In this beginning, not a beginning; that is too general, not the beginning; that is another subject chronicled elsewhere, but in this beginning, a young creator fondly regarded that which was the mold for her grand schemes. The metal was to be the basis of all her creations. It was destined to house grander objects than the void that it had originally contained.
She poured in the concoction that would become her creation. It was not yet her creation, for it was far too simple and mundane to be what she desired. Without it there could be no creation, but without more it could not yet be her creation. The creation would be grander than the sum of its parts. It must be as she had determined it to be.
She summoned light to warm her mold. The light was not her creation either, same as the mold was not her creation. But the light assisted her in creating, and for that she was grateful. She smiled as eons passed and the concoction became truly tangible, something solid, something that could be worked upon, something that could become her creation. It was not yet her creation, but it was one step closer to becoming her creation. She briefly wondered if the one who came before her would appreciate it as much as she did.
The young creator considered that which she had made. She had made it, not created it, creation would be something to be regarded. She could not call it 'created', not just yet. It was simple and unrefined, two qualities which were not appropriate for her creation, they might be appropriate for a different creation, but not for her's. Her creation would be complex. It would be beautiful. She summoned darkness to contrast the light of her creation. She had not created the darkness, the darkness had been created by the one who came before her, but it assisted her in her creation, and for that she was grateful.
There would be those who would question the interaction of the light and the dark, but for her creation to be truly appreciated both the light and the dark must be understood. Without the contrast there would be no understanding of either, no appreciation for the finery that surrounded them. They could exist independently of each other, but it was only through coexistence that light and dark could be understood. The young creator knew that she risked retribution from the nameless ones, but she chose to create that which she could regard fondly. A contrasting state of light and dark with which the whole of her creation could be appreciated.
She grew apprehensive, and considered the implications of her actions. The nameless ones would not appreciate the contrast. They would have harsh words to say, they would never understand the fundamental beauty of the interaction of light and dark. She would have to be subversive, and make the darkness more subtle. It would have to be hidden. With determination, she summoned new light, light that was not the same as the previous light. This light coated the darkness, that the darkness might be fully appreciated by those who would have the wisdom to take note of it, and that the nameless ones might gloss over the interaction, that blasphemous contrast of light and dark.
She frowned at the layered contrast. It was far too simple for her to consider it to be her creation. It was far too simple to receive the approval of the one who came before her. More would have to be added. More would have to be given for the whole of her creation to come to fruition. This new addition could not be as simple as the others, as simple as the contrast of light and dark. There was only one thing left that could complete her creation. She did not summon new darkness, or new light, but chose to add color to her creation, that it might have an aesthetically pleasing value to it.
The color was hers, but she did not create it. It was a gift from the one who came before her. Red was too simple by itself, blue, green, and yellow as well, and all the colors alone could not compare to their collective vibrant nature. She made rainbows cascade across the whole of her creation, and she examined it carefully. It was no longer simply light or darkness, form, or color, but the summation of all of its parts. It could not be called a shape, for there was more to it than that. It could not be said to be light, for there was darkness. It could not be said to be darkness, for there was color. But there was a simple word that could describe it. A simple, beautiful word that she regarded fondly. It was her creation, and it was good.
"You're a natural, Pinkie," Mrs. Cake looked down at the young creator. She intentionally ignored the messy kitchen, the open bags of flower and sugar, and the spilled milk and egg shells on the floor. She swept a curly lock of hair out of the filly's face, so that she could see that beautiful smile. There was no need for harsh words about the mess. The mess was simply a byproduct of creation, and she had no desire to stifle the creativity of a young child. "They're wonderful."
The young filly smiled up at her, wiped the sweat from her brow, and set down a tray of cupcakes on the counter. A tray that would be the base for her future creations. A tray that had been the mold for this creation. It was certainly a marvelous creation. The cupcakes had been a careful mixture with just a slight amount of vanilla, covered in chocolate icing for contrast in flavor. Powdered sugar was dusted on top, hiding the chocolate, and creating a contrast in texture. For the final piece she had coated it in a rainbow colored buttercream icing. It was her creation, and the approval of the one who came before her filled her with pride. The young creator fondly regarded her creation.