//------------------------------// // 1 - Pink Peonies // Story: FiO: Forget Me Not // by AmberGlowup //------------------------------// The sunrise over the distant silhouette of Celestia’s castle is my favorite part of Canterlot. It’s rays peeking over the spires to gently touch the city below with a heavenly glow. It’s warm today and my dark grey coat shivers comfortably in the light of the window.  I don’t realize I’m smiling until a light knocking at my door makes me frown. A mare with frizzy pink hair and a nurse’s white smock nudges the door open to peek inside.  “Oh good, you’re awake!” she smiles heartily and invites herself the rest of the way in. The nurse’s horn glows a light pink as she hovers a square, metal tray in front of me. Instead of holding my usual routine of herbal supplements and breakfast, there is a single piece of paper and a quill. “Discharge Form” is in bold letters at the top.  “Ready to make your way back into society?” the nurse asks, a bit too chipper for how nervous I’m suddenly feeling.  I knew this time would eventually come. I can’t stay in the hospital forever, even if my memory never returns in full. I’ve only been here a week, but it feels like an eternity, like I’ve never lived past these sterile walls and iodine smell. It is the only thing familiar, and now I have to leave and face the real world. No one to help me. “Don’t fret, little one.” comes a voice from the still open doorway. Princess Celestia steps through with a soft smile. “You are not alone.”  It’s like she can read my mind.  The nurse bows, “Good morning, Princess!”  “Princess Celestia,” I all but gasp. “W-what are you doing here?” With me, of all ponies? The alicorn fills the small room with a natural glow that is both warm and pleasant, a comforting aura that serves to calm my nerves. “If we might have a moment alone?” The princess asks politely. The nurse quickly leaves, placing the discharge form on the window sill.  There’s silence for a moment, and I feel the need to break it before it becomes awkward, but what can I say? Why is she here? Does she have me confused with somepony else, a pony more important? Is she here because of a past that I can’t remember?  Am I in trouble?? “I can see the gears working overtime in your head,” Princess Celestia chuckles. It’s a soft and perfect sound. “I’m sure you must have a million questions as to why I am here, visiting with you. Please.” She gestures with a hoof to the padded seats on either side of a small coffee table.  I often use the table to eat barley chips I coerce from the snack machines down the hall while working on remastering my horn magic. There is still a bit of a crumb mess from where I stacked last night’s chip tower using telekinesis, reaching my highest goal yet.  And now the Princess of the Sun is resting a hoof there. Goddess, my room is a mess. It didn’t seem like such a problem before since I never received any visitors apart from the working nurses.  “Princess Celestia-” “Please, just ‘Celestia’ is fine.”  “Celestia.” I give a bow, remembering my manners. It makes the princess chuckle again. My cheeks burn and I quickly sit down. “I’ll admit, I really only have one question.” “Of course.”  “Why are you here? Talking to me, I mean.” I pause. “Have I done something wrong? I can’t remember anything.”  “Oh, my little pony,” Celestia regards me with a small frown. “There is nothing you should fear from my visit with you today. I regard all of my subjects as members of a large family, and as such, I have a deep love for each and every pony. My source of happiness comes from making all of you happy.  “I know of your condition.”  My ears perk up from where they were laying back, flat against my mane. I ask, “Really? Can you cure me?”  She shakes her head, “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.”  My heart sinks. I know it’s too good to be true. If even the Great Celestia can’t heal me then how can I ever hope to be whole again? A hoof lifts my chin and I look up to see Celestia’s pink eyes gazing down at me. An intense wave of emotion rolls through me, threatening to overflow my eyes with tears. I hold back the sob as best as I can, with minimal success. My throat aches, my chest pounding with a nervous, heavy heart. All my fears since awakening to a mind blank of who I am resurfaces with a vengeance.  “Don’t despair, little one.” She speaks softly, like what I imagine an angel would sound like. That’s kind of what she is, right? “I think that I may have a solution to your ailment yet. Please, tell me what you can about what you remember.”  I swallow and take a deep breath. I start:  It’s soft. And warm. Wherever I am, it’s a pleasant place. I could probably stay here forever, in this dark cocoon of comfort and sleep. I don’t want to wake up, but I can feel a restlessness beginning to stir my body into awareness. Thoughts stream themselves into coherency and  questions begin to pop up in my consciousness. Where am I?  My eyelids flutter open to a room dim with natural light. I’m in a bed, nothing fancy, with a soft, cotton blanket pulled over the rest of my body. My hands, no . . . my hooves are resting atop the blanket over a round lump that I assume is my belly.  It is strange, this awakening in what feels to be an alien body. I am covered in a light dusting of dark fur all over, providing a natural coat of protection and warmth. I have large ears that swivel independently as new sounds greet me.  A blue jay tweets at the window where an impressive cityscape can be seen. Muffled voices pass behind a door on the other side of the room until: “Knock knock!” a blue pegasus opens the door and comes inside. A part of my brain supplies that his white jacket and the stethoscope hanging around his neck means he’s a doctor. Somepony who can help me.  “How are we feeling?” He asks and I honestly don’t know how to answer. I must stare at him blankly for too long as he says, “Hmm, I was afraid this might be the case. Young mare, can you tell me your name?”  He procured a clipboard and quill from his jacket pocket, ready to begin taking notes. I didn’t have anything for him to write down. Slowly, I shake my head, carefully watching him.  He frowned, “Can you speak?”  I open my mouth, but end up coughing, realizing that my throat is very dry. I’m given a glass of water, which I try balancing in my hoof as I drink. It’s very difficult and feels anything but natural.  “Dear me,” the doctor mutters. “This is worse than I imagined.”  Finally, I croak out a few hoarse words, “Where am I?”  “St. MercyHoof Hospital,” is the answer. For some reason this makes sense to me, given that I’m speaking to a doctor, after all. An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me think that I’ve never been to a hospital before.    “I’m not entirely sure what has happened to put you in this condition - as you just appeared at our doorstep early this morning with no external injuries - but magical inspection shows signs of acute mental trauma. The kind associated with memory loss.”  Memory loss? Is that why nothing comes forth when I try to conjure my name? My image? My past?  Something cold and suffocating runs through my body and I shiver. It hurts. My breaths come quick and short but I’m not getting any air, my lungs are burning. My head swims and I can’t focus on a single thing in front of me.  You’re having a panic attack, my brain tells me.  Suddenly, another pony is obscuring my vision. She’s wearing a white uniform as well but also has a hat on with a red cross in the center. She braces my head with one hoof and places a hot mug of an herbal-smelling liquid under my nose. I breath in the steam and it helps. It helps a lot.  When I am calm, they ask me questions. I don’t have answers. I don’t know where I came from, who I am, or what I was meant to do.  The mare I see in the mirror every morning is a stranger to me. She has a maroon mane with yellow and orange highlights. Her tail is bobbed and grows upward, like a flame. Orange freckles scatter across the bridge of her muzzle like stars in the night that is her dark grey coat. The cutie mark of a heart in the flame of a white candle sits proudly on her flank.  How did I get it? What does it mean?  WHO AM I?  They say that my memories should start coming back slowly as time goes on. Almost a week has passed. I still do not know my name.  Celestia listens intently with an unreadable expression. When I finish, she is silent for a moment longer.  I sheepishly hoof at the edge of the table, where the polish is wearing off from years of use. I say, "I can't remember anything. I feel like a ghost in my own body; like I'm possessing a vessel that's not really mine. Everything is strange and they keep telling me that it will get better, but it's not. I feel lost."  “Your past is an integral part of who you are, and without such, I am not surprised that it’s inhibited your ability to move forward and become who you are supposed to be. Memories dictate our personality, or rather, how we remember things does. What we like, dislike. The ponies who’ve left their mark, good and bad. The choices you’ve made that you are proud of and the ones that keep you up at night with regret. Our past will always direct our future.” For the first time since I woke, I felt like somepony truly understands the mess of emotions I’m drowning in.  Celestia stands up and rests a hoof on the windowsill, gazing over the modest view of Canterlot. It’s nothing compared to what she must see every time she looks out her own windows.  She picks out each scrambled bit of thought and feeling that is tangled together in my mind and pieces them together with the words, “You have no past and so you feel as though you have no future either.”  Her gaze turns to me, as if I am more spectacular than the midmorning sun.  I shrug lamely, eyes dropping to the floor at her hooves, “I don’t know who I am supposed to be.”  “You will find out in time, of this, I am sure,” I can hear the smile in her voice. I wish I had her confidence. “The mind is a very tricky trap - you’ll find that it is much better at holding onto things than you think. Sometimes, it just locks them away until we are ready.”  The doctor had said something similar, that my brain was possibly protecting me from painful memories. Ponies are not emotionally equipped to deal with some of the more traumatic events that sometimes befall them - many cases of selective memory loss has been reported in the past - but what would cause a pony to lose their entire self?  Celestia’s light pink magic glows as she picks up the quill left by the nurse. She scratches something on the top of the discharge form.  “Your life will begin anew as you make new memories. Friends, lovers, ex-boyfriends,” she chuckles and I blush. “Happiness is not hard found when you go searching for it. I am confident that you are ready to start again.”    With a bow and a final smile, Princess Celestia leaves and I am alone in my room again. I look at the paper in the light of the window and a rush of warmth, confusion, and excitement consumes me as I see the name the princess wrote.  Amber Glow.  This is me.