dusty’s daughter?”

Vinyl nodded. “Yes.”

“We’re going to keep him overnight for observation. We’ll call you as soon as we have the results of the scan.”

Vinyl looked at her father. “You’ll be okay here, right, Dad?”

“Of course I will be. Go home with Octavia.”

She had given him a hug before he exited the room with the nurse and resident. 

Later that night, I was comforting Vinyl at the news she and I got today. We were lying in bed together, our bodies pressing up against each other as we held each other close; I caressed the area around her eyes, trying to help her sleep, hoping that it would dwindle the tension she had within her. She eventually fell asleep, and it wasn’t long until I did the same. 


§


A week had passed, and we got a call from the hospital. They told us they had Dusty’s CAT scan results ready to be revealed, for better or worse, I didn’t know at this point. Ever since Dusty had checked in the hospital last week, he wasn’t allowed to come home because of doctor’s orders. We were, however, permitted to visit him during the week whenever we liked. Vinyl and I brought him fresh flowers every day, and we would spend time together by his bedside. Occasionally I would leave Vinyl alone with her father and go for a solitary walk. Clear my head.

But often times those walks lead me to the same place it always had: The lighthouse near the Las Pegasus beach, secluded from the rest of the world, whose only company was the ocean crashing against it. Going there didn’t really clear my head; it only made it more cloudy, making me believe that the worst would happen. That’s what anger does to you, I’ve learned over the years: If you can’t settle it, it’ll consume you until you find a way to rid it completely. 

When we got to the hospital, the same resident that tamed us last week directed us to a Cardiologist, Dr. Burns. The visit with him wasn’t the best, to say the least. There was a lot of tension in the air as we all sat in front of him, hearing him talk about Dusty’s condition. Dr. Burns was a direct-spoken stallion with a goatee, a grey coat, and a medical sign for a cutie mark. He told us he reviewed the CAT scans and he said that Dusty did have heart cancer. 

The doctor pointed out the small blobs on the scans, telling us that those were developing tumours. Then he said something to us. “You see, heart cancer is an extremely rare form of cancer, and, in my thirty-six years as a doctor here, I have never seen a patient diagnosed with it before. Not until now.” A sigh left his mouth. Then he leaned forward, his hooves on his desk. “There aren’t many options available to treat heart cancer, but there are two options that are probably your best bet.”

The three of us exchanged looks and whispers to each other. Then Dusty said, “What are my options then?”

“Well, you can either get a heart transplant, or you can undergo radiation therapy.”

“What’s that?” Vinyl asked.

“It’s a form of radiation treatment. Basically, it’s the use of radiation to attack the tumour cells, which will kill them. But the risks in radiation therapy for this diagnosis is there is a very high chance of heavily damaging the healthy tissues in your heart.”

“Which means?” Dusty asked, sounding extremely frantic. I noticed Vinyl shaking, tears starting to well in her eyes as she held her father close.

“There is a risk of death. And if not death, you could be diagnosed with heart disease from the radiation.”

Droplets sparkled in Dusty’s eyes. “Do I have any other options?”

“A heart transplant is an option, but the waiting time is far too long. Surgery is always an option, but, even after the tumour is removed, you’d still need to undergo radiation therapy for a chance of survival.”

I hated how direct and technical he sounded, as if we knew what all of this meant. A spark triggered my tamed anger and it thundered within me. I felt even more anger now that I knew Dusty’s life was on the line, and also because Vinyl could potentially lose her dad; and that was something nopony should go through. Regardless of all of that, I knew one thing: We’d all get through this together. And I knew, we could only do that by staying positive.

For the next little while, there was silence amongst us, until Vinyl said something. “Will my dad be okay, doc?” She was teary-eyed, sniffles resonating from her nose as well. 

“I have explained all the risks. If you’d like me to go over them again, I will. But for now, I’ll give you some time to make a decision.” Dr. Burns gave Dusty his business card. “Please call me tomorrow, anytime, and let me know what option you will take.” The doctor left without saying another word after that.


§


There was rain later that afternoon, and when we stepped out of the hospital, passing carriages sprayed water all over the sidewalks. Dusty didn’t say anything until we got home, soaked in water.

As he was sliding the key into the keyhole, Vinyl said, “Dad…” She was shaking uncontrollably, hooves wobbling around as if they were about to collapse. I was almost about to save her from falling, but this was another moment I couldn’t interrupt.

Dusty pocketed the keys, pulled Vinyl in for a hug. I heard both of them choking from the sheer volume of emotions: Wretched sobs came from the two of them as they embraced one another in the heavy rain. Eventually, Dusty pulled himself together. “I’ve made my decision.” He drew back from her.

“What about me, Dad? What am I suppose to do now?” Vinyl said, her eyes welling with the rainwater. 

A smile crossed his face, and he wiped the droplets from Vinyl’s rain-soaked face. It was the same look he had given me when I was a filly; I’d scrape my hoof on the patio after chasing Vinyl around and cry. Seeing that smile made me cry. It made me cry because the crying that had brought it on then, had brought it on now. 

“Vinyl…you’re a fully grown mare now. You’re seventeen now. And you have a mare who loves you unconditionally.” He opened his mouth, only to shut it shortly after. Then he spoke up. “And if she had a say in this, she would tell you that she would never think you were incapable of living without me.”

Vinyl started to sob uncontrollably: Her entire body was shaking, and her face was in a mournful frown of pain.

“Vinyl, what I hope for you, perhaps one of the greatest thing that a father can hope for his daughter, is that one day you’ll become a parent yourself. And then you’ll know how much I truly love you.”

He opened the door, then disappeared into the house, leaving the front door open for us. Vinyl and I were standing silently in the rain, and neither of us exchanged a word. I looked at her, witnessed the horror, sorrow, and pain on her face. She came over to me and cried into my chest. If there was one thing I had learned at that moment, it was this: There’s always a natural order to things, and they happen the way they do. We might not know why at the time, but there must always be a reason. 

And I knew deep down, that Vinyl knew that too.


§


For a while, even Dusty’s cancer didn’t stop him from working to bring in a paycheque. He would go work an eight-hour shift, come home, help make dinner, and then go to sleep. Vinyl and I would occasionally visit him during the day, just to make sure he was doing okay, not pushing himself over the brim. Sometimes on our way there, we would see Houser and his wife stroll by. Houser would greet us with a smile and a wave.

By October of that year, Dusty was getting extremely exhausted by mid-Sunday afternoon that he’d wait while Vinyl and I picked up groceries for dinner. By winter, he would be drained of energy by noon. And when that happened, he told his workplace that he needed some time off to rest because of his condition. 

Sometimes when I went to get the mail, Houser would come up to me and ask me why Dusty had been looking a little thin around the waist. I told him that he was on a diet so he could be in better shape, but it quickly became apparent that was a lie. The weight on him kept dwindling, every week, and his cheeks eventually hollowed down, and his temples shrunk.

Shortly after New Years day, Vinyl and I went to work with him so we could keep a close eye on him. He was at his desk, scribing away at the papers that were in front of him. Come lunch time, Vinyl and I went to get something at the cafeteria. And while we were coming back, we heard frantic shouting coming from the office area. 

“Does anypony have medical training here? This stallion needs help!” came a voice from afar.

We whipped around the corner, and we found Dusty on the cold floor, his body twitching everywhere.

“Dad!” Vinyl cried out. I followed her to her father. “Somepony help him!” Foam was coming out of his mouth, and his eyes didn’t show his pupils. 

Ponies were rushing up to us, and I heard somepony yell out “Call 911!” 

Dusty began to cough up small amounts of blood. He bit down on his tongue, and tried to say something, but the only thing that came out were indecipherable slurs. Vinyl sat down next to him and grabbed him with her front hooves. “I’m here, Dad. Octavia is too. You’ll be all right, okay? I promise. You promised me you’d keep us safe, so I promise you that, too.” 


§


The doctor, brown-coated mare and a needle for a cutie mark, pulled Vinyl and I out of the room where Dusty was. “I’d like to go over Dusty’s CAT scan results,” he said. He put the scans up on the previewing box in the hallway, as if he were trying to expose a patient’s condition with its consent. On the scan, it showed a cross-section of Dusty’s brain, rigged with blobs.

“The cancer has worsened. It has metastasized. He’ll need to take medication to reduce the swelling in the brain and prevent future seizures. I’d also recommend that he take radiation treatment. Do you know what that means?” 

Vinyl nodded. 

“All right, then. I have another patient waiting for me. If you have any questions, you can have me paged by another resident.”

“Thanks,” Vinyl said.

We sat next to Dusty’s bed all night long.


§


Dusty had been discharged from the hospital two days later. Right now, he was lying on the couch, a blanket over him. I kept him company while Vinyl went to get him some fresh tea and almonds, his favourite snack. When Vinyl came back, I helped Dusty sit up straight. His body felt thinner than the wings of a pegasus. I sat next to him, wondered how he truly felt in a situation like this.

“Here you go, Dad. Tea and almonds. Just how you like it,” Vinyl said. 

I knew now was the time to ask. Otherwise it just might be too late if I didn’t. “Um, Vinyl, could you give me a moment alone with your father? There’s something I’d like to ask him. It’s a surprise for you and I don’t want to spoil it.”

“Of course, Octy. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be upstairs drawing something.” Vinyl left, and it was only Dusty and me.

“What’s on your mind, Octavia?” he asked me, sipping tea and chewing on a few almonds. 

“Well…I know the timing is off with everything that’s going on, but I want to propose to Vinyl, and I’d like your blessing.” My heartbeat picked up speed, and it made me shake out of fear.

Dusty’s lips made a smile. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I couldn’t be more sure. I love her to death and I’d do anything for her.” My tone of voice rose unintentionally. 

“Yes. I give you my blessing.”

A burst of air left my mouth. Then I collapsed on the couch. My entire body wouldn’t stop shaking. “Thank you, Dusty,” I said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“You already have. You make my daughter happy. And that’s all a real father wants of their filly.”

I smiled.


§


Later that night, I broke the news to Vinyl while we were lying together in bed. “Listen,” I said, “I want to tell you something. Something that happened today.” 

I turned to face her, only to see her eyes were agape, curious as to what was going on. “What is it?” she asked.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do. What kind of question is that? I love you too, Octy.”

“Well…despite everything that has been going on the past several months,” I said, taking hold of Vinyl’s hooves, “I had to ask your dad something. Something that will change our lives, Vinyl.”

“What did you ask him?” she said, sounding completely unaware of where I was going with this.

“I asked him for his blessing so I could marry you. Which brings me to the question I’ve always wanted to ask you. Will you marry me, Vinyl? I know this isn’t the proper way to propose, but—” My speech was interrupted by the intervention of Vinyl’s lips. I kissed her back, pulling her close to my body.

She pulled back, then said, “Yes, Octavia, I will marry you. This is everything we dreamed of all those years. Now it’s finally coming true!”

I loved her. I opened my mouth and almost told her that we’d get married tomorrow and live happily ever after. But I didn’t. Instead, I kissed her on the lips, pulled her on top of me, and made love to her. 

It was special.
> Chapter Thirteen: Everything We Wished and Didn't Wish For.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Sisters at Heart

Lunatone

Chapter Thirteen 

Everything We Wished and Didn't Wish For. 


Our wedding was very small. Dusty spent $4300, nearly the balance of his life savings on the wedding ceremony. He rented a small place near shoreline—the stallion who owned it knew him and gave him a substantial discount. Dusty paid for our wedding bands, and for the diamond ring I picked out. He bought Vinyl and me the apparel we would wear on our faithful day. 

I remember walking toward the stage, now in my beige dress, Vinyl in a black tuxedo, our bodies abreast. Dusty hobbled next to us. There were next to nopony around aside from the three of us; in many ways, that’s how it had always been. I wondered how different my wedding would be if I stayed loyal to my father. The place would probably be packed with a procession of uncles, aunts, and cousins, who would all follow us through the raining hail, parting a sea of appalling guests, blinking at flashing cameras. The thought dissipated as soon as I glanced over at my wife and father.

The wedding song Vinyl and I wrote together blared from the speakers—sounding exactly the way we thought it would.

I remember sitting on the sofa, set on the stage like a throne, Vinyl’s hoof in mine, as only one face looked on. It was the only one that mattered to us. I whispered to her for the first time that I loved her. A blush, red like henna, bloomed on her white cheeks.

We went on stage and danced the night away. I remember seeing Dusty on the sofa, nibbling at some pastries that were on platters to the side of him. I remember Vinyl and I being drenched in sweat as we circled, bounced, and spun faster and faster with the feverish tempo of the tabla, until we dropped out of the ring from exhaustion. I wished Bon Bon were there.

Later that night, our wedding moved to our apartment. Houser and Starlee came over for tea and to congratulate Vinyl and I for being recently married. They told us they couldn’t make it to our wedding because of work. Later that night (the sun less than an hour from rising and the guests finally gone) Vinyl and I lay together, kissing each other (me on the bottom, she on top) and making love, beyond anything we had done before, for the first time.

Our tongues were twisted, and moans were coming from the both of us. I pulled back. Stared into her eyes. My sister, my wife. 

“Vinyl…”

“Yeah?”

“It used to be an empty valley in our hearts. The sun…it rose as we slowly walked, away from all the fear and faults we left behind. I plan to be with you always. Until death do us part.”

Vinyl smiled as she lowered her head to my chest. She was exactly where she wanted to be. I had always been hers, and she has always been mine, and forever would be together. We were ready now. Ready to leave our past behind, because this was a new chapter in our lives.

“…I love you, Vinyl.”


§


We couldn’t have been any closer: Married life was great, though it was the same in many regards. Vinyl dedicated herself to taking care of her father while I went to school for music. She made his toast and coffee in the morning (and she made me tea and oatmeal too) and helped him in and out of bed. She gave him his pain medication, washed his bed sheets, read him the newspaper every afternoon. Vinyl had grown to be quite the reader and writer now. 

She even cooked his favourite dish, vegetable soup, though he could hardly eat more than a few spoonfuls, and took him out for a short walk around the block. Usually when he became bedridden, she would turn him on his side so he wouldn’t get bedsores.

One day, I came home from the local pharmacy with Dusty’s medication, oxycontin. Just after I closed the front door, I saw Vinyl placing a blanket over him, then tucking an icepack beneath it to cool him down. “Hey,” I said. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s holding in there,” Vinyl said, barely mustering a smile.

I walked over to her, kissed her on the cheek. “I have his medication,” I said, placing the white paper bag on the coffee table and then opening it. “How are you doing, Vinyl? You haven’t slept in days. You should rest.”

Dusty dragged his head off his pillow. “Save your breath. I’ve been telling her that for the past few days now.”

I looked at Vinyl, smiled. “It’s okay. Take as much time as you need with him, Vinyl. I understand. You know where to find me if you ever need me.” I caressed her cheek and kissed her afterwards. Then I left the room. 


§


Two months after the wedding, Houser and Starlee came over for dinner one night. Vinyl and I made a daisy salad, green beans, and some brown rice to go with it. After we ate and exchanged conversation, we sipped freshly brewed black tea and played crazy eights in groups of four. Vinyl and I were teamed up, competing against Houser and Starlee, and Dusty was lying on the couch watching us play intensely; he would sometimes give a suppressed peal of laugher when he saw Vinyl nudging me in the side for losing the match; I witness that smile of his again—the one he’d always given be throughout all these years; and it was as if he had a sense of closure in his life, knowing that his daughter would be loved and safe forever. 

Later that night, after Houser and Starlee said goodnight to us and vacated, Dusty asked Vinyl and me to help him to bed. Vinyl used her magic to help carry him up to his room, after which she placed him down on his mattress. We both sat by his bedside. 

“How are you feeling, Dad?” Vinyl asked, nudging his nose. 

He smiled. “Happy. So happy.”

Eventually I turned off his lamp, and he asked us to lean in for a kiss, on the cheek, goodnight.

“Want me to get you your medication, Dusty?” I asked him.

“Not tonight,” he said. “There’s no pain tonight…no pain”

“Okay,” I replied, smiling, pulling the blanket over him. We closed his door.



§


The home barely had anypony in it. The only ponies that I remember being there were Houser, Starlee, and a few of Dusty’s close co-workers. Outside, there were rain clouds causing a slight downpour. I sat by the open door, and Vinyl was seated next to me, her eyes welling up. I pulled her close, rubbed her shoulder.

Through the open door of the funeral home, I could see the fields of grass dance in the wind, and raindrops falling from the sky. Those raindrops reminded me of the day we left our previous life for this one. I thought about the life he had, not just the life Vinyl and I had. Losing his wife. Working for my unscrupulous, imperious father. Leaving his so called best friend so we could have a better life. In the end, he died with dignity, pride, and happiness; but even then, how do we know that for sure? How do we know that it wasn’t prideless?

After everypony had given their round of blessings and prayers, the groups of mourners lined up and greeted us on the way out. I barely knew any of them, but I smiled gracefully, thanked them for their wishes, listened to what they had to say to us.

Later on, we witnessed Dusty being lowered into the ground, then buried shortly after. Now that the mourners had paid their prayers, respect, and fortitude, they left without saying another word to us. The place was empty now, like a ghost town, and Vinyl and I were left with the memories from whom we loved and held dear. After that, I saw Vinyl by Dusty’s gravestone, and she threw a handful of dirt and threw it on the coffin. It was tradition her father once told me about.

I made my way to my wife, tears blurring my sight as I moved toward her. “Hey, Vinyl…can we walk?”

“Sure.” She leaned close to me as we walked. 

We walked in silence down a winding gravel path, lined by a row of hedges. A large yew tree marked a sighting alongside the path, and we sat beneath it. Arils were around us, and they appeared ripe enough to be eaten, yet we didn’t pick a single one up or mention their presence with words. As we sat, we saw an elderly couple kneeling beside a grave a few rows away and placing a bouquet of dragon lilies by the headstone. “Octavia?’

“Yes?”

“I’m going to miss him.”

“I will too,” I said.

I put a hoof on her lap, feeling a look of pain and sorrow crossing my face. At the corner of my eye, I saw Dusty’s mourners leaving on carriages; and it would only be a matter of time until we did the same. And for the first in our lives, we would be all alone.

I pulled Vinyl to me and her tears finally unleashed. For that, I said nothing. 

We as living beings are constantly affected by the very fabric of death, suffering, and void; nothing can ever change that; not even grief; and it might be difficult when it happens, but we naturally get past it with or without someone by our side. Vinyl and I were alone now, just the two of us, for the first time in our little lives. We were going to get through this together…regardless of how arduous it was going to be.

I held her close, and the tears kept coming from her.