//------------------------------//
// 10: A Tale of Three Miracles in Eb Major 
// Story: Inverno’s Opus in A Minor 
// by CrackedInkWell 
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On paper, learning about how to make doughnuts and decorating them sounded fun as a job. They weren’t that hard to make or fry up once one is shown how to do it. Out of simple ingredients and tools, anyone could come up with countless combinations of flavors, textures, and fillings. Not only that but at Doughnut Joe’s, if there still left overs, the employees could eat it for free.

However, as Moztrot discovered, the only downside to getting this new job was that the only position available was at night. Particularly, his shift starts from eight in the evening until two in the morning. It was during a time where customers tend to seemingly avoid the twenty-four-hour shop. As much as it has colorful glazes, bright lighting, and a clean, white uniform, there wasn’t much fun to be had when there was no one to so much play a game with.

Since business at this late hour was rather slow, it left the stallion with nothing much to do besides polishing the glass on the counter for the hundredth time. No matter how often Moztrot looked at his own reflection, he still couldn’t accept that what he was looking at was… him. What stared back at him in that paper hat and white apron was a face that was both his and not at the same time. A face that had golden fur, not cream. Eyes of emerald green, not blue. And a curly, wild mane of chocolate brown, not his white, powdered, uniformed mane that he became so accustomed to.

“Still nopony here, Trot?” He looked up to see his boss, Doughnut Joe walking out of his office. While he had given him a nickname, there was a part of him that irked him for not being called by his real name as he was beginning to regret it.

“Apart from the fly that wanted to buy a sugar cube, coffee, and a thimble, everypony outside has been avoiding us like we’re selling the plague.”

This got his boss chuckling. He was a hefty looking pony that in the back of Moztrot’s mind knew that if he ever got him angry enough, he might be able to snap him in two. So, he went with the stagey of trying to make him laugh. “Okay, that’s actually good, Trot. But yeah, I still kinda feel bad for having you take on a graveyard shift. However, ya gotta understand that it’s nothing personal, it’s just that since you’re new, I wanna have you get to know the ropes of the trade before throwing ya to the wolves.”

Moztrot smirked. “For selling doughnuts?”

“You’d be surprised. Here in Canterlot, the customers can and will turn on you if you skipped any details in their order. I had folks scream at me for not sprinkling the right kind of chopped peanuts on once. That’s what I’m trying to get you to be prepared for in case you’ll have to meet ponies like that.”

“But am I ready now? You’ve already shown me how to work those coffee machines, how to put happy sprinkles on doughnuts, and explained to me how the register contraption thing works. So why not move me to where I could finally meet ponies?”

“Trot, you’ve only been here for a few days, I don’t think you can learn everything in that short amount of time.”

Moztrot frowned. “Are you saying that I can’t remember everything?”

“All I’m saying is that it takes time to get familiar with where everything is before you’ll have to deal with a large crowd.”

“You mean like that one?” He asked, pointing a hoof.

Doughnut Joe looked at where he was pointing at, caught off guard to see a swarm of ponies was coming towards the shop. Nearly all of them were young adults that wore glowing rings that lit up in an array of bright neon colors. As they came closer, there were cheers and shouts of excitement and celebration. Along with the screeching of techno music that nearly drowned out the crowd.

“Oh crap,” were the words that slipped Joe’s muzzle as he quickly realized that there was an army of possibly potential customers heading their way. And he has only a staff of himself along with his newest Employee. “Okay, I’ll tackle the register while you tackle the doughnuts. I’m gonna need you to be quick on your hooves for this and fill out the orders as quickly as you can.”

Then came through the door, leading the flood of ponies was a white unicorn mare with a lightning blue mane and a pair of shady purple glasses. On her back was a device that Moztrot had never seen before that appeared to be the source of the music. It had two stereo disks, one on each side that let out the buzzing and whirring sounds. What interested Moztrot as she came in was how the other ponies behaved.

As they entered, they practically danced their way in. Their manes waved this way and that, waving their glowing sticks and shouting “Yeah!” or “Woohoo!” Moztrot saw in them that these strangers were having something that he hadn’t had in days. Something that he wanted nothing more.

Fun.

“Welcome to Doughnut Joe’s,” his boss at the register shouted over the music, “Can I take your order?”

The mare lit up her horn to turn the volume of the screaming saddle down a bit so she could talk. “Hey, dude! We were partying like hard a couple of blocks down when we found out that we’re run out of snacks. Since I didn’t want the party to end, I’ve taken the party with me while we get some more munchies.”

Joe blinked. “Okay… And what would you like?”

She looked behind her at the crowd that by now and filled up every available space in the shop. “We’ve got a pretty good size crowd so… As many doughnuts you can spare. So… all of it.” There was a cheer from the crowd when they heard this.

Moztrot looked over to his boss over the rowdy ponies to see his expression in which his eyes had widened, and his mouth dropped. “All?” He turned over to his newest Employee. “Fry up some fresh ones. Now!”

Thus, a mad dash was made to pull out whatever dough was ready and trying to cook them while Doughnut Joe was quickly running out of the already finished ones out from the counter. As much as he tries to get each and every one to a golden brown, he knew that it would take too much time and the already glazed doughnuts would long run out by the time he gets them up there. But at the same time, his ears were still listening to the music that was coming from the saddle speakers that sparked his imagination with its unusual, unique sound.

“Ya gonna need to pick up the pace, Trot,” Joe told him as trays of doughnuts were flying right off as soon as he takes them out. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

“Coming!”

But even as he gets them out of the oil and into the glazing machine, even those too were snatched up by his boss. Every time he places even one down, fifty more were demanded. With every passing moment, Joe became ever more anxious about trying to feed the mob of ponies that waited for a bite for something to eat.

“I need these doughnuts yesterday, Trot!” His boss called out as he tossed a few fresh ones into the chocolate glaze. “C’mon and hurry up!”



It was within this pressure cooker stress, the demands from his boss, the enthusiasm of customers and this new electronic music all ringing in his ears that his mind recalled a melody he once written long ago that suddenly exploded out in the shop. At first, the ponies inside the shop were confused to hear a new beat that didn’t come from the white mare.

Moztrot looked behind his shoulder at his boss. “You want me to hurry up? How about I just wish to doughnuts to rain from the sky?!”

As he was saying this, the customers took notice of a pink cloud that they were certain wasn’t there before that had the distinct smell of strawberries. And then, when the music began to play it’s hurrying but the elegant melody, finished, glazed, sprinkled, drizzled and warm doughnuts began to fall from the cloud.

“Trot?” Joe asked as he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Are you doing this?”

“This is awesome!” Moztrot cried as he climbed and hopped over the counter, reaching a hoof out to the scrumptious food fall onto it. “Although, why is the cloud pink? Although I wish that it would rain flank cakes.” And thus, the pink cloud granted his wish as it began to rain cakes in the shape of pony butts.

As much as Moztrot wanted to laugh his head off of seeing some of the customers getting face plants with plot cakes, it suddenly clicked to him what this cloud does. “Holy Celestia! It grants wishes!” He hopped up and down like a foal on Hearth’s Warming morning with a wide grin. “This is the best thing to happened to me!”

“Well, I wish that it would stop!” Joe said, but nothing happened as a flank cake hit him in the face.

“You’re not fun.” Moztrot pouted. “I wish for this to be a real party.”

Thus, the pink cloud granted the wish where confetti floated down, balloons came up from the floor, the window light up the shop in a kaleidoscope of colored lights, rivers of fizzy strawberry soda ran, mountains of cakes, candy, doughnuts, and ice cream formed while self-playing orchestras flew about like birds.

Carnivals of light, color, tastes and smells were everywhere. Some found themselves riding on rails of candy canes while others swim in pools of sweet bubbly soda pop. Everywhere Moztrot looked in this sugary wonderland, ponies were both surprised and delighted at the same time. Hopping about like a foal, he observed the fruits of his wish come true. Here, some plucked from an orchard of apple pie trees. There, some danced on a keyboard of white and dark chocolate. But over all this kingdom of sugar, he turned his attention towards a mountain of powdered doughnuts that his boss was sledding down from.

“What they hey, Trot!” Joe shouted as he hangs on the sled for dear life. Within a moment, his boss barreled through a pile of powdered sugar in which he was coated completely white from his paper hat to his hooves. Although the sight of it was enough to make Moztrot laugh, it certainly wasn’t amusing to his boss that stood over him like a sugary phantom. “Okay, how are you doing this?!”

“I don’t know.” He grinned. “I think this is all really fun, and tasty too. So c’mon, enjoy the moment and take a bite of that bush over there.”

“Don’t you realize what you’re doing? What happened to my shop? Where did all of this stuff come from? How are you doing all of this stuff? Are you Discord in disguise? What they hey?!”

Moztrot tilted his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, but you should probably relax. I mean look around, everypony is having fun, so why not you too?”

“I don’t have time to have fun! I need to get these ponies fed that they’re paying us to do!”

His employee harrumphed, “Well I wish you have time to have fun.”

But before Joe could respond, the white mare from with a blue mane and dark glasses snowboard over to him. “There you are!” She said as turned sharply, not only stopping herself, but spraying him in powdered sugar. “This right here is the best party ever! I don’t know what you put in those doughnuts but here.” She lit up her horn in which a very large bag of bits popped up next to him. “They were worth every bit.”

Much to Moztrot’s amusement, his boss let his jaw hang from his mouth. “But miss, I didn’t put anythi-”

“Shut up and take my money!” She said before transporting herself back on top of the powered mountain to ski down again.

Hopping away from his dumbstruck boss, he wondered about his Candyland, hitching a ride on an orange while the music continued on for another minute before it reached its flurry of notes that brought forth fireworks before they and everything else took a bow as they played out the final, closing chords.

As the music disappeared, so did the colorful sugar-coated wonderland. While the shop was still crowded, Moztrot couldn’t help but notice that there was frosting on their faces and Joe had a laughably huge bag of bits on near the register. There was a stillness among the mob as they were all looking at him before they erupted in cheers.

“Best, hallucination, ever!” The white mare pushed up to where Moztrot was. “I don’t know what just happened, but that was awesome!” She held out a hoof, “Name’s DJ-PON3, you?”

He shook her hoof. “Call me Trot.”

“You wanna come work with me?” She asked. “I know a place that could use whatever it was you did.”

Moztrot grinned, “Is it fun and pays much?” She nodded. Turning to his boss, he said to him. “Doughnut Joe, I quit.”





Braeburn sighed as he stood on his front porch. Looking out to his small group of farmhooves that stood there, waiting for him to make his announcement. “Fella’s,” he began, “Ah ain’t gonna lie to any of y’all but… There’s something that needs ta be said here and now. Since there’s not a single blossomin’ tree in mah orchard… Ah’m afraid that it wouldn’t be wise fer me ta keep Y'all around anymore.”

There were several objections that called out all at once, but Braeburn raised a hoof. “Ah know, Ah know! But ya fella’s have ta understand, ya hear? In these parts where trees don’t blossom, there won’t be apples ta harvest. There ain’t no sense in me in keepin’ ya around if the very thin’ ta get the bits fer everyone ain’t comin’. So Ah can’t pay if Ah don’t have the means ta do so. Look, Ah’m real sorry fer all of this, but Ah’m afraid that Ah have ta let ya all go and close this here farm.

“But don’t worry, Ah’ll pay what Ah owe now. It wouldn’t seem right fer me ta let ya all go empty hoofed. So form a line and Ah’ll get ya yer payment.”

And so, one by one, Braeburn gave his farmhooves their day’s pay and a farewell in hopes they find better luck elsewhere. As the line got shorter, however, he was beginning to dread to face the one employee that he wasn’t looking forward to. Then, the very last pony stepped up, looking down at him with rage.

‘Aw crap, here we go.’ Braeburn thought before Beethooven slammed his hoof onto the planks of the porch.

“How could you do this?!” He shouted. “Of working day and night, shedding my blood and sweat into trying to get back home that you are doing this now?!”

The yellow cowpony sighed. “Look partner. This ain’t got nothin’ ta do with ya. Ah have ta close because Ah’m left with no choice. Do ya see those trees over there? There’s ain’t a single bud anywhere. Ah know, Ah’ve been searchin’ fer just one in hopes that Ah wouldn’t do this. But as ya can see, nature has other ideas.”

“Then why don’t you ask for a loan? Help from the other farmers? That buffalo tribe that knows the land than anyone? I may have been in this oven of a place for a few days, and even I know there are plenty of ways to keep you afloat. And yet, you decided to give up!?”

“Don’t ya think Ah’ve tried?” Braeburn snapped back at him. “Do ya think Ah wanna let ya fella’s go like this? Ah truly did everythin’ Ah could think of and it’s not enough. Now Ah know yer plight of gettin’ home, but with what Ah got, there’s nothin’ much Ah could do at this point. Ah’m sorry.”

Beethooven couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Then… Then where am I supposed to go? I don’t have even half of getting back and there’s nowhere in this Celestia forsaken town that has so much as a job opening.”

Normally, Braeburn would chastise him for giving out such a cruel statement of the settler’s town he came to know and love. However, all that came out of his mouth was a sad sigh and him telling the stallion bluntly. “Ah don’t know… The only thin’ Ah want, is a miracle.”

After giving Beethooven his bits and telling him good luck, Braeburn dragged his hooves into his house. For a moment, the composer stood there, looking at the meager bits that he knew wasn’t close to enough for the journey back before turning around to leave. He walked slowly, partly looking at the blossomless trees and the stars above, and partly let his thoughts boil.

‘Why are you still torturing me so, fate?’ He thought. ‘First losing my hearing; then having Neighpoleon betray his republican values, become emperor and invade Whienna; then engage in a fight for custody over my nephew, only for him to end up hating me and nearly killing himself; then have my Ninth Symphony be a financial flop; and if dying wasn’t enough, now I ended up in this town in the middle of nowhere in the scorching heat, work my flank off for the cost of going back home, only to find that the only job in town is closing because these trees can’t produce a single flower?!’

“No!” He shouted to himself. “I refuse to give in that easily. Everyone else might have, but not me cruel fate! I will go home, even if I have to change Nature’s mind itself!”



Then out of the silence of the night, Beethooven felt something within him that poured out into grove around him. He could not only hear the symphony that glorified the pastoral, but he could feel from the very soil itself that it was coming alive. He saw the grass and even the trees to glow while the violins and violas were waxing out the warm melody. Everywhere he looked, the apple trees seemed to light up like lanterns in the dark, moonlit evening.

As confused as he was, Beethooven wasn’t sure that he wanted this to stop. His curiosity compelled him to go further into the orchard as he passed by, the trees quivered and shook as new leaves sprang forth and blossoms appeared. And at his hooves, as he passed by, the grass itself became a darker shade of green and wild flours popped out from the ground.

“What in tarnation is goin’ on?” Beethooven turned his head to find Braeburn behind him in awe at what he was looking at. “Are… Are ya doin’ this?” He asked as he eyed the trees. “Is this real?”

Beethooven didn’t reply as he wasn’t sure if it was or not. He wasn’t sure if he was suddenly dreaming or that nature itself finally decided to give in. Either way, he wasn’t sure if he wanted this to stop. Before either stallion knew it, the blossoms had given way to apples that grew right before their very eyes.

“Holy Celestia! Mah apples!” Braeburn cried. “Ah have apples now! Ah’m saved.” But his rejoicing gave way to concern as he noticed that those apples kept on growing, getting bigger by the moment. “Uh… Partner… Ya can stop now.” And yet, the music still kept on playing. “Hey, Ah think ya got it. Hello! Ya can stop now!”

But when this was ignored, Braeburn panicked as he had to do something fast before it becomes out of control. Not only did the fruit keep on growing, but so were the trees, the grass and the flowers that continued to grow taller and thicker to where in some places that new trees were popping up. So in fear of being engulfed in the rapidly expanding vegetation, the yellow cowpony did the first thing that came to mind: he punched Beethooven in the face. As soon as he fell to the ground in shock, so did the music that instantly ceased.

“What in Tartarus did you do that for!?” Beethooven instantly got up, trying to throw punches back at him, but Braeburn quickly jumped out of the way.

“Hey, Ah’m sorry. But Ah had ta before it goes out of control. Just look around.” He waved a hoof at the overgrown orchard. “If Ah let ya, then you’d turn mah farm inta the Everfree Forest. Besides,” he went over to a tree in which he bucked it, and from it fell apples that were the size of buckballs, “whatever ya did, ya brought on an early harvest. And judgin’ by the size of these, not only do ya and the others have yer jobs back, but Ah think ya might get a raise too.”

Both Beethooven’s ears perked up. “You mean it?”

Braeburn nodded. “Yeah, if Ah can get the fellas back ta harvest… and clean up all of this mess… Ah think these would sell at the market fer quite a bit. Which means that there’ll be more money ta come in which ya’ll be able ta get back home. But first thin’s first, we’d need ta get them farmhooves back.”

Beethooven happily complied.





Debussy found that there was a certain charm to the small sea village of Horseshoe Bay. If anything, just sitting at its local pub sums up the town gave a rustic feel in its appearance from the ancient wood and its washed-up antiques. Yet, the objects there that were hanged up reminded him of home. The sailors at the bar drinking away at the bottle while joking with shipmates with a side of a mediocre meal. Above him were stained glass lamps that loomed over every table. Beside him were rows of chairs and makeshift tables that Debussy could have sworn were made out of driftwood. And in the corner of the pub was an upright piano without a player. The kind that its varnish had long been stripped back and the lid for the keys had disappeared years ago.

Overall, it was in every sense of the word quaint. The only problem that the unicorn had was that it was still hot and stuffy, even after the sun had gone down.

“I can’t help but notice you eyeing that piano.” He looked up to see his Captain with a bottle under his wing. “Did you know how to play it?”

“Well… I can.” Debussy began. “It’s just… It’s been a long time for me.”

The Pegasus Captain raised an eyebrow. “How come?”

He shrugged. “Well… I used to be a musician, and I still remember how to play much of what I wrote, but with my daughter’s passing… I just don’t see the need to play anymore.”

Looking between the unicorn and the piano, the old Captain sat down across from Debussy. “Son, do you know why we have stories?”

The unicorn blinked. “What does this have got to do with anything?”

“Just hear me out, I have a point to make. So, do you know why we have stories?”

Debussy shrugged. “Because we want to be entertained?”

“Not exactly,” the Captain shook his head, “as my grandpappy put it, that both stories and music are alike in one way. That being they are the food of life, they tell us how to live and why even at times when we can’t explain it. With the right kind of talent, telling a story or just playing a song could help us to deal with life’s problems when words aren’t good enough. They both could take us to places and moments of time when they were made to help us reflect on certain things.

“Look, I can tell that you’re hurting. And I did mean when I say that I’m sorry for your loss. But during these past few days, you’ve been keeping your misery to yourself. Trust me, from personal experience, it’s not healthy.”

“So, what are you trying to say?” Debussy questioned.

“If you wanted to go play on that piano over there, just makeup something from the top of your head to let those depressing thoughts out… then do so. Nopony here is stopping you from doing so except yourself.”

After giving another glance at the lone piano, he simply muttered “Aye Captain,” before getting up and walking over to the instrument. As he did so, a memory came to him.

He remembered how it was on that summer night in Paris. Where the air was suffocatingly hot, yet the streets have calmed down enough for anyone wanting to sleep. Reclined on an armchair, Debussy was alone in the music room with nothing except for a sketch for a piano piece, and a bottle of port awaiting on a table next to him. While the windows were opened, he had to pat his forehead from the sweat that was running down.

“Daddy.” Debussy looked up to see a filly with a doll in her foreleg. The earth pony, he noticed, was too sweating but had a tired look. “I can’t sleep. It’s too hot.”

With a sigh, he set his sketch aside and gestured over to his daughter to come to him. “Oh, I know Chou-Chou, this heat is unbearable that I can’t sleep too. Did your governess give you a glass of water?”

She shook her head. “She’s asleep. And I don’t want to wake her up.”

Debussy looked over at the clock. “Two in the morning already? Here, let’s go to the kitchen and get you some water, it should help you cool down a little. And come to think of it, I should probably do the same.”

After going down to the next floor while being led by a kerosene lamp, both father and daughter into the empty kitchen where they got out two glasses and fill them with the small water pump in the sink.

“I wish there were ice.” His daughter said as she was given her glass.

“So do I, but it’s not yet winter and it’s very expensive this time of year.” He said before taking a gulp of the water. “At least night time is much cooler, unlike the day.”

“But not by much.” She said after she took a drink. “What were you doing daddy?”

“I’m not exactly sure yet. I only have a sketch that’s been going around my head for over a week, only I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You know what I like to hear?” His father shook his head. “I want to hear something cool. I wish I could hear a blizzard and watch the snowflakes dance.” She paused before asking, “Daddy, what kind of music does snow dance to? All I’ve been able to hear is the wind.”

“If it’s in a blizzard,” Debussy said, “then it has to be something fast, but cold. You can’t have a warm melody, why, all those snowflakes would melt. Everypony knows… that…” He looked down at his daughter. “Chou-Chou, you just gave me an idea.”

At the piano bench, Debussy looked down at the yellowed keys as his hooves reached up to them. After wiping the sweat off from his brow, he took a moment to recall the first time he played for his daughter that cold piece as he began to play. Sighing in nostalgia about right after he wrote up what he thought about playing, that he taught his daughter to dance.



As soon as his hooves began to move the icy wind, he was surprised to feel it on his back. Looking over his shoulder, he and all the other sailors were surprised to see snow that was drifting from the ceiling without any cloud at all along with a wind that blew. Debussy was even more surprising that although he immediately took his hooves off the keys, the music was still playing as snow twisted and twirled around them.

“What the Tartarus?!” His captain shouted in surprise as he shielded his face with a wing. “What’s going on!?”

While everyone in the pub was getting up and rushing out the door, Debussy only stood there in disbelief as he spotted something spinning in the instant snowstorm. While it moved about quite a bit and through the tables and chairs, the outline of the falling snow showed that it was a little filly that danced in a frosty white dress. The little earth pony spins and twirled like an undisciplined, if not mischievous ballet dancer.

“Oh Celestia…” Debussy whispered aloud. “Chou-Chou?”

The see-through snow filly paused for a moment, silently giggling by lifting a hoof to her muzzle before resuming dancing. Despite the very temperature in the pub dropping to the point where frost was beginning to form on anything made of glass, Debussy didn’t notice as his attention was towards the outline of the invisible filly. All the while, the piano quick keys ringing inside and outside of his head.

“Hey! Debussy!” He looked up at his captain that popped his head through the door as the blizzard was stabbing at his face. “What are you doing?! Get out of there!”

Confused, he held up a hoof, trying to catch a snowflake. And although he could clearly see some of the flakes landing on his warm hoof and melted – and that he could see his breath being fogged up in the wintery air, he curiously didn’t feel anything. “Why?” He asked his captain. “It’s not doing much harm other than blowing air around.”

“Because you’re standing in the middle of a blizzard with a wendigo dancing around in the pub ya lunatic!” Tightening his overcoat and pushing his hat over his head, he dashed right in to try to get the unicorn out.

However, Debussy wasn’t interested in going. “Hey! What are you doing! Let go!”

But as soon as he touched his fur, his captain instantly pulled his hooves away to try to rub them for warmth. “Holy Celestia, you’re freezing! Did you turn into Mr. Freeze all of a sudden?!”

Among the shouting, Debussy’s eye caught the dancing filly in which his instinct told him to try to reach out to her. As soon as he touched the snow dusty outline, it grew into a solid thing that, the only way the two stallions could describe it was like watching a piece of ice expanding in the air, only to become an ice sculpture that moved.

That was exactly what happened. The snow became solidified until it showed a filly in a dress. Although everything about it was made out of ice, Debussy recognized the face that smiled back up at him. He instantly reached out to touch its face in which, to his surprise, it felt warm. “Chou-Chou, is this you?”

The ice filly shook her head but tugged at his hoof as if wanting him to play with her. Debussy, however, pulled his foreleg away. “Then… what do you want?”

There was confusion on the filly’s face as if she didn’t understand what he meant. She then twirled around before offering up her hoof up to him.

“I think it wants to dance with you.” The captain said.

Within a moment, Debussy instantly connected with his nostalgic feeling right before he began to play. Of how he taught his daughter to dance after he completed the piece. So, in that iceberg of a pub, he gave a small bow and offered his hoof while the filly smiled and grabbed onto his.

“This is very simple,” he told the ice filly, “first you step here. Good. Then step backward, then back to me… Very good.” And so, among the wintry wind and notes, began to teach his memory of his daughter to dance, moving forward and back, spinning her with a hoof and even picking her up to repeat the dance again. For a brief moment, while he knew that what he was teaching to dance wasn’t really his daughter – he pretended that he was. Back home again with the greatest joy of his life returned to him. Even in this winter fantasy in that brief moment, it was all real.

But no sooner had he begun to teach the ice filly, that the surrounding piano music slowed down until a few, very high notes sprinkled off the closing of the dance. The icy air instantly warmed up and dissipated like waking up from a daydream. Snow and frost quickly evaporated back into the stuffy heat. Even the ice filly didn’t melt in front of Debussy’s eyes but turned into vapors of steam right after the little filly waved at him.

The captain looked around at the still-empty pub that has returned back to normal. He had only one question in his mind that he was glad to express. “What was that?”

Debussy looked at his hoof. “I think…” he said, “I danced with a memory.”