The still young rays of a rising sun streamed through an open window on the upper floor of a relatively small ancient building, casting a harsh yellowish light on the silhouette of a pony lying awkwardly in a nest of blankets and other fabrics. Despite the bright sunlight, Twilight dreamily peered out from her perch of colorful material to look out the window. You could hear the chirping of some birds nesting on the roofs of the surrounding houses. A long, soft yawn filled the room as Twilight stretched her limbs in all directions.
Once again, she stayed up late into the night, reading books on various subjects and taking notes in bed. The evidence for this was scattered all over the room. Half-written scrolls and broken quills lay scattered around her figure, tangled on the floor and untidily in her bed. Numerous inkblots stained her crumpled sheets and told her she had fallen asleep again while writing. The inkblots meant she would have to sneak into the laundry room again to scrub them out of the fabric.
"Great," she murmured, annoyed, to no one in particular.
Well, that was simply the price of studying late into the night. But, spoken in her defense, she had no other choice but to stay up late, at least if she wanted the opportunity to read any books without getting in trouble.
It wasn't that reading was forbidden in general, but it would raise the question of where she got all the books. As a child from an orphanage in the city's poor district, even the ability to read was unusual. If someone caught her holding a book in her hoofs, even more, a new and well-cared-for one, she would have to explain how she could put her hooves on it and where it came from. If the truth came out about how she snuck over the stone wall in the fourth adjacent district to steal from the old closed library there, her days of late-night reading would be over very quickly. It's actually a miracle that Twilight discovered her passion for reading and learning at all. People who are so poor only sometimes have the opportunity to look into a book. Here they try to prepare the foals for more "practical" work and regard books as a pure luxury.
She shook her sleepy head awake and slowly unraveled herself from the self-made nest of old rags and blankets she seemed to have made provisionally in her sleep. She was careful about this in an ongoing attempt to remain quiet and not wake anyone in the house, but as she stretched extensively and looked out the window at the sky, a sudden sense of panic spread through her mind. If she remembered the date correctly and the sun was already this high in the sky, that could mean only one thing—oh no. She had actually overslept.
Without another thought to remain as quiet and unnoticed as possible, as she had tried to do earlier, she raced through her admittedly small and sporadically furnished room, tucking all sorts of empty scrolls and books hidden under the bed into a small canvas bag. Hopefully, no one at the orphanage would dare try to stop her and look in there.
Next, she reached onto the small wooden stool beside the bed and grabbed her carefully folded clothes, which she had put there the day before. A pair of tight black pants, made of a material unknown to her, and a lavender shirt, apparently made of linen. In a ridiculous pose, she hastily pulled the pants over her hind legs, the loose-fitting shirt over her Unkempt hair, and finally, over her up-to-now naked body. It was not unusual to walk around naked. Instead, the opposite was true. However, it had become customary to dress accordingly on special occasions to clarify that it was not commonplace.
Twilight always felt like someone else when she put on her clothes. Like someone who didn't belong in a place like this orphanage. Like she was someone important. A thought that others would probably smile at best and scold at worst. Reality always caught up with Twilight in the end. She was no one special. These few rags were nothing more than a mask. A lie you put on to make others feel less bad for you in their presence.
Her clothes were among the End Twi's most valuable possessions, at least in pure monetary value. Nobles always see this as an excellent opportunity to polish their image thoroughly and donate their no longer usable possessions to poor orphanages in the region. As it happens, every noble in the kingdom thinks their old, worn-out clothes would make a perfect donation.
And so it came to pass that every orphan in the orphanage, and probably in every other similar institution, was furnished with more or less fine textiles. Those nobles had no books or anything like that to give away was, of course, obvious. Who needs something like education?
As soon as Twilight was ready and had gathered all her necessary utensils, she vigorously tugged open the decayed wooden door of her room. The faint morning light streaming through the narrow windows of the upstairs hallway cast long shadows in her path as she stormed down the monotonous corridor. Each of her steps made the dusty floor creak as she reached the stairs in record time.
When she ran down the steps, skipping every other one in an ongoing attempt to move faster, she nearly toppled over due to her admittedly small stature. From a distance, the scene must have looked ridiculous. With each of her jumps, the old wood of the stairs protested with an almost unbelievably loud creaking, as if the steps wanted to draw extra attention to their dilapidated state.
Swirls of dust danced in the rays of light that crept in through the broken windows as Twilight continued her way down.
The warm morning light that poured in through the large gates at the end of the hallway drew bright paths across the cool stone floor, making the otherwise plain walls shine in an unusual glow for the facility.
Unfortunately, once on the first floor, she didn't get twenty feet before a rough and familiar hoof grabbed her by the shoulder and slowed her down. "Wow, what's the hurry today? Otherwise, at least in the morning, we'll be spared from you," an arrogant voice next to her mocked.
Twilight's muscles tensed instinctively, and she whirled around to face the source of the mocking voice, only to meet the cheeky grin of Silver Gleam. He was towering over her, his broad shoulders blocking the light. He was three years older and at least a head taller than her. The difference in stature was only emphasized by the fact that he was solidly built.
"Dressed to impress, aren't we? It looks as though you have something important going on," he said, stepping closer to her with a confidence that filled the space around them. His unwavering grin never left his face.
She took a hesitant step back, deliberately increasing the distance between them, and put on a tentative brave grin, but the subtle quiver in her gaze pierced through the facade. "Oh, nothing really important," she stammered, barely hiding her urge to flee. "I just wanted to take a walk. I'm already leaving," she added, her voice trailing off, "and won't bother you further." She spun around, her hooves barely touching the ground, as she attempted to exit the foyer as quickly as possible and resume her hurried sprint through the city to her destination. Yet, before Twilight could start running, she was grabbed roughly by the same hoof on her shoulder, pulling her back with force. Her heart sank as the realization hit her; there was no easy escape from this confrontation.
Hold on a minute," he started. "Believe me, nothing would make me happier than for you to go away for a while." he let his words hang in the air as if it was a complete statement. "But come on, you're not seriously going to tell me you got all dressed up just for a little walk," his grin widened even more. "Besides, don't think I didn't notice the bag you're clutching so tightly. So, what are you hiding?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Twilight felt a knot form in her stomach, her grip on the bag tightening reflexively. She fought to keep her expression neutral, aware that any sign of weakness would only encourage him.
"I... uh..." Twilight stammered. Her voice barely escaped her throat. Her breath hitched, and her heart hammered incessantly in her chest, echoing like thunder in her ears. She knew what he was up to. Silver didn't like her. That was no secret. He was always looking for a way to make her day difficult. Truth be told, Twilight didn't care what he or anyone else thought of her. She had long ago dismissed the significance of others' opinions, focusing on the worlds hidden within her treasured books, far from the scornful glances and whispered judgments.
In the eyes of the others, she was already written off anyway. She was an anomaly. This one dissonant note that didn't fit in with the rest of the harmonic symphony. The freak. A label forced upon her by those who couldn't or wouldn't look past her quirks. But who needs the recognition of others? They only distracted from the essentials anyway.
However, Silver Gleam's mockery cut deeper and proved far more invasive. He had taken every opportunity to make her six years in the orphanage as unbearable as possible. In one instance, Twilight ran through the echoing corridors, her heart pounding as Silver's menacing hoofsteps caught up with her. The chase ended at the old laundry room, where he mercilessly plunged her into a vat of icy, soapy water, holding her down until her frantic struggles ceased.
On another grim occasion, Silver confined her to a suffocating closet, its air thick with mustiness, leaving her imprisoned for the whole night. Or the other time, he had chased her onto the orphanage's roof, where he threatened to push her off. Silver probably would have done it too, but it had occurred to even a brute like Silver that he wouldn't get away with it unnoticed and had left it at, scaring Twilight with the prospect of the fall. He was never punished for his numerous misdeeds.
The house's matron was seldom seen and didn't care much for her protégés anyway, so Silver had been given many opportunities to bully Twilight in any way he could. But probably the cruelest thing he had ever done to her occurred a few months ago on her sixth birthday.
Twilight looked up at Silver. The disgustingly twisted grin on his face resembled a caricature. She could feel the bile rising slowly within her. His gaze and the proud manner in which he towered over her stirred up some painful memories—memories she had tried to bury deep in her thoughts and forget.
As she closed her eyes, the harsh reality of the orphanage's foyer faded, replaced with the scene from a small wooden chamber in which Twilight was hiding.