//------------------------------// // Chapter I // Story: Adagio // by NaiadSagaIotaOar //------------------------------// Adagio laid dreamily at the bottom of a murky lake, underneath the paranoid eyes of a gathering of ponies. They watched her from above, hiding behind a thin sheet of crystal that stretched over the surface of the lake. A minute ago, her song had turned their fear into love, but then she had gone silent and they’d all snapped back to their wary staring. She didn’t understand why the ponies looked at her so differently when she closed her mouth. Her song was still there, as real as when it came out of her throat. It danced and undulated through her world, as tangible a thing to her eyes as any pony or crystal around her. One pony stood closer than all the others; with a strong, deep voice, he asked her to sing again, but the voice of the gem in her chest was far, far sweeter. Don’t sing for them, it whispered to her. Not yet. They do not deserve to hear it. There was more. Adagio knew there was. Something was missing, something important. She didn’t know what it was, just that it existed, that she didn’t have it. But she’d already searched her whole lake. And still there was that feeling, that knowledge that she was less than whole. The song in her head turned into a gentle, soothing lullaby, petting her scales, coaxing her to lay down her weary head and wrap her coils around herself. Rest. Your time is coming. Very soon now. She didn’t know what any of that meant, but she trusted her gem, trusted the song dwelling inside it. They loved her, no matter how many ponies did not. They would always love her. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed since she laid down. Only minutes, or maybe hours, or even longer. But, somewhere down the line, a strange, alien sound reached her ears and she saw glinting shards of broken crystal falling in slow motion through the water all around her. When she looked up, she saw what had been missing. Two things that looked very much like her, diving down through that sheet of crystal like angels swooping to her side. They greeted her with a song she had known her whole life, and she responded in kind. Clarity she never knew she’d been lacking came to her song. It seemed more solid than before, less like an ethereal veil around her and more like a third and fourth and countless more limbs. Go, a voice whispered to her. Not the one she’d known, but comforting and familiar all the same. Powerful, like a crackling fire. She knew it was that voice that had sundered the crystal wall. We will follow. Help us be beautiful, another familiar voice said. That one was soft and delicate, like a flower riding a ripple. It was that voice that tugged on her, encouraging her to rise. Powerful swipes of her fluked tail sent her rushing towards the surface, then hurtling out into open air, where her scales glimmered underneath a canvas of stars. There were ponies beneath her, fear filling their eyes. But she knew what to do about that. With her angels and her song by her side, she dove, soared and knew she’d found her place in the world. Adagio slouched in her chair, leaning against a window, lazily cradling a glass of sloshing red wine in one hand. Her other hovered by her neck, fingers running over a locket of polished silver—her fingertips tingled slightly, and she couldn’t remember how many drinks ago they’d started doing that. A dangling lamp lit her table, she caught glimpses of waiters scurrying about, and the sounds of prattling mortals creeping closer to death one breath at a time bombarded her ears. She glanced towards the front door—the only entrance to the restaurant, as far as she knew—stared for a moment, took a gulp from her glass, and paused. Still thinking, she realized a moment later. That night, that meant she hadn’t drank enough. She glared at her glass before setting it aside. There was plenty of time left in the night to drink herself blind. If she stuck around, anyway. To distract herself from the glass, she took up her locket, resting it in her palm, glancing about briefly before cracking it open. The ruby shards inside were small, most no larger than teeth, and their voice had long since gone silent, but when she slipped a finger inside and touched them, she knew that they still loved her. Even in their mangled state, far too weak to speak to her, let alone sing, she could feel them assuring her that everything would be alright. Just like they’d always done. For a few moments, she felt herself smiling, a small ember of hope kindled in her breast. It didn’t last long, though; when she looked towards the door again, she felt like it just wasn’t enough. Rolling her eyes, curling her lip, flipping her locket closed and letting it dangle, she looked away from the door, out the window, and spotted the distinctive hair of someone she’d rather forget. Sunset stared. Adagio stared back. It was far more surreal than shocking. A lot of questions ran through Adagio’s head. None of them made it out into the air. She made a small beckon with two of her fingers, then returned her attentions to her wine as she took another sip. Movement in the corner of her vision told her that Sunset had complied. Adagio spent the next few moments looking everywhere she could except towards the door. She stared at her glass, glanced down to vacantly admire her freshly-manicured fingernails… then she looked up, and just like that, Sunset was there, standing silently beside the table, expression pointedly neutral. “Ah, Sunset.” Adagio reached for her glass again. “I was hoping we’d see each other one of these days.” “Really?” Skepticism and excitement warred very discreetly on Sunset’s face. “Truly. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, actually. It’s been… weighing on me, you could say.” Adagio sighed, gazing wistfully out the window. “It’s a hard thing to ask, but do you think you could find it in you to accept an apology?” Sunset’s eyes subtly widened. “Wow. That’s, um…” “Surprised? I would be too, if I were you. But people do change, don’t they?” “Yeah, sorry.” It took a moment, but Sunset’s smile brightened. “But, yes, I think I could.” “I was hoping you’d say that. Now, if you don’t mind, then…” Adagio faced Sunset head-on, locking eyes with her and leaning forward. “I want you to look into my eyes and tell me exactly… how disappointing it is that you’re not going to get one.” Exquisitely slowly, Sunset squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. “Oh, come on. Say it. Tell me how you feel.” The raw exasperation that had come over Sunset’s face was delicious, if not quite as delightful as Adagio would’ve hoped. “What’re you doing here?” Sunset asked, vaguely accusatory. “Afraid I’m up to my usual naughtiness? I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. Alas, it pains my twisted, black heart to say it, but I’ve been the epitome of docility ever since that night.” Adagio gave her glass a jostle. “Apart from trying to poison myself. You know how it is.” “I see. You... clearly don’t want me bothering you.” “When did I say that? I was worried my tongue was going dull for a little while, and there are so few opportunities to sharpen it quite like this one. I’ve prepared several barbs as witty as they are scathing, if you’d like to stick around and hear them.” “Right.” Sunset backed away. “Well, if this is all you’re up to, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Adagio scoffed, waving her hand dismissively and pointedly turning away. “You’ll be back.” Sunset’s face tightened as she turned on her heel. Adagio waited a few seconds, keeping her gaze fixed squarely on the wall across from her, then glanced to the side at the head of fiery hair walking off towards the door. When Sunset reached the door, but hesitated before pulling it open, Adagio quickly resumed her disaffected posture. A few more moments passed, and when she didn’t hear footsteps coming back towards her she allowed herself another glance. She stared at the door, grimacing when Sunset’s absence made her pulse quicken, and then gulped down another mouthful of wine. It didn’t work as well as she would’ve liked. She peeked back at the door, straightening in her seat when she caught a glimpse of Sunset pacing in place outside through the window. Ditching her scowl with barely a thought, Adagio slouched a little, resting a rosy cheek on her palm and doing her best to make herself look haughtily indifferent, shameful excitement be damned. When she heard Sunset drawing closer, she looked up and feigned surprise, slowly cracking a coy smirk. “That was even faster than I expected. You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” “Yeah, well…” Sunset sighed as she came up next to the table. “Are you here by yourself?” “Why should you care?” Adagio retorted. Sunset shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone before.” “No, you haven’t.” Adagio resisted the urge to feel for her gem. “Would it matter to you if this was the first time?” Sunset looked out the window into the night, then back to Adagio’s glass. “A little.” “Would you leave me be if it wasn’t?” “Probably.” “You know…” Adagio spat out a dry, sardonic chuckle. “A few days ago, I don’t think I could’ve thought of anything less pleasant than you sitting with me. But I do love inconveniencing people, and talking about myself’s the only real hobby I’ve got left.” Idly fingering her wine glass, she looked up at Sunset and made a faint gesture towards a chair. “So. I guess it’s up to you to decide what to make of all this, isn’t it?” Sunset pulled out the chair and sat down. “Where are your friends?” “That’s rather presumptuous of you. I don’t make friends with morsels.” Adagio gestured with her glass to the restaurant’s other patrons. “And I haven’t seen my sisters”—she hissed that word through tightly clenched teeth—“for a little while now.” She felt unwanted thoughts coming on again, and tried to wash them away with a mouthful of wine. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t—” Sunset cleared her throat “—realize they were your sisters.” “There comes a time when a bond between women becomes so saturated with loathing and yet unbroken that it can only be called sororal. This is one of those times, and this—” Adagio theatrically held up her glass “—is the inevitable result.” “But they left you?” “Is that your problem?” “No.” Sunset shifted back in her chair, shaking her head. “No, I guess it isn’t. But I wanted to stop you, not make you suffer.” A faint smile crept its way onto Adagio’s face. “Now there, I can’t blame you. Suffering is such an ugly thing, isn’t it?” She laughed again. “Must be a bad day to be you, then, seeing me like this. But don’t worry, it’s a bad day to be me as well.” That got Sunset’s attention; there was a newfound focus in her eyes. “What’s going on?” Adagio cocked an eyebrow. “You really want to know?” “Yeah.” Sunset pursed her lips like she wasn’t sure she wasn’t out of her mind, but her “I do” was clear and certain. “In that case…” Adagio leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Can I tell you a secret?” Sunset nodded. “Sure.” “You can’t tell anyone else.” Adagio exaggerated a pout. “Promise?” The clenching of Sunset’s teeth wasn’t quite too subtle. “I promise.” “Good. Now, I know you’d never think this, looking at me now, but I used to be a siren. I had this lovely pendant, you see—” Sunset drew in a sharp breath and held up her hand. “I’m sorry, but… I want to sympathize, but don’t you dare try and make yourself out to be the victim here.” Her voice was stern, not quite harsh enough to be called angry. Adagio responded with her most saccharine smile. “Ah, it’s so cute when you’re trying to be scary and tough. Now, I’m sure you’ve got all kinds of fascinating thoughts to share, but can we please get back to talking about me before I fall asleep?” The hand Sunset had raised balled up for a brief moment. “Fine,” Sunset said, sighing heavily, leaning back and motioning for Adagio to continue. “I’m listening.” “Good girl. Keep that up and you might get a pat on the head.” Adagio laughed again, then frowned. “Sorry, where was I?” “You used to be a siren.” “Oh. Well, that’s not very exciting, is it?” Adagio muttered, draining her glass, pausing to stare at it before setting it down and eying Sunset closely. “This’ll be more interesting, then: I know it’s probably too much to ask, because you’re so disgustingly selfless, but do you still hate me, by any chance?” Sunset tilted her head. “I don’t think I ever did.” “Have you ever considered trying to make me suffer? You’re awfully good at it." Adagio rolled her eyes. “Honestly, if I weren’t so short on admirers at the moment, I’d rather you did.” She flicked her head towards the crowd of patrons around them. “It’d make you infinitely better company than those pitiful little creatures.” “What do you mean by that?” “Sirens are creatures of passion and strife, little girl. I’d much prefer you bow down and worship me, but hate us, love us, it’s all food. These people, though? They don’t even realize what a special place this is. There’s nothing more anathema to a siren than obscurity, and that’s exactly what you gave me. Even Star Swirl didn’t vanquish us so thoroughly. You should be proud.” Sunset paused, probably to contemplate, and then nodded slowly. “And that really bothers you, doesn’t it?” “Bother me? Why should it? I can seethe and brood all I want and it won’t change a thing.” Adagio scoffed. She reached for her glass again, scowling at it when she remembered it was still empty. “Won’t stop me from trying, of course. But, after tonight, that won’t be any concern of yours, will it?” Another pause. “I don’t think anyone should have to be alone, not even you.” “One more thing we can agree on, then.” Adagio ran her fingers over the surface of her locket; against her will, blue and purple faces tried to claw their way into her thoughts, at least until she swatted them aside with a grimace. “But I think I’d done more than enough wallowing for one night an hour ago,” she said as she stood up. With a toss of her hair, she sauntered towards the door—catching herself on the nearest table when her heels didn’t work as they had when she’d walked in earlier. She took a moment to steady herself, because she was a siren and she was in control and the situation could damn well wait for her, and then looked back to Sunset. “Shall we go?” Without having to keep looking, she heard footsteps behind her and smiled. The walk was spent in silence. Adagio looked at just about everything that wasn’t Sunset. After a little while, if it weren’t for the arm linked with hers—Sunset had insisted after a particularly graceless stumble—Adagio could almost relax and pretend she was alone again. Until the parts where her vision started to blur a little, anyway. She bowed her head, lifting a hand to both keep her hair out of her face and massage her brow. Sunset brought her to a halt. “Everything okay?” Adagio grumbled to herself. “I just… drank more wine in an hour than I usually do in a week.” She shook her head, blinking quickly as she stared at her ground, trying to clear her vision. “Just a little woozy, that’s all.” Things blurred beneath her. “And I might be seeing double, but whatever. I’m fine, just… give me a—” There was a pause, and then a hand nudged her shoulder. “Hey, um… it’s not just you.” Adagio frowned, muttering as she gave a shake of her head, refocused, looked up and saw herself standing about ten feet in front of her. Her double looked back at her, holding up a slender index finger, eyes flitting between her and Sunset. “Am I missing something? I feel like I’m missing something.” Adagio blinked. How could she be over there…? She shook her head to try and get her eyes to behave themselves, but that made the world spin instead, and she nearly stumbled until Sunset caught her. A groan escaped her numb lips, and she peered out again, squinting through hanging hair at herself. No. Wait. Not herself. Her face was the same—whatever—but the hair was free and dangling, and the low-cut shirt— Adagio’s fingernails dug into her palm. A snarl resonated in her throat. The way that other harlot brazenly flaunted her bare neck, as if slyly aware—or proud—of having the flesh and body of a siren but not the soul… she even smiled, the rancid little pest, as if she didn’t have the decency to be ashamed of herself. The growl that had been trying to take Adagio over finally broke free. She ripped away from Sunset’s side and launched herself forward, nearly falling into her double, lashing her hand out to seize whatever fabric she could get a grip on. “Who are you?” The woman’s eyes went wide and she held up her hands. “H—hello there. My name’s Adagio Dazzle.” Initial alarm faded to a more subdued worry, and she crinkled her nose. “I don’t think we’ve met?” “What are you—” Hands gripped Adagio roughly by the shoulders, yanking her back. “Adagio…” Sunset’s voice had gone stern again, and her eyes were hard and stony when Adagio whipped her head to meet her gaze. “Back off, calm down.” Adagio scowled. “You want me to calm down? Get whatever that is out of my sight. Then we can talk about calming down.” “Sorry, still confused. Who are you, exactly?” her double inquired in a horridly innocent voice. Before Adagio could respond, Sunset looked to the woman with a decidedly more pleasant expression. “It’s a little complicated. Look, I’m really sorry about her, she’s—” “Got sooo many better things to do than whatever this is,” Adagio interjected, hooking her arm around Sunset’s and tugging. “Sunset, can we go?” Sunset drew in a long, tight breath. “One moment, please?” She turned to level another glare. “What’s going on, Adagio?” Curling her lip, Adagio flicked her head towards the imposter, although her eyes never left Sunset’s. “There’s a lump of clay pretending to be marble. It would be endearing if she weren’t so horrifically bad at it.” “I can hear you, you know.” “Sunset, be a good little girl and tell that pitiful little trollop that she can go find some mud to wallow in if she’d rather not listen to me?” Sunset pressed her fingers to her temples and looked to the other Adagio. “I’m really sorry about this.” The imposter held up her hands. “Of course, of course. She’s…” She paused, leaned in a little, and frowned. “Oh, she’s been drinking, hasn’t she? You know, I—I really don’t want to be a bother, and this clearly isn’t a good time for her.” How dare you was the first thing to come to Adagio’s mind, backlit by flames of embarrassment brought on by the validity of the judgment. “Mostly because you’re here,” she spat. “But I think it’d be a lovely time for you to—” “Okay, you know what?” Sunset dragged Adagio a few paces back, then planted her hands on her shoulders. “Just… wait right here. Give me two minutes with her, and then let’s get you back home, okay?” Adagio did her best to make sure both girls got an equal share of her most withering glare before she threw up her hands, scoffed and looked very far away from either of them. “Fine—fine. I was tired of listening to her anyway.” The hands on her shoulders came away shortly, and then all she heard of the other girls were quiet footsteps and scattered fragments of a conversation. Not that she paid attention to any of it—why should she? If she wanted to look herself, she’d find a mirror; no reason at all she’d have to settle for… Well, whatever that arrogant tart wanted to call herself. Whatever let her carry on prancing about, holding her head high, proclaiming to the world how she was something she very certainly wasn’t. And smiling, no less! If it weren’t for that smile, we’d have something in common. Adagio blinked, then shook her head. Stupid thoughts and feelings and—and all that drivel. Wasn’t the wine supposed to have stomped it all out for a little while? She should’ve known better than to trust fermented grapes. She looked down the sidewalk. Her home was just a little ways down, if she remembered correctly. Her bed was in her home, and had never seemed more inviting in recent memory. Footsteps behind her made her turn; Sunset’s face was neutral as she approached. “Okay. That’s all taken care of, for the moment, I hope. Let’s get you home.” Adagio rolled her eyes, then managed a step or two before her heels wobbled and she felt herself swaying again. She leaned, and Sunset’s arm was right there for her to steady herself with. They walked like that for a little while longer, again in silence. “Please tell me I’m never going to see her again,” Adagio muttered, after a while. The pause was an ill omen. With her free hand, Sunset rubbed at her nose. “Well… her interest’s piqued, and I think she deserves an explanation. She’s gonna text me tomorrow morning and… we’ll figure something out, but if you don’t want to be there—” “I don’t.” The words left Adagio’s mouth so quickly she barely realized she’d said them. Sunset nodded. “I thought as much. Do you—” she made a vague gesture, and her tone turned into a careful one “—want to tell me why you don’t like her, at least?” The way that the thought of that familiar stranger made Adagio’s blood boil made her eager to drop the topic. She glanced ahead down the sidewalk, quickening her pace slightly when she saw her house just ahead. “Oh, look at that, we’re here. It’s a dreadful shame, but we’ll have to finish this absolutely riveting talk some other time.” She unhooked herself from Sunset, fumbling through her pockets for her key as she teetered her way to the doorstep. Once she had a grip on the doorknob, she cracked a smirk. “On the bright side, we can both finally be out of each other’s hair.” Sunset chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I guess so.” She paused, mouth hanging open like she had something else to say, but she closed it without a word. Adagio cracked the door open. “I don’t think I’ll need any help getting to my bed.” “Ah. R—right. I’ll… leave you to it, then. Goodnight.” A pause, and then clomping footsteps. Adagio glanced over her shoulder, staring at Sunset’s back, then looked into the doorway. The silence of her desolate home hadn’t seemed quite so obtrusive earlier that day, but having been rid of it for a little while that evening made it seem ravenous and oppressive. Idly, she rubbed her locket again. The shards inside were quick to remind her that it would all pass, in time. Her sisters would come back to her, one day. When she went to step inside, her eyes dipped down to the floor—an envelope called out to them, light pink color leaping out from the dreary dim light. When she picked it up, turned it over, and saw the flowery, glitter-encrusted script inked on one side—and most importantly, the name neatly packed into the bottom corner—she froze. They were here. They were here, and they didn’t— Her shards might have protested, had she listened to them, but instead she flung the envelope down, spun around, and almost ran facefirst into the doorway in her haste to make it back out to the sidewalk. “Sunset?” she called, slowing down lest her footwear betray her. A little ways down the sidewalk, Sunset came to a halt, a frown on her face as she turned and hurried over. “What’s the matter?” “I—” Adagio hated that she started to speak, half-wished that she could stop herself, but she didn’t “—want to see you again.” The way Sunset’s brow furrowed shouldn’t have made Adagio’s pulse quicken, but it did. But then Sunset looked down and to the side, and her expression softened. “Any particular reason?” Because any sound at all is better than silence. She tossed her hair, hastily plastering a smirk onto her face. “Not much point in looking like this with nobody around to appreciate me, is there?” Sunset drew in a long sigh. Her lips quirked, first to one side and then to the other. “Tomorrow?” “Yes. Tomorrow.” “I could… probably find the time. What time were you—” “Whenever you can. I won’t be busy.” Sunset bit her lip, and Adagio’s heart thudded in her chest. “Okay,” Sunset said at last. “Yeah, I’ll just… stop by sometime in the morning?” The sense of relief Sunset’s response brought made Adagio acutely aware of how ridiculous her nervousness was in the first place. “I’ll look forward to it,” she said with a sweet a smile that she turned into a glower a few moments later, after they exchanged farewells and Sunset set off back down the sidewalk. When she’d gotten back inside her home, Adagio lingered for a little while in the doorway, then pushed the door closed, leaned against it, and let her shoulders droop. She held up the envelope again, and it hurt just as much the second time she read the words inked in flowing script on the paper. Happy Birthday, it read. She hadn’t ever heard those words used as a taunt before. She walked over to the dining room and threw the envelope onto the table. She’d see it again in the morning, eventually. Her bedroom was the next destination; after she’d slipped out of her clothes and under the covers, the wine finally did what it had promised to do, and hardly any thoughts at all went through her head as her eyelids drooped shut.