"Clad in gold or encased in silver, are not rabble still what it is? You claim to be noble, foolishly and with such an air of confidence... But allow me to reveal the truth; thou art not! In fact, you are nothing but a ragged cloth and no amount of gold can shroud the stains which festers upon your coat", the vain prince proclaimed. The seemingly unrelenting stream of words, this flood of malice, came to an halt. Prince Blueblood turned his gaze away and with one wave of his horn a waiting decanter, yet containing a modest amount of punch, took flight and refilled his chalice once again. The elegant figure grew tired of this farce which never seemed to cease, another dull special occasion he could not avoid attending. It would seem they came in clusters these days, he thought and sighed deeply. The Summer Sun celebration, followed tightly by unbroken lines of summits, parties and now this ghastly gala. Blueblood found the bottom of his chalice yet again, only to confound himself with the fact that he had never actually noticed the intricate patterns that embellished its inside. A smirk made its appearance on his face, the first one he had allowed himself during the entire day, in fact. Sometimes strange turns take place in the alleyways of life and even the inside of a cup could make all the difference for a pony's mood. Pondering this little escape from matters at hoof did indeed provide a slight relief, if but a short one.
For the moment the room was devoid of noise and a calm, cold atmosphere stood triumphant as the proud conqueror of the narrow social field that were. Then silence gave way to wrath and ire, violently the chalice was hurled across the room. A explosion of sound pervaded the air as metal and marble came to clash. His face distorted by anger the prince dashed forth and once more lashed his tongue at the unfortunate, "who are you... So uncouth as to lack the bare minimum of judgement? Do you not understand the context, nor what choices lies before us? You sad excuse for nobility, nought but a paper tiger, stripped clean of your stripes! Forgotten by all, unseen by real eyes and adorned with lies of grandeur...".
Silence unfolded its shroud once more, its dominance only wavered by the soft panting of the prince. The outburst had left his manedo in disarray, a hint of sweat also made its appearance across the rims of both his mane and attire, but neither fact was offered even the tiniest slice of his attention. Blueblood opened his mouth only to close it instantly at the notion of hooves that briskly trod the outer hall. As if frozen the prince remained standing for a short moment. Then his gaze swept over the room and as if in a frenzy he searched. Per chance he did not know himself what he sought, be it shelter or excuse, but none the less a maddening, desperate gaze fell upon the mirror standing in the corner of the room.
Suddenly the prince wobbled over to the beautiful looking-glass, which was framed in elegant black wood and ordained by silver patterns. The prince leaned down and stared into the mirror. "My only delight is that I will not have to endure the sight of you for the scarce remains of this eve...", he whispered. No answer was heard and the door opened up its ponderous and marble jaws to reveal one chambermaid and two royal guards, his chaperones had made their appearance.
"Your grace, it is time for your grooming. We shall escort you at the express demand of her royal Highness, princess Celestia", the leftmost guard proclaimed. Blueblood chuckled and tore his gaze from his own reflection. A puppet in her schemes still, he thought to himself. With resigned steeps he walked forth, but despite his meek obedience he towered up proudly and smiled. Perhaps doing so was the only defiance he could mount against the fickle whims of fate. He would obey for now, smile and keep up this bizarre pretense, but one fateful day she would lower her guard. No longer would he dance to the mockingbird's tune, he would tear it down from the skies and compose a melody of his own. Yes, indeed, a melody of his own design... A fabulous dance macabre.
Time ravished the evening and soon the event reached its closing. Whilst the bulk of the whole affair was of a dull, grey and most unbecoming nature, surprise upon surprise had marked the gala's requiem. What had started out as a mediocre charade gradually spread its wings and revealed a most refreshing grande finale; chaos! Complete and utter chaos. The prince stood dumbfounded, covered in cake and smirking broadly, without so much as a thought of hiding it. Nor did he care to keep up his pretense; to continue playing his role in this little theater performance. The sight of the perplexed princess trying to hold her ground and maintain order in the face of such confusion was truly marvelous, an unparalleled joy of such a kind the prince had never felt before. Perhaps he had truly found his calling in this world at this very moment, without actually grasping it himself. None the less he quickly excused himself before any pests would make their appearance and ruin the sensation.
Dashing through the royal halls he proceeded to his humble abode, this forlorn marble cage, and then kicked open the door with such a force that a gust of wind blew down the dust from his tall filling cabinet. Seldom did servants enter this room and when they did it was under his supervision, a circumstance which slightly impaired such aspects as cleaning. Once more he wandered over to the far wall of the room. Staring once more into the mirror, this time seemingly past his own reflection, as if into the maw of a dark abyss. Slowly losing his sense of present, space and self. He remembered partly a quote of a wise pony of ages past and whispered, "...if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you".
Time crawled by tirelessly without pause or sentiment. If the concept of time possessed a will, then surely it was of an unforgiving and vile nature. Countless pleas it ignored, scorning them with silence. At the very least so it would seem in the eyes of one pony who currently suffered under its reigns. The pony in question smiled, or at least he thought it was a smile, for the irony of his current prospects. Darkness the one place whereas his eyes could rest, darkness the one sight he was offered. The roaring winds raging flight through snow and ice his lullaby, the searing cold that slithered within the void his one embrace.
Staring into nothingness, the very bowels of the abyss, the pony thought his gaze met that of another... Yet always darkness prevailed, regardless of his plight and desire.
The pony's lips spread, perhaps in defiance of his cruel fate, per chance in a feeble attempt to maintain his sanity as well as his image of himself. Slowly, softly, a name was spoken. His name...
"Sombra..."
Memories, in all their vague forms crept forth and engulfed the darkness, draped it in gold, silver and ivory. Other colors emerged in their wake as if to greet him, to hail his splendor and bask in the majestic power of his being. A scene of old once again exposed itself before the lonesome beholder, a shadow of his former self, his own voice which thundered with rage and spite,
"I can not help but believe that you veil the world in illusions... It is not so kind as you persistently tried to tell yourself and those who blindly followed your lead. Farewell, my dearest teacher. No longer can I abide this harmony of yours, for the world is cruel and wicked... A fate we ultimately must adhere to. Cast aside thine mercy, fool, for only ire can grant the strength to maintain life when its grandeur has fallen so low as yours. Hate me, despise me, raise thine horn and seek vengeance! Only then can the worth of all my efforts be judged, or was it all for naught?!"
The shape remained motionless spread over the marble floor, broken and tattered, its mane clad closely against its coat. Both body and marble stained red by ink of franklins, ill obtained. No sound traveled the hall. Only the voice of Sombra had echoed soon to fade and die without an answer to be heard.
In silence he stood, once more alone, freed from his shackles and all his weakness. The mighty stallion let his eyes linger upon the remains, only to shortly thereafter rise his gaze and break the cruel reign of silence.
"Where you always this weak...?", Sombra asked in a solemn voice, without hope for reply, nor a true desire for one. The answer was simple.
It was not his teacher whose powers had lessened... It was he who had become strong, superior to them all and thus supreme. No longer would he ask, nor seek, for now he held the right to shape the answers and their meaning.
The bloodstained crown was stolen from its rest and floated ceremoniously onto the head of its new master, imbedding itself upon his raven mane.
Now he was king, as it was always meant to be.
Cold pervaded his entire body as the vision relinquished its sway over him. The prince fell down, his hooves unable to carry him. Lying down whilst grasping for air Blueblood began to ponder what he had just witnessed. It felt as if he was trying to solve a broken puzzle with missing pieces, no less. Only one thing was certain to him and that was the awe and fear which had wrapped itself around him. Also, burning faintly in his heart, his own desire for power seemingly renewed and resonating, in lack of better words, with the dark power displayed by this fiend from the vision.
Prince Blueblood rose up slowly; then he smiled for the third time this eve. Truly this day had been riddled by surprises of the most delightful variety. A dark laugh stole away from his throat and filled room and hallway alike, rising throughout the castle's interior. Suddenly all the troubles of his life shattered about and disappeared, if but for this moment. He was alive at last and he was full to the brim with joy... And thriving desire. The unshakeable ambition that so long lay dormant, shackled deep within the inner sanctums of his soul had now awakened completely, never again to disperse. This eve was the beginning of his greatness, of his future and destiny.