Chapter 1
One thing that some ponies don’t realize, is that when a story starts, right before that one big thing that changes everything forever, life feels normal. You don’t get a warning, there's no sign that says “Hey, something is going to change”. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if we knew everything that was going to happen, we’d be prepared. No more surprises, no more mistakes, no more of those tiny little things that make us who we are. If you were told everything that was going to happen, wouldn’t you try to change it? Just once? Of course you would, nopony wants something bad to happen to them. But, if you keep all the bad from happening, you might never get to experience the good that can come out of it.
It’s the small things put together that make life worth living. The tiny moments of bliss in a sea of misery. Those are the things that make us push on, and keep living life, that make us strong enough to face what comes next. That’s what I do. No, I’m not a fairy godmother. I can’t give you a glass slipper, or send you to the ball. But I can do something else.
I’m an actress. You might think that what I do isn’t that important. That my thoughts are few and far between, barely making any sense when they do arise. You’d be wrong. I am important. What I do changes lives. It creates lives, metaphorically speaking, and expresses life itself. Everyday I tell somepony's story. Be it mine, somepony else’s or the story of somepony who never really existed. But everypony’s story deserves to be told. It’s just a question of when your story starts, what happens, and how it ends.
Unfortunately, you don’t make much by expressing emotion for a living; my personal reference is my apartment, it’s rather low-scale. White plaster walls, beige carpet, brown wood window and door frames. Standard neutral designs. But I love color, so I have a lot of decorations. Posters, ceramic figurines, wall nicknacks, and costumes. Lots of costumes. There’s even a sculpture of my cutie mark, which happened to be the masks of comedy and tragedy.
My room is the piece de resistàncé, my masterpiece. As a filly I had never gotten to decorate my room, so I kind of went crazy when I got my own apartment. The apartment is rented, so I can't paint the walls or change the carpet, but that doesn't mean I can't accessorize the room like mad. Playbills, tickets, and photographs cover my cork board, posters litter the walls. I have lots of dramatic furniture, a good portion of it second hand that I had fixed to fit the room's theme. Burgundy rugs on the ground, a Celestian wood desk and chair with red fabric accents. My bed is king sized, with blood red sheets. Around it is a red velvet curtain, like the stage curtains at big theaters.
I currently sit at the window seat, one of my favorite places, watching the stars. The red cotton seat - velvet is expensive you know - match the curtains that were pulled back to reveal the view.
The stars are magnificent. I could spend hours sitting here, just looking at them. In fact, I often did. It offered me a sort of... calm feeling that was otherwise hard to achieve. Of course, it wasn't foolproof. There were also times I had sat here unsettled, thinking of things that I still don't want to think about. Things that can make me so depressed or furious, I could almost do something very drastic. Just because I express emotions for a living doesn't mean I'm above them.
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"Sprinkle! I- "
I looked at his face, now as familiar as my own hoof. Same powder-blue eyes, same light-green coat, same aqua-blue mane that would shine whenever under direct light. I stood across from him, just as I had many times before. Once again I stood here, looking like a fool as he insisted his innocence. Claiming that he loved me, saying he had made a mistake. He would say the same thing every time; 'She didn't mean anything, it was a mistake, I love you, it'll never happen again.' I didn't allow him to finish.
"NO! We're over, do you hear me? Over!" My hoof slashed through the air, emphasizing my point. I started to turn, only to be stopped by his hoof grabbing my shoulder.
"Come on, Baby. You don't really mean that." He looked at me, his powder-blue eyes pleading.
His face started to go out of focus. I could feel the tears running down my face. I honed in on my acting skills, making my face more akin to an expressionless mask. I reigned in my feelings, vowing not to let a single one show. Now was not the time for crying, nor was it the time to express anger. Now was the time to confront him. Any and all emotions will be saved for later. They will be saved for when I am alone, or they won’t be used at all. Either is better than showing them now. My jaw set determinedly, I continued on. "How could you? How could you stand here, look me in the eye, and lie to my face? How could you say you love me, and do this behind my back?"
He came closer, frantically grasping for purchase. "I do love you!" He cried, reaching for me.
"No," I replied calmly, backing away. "You don't. If you did, you wouldn't have done this. Now go away. Get out of here before I make you."
The room went silent. I turned away, listening for the sounds of his departure. When he had left, I looked around; The room was decorated in happy colors, bright lively pinks, blues, and greens. They were completely at odds with the event that had just conspired, and right now nothing in the world made me resent my designing. Curling into a ball, I fell to the ground and wept. There was nothing else left to do.