//------------------------------//
// Improvisation 
// Story: The Performance 
// by ScarletRibbon 
//------------------------------//

Octavia wrinkled her nose as the sterile smell of anti-septics invaded her nose—that was the worst part about coming here. Right behind it? The bright lights and featureless, white walls. The end result was an atmosphere that was nothing short of oppressive.
She hadn't meant to stop walking, but her thoughts had gotten lost in the misery of this place. "Come along, Octavia," her mother's voice called. Octavia scrambled to catch up, pulling her cello case along behind her as her mother lead the way to an information desk.
"Good evening," the receptionist greeted them, and then his gaze fell to Octavia, and the case she was lugging with her that dwarfed her in size. He smiled warmly. "I suppose you're here for the Hearth's Warming Eve strings quartet?"
Octavia blushed. "Y-yes, I am... sir." The receptionist and Octavia's mother both shared a light-heated chuckle.
"Head on down that hallway there," he said, pointing, "and then take the third right, and then the first left. If you get confused, just ask any of the nurses."
"Thank you, sir," Octavia's mother said, bowing slightly. Octavia repeated her mother's actions, before they both turned to follow the instructions they were given.
Those directions led to a small chapel that was far friendlier than the rest of the hospital. The walls in here were paneled with faux wood slats and the lights were a warm yellow instead of the searing white elsewhere, and there was an elevated podium where four music stands stood like islands of black amongst the earthen tones. Several chairs were positioned around the chapel. Although most of them were empty, several patients—many with various medical devices attached to them—sat patiently in their seats. Octavia also noticed a couple of nurses who seemed to take a break as well.
Octavia stepped up to the podium and started getting her instrument ready. A classmate of Octavia's was already there, tuning his violin. There wasn't really a broad plan in place for this holiday performance at the Ponyville General Hospital—it was a charity event, done spur-of-the-moment—so Octavia simply listened as he tuned his instrument and tuned her cello to his strings as well.
Once satisfied with the tuning, she placed a small booklet on the stand in front of her. The songs for this event were just basic arrangements of traditional songs—ones that Octavia might be able play by ear, if needed—but the small book was still useful.
The two remaining performers had yet to arrive, so Octavia looked out at the seated ponies. An older unicorn rocked softly in her chair in the back corner, her menagerie of medical devices swaying with her. Octavia's own mother was sat next to a young pegasus with a both a broken wing and a broken leg—surely the result of a horrible accident gone wrong.
But Octavia's eyes were instead drawn to a younger unicorn filly—around Octavia's own age—sitting completely alone and fidgeting impatiently. Her white coat and blue mane stood out in the soft light, but it was her striking red eyes that were the main distraction—and Octavia's heart began to flutter in her chest.
Time passed in a relatively awkward silence as she tried not to stare at the filly. The viola player and the other violinist were still missing, even though the event's start time was rapidly approaching. Some patients began fussing.
In a fit of frustration and desperate to stop being distracted by the filly, Octavia drew the bow across her strings slowly. Octavia didn't know what she was playing, but she didn't care. Another note sang out, followed by some simple chords. It slowly took on a familiar Hearth's Warming melody.
Octavia wasn't normally fond of improvisation, but something about the moment suddenly began to speak to her. More and more, Octavia played with a creative spark that mixed up the old, traditional song with a much more modern feel. Though it was familiar, it was distinctly different—a song that wasn't written anywhere except her heart. The song grew and took a life of its own as the tempo rose; the melody gave call and response, swelling and ebbing.
At a certain point, the violinist joined in, playing a more rote, traditional take on the melody, but Octavia barely paid it any mind—she simply played. In her heart, she slowly realized she wasn't playing for herself, and she wasn't playing for the audience. She was playing for that other filly.  The one who seemed to be completely alone. The flash of light coming from her flank didn't even register with her as she continued her vivacious performance.