Location. We are in a palace of redwood and bamboo within an isolated village deep in the mountains. Two mares lounge underneath a large willow tree on a sunny spring day.
Cue. Spotlight on Sable Spirit and Mistmane.
“We begin our story as any other, with our two leading ladies resting under the shade of the willow, away from the midafternoon sun.”
Sable Spirit rubs her head with a hoof. “My goodness, I must be feeling more under the weather than I thought.”
“Are you alright?” Mistmane asks. “Is it a migraine?”
“Potentially. It is the only explanation I could muster as to why I would be hearing such strange voices in my head.”
“What kind of strange voices?”
“One of these maidens, Sable Spirit, was hearing my sensual voice narrating her life. She was actually not concerned about having a potential headache, as she felt none of the usual aches. Rather, she worried that I was going to talk about Sable’s infatuation with Mistmane, and that her crush could also hear this narration.”
“Nothing important!” Sable yells. She turns her head away to hide the colour in her cheeks.
“Are you sure?” Mistmane asks.
“Yes, Misty, I’m sure.” Sable takes a moment to collect herself. “Now, let us return to the topic of—”
Cue. Second Spotlight on Stage Left. Guard #1 enters.
“What is with these strange lights?” Sable mutters.
“What lights?” Mistmane asks.
“The— nevermind. It’s probably nothing.”
The guard draws up just short of the two mares. The second light source tracks him in the bright morning light. He salutes. “Empress, I have grave news!”
“She didn’t know it yet, but this news would change the course of Sable’s life forevermore.”
“We’ll see about that,” Sable mutters, then louder, “what happened?”
“There are reports of a strange disease in some of the nearby settlements. Refugees are coming here in droves seeking shelter from it,” Guard #1 reports.
“Oh goodness. I hope we have enough room for them,” Mistmane says.
“How gracious of you, Lady Mistmane,” Guard #1 replies.
“Little did they know that the disease was a plague so infectious that to allow even a single refugee into the village would kill everyone inside.”
“What?!” Sable shouts.
“Sable, what’s wrong?” Mistmane asks, startled by her outburst.
Guard #1 readies his weapon immediately. He is on high alert. “Empress, where is the assailant?!”
“There is no assailant, I-I was just… startled… by the direness of the situation,” Sable says.
“Ah, yes.” Guard #1 eases back into his previous position. “It is truly an unfortunate circumstance.”
“I agree.” Mistmane says. “When will they arrive so that we can tend to them as soon as possible?”
“They should be here in a day’s time,” Guard #1 replies.
“With knowledge of the disaster, Sable acted decisively.”
“We cannot allow them entry!” Sable cries. She covers her mouth with her hooves, shocked by the words that came out.
“Why not?” Mistmane asks. “They are ill. We can help them.”
“Sable reiterated her stance.”
“They cannot come in. It could put everyone here at risk,” Sable explains.
“But if we do nothing, they will die!” Mistmane exclaims.
“Sable did not care about these outsiders. Only her own people.”
“As the Empress, I have a duty to my people, and these refugees pose too much of a risk,” Sable says. She internally rages against her inability to stop the words that flow from her. “We will not let them in.”
“Silence filled the space as Mistmane looks at Sable with disappointment and the Guard with disgust.”
Sable flinches.
“... Very well, Empress.” Guard #1 salutes. “I will relay your command.”
Cue. Guard #1 exits Stage Left. Guard #1 Spotlight off.
“I’m disappointed, Sable,” Mistmane says. She stands up.
“I need to think of—”
“Your people.” Mistmane hangs her head. “I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”
Cue. Mistmane exits Stage Right.
“Sable feels immeasurable guilt at the choice she made.”
“That wasn’t my choice!” Sable yells.
“But, she stands resolute about her decision. The village must survive.”
Sable tries to stand with the intention of reversing her decision, but finds herself forced to lay where she is by some unknown means.
“News of her command spreads quickly through the village.”
Cue. Bring in Set: Village #1, Village #2, and Village #3. Old Mare and Old Stallion enter on Set Village #1. Young Guard and Old Guard enter on Set Village #2. Cute Foal, Loud Foal, and Quiet Foal enter on Set Village #3. Turn on Stage Lights. Keep Spotlight focused on Sable.
“How is this possible?!” Sable exclaims. “I’m in the palace. How—”
“I knew she was no good,” the Old Mare says, unknowingly interrupting the Empress. “She’s a shame to the royal line.”
“That Sable was a mistake,” the Old Stallion says. “Such a cruel Empress, unlike her mother.”
“Excuse me?!” Sable cries.
“I wish we had someone else as our ruler,” Young Guard says. “Someone kinder than our despot of an Empress.”
“Keep it quiet, idiot!” Older Guard punches his companion on the shoulder. “She might hear you.”
“Too late for that,” Sable mutters.
“Come on. You gotta admit that there’s a better option than her.” Young Guard says.
“We already have an Empress to serve, we do not need another,” Old Guard retorts.
“Really?” Young Guard questions. “There’s no one else you can think of that is better suited to the throne?”
“Well,” Old Guard looks askance. “If I had to choose someone else to lead us…”
“... It would be the prettiest mare in the village!” Cute Foal continues.
“The smartest and nicest mare!” Loud Foal exclaims.
“Someone who can be trusted over our big meanie Empress,” Quiet Foal agrees.
“Sable feels her heart sink as she guesses to whom they speak of.”
“I don’t need some random voice to tell me what I already know,” Sable says, bitterness in her voice. “It’s been the same since I was young.”
“She already knows she’s inferior to her friend.”
Sable scowls.
“If only Mistmane could be our Empress,” Old Mare says.
“Now that mare follows our values,” Old Stallion says.
“It’s clear who should be on the throne. A beautiful soul, not a gnarled wretch.”
A growl emanates from Sable’s throat.
“Mistmane would lead us right,” Young Guard says.
“She is the better option,” Old Guard agrees.
“Sable could never measure up to the greatness of her secret crush.”
Rage builds inside of Sable, threatening to spill over.
“I want Mistmane to be our Empress,” Cute Foal announces.
“Me too!” Loud Foal adds.
“Definitely not that icky Sable,” Quiet Foal adds.
“Sable is incapable. Sable cannot compete. Sable is cruel.”
“What a shame!”
“A disgrace!”
“A failure!”
“Incompetent!”
“Worthless!”
“A—”
“Enough!” Sable screams.
Cue. Turn off Stage Lights. Leave Spotlight on Sable.
“The unloved Empress collapses to the ground. She cries at the unfairness of it all. She is nothing compared to Mistmane.”
“Leave me be!” Sable cries. Wet tears blur her eyes. “This is all your fault!”
“She blames fate.”
“I blame you!” Sable shouts.
“But she has only her own mediocrity to blame.”
Sable howls in anguish. It embodies her emotions, her hidden pain, her unrequited love. She falls to the ground. She curls in on herself.
“So be it.”
Her crying subsides.
“She is the Empress.”
She gets up. The tears are gone.
“What is a mere Peasant going to do to her?”
Sable stares off into the distance. She feels an unseen audience waiting on her next action. A bevy of eyes boring into her, demanding that they be entertained. She will oblige.
“With jealousy in her heart, it was only a matter of time before the ugliness reared its head.”
She has no choice in the matter.