Lyra stared blankly at the contraption before her. It was simple, painfully so, yet its creation had consumed several moments of her life. Now that she thought about it, it was funny how those moments would be condensed into a few seconds; how the object was to metamorphose into an obsolete, consumed remnant of an idea. The device itself was separated in two components; one which could be obtained without any form of difficulty and had barely any value, and the precious abomination she had created, the strangely enchanting beverage devised long ago by ponyfolk, far before Equestria was created.
The contemptible portion was not truly so, as long as it remained by itself. It was only sordid when compared to the sweet perfection of the paramount brew. Curved, white, polished walls gave the feeling of impenetrability, a sort of purity which would not be corrupted easily. An impenetrable prison of sorts, it only existed to contain liquids, to regulate all fluids’ obnoxious desire to expand and escape pony grasp. Various liquids were concocted for specific purposes. The irksome entities’ aspiration for freedom needn't interfere with the use applied to them. But was that right? Wasn't locking them into a path of servitude just as unethical as doing the same to ponies? Or was being enslaved just a part of their nature? Now that she considered it, didn't cutie marks lock ponies into predestined paths? Didn't they make ponies eternal victims to their destiny?
You’re drifting off, Lyra thought to herself. Just lie down, drink your hot chocolate, and drop the unsettling thoughts.
She decided to redirect her attention towards the second quantum. The matchless mix, the boisterous beverage, the entity that had consumed a portion of her life now stood before her, waiting patiently for its demise, yet impeding it. It was a thick, brown liquid that reflected light while distorting it in a particular manner. Meager bubbles clustered near the edge of the pure white barrier, small variations in the repetitive, dull color of the drink itself. Gentle wafts of steam rose from the elegant mix, while a delicious, creamy smell enveloped the air. The fragrance was faint and delicate, lulling her snout like a lullaby. It was bitter and sweet simultaneously, yet it most certainly wasn't bittersweet.
The smell would have been delightful under most circumstances, yet within the aquamarine mare’s situation, it was a merciless mockery. The brewery’s most treasured attribute was its taste, its smell being merely a pallid doppelganger, a faint shadow of the true paragon. It could not be enjoyed yet, however, because of the scorching heat the mischievous rascal stubbornly held on to. To Lyra, though, it did not seem like mischief after longer swathes of time had passed. It seemed like a rebellion, an impulse to survive that would shortly be disregarded, a defense mechanism that would not last forever. She was well aware of the fact that the brewage was not sentient, but she was unable to stop entertaining those sorts of thoughts. Lyra felt as if nothing she knew could be indubitable. If her drink was in possession of the gift of life, did she have the right to take it from it? She did create it, after all, for the sole purpose of consuming its vitality. The object, even if it was cognizant, was fated to be devoured, an invisible cutie mark emblazoned in it since the very idea of its birth emerged.
But wait, Lyra thought to herself, no longer attempting to distance her mind from her curious philosophical thoughts. Aren't cutie marks supposed to represent talent instead of fate? Why would they ever be something negative to a society, be it pony or not? She was right, of course, or at least partly so. But she decided to contemplate the issue through a peculiar filter. Don’t your talents lock you into the path your life follows? This, you obviously know, would be a silly and naïve question to ask in human society. “Of course not. You grow, go to college, study, and unless you’re talented at sitting in a cubicle, your talents don’t determine your line of work. They might possibly determine what you do in your free time, which is far scarcer.” Nevertheless, if you asked that same question in pony society, the answer would, of course, be a rotund “Yes”. In that apparently utopian land, your hobby was your job. You would live a happy life, yes, but you would be unwillingly locked into it. You would do as you pleased for the rest of your days, unless you wanted to change your mind. If you were dexterous at playing the lyre, you would play it for the remnant of your existence. A satisfying conclusion? Maybe. But most certainly not an optional one.
What would happen if she wanted to be a writer? A painter? A businessmare or a cook? Would she be doomed to fail? Would her cutie mark vanish? Would her true purpose be revealed, showing a flaw on the cutie mark system? The boundaries of the cup allowed the funny little creature to carry out its destiny, to achieve what it was fated to accomplish. Did the social boundaries of cutie marks do just that? Chocolate spilled from a container would just eventually dry, with its remaining excess being promptly washed away. Such chocolate’s existence would have been fruitless, inconsequential and by all means pointless. Would attempting to escape fate result in a life as futile as the spilled chocolate’s? Life was a consumable good, (or a consumable bad, depending on your perspective), just like chocolate. A rich, full life would fulfill its purpose in a satisfying manner, making everypony affected by it appreciate the brilliance it brought into theirs. As long as encounters with somepony made you believe in the potential of the species and in the joy anypony could bring to a life, that pony’s subsistence in the world was worth more than a thousand years of laying around without affecting anyone. For despite bounded by society, life, or even fate itself, one still can make some happy, unexpected surprises happen. A full, limited life is far more important that a barren immortality. A cup of chocolate left to dry would not fulfill its purpose; the effort applied to mark the pathway of its life disregarded enormously. Was dying worth it, if your life had brought joy upon others? Lyra could not think of any logical answer rather than an irrefutable yes.
Her horn began to glow softly a mint hue, covered in the glimmer of its magic. The glow enveloped the cup’s handle, which is the manner in which humans supposedly held cups. The entity that had received so much of her time rose slowly into the air. Lyra tipped the cup into the air.
This is for you, Bon-Bon. Your life shined bright and made mine glow. You fulfilled your purpose and did so much more. I hope I’ll be able to make someone as happy as you made me.
She took a sip of the thick brown liquid, remembering the first cup she had shared with Bon-Bon, when they first met.
The memory most certainly was bittersweet.