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// Hearth's Warming Eve 
// Story: Hearth's Warming Eve 
// by Faindragon 
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It was the night before Hearth’s Warming Eve, in the little town we all know very well. Pinkie Pie’s Eve-Before-Hearth’s-Warming-Eve party had come to an end ponies from all around Ponyville slowly walked home in the crisp light of the full moon, the first hints of snow making their way to the ground. Maybe it would be a white celebration after all.

Twilight, who had left the party early to make sure that her faithful assistance wouldn’t stay up the entire night like he had last year, smiled down at the sleeping dragon. He had fallen asleep clutching his favorite blanket tightly around himself, in front of the hearth where Pony O’Presents was fabled to find its way into the house. With a motherly sigh, Twilight levitated the small baby up to his bed, making sure that he was still asleep before she silently made her way down to the cellar and the present she had hid from him down there. Snickering to herself, she put his present under the tree, making sure it stood exactly in the middle and that the red bow was perfectly symmetrical.

In another part of the town, a white unicorn enjoyed a glass of deep red wine by the waving flames of a dying fireplace. On the floor, a smaller unicorn had fallen asleep, not much unlike the dragon in the tree house. Rarity didn’t mind; she knew herself how it was to wait up for Pony O’Presents. With a soft giggle she levitated up a blanket and wrapped around the small filly, careful not to wake her up. Nodding satisfied to herself, she picked up the nearly completed book, a book about romance in a time long past, and started reading in the weak light. Every now and then she glanced out the window, her eyes seeking out the beauty of the night-light.

She was not alone in looking up at the full moon on this most beautiful of night. On the outskirts of the city, gazing out from one of the windows on the top floor of the farm with tired eyes, was a small filly. Her red bowtie, half untied as it hang askew over her mane, weakly reflected the moonlight like a pearl. 

With her hind legs resting against the small desk, the worn wood still wearing traces of ink spots from when he had written her letter to Pony O’Presents all those weeks ago, she leaned against the windowsill. Her eyes twinkled as much as the stars above when she silently repeated her innermost wish for herself. This year they would come for certain.

With a last, wistful gaze she looked up at the sky, before she nodded to her own reflection in the window with the smile that only a child can produce. Quietly, so as not stir the sleeping house, she made her way down from the desk and into her bed, quickly untying the bow and placing it on the bedside table. It didn’t take long before the warmth of the cosy blanket had taken her hoof and guided her into the world of dreams. A world wherein tomorrow already occurred. Where she could be with them, feel their loving embrace.

But for one mare in the house, sleep seemed like a luxury so far away. She sat in the kitchen, mindlessly scratching the dog lying next to her behind the ear as she stared unseeingly into the half-empty cup of coffee. Next to her laid an open letter; a letter she had dread to open for weeks but that had finally seen the light of a candle that night. The words, the filly’s wish, she had feared were noted down with carefully written letters, as they had been every year. And as every year, the mare’s heart was heavy as the tears found their way down her cheeks.

For Hearth’s Warming Eve is a day of joy and light, of presents and family.

For Spike, the morning started with him running down a stair, followed by a giggling Twilight. Like all dragons, patience was something that he would have to learn; it was not part of their natural habit. The unicorn hadn’t even gotten down the stairs before the present under the tree had been picked forth and the wrapping torn off. With a smile, she watched the dragon as he, unable to believe his eyes, looked at the biggest sapphire he had ever seen.

For Sweetie Bell, the morning started with waking up in front of the hearth, warmed up by the fire that sparked inside of it. The smell of hot chocolate blended together with the musky scent of the decorated tree, a mighty spruce her father had fell in a nearby forest. On her lips, the yawn died out as she saw the presents hiding under the tree. And just like young dragons have to learn patience, so do small fillies. With a cry of joy, she leaped at the presents. Quickly she picked out the biggest one with her name written on it and started undo the wrapping. Unbeknownst to her, she wasn’t alone. Behind her, levitating a small tray with cups filled to the brim with hot chocolate and whipped cream, stood her elder sister, smiling down at her and gently placing down the tray, soon joining her sister with unwrapping presents.

For one filly, Hearth’s Warming Eve would bring nothing but the disappointment it brought every year. But that was nothing she knew, running down the stairs with the bowtie hanging loosely in her hair, barely fastened in the hurry that had taken a hold over the filly’s hooves. She called out the name of the ones her heart desired, the ones who had promised to come. Her happy cries woke up the family that had been sleeping.

For the mare who hadn’t been able to sleep, and now sat in the kitchen looking down the empty cup, the joyful sound was like daggers driven into her heart. Fighting back the tears, she stood up; ready to be the strong, bigger sister.

But is strength to awaken the hope of a small filly as she runs down the stairs on Hearth Warming Eve? Having her think that at in the room at the end of the stairs stands the ponies she have wished to meet for so long? Is it strength to, year after year, leave three, small presents on the table? Presents for the filly to find together with an envelope containing an excuse that they couldn’t come this year either, that things got in the way.

Is it strength to comfort your sister as she cries into your shoulder? Whisper empty words of solace, telling her that they will come next year?

Or would strength be to tell the truth you’ve locked tight inside your heart?

Would strength be to tell your little sister that death doesn’t care about a filly’s wishes for Heart Warming Eve?