A chilling wind blew from the hot embrace of the suns air as if it had bested the suns attempt to commit her to warmth. I smiled for her victory while the cold acted as her monument of the challenge she won. I followed her to the entrance she had used and trotted through the rays of sun that pierced the holes in the ruined velvet curtains that lined the semicircular hole in the concrete wall. Upon pushing past the still beautiful red curtains, I was greeted with the warmth that flayed my skin outside on the wooden balcony. My haunches fell with a silent thump on the wood surface as I basked in the glorious light of the sun.
I looked below my small plank of wood several stories down unto a concrete floor in an alley I had sealed myself with carefully placed piles of filth and garbage to ward off any who care enough about they're now rare yet valuable perfume they slathered on themselves each morning. Said perfume that has been somehow been going missing from such said pony by an 'unseen individual' around Canterlot.
I wonder who.
I felt the wind breeze blow against me and rush past into my headquarters; showing my mind the place I have come to know as home.
I was on the top floor of a five story apartment block in a rather snooty section of Canterlot; the whole section I call home has been sealed and carpeted over, allowing none but nosy construction workers who may find they had read the blueprints wrong and instead were bribed by some 'unseen individual' to go tear the contractors house apart. In order to even attempt getting to the floor one must traverse a series of redundant and complex set of rooftops built by other easily bribe-able construction workers. Even if one such as yourself does something so exhausting you would need a grapple to even come close to reaching the very balcony I stood upon at the time. Needless to say nopony ever will or ever has found my home, and I intend keep it that way.
Behind my gaze the wind blew softly into my home revealing my large grocery store sized interior.
From the very far back-middle started lines and lines of wooden shelf's that led from the back to the front toward a set of stars going up left before twisting around to the right unto a scaffolding that allowed use of the balcony. To the far right held a small open space flanked by lockers that housed my essentials and practice dummy's I used when my senses started to fail. To the far left held desks, scrolls, and forged letters strewn around in a circle that held my maps and requests from my fences for particular items I retrieved not long ago.
I use a mix of heavy charcoal and inkwells of strong cologne as a substitute for lead or ink, as it has a particular smell that lets me form the shapes I am unable to see otherwise; the cocktail of cologne and charcoal is also an easy mix fences who need my service can replicate easily on letters sent via carrier pigeon.
I looked out across the sunny streets lined with cafe's and tables and struggled slightly for the wind to whisper the citizens shapes to me as the suns cruel spotlight shone upon all that I could see. Only in bad moods was I able to operate in daylight, when I needed the rushing excitement of adrenaline that I felt doing something usually when I was at a clear disadvantage. I cannot use the suns light as my eye, for it is too bright and hides the stars from me. I cannot use its warm wind as my touch, for it is to hot and scolds like everything else. I cannot gaze unto the sun, for it is too lost in its own glory to allow any but herself to view her beauty, but the moon needs the sun to cast her light and although I cannot live with the sun, I can still be loving to her.
Now, for me, the value of an object is the desire of a fences greed, but my greed was one for challenge. Today I was calm. Today was a day when all the plans had been planed and all the requests have been fulfilled. Today I had nothing to do, so I did what I usually do with nothing. I find something else.
I inhaled the warmth once again before I trotted off behind me and jumped down from my scaffold, sending a furious dance of dust into the rays of light as I began to walk about the maze of shelf's. Upon the wooden shelf lied books, scrolls, knickknacks and memento's of memorable thefts that I passed by as I traversed the maze of shelf's. I ran my hoof across a particular shelf and looked toward the object of my interest.
The photo album.
I took it from its spot on the shelf and trotted off to the far left side of the room. I placed it down on the table; carefully pushing a map of Ponyville away; I grazed my hoof over the top of it as the night from before slid back into my mind. As I began to flip across pages of photos that could hold anything from alicorn's to zebra's; I felt an empty spot where a picture should be and found that a small section of the book was empty. I felt the feeling that seemed to be cropping up more and more since that night and I had a strong urge to do something I haven't done in a long time.
I went off back down the corridor to find a special object that has seen years of no attention. I glazed my hand across small symbols carved into each shelf that told me of its category I assigned it; eventually I felt the symbol I was looking for. Far in the back of the room was an empty shelf and in middle sat a very dusty, very underused, very aged and vintage dry plate camera. It remained unused since the night I stole it from a rich duke in trottingham while he was using it. I picked up the fragile thing and blew on it, sputtering an agitated waltz of dust into the air before I made my way back to the album.
It occurred to me I had absolutely no idea how to use a camera.
After hours of constant frustration to get the stupid contraption to work I eventually got it into a position I hoped would benefit. I stood in front of the camera I had propped up with an unstable stack of stairs and ignited the plate with my magic before the rickety pile of chairs collapsed in protest from my misuse of its uncomfortable seating arrangements. As soon as the dry plate went up in a puff of smoke the chairs fell to the ground and promptly sent the camera sprawling onto the floor. I quickly found I had broken the thing with my stupidity and assumed that the picture was lost, but upon another check I found that the glass plate was intact and the salts had been imprinted on the paper. I carefully took the paper from its housing and tucked it into four small corners that held the other photos, not knowing the film had to develop. I supposed it didn't matter much as I had no way of seeing my image on the paper. In truth I had no idea what I looked like aside from the shape of my face; I was born blind and no amount of running my hooves across my muzzle would make it any different. I have no idea what my coat, tail or my mane's colors are, I didn't even know if I looked horendously ugly or not; I could suddenly change into a bright shade of pink and I wouldn't have been any wiser to it.
So I sat and stared at the small book still contemplating of the odd feeling that I felt quite strongly of as the sun slowly descended and the moon began to peak out from the horizon. I walked up the stairs, off the scaffolding and unto the balcony where I stood and peered out at pony's slowly stalking off to they're own homes as lights were extinguished one by one from the moons vigil spotlight. I felt the moons light reveal all the houses and all the pony's who's the lights that remained on under her glow. I felt of the wind once more, her cold touch chilled me and began to touch all other winds beside her, creating a network of thousands of hooves I used to feel with.
Then; a crow perched itself on my horn, a small letter in its mouth. Crows are used by only one of my fences and very rarely do I get her messages. This was important.
I took the note from my avian friend and trotted the paper back inside,
It smelled of charcoal and cologne.