Life in the boiler room of Canterlot Palace, as seen through the eyes of a female griffon.
Matilda was one among many griffons sent as tribute after Equestria defeated Gryphonia in a great humiliating battle. There she is put to work the great boilers of Canterlot Palace from morning till evening, constantly providing hot steaming water for the day's use.
Making friends is difficult for Matilda, though she wants to try. Living life is harsh because she was a citizen of a disgraced nation, though she is proud of her heritage. Having ambitions is impossible because it would take a lifetime to earn her freedom, though she does not stop dreaming about it.
Until she begins to discover the power of Friendship and Harmony for herself.
Follow her as she writes about her thoughts, feelings, opinions, and wishes, in a simple journey of self-discovery, humor, and longing.
Cover art courtesy of RexySeven. Title added by me.
Featured on 18/2/2022! Thank you so much for your support!
It is my first time writing a diary. It’s not for anypony or anygriff to read other than me, and perhaps a few selected friends.
If I even have friends, that is.
I’m feeling very tired because I woke up at half before dawn. It is now a hour or two after Princess Luna’s moon was raised up, I think. She has a beautiful moon. It is sad that she had nopony to tell her that. If somepony had told her that, I’m sure Nightmare Moon wouldn’t have happened. She would have been happy that at least one pony liked her moon. I’m sure that more ponies love her moon now, and I’m one of them. She must be very happy.
Today was a harsh day. It was harsh because I had to work the boilers twice than normal. Some important guests must be staying here in the palace, because they need hot showers, hot tea and coffee, and hot water for their feet.
I don’t understand why they must need four showers a day. I know that because there are pressure gauges on each individual hot water pipe that connects to the big bathroom boiler. And those gauges bopped up and down four times today. That’s why I know they took four showers.
Why not two showers? One in the morning was enough to freshen up for the day, and one in the evening to rinse off for bed. I don’t think one needs to shower before a meal, right?
Ponies are weird these days. The important ones, that is.
Today was also harsh because I got a whipping today. Miss Hawkrose, the matron mare, instructed me to deliver some coal to a guest’s parlor. But I forgot about it because I was busy repairing a broken pipe in one of the boilers. If I leave it unrepaired it will explode.
I forgot about the delivery. When I finished the repair, Miss Hawkrose stormed into the boiler room. Then I remembered that I was supposed to deliver the coal. She didn’t let me explain. I don’t think she wanted me to explain.
She told me to turn around. I did, slowly. Then she brought out her whip from thin air; I think she did it with magic. Anyway, she swung it across my back very quickly. I counted it – three times she whipped my back. She then admonished very firmly to remember the instructions given to me and to obey them quickly. I said yes, and then she left the room.
Then I let myself cry.
Ok, maybe I should have paid a bit more attention, then I might have remembered. But, at the same time, I was also busy with the broken pipe.
Miss Hawkrose is very strict. She is also not very forgiving. I think it is so because I saw other coltservants and mareservants being punished by her for very small things.
Sometimes they cry like I do. I wish to tell them that its alright. But they don’t really like me, because I’m not a pony. I am a griffon.
I have no one to talk to, except to myself. Actually, maybe I do, which is this diary.
I’m really tired. I should go to sleep now.
***
17th of Solmonth, A.N.M 3
I think I should introduce myself to you, diary. My name is Matilda, I am a griffoness. I am 17 years old now.
I don’t know much about how I look, actually. I don’t have a mirror, because it is expensive, and the boilers I see everyday have dull reflections. All I see is waves of white, brown, and a bit of red mixed together with the copper.
The coalponies deliver a new delivery of fresh black coal once every month. They say I look pretty. I think Collier, who is one of the regular ones, has a liking for me. I don’t think I’ve heard of a pony liking a griffon, so it must mean I’m very pretty.
Today was ok, just as usual. The boilers were hot and ready to deliver fresh water for tea, coffee, and a nice relaxing bath. I enjoyed the pressure gauges bopping up and down constantly. It is a little bit relaxing.
I take showers, at least once a day, but it is cold water. I am used to it already, but when I was a little fledgeling, I hated baths. It was always cold, and I hated cold. But I learned to get used to it. I don’t like to smell unpleasant, although I can’t help myself since I always sweat during work. That’s why I shower. Some of the colts don’t like cold water, so they don’t shower very often. They smell unpleasant, but I try not to mind. It is very hard to handle it though.
Miss Hawkrose taught us that hygiene was important. I said she was unforgiving, but that depended on her mood. If she was in a good mood, she would not punish minor things, but if she was in a bad mood, she would.
Thank goodness, she was in a good mood today. A very good mood, I think, because she even smiled at me when I greeted her good morning. She must have forgotten about yesterday.
My back still hurts. I felt some feathers were torn out. But they will heal after some days, and I will grow new ones.
I think that’s it for now, because I’m really really tired. I have to wake up early as usual, half before dawn.
Goodnight, diary.
***
18th of Solmonth
Hello diary, how was your day?
Mine was horrible. One of the guest room’s waste pipe broke and dripped the dirt all over me. It was horrible and disgusting. I quickly took a shower to clean myself, but then I had to clean the mess. I asked for the wasteponies to come but they didn’t listen to me, because I was a griffon. So I had to clean it up myself and fix the pipe as well.
This is very annoying. Just because I’m a griffon they won’t bother about me?
But I know you, diary, will listen to me. I’m glad that you don’t mind me being a griffon.
I’m still very upset. I think I’ll go to sleep now.
Goodnight, diary. Sleep well, I guess?
***
20th of Solmonth
I didn’t write yesterday, diary, because Miss Hawkrose sent a new pony to work the boilers with me. Nopony can see you, at least those who are not my friends. But he is a small and shy colt, so I think he won’t peek. He might even become my friend, then maybe I can show him to you. But not yet, not now.
He is a small, light blue color pony. He has very blonde mane, and has some white little specks on his back. He looks kind of cute.
Right now, he is sleeping. Yes, I have a room to stay. It is near the boiler room, not too far away.
Hopefully tomorrow I can tell you about how everything looks like, but I have to sleep. Goodnight.
The little blue colt is named Sven. He is shy, and speaks in a very small voice. He also has a very different accent. I might ask him tomorrow about it.
Today was his first day working the big boilers, so I taught him the basic workings. He is responsible for making sure the pressure is at a safe level. I won't make him shove coal or stoke the fire yet, because he's quite small, and I don't want him to burn himself by accident.
I think I promised to tell you everything about the boiler room, right?
Well, it is a very big room with dark stone brick walls. It is quite underground, so there are no windows. There are only vents to give fresh air, doors to go in and out, and stairs to climb.
The boiler room is split into three floors. At the very bottom are the furnaces, three in total. It is very hot down there, and everytime I go down there I get covered in black dusty soot, because the coal is stored at the side in a very big chamber.
The next floor is the boilers itself. The heat from the furnaces below make the water inside them hot. They are big and round. Most of the boilers lie down sideways, because it is safer, but there are also some boilers that stand upright.
There are five boilers altogether - three lying down and two standing. They are all made of copper, which I think is a very dull metal.
The top floor is where all the pipes for different rooms are found. They have big and small levers that open and close for the water to flow in and out. It is very interesting, but it is also very complicated. Pipes painted red are for bathrooms, while pipes painted orange are for the kitchens. There are also pipes that make water flow back into the boilers, but that is only for certain situations.
There are also other pipes that cross the boiler room. I wonder why they made these other pipes pass by here. There are some big pipes that carry away waste from the bathrooms. Remember when one of them broke and spilled all the yucky dirt on me? Yeah, it was one of these pipes. They stink quite a lot.
There are also other pipes that deliver cold water. They just pass by the boiler room, but they don't go through the boilers because it is meant to be cold.
I think that's enough for tonight, don't you think? You might be bored with all these descriptions. But you haven't complained or anything so far, so I think you are interested?
Thanks for listening anyway, diary. Goodnight.
***
22nd of Solmonth
I tried talking to Sven, because so far, the only things I’ve spoken to him are instructions and tips related to our job. But he is very shy, and seems to be very afraid to speak. He stammers and finds it very hard to express himself. Something must’ve happened to him, something terrible. I hope he will recover from it.
I introduced myself to him at lunch break. He introduced himself back, although it was very slow. We ate potato sandwiches today - it is a loaf of bread with the inside scooped out and filled with mashed potatoes. It is very filling, and gives us enough energy to work for today.
I eat simple, and I’m very alright with it. I have heard of the kind of food that’s served on Princess Celestia’s tables. They say that tall towers of pancakes are served at breakfast. They are so tall that a pony must climb a ladder to reach the top, or use their wings to fly up and take a bite. Imagine how much flour the kitchen needs everyday for so many pancakes!
I’m really tired, diary. My mind is full of things to say to you, but I don’t know how to tell you in an organized way. Maybe tomorrow I might be able to tell you some more things in a better way, but I think that’s quite enough for tonight.
Goodnight, diary.
***
23rd of Solmonth
I’ve been tired these days. I think I’m not getting enough sleep?
Sven is sleeping now, and I will be sleeping soon as well. We sleep on two hay mattresses covered with a cloth. It’s rough, and when I was a fledgeling I couldn’t sleep well for the first few nights. Sven seems to be able to sleep well – I wonder how?
We also get blankets, don’t worry. Our room is in a corridor on the top floor of the boiler room. The corridor also has other rooms for different uses. The room on the right is the storage room for spare pipes and stuff, while the room on our left is where we keep all our tools. You can find hammers, saws, nails, drills, and many kinds of metal sheets, if you went in there. The room opposite ours is the coal chute. That is where Collier and his friends come and pour the fresh coal down into the coal chamber near the furnaces. It is quite deep, and I prefer to stay away from it. I don’t want to fall in and hurt myself.
Our room has some windows, but it is near the top, so I have to stand on a stool or crate in order to see through it. I mostly see clouds and stars, and even a rainbow-maned pegasus zip by. I think it is because this part of the palace is built into the mountainside high above. Well, Canterlot is quite high up as well, so I think there are places higher than mine.
The moon is beautiful tonight, because it is shining silvery beams of light into the room. I guess Princess Luna is in a very happy mood today, don’t you think?
***
24th of Solmonth
Sven got his first scolding today, from Miss Hawkrose. She told him to throw some trash in one of the waste rooms, but instead he went to a laundry room and dumped it there. The washponies were very upset, and so was Miss Hawkrose. She thought he was playing pranks, so she scolded him very harshly.
He told me later that he couldn’t read. He didn’t know what the signs on the doors meant. He was crying a lot, so much that his lunch bread was wet with tears. I gave him a hug and told him it was ok. I guess Miss Hawkrose was a bit too hard on him.
I went and timidly told Miss Hawkrose that Sven couldn’t read. At first I thought she was going to whip me for being nosy, but she didn’t. Instead, she was surprised (in an irritated tone) and told me to call him. She took him inside her office for some time – I don’t know how long – while I sat outside. After that, she came out and said it was true, he couldn’t read. She said something about getting a tutor, but I volunteered to teach him Equestrian. Thankfully, Miss Hawkrose nodded and said nothing else; I was glad she didn’t say anymore, because she was still very irritated and in her bad mood.
I quickly brought Sven back to our workplace. He started crying again, so I gave him a hug. I told him it was alright, he was safe with me. He must be really scared. I feel really sad for him.
But I hope that will change, because tomorrow, I’ll be teaching him the alphabet. Then he would be able to read, and be proud of achieving something.
I’m yawning a lot. I should go to sleep. Goodnight.
Today was a great day, diary. I taught Sven the alphabet, and made him repeat all the letters while we were working. He has a sweet voice, high and soft, but his accent is very heavy. He rolls his R's like "rrrrrrrr," and always pronounces short vowels. It's very funny, but also very cute. It's as if he's singing.
He likes potatoes a lot. He says that his land grows many potatoes, and they like to boil it in hot stews. It must be very delicious.
He talked a little bit more today, but he is still shy. I hope it can change, because I like him. No, not that kind of like! Just a friendly like. I also like the white spots along his back; it reminds me of deer.
Actually, speaking of deer, I really miss meat. I still remember a bit of my time back in Griffonstone – we used to have stews, and salads, and all kinds of game during mealtime. I really wish I could have my favourite poultry again ~
We normally eat fried oats or scones for breakfast; they are really filling, because it’s supposed to give us the strength to work the boilers. For lunch, we mostly eat sandwiches. Yesterday we had cucumber and daisy sandwiches. Dinner is irregular, because it is served at the servants’ eating hall. Anycreature can go there and grab some food. But I don’t like to go there, because it's full of ponies who don’t like me. But, sometimes I’m too hungry, so I just go, but I would sit at a table far away from the ponies. However, I normally skip dinner.
I wonder, diary, do books eat ink for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?
I’m just kidding. Goodnight, diary.
***
27th of Solmonth
I think I should give you a name, diary. I thought about this over and over today while working, and I think Eva sounds good for you. What do you think?
I'm gonna spell you as Eabha, which is the Griffish way, because I want to confuse ponies in case they sneak up on me and see you. Sven has done it already, but he’s an exception because he’s a good colt. And also, I consider him my friend.
I didn’t write to you yesterday because I was very tired. Sven has been memorising the alphabet, and I’ve been busy yesterday and today as well helping him with it. He learns quite fast, but still pronounces short vowels and rolled R’s. I think it's alright, because he sounds very cute in his accent.
He is still a bit shy, but he has been opening up slowly. He says his land is very cold but also very beautiful. He says that there are many lakes with pretty fish in them. He also says that it is full of forests. But that’s all he told me. Hopefully I can get to know him more, and also his land, because it sounds interesting. But I think that can be done tomorrow, because I’m really tired.
Goodnight, Eabha.
***
28th of Solmonth
Good evening Eabha.
I think I should tell you more about myself. I’ll try to remember as much of my fledgelinghood as I can, before I came to Equestria, but I don’t remember everything. I know you understand.
Remember when I wrote your name the Griffish way? It’s the same for my name as well. It’s Matílde. Actually, your name is supposed to be spelt Éabha, but I’m too lazy to write the little dash on top. That’s also why I normally write my name the Equestrian way.
Griffish is a complicated language. In Equestrian, you put the subject in front, the verb in the middle, and the object at the end. But in Griffish, you put the verb in front, the subject in the middle, and the object at the end. It’s strange, isn’t it?
Another funny thing about Griffish is that the “v” sound is written “bh,” and the vowel “u” is written with “w.” Equestrians find it funny and weird, but I think it’s really cool.
I didn’t learn a lot of Griffish, so I don’t know a lot of words. I’m actually not supposed to speak Griffish here. Miss Hawkrose has forbidden all the servants from speaking their original languages. We all must speak in Equestrian. I wonder if that is because she doesn’t want us talking bad about her using our own language? It would be kind of cool if we did, actually.
Sadly, she punishes anypony caught speaking in their own language. Usually she whips, but sometimes she forfeits a meal, sometimes two. It’s very harsh and unfair, isn’t it?
Thankfully, I have you to talk to. You don’t have to understand the Griffish words I scribble onto you. Maybe, I could even teach you. But not the bad words. I don’t want you to learn bad words, not now at least.
It’s funny, but a lot of griffons don’t like to speak Griffish actually, as far as I can remember. But I do. I like it because it sounds very harmonious and beautiful. Hopefully you’ll find it the same as well?
The first day of a new month is a great day, isn’t it, Eabha?
Wrong. So very wrong.
In fact, I’m so upset that it’s a bit dificult to write. I don’t know how to say this. I’m just so very mad. It has to do with Sven.
Earlier this morning, he was trho throwing away some trash in the waste rooms when some of the wasteponies passed by him. They began to make fun of him and make jokes out of him. I think it’s because of his mistake that day, when he threw the trash into the laundry room by accident.
And then you know what? They began throwing TRASH on him. TRASH! All the waste oil, and yucky leftovers, the food scraps – they dumped EVERYTHING on him!
I’m writing capital letters, but that is nt not enough to express hw how angry MAD I feel at the wasteponies! They are disgusting! HAtefu Hateful! Disrespectful!
I don’t know how to explain myself to you, Eabha. Its so horrible! How culd could thy they do this to him? This is sickening.
I told Sven not to clean himself up. He stank very badly, but I didn’t want him to wash it away. I took him and brought him to Miss Hawkrose. I told her everything, what had happened to Sven. But all the while she was sitting in her chair pinching her nose shut. She didn’t care. She just told him to go and clean himself up. Then you know what, Eabha? Se She told me not to play pranks on her anymore. I told her that everything was the exact truth. But she didn’t believe me. She became mpatient impatient. I insisted that it was the truth. Then she slapped her table. I knew what was coming. She brought out her whip from thin air. But I had told the truth. I wasn’t lying!
She didn’t var care, she just whipped me. She said she was whipping me for being a prankster, a liar, and a delinquent – whatever that wrd mans word means. One whip for lying, another for playing pranks, and the last one for being a “delinquent.” I dotn don’t know what that word mesn means. And I don’t care. All I know is that it is not a pleasant word.
My back still stings from my punishment. The new feathers that were growing back are violently torn off, again. My back feels sore. I have to lie on my stomach tonight – I’m actually already doing it while writing to you. It’s so unfair. And very ufaortbl uncomfortable.
Sven helped me clean my back. He brought some water and dipped a cloth in it, and wiped the parts where the whip hit my back. He said it was to clean off the dirt, so that there will be no infections. It felt comforting. I felt like somepony understood me. Maybe Sven understands me in a way that haven’t seen – his own way, I guess. He said that medicine was a common thing to learn back in his land. He said that his land is called “Snuorr-yorrd.” I’m very sure I spelt it wrongly, but that will have to do fr for now. Hopefully, when he is able to read and write words, he might be able to spell it for me properly.
I’m sorry Eabha, I’m very I have a lot of feelings still running inside me. I feel angry and very mad, but I also feel sad, lonely, and crushed.
Half of me wants to forgive them, but the other half of me wants to see them die.
I’m scared, Eabha. I’m scared of myself. What if I do the wrong thing? What if I hurt Sven in my rage?
I don’t know what to do. I only can hope, I guess?
***
4th of Miremonth
I just wanted to be sure that nopony would try anything funny on us, especially after Sven has been bullied. That’s why I didn’t write to you for some time.
I guess I’m ok now, Eabha. Something in me tells me that Somepony, or Somegriff, is watching over me. I wonder who could that be?
Sven is ok now, but he’s quite shaken. My back has started to heal, and Sven says he can see little white hairs on the bare skin. It must be the feather roots.
I feel tired, and frustrated. I hope I can be able to write to you in a better mood soon, but this will have to do for now. Goodnight, Eabha.
***
5th of Miremonth
Today was ok, I guess. Miss Hawkrose was in her bad mood when she came to check on all the workers this morning, but thankfully she didn’t talk about Sven’s incident.
Speaking of Sven, he’s been doing well, especially for a small colt like him. He now can open and close the pipes, and can handle himself in the boiler room quite well. But most of all, he can read a few words now. He can also write, but only his name, my name, and a few pronouns. That’s great progress for him.
He also talks a lot more now. I thought that he would be scared after he was bullied, but for some reason, he is more open than before. I’m really happy.
He wants to write to you and say hi, but he can’t write a lot. That’s why I’ll try to teach him more words so that he can talk to you. I’m sure you two will be great friends.
I guess this is it. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Goodnight, Eabha.
***
6th of Miremonth
Hello Eabha, how was your day?
I have one-fourth of ink left, and my quill nib is becoming duller. I’ll have to buy another bottle and another quill from Miss Penny. She’s the mare who is responsible for anything related to the workers’ money – she is the one who pays us our salary, and buys supplies like cloth and soap, and keeps records of what we buy from her or give away. She stores all the supplies in a big storeroom – she also keeps her records there. That’s where we come and ask her for what we need, and pa pay er her the cost.
She’s much nicer than Miss Hawkrose, and smiles a lot. Miss Hawkrose doesn’t like to smile, unless something really good has happened to her. Miss Penny likes to eat cake, lots of it. I think strawberry shortcake is her favorite. I don’t really like cake, especially the ones with lots of cream.
Sven and I did the usual. I guess everything has returned to normal. One of the screws broke in one of the pipes, so I got Sven to shut the lever on that pipe so that it won’t burst and spill all the hot water. He enjoys pulling and lifting the levers. He said that it is cool to watch.
I think I’ll have to teach him how to shove coal into the furnaces below, and stoke the fire. But that’ll get his white specks dirty, and I don’t want that. But, I guess I cannot help it.
Sven also has to start bathing himself already. I’ve been helping him so far, but I guess he is old enough to do it himself.
I guess you’re wondering about how we shower and all? But I’m quite tired now. I guess I’ll tell you some other time, but for now I think that’s enough.
Today Sven and I had some fun teaching each other insults from our own languages. I’d rather not tell you yet, because I think you’re not ready for it.
I know, you are quite disappointed, but I think you’ll be happy to know instead that Sven can read and write much better. He can read the signs and labels around our workplace, and he can write a good amount of words. Here, I’ll let him say hi to you.
Hello Eva, Sven I am. I know not how to write well, but I will try hard. My name is Sven, like Matilda has been saying. Ekveska I can speak well, but writing it is not very good. I hope you can be understanding of my writing. I hope to learn more in order to talk to you better.
Kjust Eva!
His language has interesting sounds. He says that “J” is not pronounced like in “jam,” but it is pronounced like a “Y,” like in “yay.” I find it really cool, but it is a bit difficult to speak the words properly. It feels like my tongue and throat are going crazy. I think that’s why his accent is so strong.
I think that’s all for tonight, because I’m really tired, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate.
Daren lew.
***
8th of Miremonth
I’m quite sick of how the colts look at me while I am taking my shower. It’s quite scary, Eabha. I try to shower as quick as I can, and try my ABSOLUTE hardest to cover myself, but they still try to find a way to look at me.
I’m not that attractive, really. I mean, Sven and Collier say I’m pretty, and that’s fine, because they’re my friends. But these colts – wasteponies and chimney-sweepers mostly – they don’t find me pretty. They find my parts pretty. It’s disgusting.
Sometimes they will huddle in the corner and whisper amongst themselves about me. I know that they’re talking about me because they will try to look at me or point a hoof at me. They must be talking about my body.
I can’t understand why Miss Hawkrose doesn’t separate the fillies from the colts. I heard from Miss Penny that we are separated according to our jobs, not gender. Don’t you find that GROSS?
Sven doesn’t feel safe either. I’m more worried for him than for myself. He doesn’t know how to defend himself, and gets hurt easily. I just really really hope that it will NEVER happen to him. He’s too young, much too young.
I have to hug him sometimes, because he cries. He is truly scared. I don’t know how to help him other than hugging him and telling him that I’m there.
Sometimes I wish somepony was there for me when it happened. But, I can’t turn back time, can’t I, Eabha? But now, at least I have somepony to be there for, somepony to comfort. It’s really sad.
I guess this is it Eabha. I know you understand, even though you’re always silent. Daren lew.
***
9th of Miremonth
Hi, Eva. How was your day?
I am sad towards Matilda. It is now very late, and she is sleeping, but I cannot sleep tonight, so I want to skrif to you.
I come from a land called Snjorjord, and my tongue is called Snjorjordska. It has complicated laws to speak it, and its hearing is strange to Ekvestr. But, I am happy that Matilda likes my tongue, and so I taught her some words.
Snjorjord has many potatoes, but we also have much fish that we harvest from the cold sea and nuts we harvest from the tall trees. Snjorjord has many woods and hills, so our dwellings are built of wood. We like to dwell within hills. We make big dens under them, and make it firm with wood, so that we can have safety from the cold snow.
Snjorjordrek like to hunt sea beasts, and land beasts as well. We take their hide to make coverings for the cold, and we make their bones into forks and spoons, and pens and sidepipes.
My mother likes to blow the sidepipe. It has a low and fair sound, and everytime she blows it is as if the wind is singing. I miss it very much.
I am now tired. I must go and sleep now, otherwise sleep will go from me again. Juva.
***
10th of Miremonth
Harreg, Eabha, linad ta bhi?
Nic ma linad, idw terrible i.
A pipe broke loose and slammed into my cheek. Good thing Miss Hawkrose didn’t check on us, because she always sends us to Miss Syringe if we are hurt or sick. And Miss Syringe does a nwil job. She is not gentle when she bandages a wound, and she does not clean her hoofs properly. I really don’t want to imagine what kind of dirt is stuck in her fetlocks.
Sven was really helpful, he helped bandaged my wound. He said not to shower until the wound is healed, so that the water does not disturb the healing process. It’s good for me too, because it means I won’t have colts looking at me.
Anyway, I see that Sven had a nice talk with you last night. I was really tired, so I did not write to you. His land is an interesting one, isn’t it? I just read it before writing to you, and I think it was beautiful. Sven’s writing is much better, don't you think?
Other than the broken pipe, today was a normal day. Wake up early, stoke the fire, and watch the boilers from morning till night. Sven’s body is getting darker and darker from shoving coal. I wonder if he will become as black as the night?
I’m just kidding. He’s really cute. Like a little brother. Yeah, I think I can consider him my little brother, since I have no siblings, at least that I know of.
I wonder if mother and father are still in Gryphonia? I was too young to remember what they really looked like, so I can’t give a proper description of them. I feel that mom is sweet and kind, while dad is strong and determined. I think I am both. I hope that I can make them proud, at least in spirit.
I wonder, do books dream? They must be dreaming about all the things one writes on them, maybe?
I’m tired, Eabha. I really am. It’s not easy to wake up so early and go to bed so late.
I don’t think I’ve told you this before. We don’t get holidays. Well, at least, not really. Once, or sometimes twice a month, Miss Penny would put up a little party for all the workers, where we get to drink fizzy drinks and snacks. I think she also puts on such parties because she wants all of us to make friends. All I have seen in these parties are colts fighting over cake and making noise, sadly.
As you might have guessed, I don’t attend these parties. It’s not like I have to. And plus, nopony misses the boiler workers anyway.
I guess I should tell you. Boiler workers are the lowest amongst all the workers. Even the wasteponies are above us, that’s why they treated Sven so horribly. You must be wondering why, but I don’t know why either.
Miss Hawkrose doesn’t say it out loud. But I know – and all the workers know – that she sends anycreature down to the boilers if they are unwanted. All the workers fight to please her, so that they don’t become unwanted. I even heard that they get rid of ponies they don’t like by blaming something on them, just so that Miss Hawkrose could send them down here.
I don’t care to please her. I am already unwanted anyway. I am a griffon, and griffons are not treated very kindly because Gryphonia lost to Equestria in the war. But it ended long ago. Why should we be treated unfairly? Why, Eabha?
I know you can’t answer that question. I can’t either.
***
13th of Miremonth
Hi Eva, how went your day?
I believe you can acknowledge my skrif from Matilda’s, so you know that it is Sven.
Matilda is sleeping. She is very tired, as she said to you yesterday. I feel sad towards her. She sometimes sheds tears when she sleeps, or turns from one side to another.
I think she is tormented by a juvadrekka. My mother sang a night-song to me everytime a juvadrekka unsettled me. But I do not remember all of the words, so I cannot sing to Matilda, and so the juvadrekka won’t leave.
Mother once said that juvadrekkar unsettle you with dark remembrances of things past. Matilda must have a dark remembrance, though I know not what. I wish she would speak of it, and unburden her heart, so that the juvadrekkar won’t torment her any longer.
I feel very sad towards her. She is fair towards me, and cherishes me like I am her younger brother.
Juva, Eva.
***
14th of Miremonth
I worry much for Matilda, Eva. She eats very little and talks very little. She looks sick, her bright red eyes are dull and dark, and she has a hard time sleeping. The juvadrekka must be really mean. Why won’t it stop tormenting her?
I feel sad as well. Two of us are sad. There is nopony for us.
Juva, Eva.
***
17th of Miremonth
Hello Eabha. It’s been four days since I last wrote to you. You must miss me alot.
I see Sven has been talking about his worry for me. You must be worried too. You don’t have to now. I feel better now. Sven has been by my side, hugging me closely, trying to comfort me the best he can. I’m really thankful for such a pony.
It has been quiet these days. Nothing big has happened so far. That’s good. I and Sven have been doing the same routine.
I’m really tired. I am just writing to you today just to let you know I’m fine. Don’t worry about me Eabha. You’re more comforting than you might think you are.
Goodnight.
***
18th of Miremonth
I miss music, Eabha, really. I have not heard a proper tune for a long time. The only music that I hear is the howling of the furnaces, the bubbling of hot water, and the shrill hissing of steam. It is quite unpleasant, but I can’t do anything about it.
I heard that rich and important ponies hire musicians to play for them at their parties. I wonder what kind of music is played there?
You must be wondering what Griffish music is like. As far as I can remember, our songs have fast beats and strong rhythms, and tunes that are both cheerful and sad. Our pipes sing high and nasal, and our lyres buzz like a bee when it is plucked. It makes you want to dance along and have fun.
Our songs talk about daily life and work, about family and about lovers. Sometimes, if we feel sad, we will sing a song of comfort. If we feel happy, we play a jovial tune. And when we are pissing or crapping, we sing a song about pissing and crapping. Actually, they are the best songs, because they have the fastest beats, the strongest rhythms, the nasalest pipes, and the shrillest tunes one could ever sing. It is full of glee, laughter, and excitement.
Thanks so much for your silent comfort. I also must thank Sven, because he’s been so caring for me. I sometimes wonder, what have I done to deserve this?
Daren lew, Eabha. I’m still tired, you know, because working the boilers is not easy. I hope I’ll have enough energy tomorrow to write to you.
You know what’s funny, Eabha? Writing to you while I am crapping.
It stinks like Tartarus in here. I am right now squatting over an oval bowl built into the floor. There is a small hole near the rear end, so that when I am finished I can pour the bucket of water into it and wash the crap down the hole.
Accuracy is severely lacking in the toilet. My accuracy is superb if you compare it to others. The wasteponies are the worst – it’s like they’re purposely missing the target and washing down the area with their filth. Well, they work with filth and talk filth, so I guess they are quite filthy themselves.
It’s quite tiring to balance myself on my rear legs, because my left claw is holding you and my right claw is holding the quill. And I’m trying really really hard not to fall backwards. It’s killing my legs though. The ink pot is sitting nicely in front of me, if you were wondering.
The toilet is very small. I don’t know how to measure properly, but I’d think it’s probably big enough to fit two ponies standing in front of each other. It’s tall and narrow, and it gives me the chills everytime I step in here. Unfortunately, I produce crap all the time, so I don’t really have a choice. At least you being here gives me some comfort.
I think that’s quite enough. My legs are burning, and the funk is growing stronger. I think I won’t bring you in while I’m crapping, because I’m worried you might get soiled.
Till next time.
***
21st of Miremonth
I don’t feel like talking to you, Eabha. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset at you. I don’t know how to tell you. It feels as if my heart is split in two, and one half is going to the left, and the other half is going to the right.
It’s my fault. I yelled at Sven yesterday. I got upset because he took the last piece of potato bread. It’s so stupid, isnt it? I scolded him for a piece of bread. I feel so horrible. I’m a horrible griff.
Sven went upstairs to check the pipes. One broke loose and smashed his nose. He was crying and bleeding terribly. It was running all over the floor. I had to send him to Miss Syringe. She just bandaged his nose and told me that he had to rest for a week at least. He cant work till then.
He’s sleeping now. I feel so horrible, Eabha. How could I do this to my friend, my only friend? I feel something more than horrible. Im disgusting. Sven must loathe me. Is he even going to talm talk to me again?
I don’t know what I feel. Like Tartarus? Is this how princess Luna felt when she became Nightmare?
I’ve done horrible things before. You wont be able to handle it if I tell you. My heart hurts so much just writing to you this. I don’t want Sven to be punished for my sins. I must bear them alone.
Alone Eabha. I don’t want to be alone. And yet, I caused myself to be alone, because I was so selfish. Nopony should love me for what I did. Would Sven understand if I tell him? Would he shun away frm from me?
***
22nd of Miremonth
Eva, I skrif this to you, so that if Matilda opens you up, she would read this and feel better.
I will not push you away if you want to tell me your dark remembrance. Is this the dark remembrance that the juvadrekka has been tormenting you with? I wish I remembered my mother’s night-song, so that I could sing to you, that you may feel better.
In truth, I also was upset towards you, and I was selfish as well. I wanted the bread and did not think much about you. I’m sorry, Matilda. I know you will forgive me, but you must know as well that I will forgive you, je?
I’m still your friend and little brother.
Trogg juva.
***
28th of Miremonth
I actually wanted to write to you yesterday, but I didn’t know how or what to write. You must’ve missed me a lot, Eabha?
I feel a little better, but still stupid. I was too proud to say sorry to Sven after we argued. But after reading his thoughts that he wrote to you last night, I just felt so stupid. So yesterday I said sorry to him for being so selfish, and he forgave me quickly. He and I shared a hug. We haven’t had hugs for quite some time.
I didn’t realise it then, but I missed the security and comfort a hug gives. Doing it yesterday just reminded me how much Sven and I need each other. I guess working in this boiler room has done many things to me.
Goodnight Eabha. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
***
29th of Miremonth
I feel that there’s something funny about the pipes, Eabha.
One of the orange pipes for the kitchen broke off, but it didn’t leak any hot water. Yet, the pressure gauge bobbed up and down like normal. I wonder what is going on? Maybe there might be some extra pipe that was used, but that is not possible. I may have to look at the pipe map that Miss Hawkrose keeps in her office.
Sven’s nose is doing better, but it still looks quite nasty. It is quite red with a bit of black on his blue nose. I saw it like this because I had to take off his bandage and help him wash it. I guess this is a way to repay him for the time he helped wash my injury. I owe it to him a lot.
It is quite early now, actually. The sun is just going below. Sven is reading a book called Rown ag Meagis, which is a sad and heartbreaking love story that ends with the griffon and griffoness dying together. I won’t say how, because the writers wrote their deaths in a very bloody way. I guess it’s to make the Equestrians sick.
I have read some Equestrian books. Our room which we sleep in has a pile of books, which Miss Hawkrose used to keep in her office. She threw it into the boiler room and wanted to burn it in the furnaces. I don’t know why she wanted to destroy such precious books. Anyway, she somehow forgot about it and left it in a big box by the furnace, where I took it into my room. That was quite a long time ago.
Some of the interesting things that the Equestrians wrote are “Romeo and Iuliette,” “Canterlot Tales,” and "Songs of Buck.” Romeo and Iuliette is like Rown ag Meagis, because they die at the end, except that Romeo and Iuliette die in a peaceful way – with no blood sadly. Canterlot Tales and Songs of Buck are full of funny, stupid, and disgusting stories though. Like, doing bed stuff with alicorns, drinking at royal ceremonies, and letting out crap-air in ponies’ faces. Imagine if princess Celestia allowed that, but I’m very sure she won’t, and neither would princess Luna. That makes me wonder why Equestrians always think they are better than griffons.
Anyway, I’m reading a big book that is not written by Equestrians. The front page says that it was translated into Equestrian, because it was written by “kirins” in their strange writing. I don’t know what kirins are though. However, they seem to be very interesting creatures. They like to eat mashy food called rice, and drink a hot drink called “cha.” They like to wear long dresses and carry thin wooden things called fans. The book says that it is to keep them cool when it is hot. That’s interesting, isn’t it?
The book has many colorful pictures with “kirin” in it. They are like ponies, but look so very different. Their land looks very beautiful. It is full of trees and mountains, and many rivers and lakes. I really want to see their land. Their land is so beautiful, and this boiler room is so boring and dull. Everyday I see grey walls and yellow fire, but these “kirin” get to see many colors.
If I ever leave this boiler room, I will go and see this place. I want to see these “kirin” and tell them how beautiful their land is. Maybe one day, Eabha.
It’s the first day of the new month, Eabha. I hope it goes well.
Collier and his friends delivered the coal this afternoon, and they decided to stay around just for a bit. I should tell you more about Collier. He is dark blue in color, and his mane an even darker blue. He wears a little red cap on his head, and his flank bears the mark of a pickaxe. He looks cute – a different kind of cute, I suppose.
He likes to swear, his friends especially. And they also like to smoke. Sometimes they will secretly bring a few rolls of their substances and smoke here, because they don’t want Miss Hawkrose to see them. They’re not supposed to smoke anyway, and I’ve told them quite a few times, but they don’t listen. Well, it’s up to them in the end.
They like Sven, surprisingly. Sven is more talkative now, and he struck up a very lively conversation with them. I was worried that Collier might not like him so much, but I was wrong. They laughed together, shared some stories together, and even swore together. I’m quite afraid Sven has learnt some new insults, and I will have to tell him to restrain his mouth, otherwise he might accidentally swear in front of Miss Hawkrose, and get punished severely for it. I really don’t want him to get into trouble, especially with Miss Hawkrose.
Speaking of her, she’s been awfully quiet. It might be good for a while, because then I don’t have to worry about any scoldings so far, but it’s a little unusual to not see her. She hasn’t come round the boilers for some time. I feel a little worried. I really hope nothing goes wrong for me, or for Sven.
Sven is right now sleeping, and I am going to join him soon. Goodnight Eabha, you’re the best.
***
2nd of Eastermonth
Something is funny with the pipes. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Remember when one of the hot water pipes broke, but no water came out of it? And yet the pressure gauges were still running? It happened today as well, but in a far far stranger way.
The pressure gauges on the boiler were not moving at all. But the pressure gauges on the pipes going into the wall were. If water is flowing through those pipes then the gauges on the boiler should be bopping up and down as well. But they didn’t. They kept perfectly still.
Is there really another pipe connected? I don’t know Eabha. It’s just so strange. The boiler room is built to make hot water, which the whole palace needs, so why would they bypass this place and let cold water flow around instead? This is really strange. I have to check the pipe map in Miss Hawkrose’s office.
But enough about work. It is hard and tiring, and I know that you won’t like hard and tiring stories, right?
Sven finished Rown ag Meagis. He said it was very tragic, and he felt sad because of it. Griffon stories really know how to make you cry.
I guess I could tell you. The story goes that a griffon named Rown accidentally drinks a potion that causes him to kill his wife Meagis in fury. When he wakes up from the potion, he sees Meagis’ bloody body and is struck with such horror and guilt that he chops off his limbs, wings, beak, and ears one by one, in order to punish himself for killing his beloved. His blood mixes with Meagis’, which causes a spirit to appear in front of Rown. It turns out to be his beloved Meagis, who hugs him very dearly, before disappearing into thin air. Rown dies after that.
I know, it is quite violent. I sometimes wonder why griffon writers had to be so bloody. But there are other stories which are much more violent, and I think it is best that we don’t talk about them. Actually, now that I think about it, it might be too violent for Sven. But he’s read it already. I hope he won’t get nightmares because of it.
The book on “kirins” is very interesting. Their clothes are rich and colorful, and their language is strange. Their writing is even stranger. They like to put powders on their cheeks and wear a lot of jewelry. It must be the rich “kirins” that they’re showing, not the common ones. I don’t think common kirins like to wear so much clothing and all. They would be simple, just like me.
Today was a tiring day, as is usual. In fact, I don’t know how I have enough strength leftover to write to you. Daren lew, Eabha. Oched ta bhi.
***
3rd of Eastermonth
Miss Hawkrose could really dil ma nwil. No seriously, she will DIL MA NWIL!!
She really had to get angry at Sven. He just bumped into her – an accident! And then she berated him and called him “son of a whoremare.” If miss Hawkrose thinks I don’t know what that means, then I dare say she’s greta greatly mistaken!!
Im so upset rigt right now, Eabha, I cant even write properly. That’s not even enough to express how upset I am at miss Hawkrose. I really feel like telling her to nwil off to her face. She could go SOCK IT and DIL MA NWIL!!
Im sorry Eabha, I cant help myself.
***
I’m sorry Eabha. I was really upset. Like, really really upset. I had to hug Sven many times and tell him that his mother was a good mother. His heart must’ve broken so much when miss Hawkrose insulted his mother like that. Makes me wonder if she herself is a whore.
Actually, she might as well be one. I’ll tell you a secret. miss Hawkrose liked to have stallions come over to her office. I even saw it myself. One night, a white stallion with blonde mane visited her. He looked like a very rich pony. They closed the door and giggled quietly. I was curious, so I put my ear to the door. For some reason, miss Hawkrose didn’t think about how light the wood of the door was. I could hear everything. Like, popping open a bottle – it must’ve been wine or something – and her sofa creaking. Then, I heard them clink their glasses together. And then, for a long long time, they just talked very softly about themselves. I even heard the stallion saying how “luscious” she was. I think you can guess where this is going, right Eabha?
Disgusting is all I can say. She is OLD. Freaking OLD. That stallion either has very very poor taste in mares, or he has some weird desires that he doesn’t mind a mare as old as miss Hawkrose to share the bed with him – sofa in this case. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.
Actually, now that I think about it, it wasn’t very nice for me to have eavesdropped on them. After all, it is their privacy. But im so mad at her, that I don’t feel like caring for her feelings. Yet it isnt very great of me to leak this secret, right?
Anyway this secret is with you now. Its in Griffish, don’t worry. Nopony except the griffons can read it. And it turns out that Im the only griffon here. So, I guess this little scandal is safe with you and me.
Im tired after ranting to you. I hope you wont be annoyed at my bad writing or spelling. I don’t care at this point. Goodnight.
I feel tired, drained out. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s like feeling that there’s more to discover about life, but I’m so tired and uninspired to search it out. It’s like lying down and sighing, which I did just before I decided to write to you about my thoughts. It’s just so dull, as dull as the copper metal which the boilers are made out from.
I don’t want to stop, to give up, but it’s becoming more difficult each day. Why?
I feel so insecure. I can’t describe this feeling as well. I just don’t know what to think. I just don’t know what went wrong.
I feel like crying, but no tears come, because I have no more tears to spend. I feel like losing all my control, and just grab the spare metal pipe and smash Miss Hawkrose’s skull with it.
But if I do it, what would Sven think of me? If I get blood on my claws, he would be disappointed. He’s too innocent. I don’t want him to suffer because of me, or my mistakes.
I have made too many mistakes. Maybe it was because of my worst mistake that night, that night so long ago.
Maybe that’s why I am like this. I am being punished for all the things I have done. And rightfully so. I’m just a wretched griff. Sven doesn’t deserve a sinner to be his sister. He deserves better.
I don’t know if you’re listening to me, Eabha, but if you are, thanks.
***
6th of Eastermonth
I’m very worried for Matilda, and I’m sure you feel the same as well, Eva.
What has she done that she is tormented by it? It must be her dark remembrance, but what? I wish to comfort her, and tell her its alright, that I’m still her little brother no matter what. But she has been silent and far away, and she doesn’t want to talk. She had a sad face today, and an oppressed gait.
Oh, what is troubling her? Must the juvadrekka tear her spirit in pieces?
I will NOT allow it. I mean it. It matters not that I don’t remember my mother’s night-songs. I will be here, next to her, and I will keep loving her, and giving her hugs, so that the juvadrekka will know that she is not alone. I won’t allow Matilda to be alone. She must’ve been alone for a long time. But no more. Because I am here.
Eva, make sure she sees this page when she opens you up, ok? Juva.
***
7th of Eastermonth
Hej Eva. I haven’t skrifedd to you about good things lately, so I’ll just speak to you like how Matilda speaks to you.
She was quiet today, and did not speak much. I tried to give her some nice hugs, but I feel that she wasn’t able to accept it as much like before. So I thought to not trouble her. She needs some time to calm down and rest. I feel saddened for her.
I have been learning new words from Matilda’s skrifan, and try to remember them, so that my skrif to you becomes more and more satisfying, or “interesting” as she likes to say.
I read a story book called Rown and Meagis. It is a very sad story, because this Rown and his wife die at the end, and the way they die is very gory. Matilda let me read it. She says that griffon writers like to write dramatic things. Well, I don’t think a story needs so much blood to be dramatic.
Back in Snjorjord, we like to tell stories. We have a story about a giant fish-pony who fell in love with a dragoness, and then tried to follow her wherever she went, but then died when he stayed too long out of the water. Another story is about a fireplace who turned into a pony, but then burned down everything that his hoofs touched.
At other times, we like to sing songs. Some of our songs are slow and sad, but most of the time we like to sing fast lively songs that poke fun at others. One time, I remember one pony of my village singing a song about how useful skittan is – I think one part of the song says that “you can cook with skit, farm with skit, heal with skit, and even get revenge with skit.” It’s quite fun, je?
A lullaby came to my remembrance when I was dreaming yesternight. It must be one of those ones that mother sang to me, so long ago. I don’t know why, or how, this lullaby came to my remembrance, but I’m glad it did. Here it is,
A, júva frega, eil ljotan lytrn,
vettir júvadrekkit fjera.
Ardenska, júva flytir, eil segend kilit rímma Sekjúndur.
Hagar eil skeigu in júvadrekka kilit rímma,
han in mitr fálga eil lytra.
It is beautiful, is it not? I can now sing this to Matilda, so that the juvadrekka will stop tormenting her.
I am tired now. It was nice to speak with you about my self, because now you know me much more. Trogg juva, Eva.
Hej Eva. I just finished my lunch, and decided to quickly skrif to you before I carry on with work.
My limbs are painful. It is like fire is burning my bones.
Before I was put to work here, I helped with the washing of cloths and garments, and was charged with hanging them to dry. It is a less painful job, and a happier one. I made a friend with another pony who worked there. She was a filly, her name is Magnolia. She is very pale yellow, and has a pretty white mane that shines in the sun. She was very sweet, and kind, and liked to wear a little veil over her head.
I miss her. I will tell you a secret, and you must not tell anypony, je? I liked her. She was so sweet and kind, and liked to talk to me. I didn’t know anypony liked to talk to me. She is also pretty. I sometimes wish I could find a white-and-yellow flower and put it on her head. I think it will look pretty on her.
I have not told you how I came to this boiler room, je?
One day, I hung the cloths as usual, and put the pegs on them so that the wind would not carry them away. But when I awoke the next morning, all the cloths were scattered into the trees, and some had been blown away forever. The headmare was mad. I swore to her that I did indeed put the pegs, but she didn’t believe me. She sent me to miss Hawkrose, and she put me here to work with Matilda.
It happens to those who make the headmares angry. If you make a big mistake, you will be put to work in lower jobs. Some of the wasteponies were ponies who worked in the laundry as well. I know because one of the wasteponies who bullied me that day used to work in the laundry as well.
He is the one who got me into trouble, because he also liked Magnolia. He took off all the pegs during the night, so that they would all fly away, I would get into trouble and be sent away. Then he could like Magnolia without another pony liking her.
I know this because he told me secretly one time, after he had gotten into some trouble and was put to work as a wastepony. I was angry at first, but now it doesn’t really matter, because we are both working the low jobs nevertheless.
Oh, I said he bullied me right? He didn’t really bully, truthfully. He wasn’t the one who threw all the yucky oil onto me. He just stood behind his fellows. I could wish he would stop them, but I know that it would get him into trouble if he helped me. So, I am not angry at him for not helping me that day.
He is rough. His name is Risk. His color is like sand, and has a dark brown mane. He used to have a shiny blonde mane, but it is now dull and dark, because of the yucky waste that he throws away. He likes to swear with bad words. And likes to hit me as well. It is play, of course, but he is very annoying. He likes to call me “deer-ass.” It is because of my white spots on my back. I still wonder if there really is any on my buttock.
Matilda called me. It is time to carry on work. I will talk to you again.
***
10th of Eastermonth
Matilda is sick, Eva. I’m worried for her. She is probably very tired, maybe she worked too much.
She has been quiet, and she doesn’t feel like talking yet. I wonder what is happening to her?
Today, I found something unusual about a pipe. It is a red colored pipe, and it has a small meter on it – I think Matilda likes to call it a “gauge.” It has been moving aplenty, up and down, and when I touched the pipe, it was rumbling like thunder.
Han mit went down and looked at the meter on one of the tall boilers, it was not moving. The meter on the boiler has a little sign on it, and it says, “No. 10.” I went and looked at the meter on the red pipe, it also had a sign named “No. 10.” If I am correct, this “No. 10” pipe must be the same as the one on the boiler. If water is going through the red pipe, it should be going out of the boiler too.
Han mit looked at the water level in the boiler, but nothing was moving. The water was not flowing out of the boiler. Why is water going through the red pipe then? If water is going through the red pipe then it must be coming from the boiler, han it was not. I wonder, where is the water coming from?
Matilda said that the water could be flowing through another pipe, a pipe that we don’t know about. She said that she would need to check a “pipe map.” But it’s in miss Hawkrose’s office, and truthfully, I don’t like miss Hawkrose.
Water can not be flowing out of nothing. It must be coming from somewhere. Han if not the boiler, then where?
***
11th of Eastermonth
My limbs are hurting very much. It is very hard work that I do, Eva. Matilda is still sick, and has little strength. I made her drink as much water, because water is the blood of life. Without, nopony can live.
She will get better. Something inside me is telling me that she will be alright. I also hope that she will smile again, and skrif to you again, when she becomes better. She misses you very much, and I believe that you also miss her, je?
I am writing in the moonlight. I wonder, what kind of princess is this princess Luna? I hope she is kind. I think she is, because the moon that she brings up and brings down is so beautiful. Its moonlight is bright enough for me to skrif to you. If you were a pony, I am sure you would love her moonlight as well. Goodnight.
Matilda is still sick. She has a very warm head, and a harsh voice. She laid in bed all day, and I did today’s work by myself. That is why my skrifan is slow and flickering, like the waves of the whale-road.
My bed is rough, as rough as Matilda’s voice. It is a sheet of hay, and laid with all kinds of leaves. We have enough leaves to make the bed soft. But the floor is hard. It would take some time to be familiar with the hard floor.
We had warm houses in Snjorjord. Our beds were soft, as soft as the snow that covered our door. I miss that. I miss my little figures that mother helped me make. They used to sit on my bed. One was a pony. Another was a bird. Another was a little fish.
It might sound funny, but some memories have come back to me as of late. Of my time in my land. I wish to return to it someday. To the snow, to the very cold lakes, to the roasted fish. To my parents.
I hope that wish comes true.
Juva Eva.
***
14th of Eastermonth
Matilda is getting better, that she is able to work again. But she is sad, so very sad. She didn’t talk a lot today, and whenever she spoke, her voice was as grim as a grave. Lifrn, lytrn, eil arljastrn.
I cannot stop worrying about her. She means so much to me – as a sister and as a friend. I don’t want her to be like this, I want her to be happy. But she is not. Something must have struck her. I don’t know what, and I don’t know when, but I want to help. I want her to be free of this drekka, whatever this dark remembrance is that is tormenting her.
She must feel so alone. If the monster will not stop tormenting her, then it must torment me as well, so that Matilda would not have to be alone in her torment. I dare to suffer juvadrekka, if it means Matilda will not suffer alone.
I am myself tired. My limbs ache, but my heart aches more. I don’t know what to do Eva.
I guess I will go sleep now.
***
19th of Eastermonth
Hej Eva. It is a few days from when I spoke with you. I believe you must miss me and Matilda, je?
Matilda is not well. She is not sick anymore, but she does not speak as much now. All she does is read her books and sleep. She sometimes cries in her sleep.
She is not telling me something. She is hiding. Hiding behind fear maybe. I want to tell her that she does not have to fear me, or be afraid to tell me whatever troubles her, but she turns me away. What is happening? I don’t know what to do.
She looks so miserable. Whatever she is being tormented with, it is causing her to be miserable. She also does not eat as much. I am worried, much worried.
I don’t know what else to do.
The pipe continues to be playing around. Water flows through one, but not the other. Strange. I have to ask miss Hawkrose, even if I really don’t like her, truthfully.
I started reading another book. It is called “Parba” “Parabolae,” and it is quite old and worn. It is full of interesting sayings, like the sayings we have back in Snjorjord. See one of its sayings,
“Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it.”
Next to it is this strange language. I don’t know how to read it or understand it, but I will try and imitate it to you, because the skrifan is so strange,
“Noli qr prohibere benefacere euw eum qui potest. Si vales, et ipes ipse benefac.”
I wonder what this means. The skrifan looks joined together, and it is quite hard to read. Whoever wrote in this strange language also likes to skrif with big loops and ribbons on the letters. Maybe it’s to make the skrifan more beautiful. I think the meaning of this saying is beautiful enough. I hope my imitation was as true as possible.
It is quite late. I must go to sleep now. Maybe tomorrow I could tell you a saying from Snjorjord that is like this naksprok Ekvestrit. Goodnight, Eva.
***
25th of Eastermonth
Hello Eabha. I am getting better, but I feel tired. I will write in Griffish.
I have been dying to just write to you again, but I just feel horriblestupid tired. Very tired.
Sven also has not been writing to you for some days, because we have a newcomer to the boiler room.
He’s named Gravel. He’s a griffon, just like me, brown with a whitish belly and green eyes. He was thrown in here by – you might have guessed it – miss Hawkrose. I don’t know what he did, but he doesn’t want to say. Hopefully we could make friends together. Maybe even have another one whom you can talk to.
I see Sven has been talking about me. He’s been worried. I’m glad he still cares for me, even though I’m a stupid griff.
I feel tired just by writing to you already. I need to rest. Goodnight, Eabha.
First of all, I regret being nice to Gravel. He has one of the most nwil attitudes I’ve ever seen. He woke up late today, which would have been fine, since its his first day in this hell of a boiler room – but he complained about it like a fledgeling! For the whole day! All the work he did today was complain, and complain, and complain.
Secondly, miss Hawkrose was in a bad mood and scolded I and Sven for absolutely nothing. As if we are her stress toys. If she gets her bad moods, she will scold anything just to let it out. She has scolded the workers, scolded Miss Penny, and even scolded her chair one time. Goodness, is she turning mad or what?
Thirdly, I’m in a horrible mood. I’m sorry Eabha, I don’t feel like talking normal things to you, at least not now. I need to rest. Goodnight.
***
27th of Eastermonth
Hej Eva. I will try to skrif as fast as I am able, because I don’t want Gravel to sneak behind me.
I believed he was a nice griffon when he was put in here. But nei, I was wrong. He is mean griffon. He doesn’t like to copera cooperate with Matilda or me, and he likes to make fun of me. He likes to sit in the corner and talk about how he doesn’t like boiler work, or how unlucky he is.
His luck can kiss my flank. I dare say, “In mitit pig.” I believe you can understand what that means, because it would look very foul if I skrif it. I think Matilda likes to say something like it in her tongue as well.
Gravel likes to sulk and whine like a lazy sheep. I should like to shear off all his feathers, and expose his bare flesh, so that he would be ashamed of himself. He appears of similar age to Matilda, so he should know how to take care of himself and his lifan. If Matilda is able then he is able as well. He truly is gravel if he continues like he is.
I’m worried for Matilda. She looks ok now, I’m glad she is not sick anymore. But I know she is not fine. She likes to say, “I am fine,” but that is not true, I know. How can one who cries in her sleep and wakes with haunting dreams say she is fine? I am awake sometimes, and I see her suddenly wake up with a silent scream of fear. Something has happened to her, and I begin to fear much that it is something deep and dark. Maybe that is why she is not willing to tell me.
I want to help. I want to comfort her, and tell her it is alright. Her burden is too heavy to bear alone. I want to bear it together, with her, if only she will let me.
Eva, make sure she sees this skrifan when she opens you again. She needs to know that I’m her little brother who will help her with anything she needs.
Goodnight.
***
29th of Eastermonth
Hej Eva.
Yesterday was rough. Miss Hawkrose came down because the wasteponies complained about Gravel. She scolded him for being lazy, which he deserves, but then she scolded Matilda because she should be watching over him. Matilda cried a lot yesterday. She has been injured too much with miss Hawkrose’s words.
But you know what’s worse? Gravel called her a weakling. I want to stick up a burning cinder up his pig, till his dung gets fried within.
Matilda became furious, so furious that she cried more tears. She was very thirsty for water today because she cried so much of it through her eyes. What can get worse?
I wish there would be somepony who would watch over us.
I feel so weak. So tired. And I hate this life. Gravel makes it worse. All he does is complain, be rude, and get angry. He’s very proud. He thinks that he should be higher than us, that he is better than us. I know because he talks like that when he complains. Matilda once told me that griffons were greedy and proud. Well, Gravel is certainly one of them. He takes most of the food. If we have six potatoes, he will try to take three or four. If we have eight slices of bread, he will try to take one or two more from us. He does not ask nicely. He just sticks out his claws and waves. Matilda always says no, but he will then snatch it out of her claws.
We are both sick of him. He thinks he is a prince, and we are his serv slaves. One day, I am going to put his pig back in its right place.
Goodnight, Eva.
***
5th of Blossommonth
I have not skrifedd for some days. Much has happened Eva, so much that I don’t know how to skrif this. I don’t want to tell you things that drive deep the nails in my heart, and things that kill a pony’s spirit. But alas, such has happened. And it happened to Matilda.
On the day after my last skrifan to you, Gravel was complaining as usual. He was being rude actually. He had been rude for the past few days since he came to this boiler room.
That day, he spoke rude and foul things to the two of us, but we didn’t care. Gravel began to use more dirtier words, and it was becoming unbearable to us. However, he didn’t care and continued talking with that foul mouth of his.
Then he called Matilda a griffon worth only whoredom. He said how her body was fit only for the bed. And how her charms are useful only for seduksion seduction. He talked about how female griffons are always demanding for this and that, and how they thrust all their responsibilities onto the male griffs.
I have never seen Matilda turn to fire before. I have seen her become angry, furious. But this time, I saw her turn into a fire that was fueled by the things she must have kept inside her heart. I think that she didn’t care about anything, not even me, when she heard those words. She just turned into a beast.
She slashed her claws at him. Ripped out some of his feathers and scarred his flesh. She bit on him in various places. She released all her torment into this scum. She flared her wings and screamed and cried. I don’t know what the monster has been tormenting her with, but it was very horrible.
She cried out loud. So loud that miss Hawkrose had to come. She asked what had happened, but Matilda couldn’t answer because she was crying so much. Gravel took his chance and blamed her. He lied. He lied, that bastard! The scum dared to lie.
Miss Hawkrose took out her whip, but Matilda didn’t move. I think she did not care. Whatever that tormented her must have made her like this. She didn’t answer miss Hawkrose anything, but just kept crying.
Miss Hawkrose whipped harder this time. Matilda’s back feathers were not only the ones ripped out by the harsh whip. Her flesh became scarred. Then ripped. Her wings also. But she didn’t care. All that pain in her heart must have been greater than the pain of this whip. When miss Hawkrose finished, and she was angry and tired. She called Matilda an untamable beast, and said there was no hope for her. She screamed at her for all the trouble she caused her. She then told me to stay away from her, and not to care for her. I said no. I wont leave my sister alone. Miss Hawkrose whipped me as well, hard enough for blood to stain my back and her whip. She seems to enjoy hitting with her whip.
My heart aches, more so for Matilda. Miss Hawkrose left of course, and I don’t think she would come again because she hates us now. It's better then. I don’t have to see that drekka, that monster again. I should start calling her that.
Gravel didn’t say anything. I didn’t see him after that. I think he went to a corner to hide from us. I didn’t care.
The night before yesterday, I saw him crying. I actually didn’t want to turn and look at him, but I heard him sucking his nose in and covering himself in his wings. I thought he was being sorry for himself, because of his injuries that Matilda gave. He deserves it anyway.
He said very quietly that he was horrible. I shouted at him because he now only wanted to say sorry. What scum says sorry after?
He tried to say sorry. I looked at his eyes. Not a lot of pride in them. And they seemed to be dark and hurt. I asked him why he would say sorry, especially since he was scum and nothing more.
He said that he “suddenly” felt disgusting when he saw miss Hawkrose "the monster" whip us until we had blood coming out from us. I guess he had never seen blood before. I wonder whether he even is truthful, since he lied to miss Hawkrose. Well, let me see if scum can turn into gold after a few days.
But this is not the worst that Matilda has been put through. No, Eva, she suffered more. She suffered something so horrible that my hoof is shaking. My heart is so painful, like as if a knife is turning inside my heart.
I sat with Matilda and hugged her as hard as I could. She is so broken. As broken as wood is when it is burned. Her spirit since then was like ash. No life nor warmth.
***
She said sorry to me a lot. I said she didn’t need to, but she said that she had to. Because she didn’t tell me something. I knew it is the thing that has been disturbing her for the past month.
It is so painful to hear, and even more so to write. How can I write such a cursed thing?
Matilda said that she went to the toilet one night, almost a month ago. I was sleeping. She said it was dark, but she knew the place well, so she was not worried. But then, somepony came up to her. She couldn’t see who he was. She said it was a he, because what he did to her after that was something only a male pony would. One that was empty of morals, that is.
She was crying hard when she told me this. He pushed her against the wall and said, in very plain words, that he wanted to sleep with her. She did not get to answer no, because a few of his friends came up and held her tightly. One of them held her mouth, somehow, in a way that she couldn’t cry for help. They brought her to the storage where we keep tools. They pushed her to the ground, but she tried to fly as quickly as possible. They locked the door and took some of the rope in the room and tied her, so she could not move.
Then they spent the night doing to her all that they wanted. All that thye they wanted. ALL THAT THEY WAT WANTED! THE SCUM AND DIRT, THEY ALL DID TO HER! I WANT TO SEE THEM BURN IN THE FURNC FURNACE!! IN TARTURUS!! I WANT THEM TO DIE! DIE! DIE! I WANT THEM TO GO TO A PLACE DARKER THAN TARTARUS!! I WANT TO
I carry a burden, Eva. One that is hard to bear. I don’t know how to continue. Life in this place has become dark. Every morning, the sunrise seems dull, and every evening the moon is less bright.
Princess Celestia and Luna wouldn’t cry for us, would they? After all, they don’t even know we are here. Otherwise, our life would have become better. But it is not.
Matilda is sick. Sick in her body, and sicker in spirit. She is in pain. She says it hurts very badly below her tummy. But it hurts the most in her heart. How can one give life if it was caused by evil?
But it is still life, Matilda said. She says she would keep it. She doesn’t want to destroy what life comes out of her, even though it was caused by such scum.
Speaking of scum, Gravel did some real work yesterday and today. Since Matilda cannot work until she is well, he has to take on her jobs as well. She actually gave him the simplest work, which was to watch over the meters on the pipes. Now he has to shove the coal, and make sure the pressure inside the boilers is at a safe level, and repair any broken pipes.
But he still likes to complain, even while he does his work. I should like to slam his beak shut with my coal shovel. He deserves so much more because of what he did to Matilda, but she has already scarred him enough.
Nevertheless.
Eva, I have been clean with my writing, but now, I don’t care. I have learnt many words, and I will use as many as I can think of to curse those wasteponies who almost destroyed Matilda.
***
[REDACTED SECTION – 17 uses of sh-t, 14 uses of ass, 33 uses of various maternal insults, and an uncountable number of male organ insults, all in Snjojordska]
Please do not wonder what most of these words mean. They have deep meanings, and all concern their bodies or anything that relates to them.
I hope Matilda won’t be upset at how foul my tongue actually is. Goodnight.
***
10th of Blossommonth
I’ve been sick Eva. My head hurt a lot, and I was unable to sleep peacefully. I am better now though, and I think I can work tomorrow.
Matilda has been resting, which is good for her. I want to give her more hugs, and tell her that I’m still around. Hopefully she can skrif to you once again. She appears much better in spirit. I believe it is because she doesn’t carry the burden alone now. She has begun to smile once again. I’m glad for her.
Gravel has begun to take his work a little bit more seriously. Maybe I will be nicer to him once a pipe falls on him, or a piece of hot coal jumps onto him, so that he knows what it is like to live in this boiler room.
I am tired. I wish I could talk to you more, but there are so many things that worry me.
Goodnight
***
12th of Blossommonth
I don’t know how to begin talking to you again Eabha. But, I am glad I can talk to you again.
Sven has been through much. I’m afraid he has lost his innocence. He's seen a dark side of ponykind now, and it's one he will never forget.
I still ask myself whether I was the one who did wrong. Whether I am the debauched one. It took Sven’s hugs and comforting words to realize it wasn’t me. But it is still hard to believe so.
I now carry something that lives – inside an egg. It hurts though. Half of it hurts because it is still forming, and the other half because it was caused by force. I think I have to start eating a bit more, so that it will form healthily. More potato sandwiches then.
I wish I could write to you like a little fledgeling. No worries, no hurts, no tears – just happy chatting and maybe a little joke or two. But, I’m no longer a fledgeling. I’m a grown-up griffon now. And it’s always the grown-ups who experience hard things.
Try not to worry about me too much. I’ll be fine soon. Goodnight.
***
14th of Blossommonth
I have just finished dinner. I just want to talk to you like a normal griff, Eabha.
It seems that Gravel has improved, even if a little. He better, otherwise I would not hesistate to pluck off half his wing feathers. Sven did say somewhere that he would see if scum would turn into gold. Well, I can see only a glint of silver in those rusty brown feathers of his – not gold yet.
Maybe he struggles. Maybe something happened to him before. Maybe that’s why he has a [REDACTED] attitude. Sven said that he began to change after two of us were whipped bloody. I will see then, if he can truly be at least decent.
If not, [REDACTED] him and his [REDACTED] balls.
Forget about the pipe map in miss Hawkrose’s office. Her assets and all can kiss my flank goodbye and sail down straight to Tartarus. We’ll just have to live with these malfunctioning gauges and what-nots. I just really hope it won’t blow up in our faces.
I feel a little scared and discouraged, especially when I think about how I am going to be a mommy soon.
I have to think about feeding, and the mess he or she is going to make around this place. This is no place for a fledgeling, really. It’s hot, stuffy, and full of dangers. Not to mention the crying.
I’m young, and have no experience with a baby creature. Of course, Sven could help, maybe with the mess or what. I don’t have any spare cloth for nappies though.
I need to hide the egg from miss Hawkrose. Don’t want her to take it away and get rid of it. Also means I’ll have to keep quiet while laying it.
I really really hope everything goes well.
***
17th of Blossommonth
Hej Eva. It has been some time since I last skrifedd to you. After all, so much has happened.
Matilda has been spewing up her food lately. It’s quite scary, having an egg inside her this whole time. And it’s growing bigger and bigger everyday. I know that because the place below her tummy is getting bigger.
I will help take care of the baby griff of course. I hope he or she will like me a lot. And I also hope he or she won’t make too much mess and noise. But it’s what baby creatures always do anyway.
I can hope for the best.
***
18th of Blossommonth
I bought some cloth from Miss Penny. Thankfully she didn’t ask why. Imagine the mess that would erupt if I told her that I have a griff coming soon.
I don’t know what miss Hawkrose would do if she knows I have a baby griff. I can’t trust her. Maybe its some motherly instinct that makes me protective.
Its dangerous in here. Wasteponies on one hoof, and miss Hawkrose on another. Plus the pipes and boilers here. I might have to find a way to make sure my little griff won’t wander around.
It might come soon. I don’t know when, but I’ll be ready when it comes. Hopefully it will be alright.
***
19th of Blossommonth
Sven fell down the coal chute and hurt himself badly – a broken leg and some nasty cuts. Gravel – somehow he knew how to – set his leg so that it would heal, and washed his injuries, and bandaged him up. He won’t tell me where or how he learnt it, but hey, at least scum can truly turn into gold. A little bit.
I might as well talk about him. He likes to talk trash. Usually it’s about having a relationship with female griffs. And before you wonder, I already made clear that I’m off the shelf. I ripped out a few feathers from his chest to make my point. But that doesn’t stop him from thinking or talking about it. He’s always complaining how single he is, and likes to fantasize about getting a special somegriff. He can kiss these beautiful copper pipes if he wants. I dare say that my egg is more likely to be rainbow-colored than it is for him to get a female griff.
Honestly, I don’t think his name fits him. I’m pretty sure he has another name, but he won’t say. He tries to get on my good side. He probably does the best job at trying to be on my good list than he is at paying attention to the boilers. I hope one of them pipes falls on him so that he would wake up a bit more.
Speaking of pipes, they’ve all been acting funny this past month or more. Water is definitely coming from another source. Why? I don't know. Sorry Eabha, let me use this space to calculate something
Boilers not used as much = not much hot water used lately.
Month before last month’s total usage was around 504,779 L, last month’s usage was 499,980 L.
504,779 – 499,980 = 4,799 difference. Whoever uses the hot water used 4799 L less. Why?
Palace uses a lot of hot water. Compare last year’s Bloodmonth and Yulemonth, which was 677,000 ish and 700,000 plus litres. Yulemonth usually more because they make lots of hot chocolate (which I miss a lot).
Why would Palace use less hot water then? Unless they are getting hot water from another place. But why from another place?
This doesn’t make any sense. They would still need the boiler room anyway. I wonder how they could get hot water without boiling the water down here. Unless they somehow found a way to use their magic. But I don’t think so. We are still down here doing the work.
Even though they don’t say thank you.
I’m hungry. All this thinking has made me hungry. Talk to you next time Eabha. Bye.
***
21st of Blossommonth
Taking a shower is nice. I haven’t had one in quite some time.
Sven is resting on his bed. He needs it anyway, because he’s been working very hard. Which means I will have to be working with nut-head Gravel-fabble.
Apparently he’s a bit lonely. Not only in the sense that he has no female griff or what. Understandably, I nor Sven talk to him that much anyway. He usually talks to himself. A bit sad.
I wonder what will happen if I introduce you to him. But at the same time, I don’t want his claws to touch you, because you’re much too precious. Plus, all he might talk to you is about his fantasies and what nots. And he might get a little over descriptive. Makes me wonder what kind of mind he has.
Well, let’s see if he will become worthy enough to say hi to you.
I want to read. Goodnight Eabha, nice chatting with you again.
You can say hooray now, because I’ve laid my egg already!
I actually laid it two days ago. I was too tired to tell you straightaway. But now you know. It’s quite a huge egg – as big as Sven’s head, as far as I see it. It’s white in color with brown and black specks here and there. The shell is smooth and quite nice to feel. Sven can’t stop hugging it and laying his head on it.
It was painful, to be honest. I had to get Gravel to hold my beak shut while I was pushing the egg out, while Sven held my body to stop me from moving around so much, so it won’t damage the egg. It fell into a big nest I had made beforehand. That is where I will sit on it until it hatches.
I don’t know how ponies feel when they’re about to give birth, but for me I felt like something big was coming out of my crap-hole. Of course, it's not actually coming out of my crap-hole, but it feels like it. Quite dizzying and uncomfortable.
I have to think about feeding my little fledgeling now. Ponies have breasts to feed their foals milk, as far as I learnt from Sven, but we griffs don’t have anything like that. It makes sense anyway – sharp beaks would pierce and hurt the mother. I will find a way to feed, of course, it shouldn’t be hard. Hopefully.
I will also have to think about raising the fledgeling. Teaching him or her to know right and wrong. To be honest, I don’t feel very capable. I’ve never been a mother before. I also will have to teach it about life, and all its ups and downs. Well, the down would come first, since this place is not exactly the kind of place I want my fledgeling to grow up in. But, I can’t move anywhere else. I can only hope that it would grow strong and well into a fine griff.
Would there be a future for him or her? I really really hope so. There has to be more than this boiler room, at least for him if not for me.
But first things first, get out of this boiler room. Alive. And sane.
Goodnight Eabha.
***
27th of Blossommonth
I LOVE the egg Eva. So smooth and nice to touch!
I cannot wait to see it hatch. I would be so fortunate to see a little griffon come out of its egg, and be there when it first opens its eyes. I would be a big brother to this little griffon, as much as I am a younger brother to Matilda. And I would surely take care of it to the best I can.
I cannot wait, truthfully. Matilda says that we must wait a month for it to hatch, and she must sit on it for most of the time. I asked why, but she doesn’t know. That doesn’t matter, because I am more interested in the baby griffon.
I would play with it, put it to sleep, and carry it around on my spotted back, kiss it, hug it, tickle it – so much more that I am too lazy to skrif it out.
But I will have to wait. And truthfully, I cannot. I am too thrilled to wait for the hatching. But, unfortunately, I will have to.
I imagine it will have the same colors as Matilda – brown on its headfeathers, and white all around, with a splash of red around its eyes. But that is just my imagination. Its colors may be different, but we will have to see.
I hope the month passes by quickly. I can’t wait!
***
30th of Blossommonth
I’ve been observing miss Hawkrose, and I can say something is up. She has been peeking through the door, silently watching us, before going off to do other things. I don’t know why she is doing this, but I don’t like it, and it creeps me out.
The pipes have been playing up, and I have a feeling that it is going to become a normal thing. Probably they are growing old and rusty. I don’t know what to say about it.
I wonder, should I let Gravel say hello to you and allow him to write to you? He has become better after all, except his mouth. Actually, I’m worried that he’ll talk nwil and tell you all sorts of things which are unsavoury, so maybe not.
Anyway, leave these two be. They can go kiss their own flanks for all I care. Daren lew Eabha.
***
Matilda will kill me for this. But here goes, because I like to annoy her.
I am hundred percent sure you can guess it is me, Gravel. Indeed, it is I. And indeed, I will talk about a lot of things that are savoury and wonderful to hear. Lots of it.
If you’re wondering, it is now very late. Matilda and Sven are sleeping, and here I am trying to use the moonlight to write. It is quite difficult to see properly, so my writing will likely be messy, thereofre making it hard to read. On top of that, I know Griffish, and I am obviously writing in it, so it would take twice as hard to decipher whatever I’m saying to you. I am an absolute genius.
Matilda is kinda annoying, to be honest. I get it that she has been here for longer than Sven or I, but that fact makes her a bit bossy. Which is also charming. I kinda like it when she gets angry at me, because it makes her look cute. I’ll leave whatever this means to your interpretation, and to whoever-reads-this’s interpretation, because I am a complicated griffon who is the only one that can understand himself. Matilda obviously doesn’t.
Sven is okay, I guess. A bit passive, a bit aggressive, but overall an okay pony, except that he’s not okay with me. I wOnDeR wHy.
If you wonder why Matilda keeps putting “nwil” everywhere in this book, it’s because griffons like to use the word “pee” as an insult, as well as the fact that she’s a jerk. And yes, I am writing this in Equestrian.
Now back to Griffish. I speak two languages, maybe even three. I have green eyes so deep they can pierce your soul if you ever look at it. I have large wings with feathers brushed immaculately, so much so that each feather gracefully flutters when I flap my wings.
On top of that I have the best built chest any male griff could have. And you know what’s better? I have the hottest fluff any male could ever dream of having.
sTiLl wOnDeRiNg WhY mAtILdA iS nOt AtTrAcTeD tO mE yEt…
I mean, my looks are ten times more likely to make you sweat than Celestia’s sun. I hope you understand what I’m saying.
I’m basically saying I’m a stud ~ And a great and powerful stud at that.
I’m talking to nopony/nogriff in particular. I’m just scribbling my thoughts down so that it can be recorded in this book. Forever. Love you (the book), you’re cool.
Gravel has a really small jewel. Like, really really small. So small that I’m wondering if he is suffering the small jewel condition. You know what I mean.
How do I know? Well, he didn’t lock the toilet door for some reason, and I walked in not knowing somegriff was in there. He got surprised, of course. Well, that and really red cheeks, redder than the fire in the furnace.
He has it really “lithe” you know, except without the “gracefulness” that is included in the definition of “lithe.” It’s more compatible to a worm, actually. Poor him, I wonder if he is just trying to act masculine just to cover up his “smallness.”
Why am I talking about him so derogatorily?
WELL BECAUSE HE WROTE TO YOU ABOUT ALL HIS [REDACTED] WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!!!
He would do it anyway, because he’s that kind of griff.
At least it gives me the chance to talk nwil about him – something I will definitely enjoy. It seems insult and injury are his food. And I have plenty to serve him.
Sven is recovering from his injuries, but he says that he still hurts a lot. He’s grown a lot ever since he came. I feel quite proud of him.
The egg is doing fine so far, sitting in the nest. I cover the whole thing with a pile of hay during the day while I’m working, so as to hide it from somepony. I’m sure you know who it is.
Sometimes, I wish I could see Gryphonia again. I just long for it. No, “long” is not the right word. I can’t describe how it feels like. My heart becomes painful and yet happy at the same time when I think about my home. It’s a strange feeling. I doubt any word in Equestrian would suffice.
Everytime I think about home, I feel free. Free from this bitter life. Free from this oppressive past. Free to make my way through this dark future. It feels a little bit “surreal,” which I still don’t fully understand. It feels like floating in nothing. Kinda hard to explain.
I wish I could eat this food called “noodles,” which is a food that kirins eat with soup. Sounds lovely, and even looks lovely. The writer of the kirin book must’ve gotten a good artist, because the pictures look fantastic. Just add in some meat and it will be ambrosia.
Ok, enough corw. I’m tired and I need to get back to sitting on my egg. Goodnight Eabha. You don’t know how much value you have to me.
***
3rd of Midsummermonth
Another pony got thrown in here, a filly. About Sven’s age, I guess, and quite scared as well. That was yesterday. She was quite distraught, and unable to comprehend anything for a good while, at least until we had dinner. She calmed down that time thankfully, and introduced herself as Pastel.
She is light yellow in color, and has curly bluish hair, as blue as the sky. She looks so adorable! As adorable as Sven was when he was younger. Both of them already have some rapport together. I wonder if Sven will like her more than the egg.
Nonetheless, I still feel a little bit sorry for her. At least she had it better before, because she said she was doing the dusting job in the palace. Something must’ve happened of course, but she hasn’t said anything about it. I can only guess it was miss Hawkrose.
Our sleeping room is getting a bit tight. Sven and Pastel have to now share a bed, while Gravel sleeps on mine. I have been sleeping in the nest, sitting on my precious little egg. The nest takes up quite some space, though. We can’t help it anyway because our room is so small.
By the way, we have been hearing loud noises, especially hammering and drilling. I wonder what the palace is building now?
***
4th of Midsummermonth
I’ve noticed that not much hot water has been used lately. I’m a little scared by this. It’s so strange. The reason why the boiler room exists – why we exist down here – is to give hot water. So obviously the palace should be using LOTS of it. Why they are now not is strange, and scary.
Also, I have to mention that the pipes are falling way too frequently. Poor Pastel got slapped by one today, thankfully it was only a slap. Gravel missed two by the edge of his feathers, though I would wish for at least one to hit him. I’m supposed to report this issue to miss Hawkrose, but after everything that has happened, will she even bother?
Actually, I’ve reported it a few times to her previously, at least more than twice. Well, she obviously didn’t do anything about it. I’m upset. I am so upset about this [REDACTED] issue that I would love to bash her head in with one of those pipes.
No, violence won’t solve it. Hawkrose won’t change unless she wants to. And I have a feeling that change is not in her mind at all.
Where is her conscience? Where is her heart?
Did she sell it? Throw it away? Flushed it down the toilet?
Isn’t it those two things that make a pony a pony?
Well [REDACTED] it. Or rather, she [REDACTED] it herself. And it’s certainly not my problem.
***
7th of Midsummermonth
It’s so noisy. I have heard discordant sounds before, but this is becoming unbearable. The hammering, the drilling, and the shouts that I hear from the window – what are they even building? Another castle? What, is princess Celestia not satisfied with her dwelling? Or is she becoming too big for it, that she needs to make it bigger still?
I wonder why ponies speak of her so benevolently. If she is as they always praise her to be, then why am I here? Why, Eva?
I have heard, while I was still with the laundry ponies, about how kind and motherly she is. They spoke of her with so much benevolence that I thought she was a great ruler. But now, here I am, ended up in this dungeon, surrounded by fire and fear. Nopony stood for me when I was blamed for letting the cloths fly away. I pleaded with the headmare to let me speak to princess Celestia about this, but they wouldn’t let me. Nopony cared to plead the princess for me. Maybe they did, but she rejected them.
I am not very sure about her benevolence. I doubt it. She would know of the workings of her servants, I have no doubt about it. Surely she would have known of my plight.
Alas, Eva, here I am. In a dungeon. I call this boiler room a dungeon. If freedom is not present then it is a dungeon.
I want to go back. Back to the cold north. To the cold lakes with fish. To the warm hill-house. To my mother’s flytir. To my father’s arilja. Back to Snjorjord.
I am sick of this place, I am sick of miss Hawkrose, and I am sick of my life.
***
Sven needs some comforting. I understand how he feels, because I feel the same as well – the longing for my land. Indeed, my love for Gryphonia is deeper than the depths of the sea. It pains me.
Sometimes, I fear thinking about my home, because it brings so much hurt. Yet, when I think of it, I feel proud of myself. Proud that I am a griffon. Knowing that I love my land because I miss it. No doubt Sven feels the same. I do hope Gravel has the same. Otherwise, he is no true griff at heart.
***
It is night now, and everypony else is sleeping as I write this.
It’s strange to drop the confident image and be myself for once. My true self.
For a long time, I have always been confident, sure of myself, never doubting my decisions and my knowledge.
Of course, that all is gone now, actually. Whatever remains of it hides behind my confident mask, which is cracked and ready to break open. I might as well be the first to do so. If Matilda were the one, she would see how shameful I am.
I have slept with many before. No, I DID NOT do the abominable thing to her that night. It was a pony anyway who did it. No, it was because of me discovering that she went through such an ordeal that I look back on my own flings with mares with shame.
I called her a whore. One fit only for seduction. She should call me the same.
I was seduced before, many times, by the mares whom I worked with in the kitchen. I thought that a night or two would make me a stronger griff, not only in my own eyes, but also to the other ponies around me. Sure enough, other mares who heard of my flings were astounded, and wanted a night or two with me as well.
They don’t know how much guilt I had after bedding with them. I never wanted this. I only wanted to be stronger – to myself and to others. I thought I could make friends with those mares, because if they were, I could always remain strong, no matter what; they weren’t interested. I can only look back with shame, because I really became just a tool for the kitchen mares to enjoy themselves.
I tried to make up for my lost strength, my lost confidence, by bullying Matilda and Sven. Obviously, you know how that went. And now, I can only be annoying to her, and she to me, just to cover up my smoking remains. I hope I can move on. From my bad decisions.
I hope I could truly be friends with her.
fRoM yOuR gOoD fRiEnD Gravel, whose name is actually Gabriel, but was called Gravel due to mispronunciation of a few ponies.
It’s been awfully quiet lately. I haven’t seen much of the wasteponies, or the mechanics. Collier came today, but only just him and another coal pony. The delivery was small, only two barrowfulls worth of coal. He said that miss Hawkrose’s order came only for that amount.
You know what this means right? Less coal = less fire = less hot water = less usage = no need for boiler room.
The boiler room might close. Now, I don’t care whether the palace needs hot water or not. I’m just happy that we have something to hope – leaving this place. The only time I will actually listen to miss Hawkrose is when she comes in and tells us we are free to go.
Perhaps the reason why we haven’t seen much of the wasteponies or mechanics is because they’re getting ready to leave. Or they may be leaving already. Oh, this is great. Hey, the future doesn’t look so bad now. I get to leave, I have a baby griff coming soon, and I have a bunch of friends!
Only problem is that I don’t have a place to stay. There could be other griffons, but I’m not so sure. Might have to live on the streets for some time. But hey, it’s better than suffering in here right?
The egg is doing well. Everytime the sun shines on it I see a little griff, sleeping peacefully while floating around in whatever liquid is inside. It doesn’t know that it is inside an egg, or that a mother is waiting for it outside. Or that the world outside is cruel and benevolent at the same time - the only world I can give to my little griff.
Gravel’s at it again – making stupid jokes and stories so ribald that it makes me blush everytime I think about it. Where he gets it from, I don’t know. Either he learnt it from like-minded creatures around him, or his mares taught him some stuff.
Yes, I read Gravel’s little “confession,” which he, obviously trying to outwit me, wrote in his northern dialect. Nwil’s on him, I can read and understand north and south dialects. So I perfectly understood everything that he wrote. And may I say,
What a stud indeed.
***
Hello Eva. You have not heard from me for some time. I’m sorry about that.
I have been feeling very sad, so sad that I cannot find one thing to be happy about. Not even leaving this boiler room. Truly, it is relieving to know we have a chance of leaving, one that I hope will become true for us, but even that does not cheer me up or bring mirth to my soul.
Maybe talking to you might help me. I already feel the dark tendrils leave and disappear. But who knows they will come back the moment I put the pen down?
I have made good friends with another pony named Pastel. She seems to have what I don’t – life, some cheer, and a good heart. Sometimes, I feel a little bit jealous of her. At other times, I am glad to be friends with her.
And sometimes, I feel I love her. As a sister. And as one who is smitten. So many feelings rush and foam inside of me. So many kinds of love beguile me. I am lost as to whether I love Pastel as a friend, as a sibling, or as one whom I like.
I am lost as to whether I even love myself. Because if I do not love myself, how can I love another regardless?
I cannot find any words that properly and truly explain my heart. I cannot find anycreature to talk with to lessen my burden.
Yet if I lock my heart, I will explode.
I don’t want to die in an explosion. I don’t want to die in a dungeon. I don’t even want to die, but I understand that death is the price one pays to live. The cost of being a living creature is that it must die one day.
If I die, I want to die somewhere peaceful. Surrounded by flowers and grass, seeing the sun set. I want to be buried where the dusk meets the depths. So far, only my land is able to offer such a wish. My land is not one of eternal ice and snow, mind you. There are times when the snow clears and spring arrives. There are times that I lay in a green hill, watching the sun slowly go down over the lakes. I want to die like that.
***
***
I feel sorry for Sven. He’s having it rough, so rough that he thinks about death.
I try not to. Mostly because I still have a life ahead of me, and also because I want to be married to a nice mare or griff, and maybe have some fledglings or foals.
To be honest, I wonder what kind of places I will see after I die. Heaven, perhaps. New worlds maybe? One with singing animals and dancing trees. Maybe one with my own castle or what. I would like an orchard where I can grow my own golden fruits. I sometimes wonder why ponies think Heaven is about sitting in clouds and playing golden harps. There’s gotta be more than that, I’m sure of it.
I hope this fact would cheer Sven up, if nothing else would. That there are new worlds to discover after death. New places to see. New sounds to hear. New smells to smell. And new tastes to taste.
I remember a passage from an Equestrian book that said something like death being another path we have to take. I always thought death was just “poof” and no more. Nothing. Non-existing. It was quite scary to think of it. But now, I think otherwise. Imagine poofing into a place where the grass is golden, and where the sun never sets.
Picking up a pen has never felt harder. Weighs like a rock. So hard to write.
[It is] dark. Doors are locked. Windows blocked. No sunlight.
Egg hatched, how long I don’t [know]. He has never cried once. I cradle him with a dying passion. His first sight [was] darkness. It is a he.
The fires have been gone for a long time. We never bothered to light it. Our water is running out. How long have we been like this?
I try to write by feel. I am haunted. Haunted [by those] around me.
***
Undated entry, Matilda.
We are still alive. Somehow my eyes are accustommed to this dark. Becoming dificult to spell. I don’t know whether I write correct[ly]. Confused with certain words.
Sven [is] dying. Pastel cannot stop crying. Gabriel gave up. We all gave up.
I can hear sobs. Is Sven dead already?
***
Undated entry, likely Matilda.
We are lost to time. It feels like nothing has passed, [yet] everything has passed. We don’t know what is night or day already.
I can hear death whisperaeng into my ear “die”
Am I dreaming? Is this what hallusinashions are? I see the word “death” every[where].
What dae is it? What taime is it? I shall never [k]now.
My stomach comes out of me and tells me “feed me”
I have no food to give you. I never had. And never will.
It is so hard to write. Can yu even understand me?
***
Undated entry, possibly by Gabriel.
I never thought being locked in a boilur room with no food and stale boiled water would be on the list of ways to die. [REDACTED] hawkrose. [REDACTED] princess. [REDACTED] all [of] Canterlot.
I would laike to write about myself here, so that everycreature would know that I died a great and horrible death.
My name is Gabriel, in griffish Gaibrial. Possibly 17 years old (I lost count). Stud, liked by many mares. Great and masterful joker, skill[ful] at complaining. Would like to die surround[ed] by hot mares.
Went to bars, drank cider and booze. Smoked a couple times. Wrecked many. Self-proclaimed misogynist (formerly) and was treated like a pimp.
I feel like a piece of [REDACTED] after looking back.
To whoever reads this. If you find my body, bury it and make sure the tombstone es as plain as possible. As simple as like “the griff who pissed up his own life”
I am a beggar. This is true. So don’t bother tying to find the good in my life. I had never good in me anyway.
Sven still lives, but not [for] long. Pastel has fallen into silence now. She refuses to say anything. Depression.
Gabriel sits in one corner singing songs. Songs of grief. His northern dialect soothes me. [It] carries a flavor never tasted before.
The upstairs collapsed. We moved below to the furnaces. Stinks of coal and dust here, as well as ash.
No more water. We [will] die of thirst anytime soon.
I have named my griff Tristan. Sadness. [He was] born sad, and will die sad.
***
Undated entry, Matilda.
I dreamt. I saw a forest. Red and brown. It was cold, but not too cold. Autumn perhaps. I held Tristan in my claws. Lifted him high into the air. To taste the wind. To taste freedom. And then, slowly but surely, the winter came. The red assimilated into white. The brown disintegrated into ice and snow. Tristan was gone. And I was slowly going too. I didn’t feel so good. Then I woke up.
Does this mean I will die soon?
***
Undated entry, likely by Pastel.
Sven is no more. He is cold. Lifeless. How I want to cry, but no tears spill. Matilda did. Silently. Gabriel and I kept silent.
He told us to live on with his last breath. I had to put my ear against his mouth, because his speech was so weak. I told the rest [about] what he said.
A [dead] body lays next to us. Death lingers.
***
Undated entry, Gabriel.
Matilda is slipping away. She is spooning her son to keep him warm, so she told me. She feels cold. Her claws are numb.
Silence is the only noise here. Nothing but death[ly] silence.
I might be the last to go. By then I would have stared into the eyes of creatures long gone. Once they were filled with life. Well, it is slowly going away. One is gone already. We would follow soon.
To all who read this, know that these words were written by ones who once lived. This book, who we called Eva, was once held by living claws and hoofs. If you find our bodies here, please, for the sakes of your conscience, bury us in a hill that overlooks the sea. Our friend wanted to rest in such a place, and we would wish for that to be fulfilled, now not only for him, but for all of us.
WE WHO ONCE WERE: Gabriel Matilda Tristan Sven Pastel
SIX INDIVIDUALS DISCOVERED IN ABANDONED SECTION OF CANTERLOT PALACE!
Investigation reveals years of physical abuse, overwork, and emotional trauma before being mercilessly buried alive.
***
It has been a month since an ambitious plan to replace every coal-powered boiler room with mana-infused electric ones was successfully put into place. However, the 5 million-bit project may soon crash and burn with the discovery of six individuals left behind in Canterlot Palace’s old boiler room, abandoned and shut down during its phase-out.
3 ponies and 3 griffons, one of them a newly-hatched baby, were discovered amidst the collapsed remains of Canterlot Palace's Boiler Room B2 during renovations, which had been abandoned a month prior as part of the new boiler replacement plan. All were found starving, malnourished, and severely dehydrated. One had already succumbed and died, while the rest slowly wasted away. As of now, the survivors are under intensive medical care at Canterlot General Hospital, while an autopsy is being performed to identify the remains of the single casualty.
Princess Celestia was shocked and reportedly mortified at such a discovery, leading her to form an investigative committee that aims to uncover any abuse or corruption occuring within Equestria's leading factories and facilities. Statistics as of now have found that more than 30% of work areas were found bypassing standard regulations, and over 50% of employees were found to have been physically abused and denied salaries. The entire project has been temporarily suspended and its owners, many of them Canterlot elites, subject to interrogation. Stock prices have begun rapidly falling, causing a great amount of concern among investors and actuarists.
Personal items recovered from the site are story books, a bracelet, a quill, and a journal. The boiler room is sealed off and the surrounding area is under investigation to find out the cause of such a tragedy.
VOX EQUESTRIA
13th of July, A.N.M 3
***
“I WAS WHIPPED, ABUSED, AND RAPED,” SAYS SURVIVOR FROM RECENT TERRIBLE DISCOVERY AT CANTERLOT
***
An investigation into the recent discovery of six individuals in an abandoned boiler room has uncovered some shocking details.
After a journal detailing the conditions in the boiler room was discovered by the Royal Guard, an investigation was launched into the status of the boiler room and its workers prior to its closing. Inquiries of the 5 survivors revealed shocking tales of physical and sexual abuse, as well as emotional trauma brought on by harsh conditions and overwork under the auspices of Miss Beryl Hawkrose, a former headmare of the laborer’s department in the palace, who a month prior shut down had dismissed all workers in her department except the boiler workers, locked them in, resigned from her job, and disappeared, practically burying the six individuals alive. As of today, she and 50 other individuals have been arrested and are awaiting prosecution.
Matilda Snowfeather, one of the survivors, testified to the harsh working conditions of the boiler room. “I was whipped by the headmare if I made a mistake,” she recounted. “I was always tired from working so long, and was also depressed.” She also said that she was bullied by other workforces in the department, particularly the waste force. “They jeered on me, called me names, and tried to blame me for any problem that occurred.” She testified to being molested a few times by members of said group, eventually being gang-raped one fateful night. Miss Snowfeather has declined to say anymore about that event, and we respect her decision in doing so.
Sadly, of the initial six creatures in the boiler room, one had succumbed to starvation and dehydration and died. Miss Snowfeather gave his details as Sven, an earth pony roughly aged 7 – 11, who hailed from Snoryord. He had been Miss Snowfeather’s best friend, and his loss has brought a great blow on her and her friends. As per his last request, he will be buried atop a hill overlooking the South Luna Ocean.
All details regarding the boiler room and the conditions within are found within a diary written by Miss Snowfeather and her friends, affectionately named “Eva.” It is currently under review by the Equestrian Judiciary to be potentially used as evidence.
Miss Hawkrose’s trial, set to occur on the 17th of this month, is to be held at the Royal Supreme Court, the highest judicial institution of our nation. Princess Celestia herself is expected to sit as judge for the first time since the Cleartai-Silvanus Trials in the aftermath of the most recent Equestrio-Griffish War.
We sincerely hope for justice to be served and wish well for the survivors’ physical and emotional recovery.
We came back from the trial yesterday. It was very stressful, and unreasonably long. I nearly fainted from shock. Gabriel was by my side always, trying to be as helpful as possible. He said I didn’t have to go. I appreciate his efforts. I told him that I had to stand for ourselves, and for Sven. I wasn’t going to back off when my enemies were now cornered.
It was noisy and chaotic. Miss Hawkrose tried a wonderful range of techniques, including the blame-it-on-others. I think she overused the denial technique, because at one point her lawyers gave up and she had to hire new ones. So much for defense.
Our prosecution had enough evidence, and strong ones as well. You were only used for reference, not as solid evidence, but that doesn’t matter. You have done your part.
They tried four main ponies. Including miss Hawkrose’s son, Fern. And his friends. They were my abusers. I will never forget the fear in his eyes, when I testified against him. I allowed myself to enjoy it, to savor it. To feel the fear of my enemy who was now at my mercy.
Fern and his gang were charged with rape, sexual abuse, drug abuse, and violence. Miss Hawkrose was charged with abuse, ponyslaughter, negligence, and about a hundred other complicated legal words. Miss Penny and miss Syringe were also charged, though I forgot what it was. At least miss Penny was nice. They both got five years in prison. Miss Hawkrose was given fifty. Fern and his gang were given five years prison and five years released under strict surveillance.
I don’t know what to say about the whole thing. Much has been put to rest, but there is still so much to put to rest.
I need time to recover. All this is draining my strength.
***
20th of Meadowmonth
We came back from the funeral. It was hard, to say the least. And tiring. Matilda is now resting with her son. Princess Celestia generously paid for us some accommodations – simple ones, by our request.
In truth, I am at a loss at what to do. I’m worried for Matilda more than myself, because she has a son. We have no home, no place to go. No friends or relatives.
Matilda has suffered so much heartbreak. Seeing Sven again opened up her wounds. Wounds which run deep. I wish I could help her, but I think she needs some time to herself.
As for myself, what’s there for me? No place to call home, nogriff to call friend or relative – I am basically an orphan. That’s why I said that I am at a loss. I just don’t know what to do.
I just don’t know what to do.
***
21st of Meadowmonth
We didn’t know what to do today, so we visited Risk in the hospital – Sven’s friend; the newspapers like to call him "The sixth creature." Sven rarely mentioned him, and we saw him only once or twice during our time in the boiler room.
I don’t know why, but he also got abandoned. He got buried in another part of the boiler room. He broke both his back legs and is suffering a gangrenous hoof. Well, sadly, he said the doctors have to cut it off before it infects the rest of his body.
He tried to cope with his losses patiently. But I saw the pain in his eyes. So much hurt. He broke when I told him Sven’s last words. I tried to comfort as much as I could. I don’t know if what I did could be considered comfort.
We went for a quiet stroll around the city, for Matilda and Tristan to get some fresh air. Princess Celestia had bestowed on us a sack of bits, as restitution. I know Matilda was not impressed, but we had no money or any possessions, so we accepted her good grace. Anyway, I deposited most of it at the bank and used some of the remaining to buy ice-cream for the both of us.
We watched the sunset together. That’s hardly a significant thing.
I feel sad. I guess I’m also trying to recover from all the shock we went through. I feel so unsure of myself.
I will try. Sven’s words still ring in my mind. But I just don’t know how to go about it. I hope I will eventually.
***
22nd of Meadowmonth
Matilda and I had a small chat. Nothing serious, just trying to get our minds off of all the pain of the previous days. I discovered that she likes bread, and she discovered that I like tomatoes. I discovered she likes hearing me speak my dialect, while she found out that I like south Griffish tunes. Not much, and we also had long awkward pauses in between.
Tristan adjusted to normal life quite fast. He now does what every baby does – cry, eat, take a dump here and there, and sleep for hours. I am losing sleep because I have to change his nappies two or three times at night. Matilda obviously makes me do it.
We brought back our book collection. I read Rown ag Meagis, and read a book on anatomy. Beautiful drawings, especially on the “Reproduction” section.
I’m just trying all I can to move on. Matilda is still coping with Sven’s death, and I am contemplating on my future.
I’m wondering if I should move to Gryphonia. Back to my homeland. Back to the source of my blood.
On a lonely hill by the sea where the grass was always green, there, like a planted flower, stood an old tombstone. The rock was once new, smooth and sacred, but years of constant abuse by the weather had worn it down to a wrinkling, crumbling stela.
A lone creature sat in front of the grave, silent with nostalgic memory. Her claws gently brushed off some dirt that had crusted the tombstone’s top, though she knew no amount of effort would ever get rid of that impurity. She casually wondered why she had done that useless act.
Maybe it was to distract her. To allow her some comfort, perhaps. Superficial, but comfort nonetheless.
The sun was setting slowly, its burning tip gracing the water like the hands of a long-lost lover. Hot-blooded reds and cold acidic purples burst forth where sky and sea met. Memories long buried came to life, and nostalgia long forgotten kissed her beak, bringing back tastes she’d neglected since young.
She could see his smile, his bright lime-green eyes. She could hear his laughter.
She could hear him say, “Live on…”
The west wind arose, whispering into her ears and rousing her wing-feathers. “Live on,” it whispered. “Live on.”
“Matilda?” quietly called a voice from behind. She turned. It was Gabriel, carrying a sleeping Tristan on his back. She saw the pain in his dark verdant eyes too.
“Just a few more minutes, dear,” she answered. Gabriel nodded, smiling sadly.
The wind continued its dirge as she turned back to face the tomb. It was like…staring at an old friend. One whom you’ve not seen in years. Like looking into a cosmic mirror, into a past which you once knew, and which is now dead to you. Dark, red, agonized eyes trailed down to the words etched on the stone.
"Hey Sven..." she whispered. "You rest in peace now, don't you?"
Of course, the tombstone didn't answer, but she continued nonetheless.
"You truly were gallant. Brave. Dashing, even."
Each word felt heavier and harder to articulate.
"I have had not sleep...nor fortune...because you've gone away," she mumbled, beginning to water the ground again with raw emotion.
"But I will continue," she said. The wind picked up, as if in agreement, a fresh scent of flowers crashing into her nose. Matilda calmly sucked it in.
"I will live on."
Sad eyes fell onto the poem below. The one she had sung at the funeral. And the same one she had requested to be sculpted onto the stone. To be remembered forever. She eyed the lone magnolia one last time, a forlorn smile etching its way onto her otherwise solemn beak.
