//------------------------------// // Future // Story: See Her // by Comma Typer //------------------------------// "It's terrifying, isn't it?" speaks the vortex of possibilities, bubbles of every moment scrolling through the fabric of space and all time—it's his best guess, and it speaks in her voice. Well-versed in everything arcane, Goldcap must be, the self-styled master of the universe, hiding in the forest. Way out of his league. (Anywhere in the real world but here!) Floating in the void, she steps aside so he can see the everything-ness whooshing by him and her and everything else, all that might've been and may ever be gifted, colored in grins and cheers, served in drinks and joyous tears, cookies and milk devoured at the table and the bedsides of united or broken families (or singles when they're able), across skyscrapers wielding hovercars and ancient grazing wheat fields. Time is her empire: she once went googly-eyed after him, what if Celestia or Luna fell in love with him and his slightly above-average looks. "So be with me," asks the fake princess. She lays out the terms: to be in each other's forelegs, an eternity of outpouring love on one another—"And your mother, too. For her, I can give..." A dizzying list of numerous bets all won with the help of future knowledge, scrying into the very desires of her friends and strangers around the high-rises, given jewels and complexes and prepared rooms. Servants will burst from the doors, arrive at her beck and call. Prince and Princess to rule the galaxy, the universe beyond, with Mom as Regent. The beauty of it all, he admits, tantalizes him. The crackle of a burning twig catches Feather from a shaking orb, like a crystal ball. Within, an inferno licks every dry tree into ash, wrappers and ribbons disintegrating into scorching dust. Ash falls where presents are still given, scant few boxes thrown at scrawny hooves if they aren't fleeing from collapsing homes and sinking continents. Back against the fire, the silhouettes are two. The connection is made. Guilty of so much already. His hypothetical criminal record stands to be as long as death. "N-no!" She can only turn. Once-graceful eyes are framed by her messy mane. "What do you mean no?!" To be trapped here for who knows how long. Mother can't be reached. Moments float everywhere, colored by autumn, the leaves burn, they are dying. The fire keeps growing, consuming! All his fault... how stupid he was for saying his intentions out loud on that cursed lake! Curses to this magical prison! Maybe Goldcap will tire out, yes... no thanks to a poor misguided love for Mom—love or guilt at not talking back, doing nothing more than a token reply? Just a response for not having any for the past year or more? "If it means... I stay here, forever... I-I don't know... I just..." The perfect gift. Beauty in the simple things, of saying sappy words—he loves the sappy; Sugar Belle certainly appreciated some of it in his pony idol phase before it turned overbearing. A shady mare from the woods bearing only ill-will should've given him wings just to fly away, never for her to see him again. Whenever the world's on the line, the Elements have always done better, proactive. His rescue plan when Princess Twilight visited Our Town was to beeline away from Starlight when she was outed. Double Diamond and the other more upstanding members kept kept the search on for Starlight (how cowardly it is to stay home). "I... I won't let you use my mother"—(Goldcap may just use her as another way to worm into your heart)—"or my friends"—(yet another list of ponies for her to hang onto, hang ten to kill them)—"or my town or anyone"—(more and more piled upon, just shut up, at least woo her away from the idea—)—"I just know—" "You'll do what's right and yada-yada-yada!" She rears her ugly head, old and young, wrinkles and youth shifting in and out. Smells like burning wood. "If you can't have her, none of us will! I'll burn it all! And you will... you will just... I will hunt her down, then everyone else in that thing you call a town! Then it will just be me! I am here! I've ascended! I am risen! Why won't you just... be with me?!" I'm a lover, not a fighter. I'm a lover. Can't even talk to mares right. Loneliness is more powerful than social awkwardness mixed with a great jawline. Starlight and Goldcap make for two mares today he'd fallen for, mares that went on the verge of the apocalypse. A lover loves. Not the kissing type, not the type where white flowers and white gowns and white suits say, "I do." Do the stupid thing and reach out. He takes a step forward to ask what's wrong. What he can fix. Huts chopped up to the scent of roasted, well-done earth. Villages divided, dirt roads chronicled in pieces/saws/jigsaws for the gold-capped novice/newness to seeing/foresight. A concrete foundation: a lake, an ocean: it's ice where they reminisce, back at home, back with three. A radiant, shaggy fourth stands by. Two silhouettes wrap each other in one's own naïveté/anxiety, tied up with extreme appeal. Turn away. Please turn away. How disgusting, so degenerating, demeaning to be on that level. Can't hold a candle to her, this blank-forehead face! By her power, she shall rise to the heavens! Close the doors, so many doors of the frozen lake. One speaks of the remnants of a family not her own, so she closes her eyes. Slams it shut, slams it shut, slams it shut, slams it shut slams it sh