Apple Bloom left the attic, rubbing her head.
“Ow… Applejack, this yours?” she said, hefting the guitar.
“Hm?”
“Ah moved some stuff for Granny, it fell and hit me –”
Applejack gasped. “Mom’s old guitar!”
Silence breathed…
“She used to play that to me every evenin’.” Applejack placed her hat over her heart. “Such sweet music.”
“So why’d you hide it away?”
“Ah didn’t! Mom did.”
Apple Bloom strummed a few cords. “Mom?”
“See, she only used to play for family. One day, Granny reckoned Mom could make it big as a professional country singer. Mom started OK, but then… she got some… uncompromisin’ honesty.”
“Bad review?”
Applejack squirmed. “Abandoned music overnight. High-standards industry, music.”
Apple Bloom strummed it. “Then why’s this still tuned?”
“Apple Bloom!”
“Well, someone still cared for this. Who?”
“Put it back! It hurts, rememberin’.”
“Oh. S-s-sorry.”
Applejack whispered, “Ah’m sorry, Mom. Ah only meant professionally…”