//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 - Flashback: Lyra // Story: Devotion // by _Undefined_ //------------------------------// It was supposed to smell like sugar cookies. Eight-year-old Lyra Heartstrings stepped into the house where her grandmother lived. Usually, Lyra loved visiting this house. Her grandfather would greet the family on the porch, giving the unicorn filly a warm welcome and a gentle tousle of her mane. After a couple of jokes and some questions about what she had been doing at school, he would open the front door. And as soon as she stepped inside, Lyra was met with a smile by her grandmother, who had always just finished baking a fresh batch of sugar cookies. But two weeks ago, there had been a funeral. It was Lyra’s first experience with the concept of death. She was old enough to understand the basics of it. Her parents explained to her that her grandfather’s heart had stopped working, and when that happens, a pony dies. When she went to the funeral, she saw him in the casket. It looked like her grandfather, but her young brain couldn’t completely make the connection between the vivacious old stallion that greeted her on the front porch and the motionless, carefully posed body lying in front of her. What she did know, though, was that her grandfather’s death made all of the ponies around her sad. And that made Lyra sad, too. It wasn’t until her parents took her and her sister to visit their grandmother two weeks later that Lyra began to really understand the differences death could make. This time, there was no pony sitting on the front porch to jump up and greet them as they arrived. No warm welcome and gentle tousling of her mane. And when Lyra stepped inside, her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. But worst of all, the house smelled different. Medicinal and uninviting. It was supposed to smell like sugar cookies. Lyra’s parents led her and her sister around to the room containing the large bay window that looked out toward the big oak tree in the middle of the backyard. There were two rocking chairs positioned in front of the window. One of the chairs was empty. Lyra’s grandmother sat in the other rocking chair. As the others walked in, she slowly turned it around to face her family. Lyra looked at her grandmother’s face. It had always been wrinkly, but usually, the wrinkles framed a kind, nurturing smile. Now, Lyra’s grandmother was frowning. And all of the wrinkles just made her frown look even frownier. “It’s nice to see you again,” Lyra’s grandmother said. The words were pleasant, but the frown stayed on her face. Lyra’s parents had visited a few times during the prior two weeks, but this was the first time since the funeral that they brought their daughters along. During the cart ride over, as Lyra’s father pulled the two girls, he had mentioned something about hoping to be able to change his mother’s mood. Now Lyra could see what he was talking about. “It’s nice to see you, too,” Lyra’s mother said. “Girls, say hi to your grandmother.” “Hi, grandma,” Lyra and her sister said in unison. During past visits, they usually said it with a little more energy – and without prompting. But their tone matched the atmosphere in the house. “Chorine, why don’t you show grandma those new moves you’ve been working on?” their mother said. Chorine Nimblehoof, Lyra’s older sister by three years, stepped forward into the open space in the middle of the room. From the moment she first learned to walk, Chorine had exhibited a penchant for dancing. So it came as no surprise when during a dance recital, her cutie mark – a pair of half notes – appeared. There was no music, so Chorine simply began to dance. Due to the limited space in the room, she couldn’t make the long, graceful leaps that she was capable of. She performed a couple of short hops in the same style, then dropped onto her hindquarters to exhibit some moves that allowed her to stay in one location while still showing off what she could do with her longer adolescent legs. She stretched her forelegs to the side and over her head, swinging them in a full arc before landing on the floor. From there, she twisted the lower half of her body into a lying position, fluidly rose to her hooves, then kicked out her rear legs in what was technically a bucking action, although the motion was so graceful, the word didn’t feel sufficient. For another minute and a half, she continued to move her body in ways that, if they had been performed more slowly, would have been construed as mere stretching exercises. However, Chorine executed each motion with a pace and gracefulness that made it clear that dancing wasn’t just her special talent – it was her passion. She finished with a twisting motion on her rear hooves that ended with a bow in front of the pony in the rocking chair. “That’s very nice, dear,” her grandmother said. She seemed to mean it. But there was an unmistakable sense of resignation in her voice – a lack of enthusiasm that had never been discernable before. And she was still frowning. “And Lyra’s been doing really well with her lyre lately,” Lyra’s mother said as she levitated a child-sized lyre from her saddlebag. Lyra accepted it in her own magic. “Show grandma how good you’ve gotten.” Lyra knew that her mother was expecting her to pluck the strings of the lyre with her hoof. That was the way she was being taught to play, and it was undeniable that she had quickly become proficient with the instrument using that method. But in her free time during the past couple of days, Lyra had been experimenting with a different method of playing the lyre in which she used only her magic. And already, it felt to her like a more natural way of playing the instrument. She had never attempted a full song using her unorthodox method of playing, but she was confident that she could do it. And if she was right, it would sound even better than when she played with her hooves. This was the time to try – Lyra hated to see her grandmother so sad. She was going to do everything she could to try to change that. But first, Lyra had to decide what song she was going to play. She could play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” or “Lundy Bridge Is Falling Down,” but she had played those songs dozens of times during her lessons, and they were boring. Lyra couldn’t play just any old song in this situation. She needed something better for her grandmother. That was when Lyra remembered a more grown-up song she had heard during a recent family reunion. She had sat on the piano bench while the pony next to her played the tune and sang the words. She only got to hear it twice, but the song had stuck with her. And if her special talent was going to be music like she thought it would be, then she was pretty sure she could play it back. With her lyre still suspended in the air, Lyra sat down on the floor so she could focus her full attention on playing. Hoping that her mother wouldn’t reprimand her for playing it “wrong,” Lyra kept all four hooves on the ground and instead cast a field out toward the strings. Manipulating the field in a certain way, she began to pluck them. The first few notes came at a relatively slow tempo while she made sure she was playing the notes she intended to play. It helped that the song also started out at a slower tempo. Every note was true to her intentions, so she finished what she had been playing – it also served as an introduction – and began to play the song itself. The song had lyrics, but Lyra wanted to focus all of her attention on her lyre. Still, even though she didn’t sing, she could hear the lyrics in her head as she played. You stepped outside to see that the gray clouds were expanding When you thought the day was yours once and for all Lyra took a quick glance at her family. Her mother and her sister looked a little surprised at her new method of playing the lyre. But they didn’t say anything, so she didn’t stop. But each up has its down and you’re of the understanding That into ev’ry life a little rain must fall Lyra’s father had a different look on his face – a look of apprehension. Lyra realized that he probably recognized the song. Maybe he wasn’t sure she should be playing it? It didn’t matter – Lyra needed to keep going. Oh rainy days, oh rainy days Once again, you’re facing rainy days Oh rainy days, oh rainy days You hoped that you were done with rainy days Lyra looked at her grandmother. The frown was still there, but Lyra had her attention. At this point, the song’s tempo increased by about ten beats per minute. Lyra sped up her playing accordingly. You know it’s difficult to not give in to the sorrow It’s hard to see ahead from inside the haze Today might be a dud, but just think about tomorrow You have to brave the storm to see those sunny days Lyra closed her eyes, really getting into the song. Even though the basic tune was repeating, the tempo was getting faster and therefore more cheerful. Best of all, Lyra had yet to miss a note. It was almost as if she could feel the lyre become an extension of her magic. She was thrilled with the sound she was getting out of it, and that happiness was reflected in the notes she was playing. Oh sunny days, oh sunny days Soon we’ll all be seeing sunny days Even though she had only been going over the words in her head, it seemed to Lyra like she could faintly hear the lyrics being sung. “Oh sunny days, oh sunny days The future’s looking bright with sunny days” Lyra realized that the lyrics were being sung. She looked up toward the source of the sound and saw her grandmother, leaning forward slightly. And it appeared that the frown on her face was just slightly less severe. Lyra charged ahead into the final verse. As she played, her grandmother continued to sing, her voice becoming a little bit clearer with each line. “So put that frown away ’cause tomorrow’s getting started And the brand new day will bring a brand new tune We’ll see blue skies again and the clouds will all be parted Oh sunny days, those sunny days will be here soon Oh sunny days, those sunny days will be here soon” Lyra played a three-second ending, stood up, and gently set the lyre down against the wall. The song had been perfect, and all without Lyra lifting her hooves off the ground. A grin grew on the filly’s face, stretching from cheek to cheek. Lyra quickly turned her attention to her grandmother. And even though her grandmother’s eyes still looked a little tired, Lyra once again saw the smiling face that she was accustomed to seeing on each visit. The return of that expression made Lyra smile even more broadly. “Your grandfather and I used to sing that when we first moved here,” her grandmother said. “Even though times were tough, we knew we couldn’t give up. That was wonderful, Lyra.” “I learned it from grandpa,” Lyra said. His spirited piano playing at the family reunion had been one of her favorite parts of that day. “Thank you,” her grandmother said. “That was exactly the song I needed to hear.” Lyra beamed with pride. She looked over at the lyre that had responded so well to her magic. At that moment, she knew two things for certain. One: She loved playing the lyre. And two: She would never play it with her hooves ever again. Suddenly, Lyra sensed a bright glow coming from behind her. Almost immediately, she felt a strange tingling sensation across her flanks. The unfamiliar sensory onslaught had come about so unexpectedly, it took Lyra a couple of seconds to perceive what was happening. By the time she figured it out, the glow had disappeared. Lyra quickly turned to look at her flank. Which was where she saw a representation of a lyre, now a permanent part of her coat. “I got it! I got it I got it I got it!” Lyra squealed. “Grandma! I got my cutie mark!” She jumped over to the rocking chair, turned around, and practically shoved her rump into her grandmother’s face. She then turned around again and wrapped her tiny legs around her grandmother in a big hug. Lyra’s grandmother hugged her back. “You should be very proud,” she said. “After a performance like that, you earned it.” Lyra let go of her grandmother in order to show the rest of her family. She picked up the lyre in her magic and played a short, triumphant tune. For the rest of the day, Lyra’s grandmother freely talked to her family, reminiscing about her marriage. And while the memories sometimes brought tears to her eyes, she relished the opportunity to relive each story. That evening, as her family left to go home, she stood in the doorway and bid them a fond good night. And the next time Lyra’s family came over to visit, the house smelled like sugar cookies.