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// Amethyst Has No Face 
// Story: Sombra Dislikes Crystals 
// by The Apologetic Pony 
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The foal tried to lift the little amethyst, face scrunching in concentration. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this—Mom would be really angry if she found out. But Mom was out! This was his chance to learn it before anyone else in his class did! But it was hard. However much he willed it so, the stone just wouldn’t float. His mum could do it; so could his Dad, so why couldn’t he? They didn’t even have to think twice about it! The foal concluded, ‘If Ma and Pa could make things float, so could he.’ He just needed to figure out how. That was the hard part. It seemed to be taunting him, gleaming in the sunlight, mocking him for his inability to lift its minute weight. A passionate, searing warmth rose within the callow colt. Why do ponies think that you’re so special? You’re not special. You’re just a stone, a stupid, boring stone. You might as well be a rock. Words weren’t enough for it. The stone deserved worse. He abandoned his learning, and swept the evil thing off the desk with his hoof. Suddenly, it was below him, below his hooves...

If the amethyst had been sentient, it would have experienced great relief when the father of the foal walked in the room. Instead it remained whole, representing an undefeated nemesis.

‘What are you doing Sombra?! That’s Fey’s stone!’

Sombra, the foal, was left poised to crush it, not daring to face his father’s scorn. He might as well smash it anyway. And smash it he did, relishing the sweetness of the feeling as the amethyst collapsed under his weight. Now it wouldn’t be able to stop him; he’d be able to learn levitation before anypony else. The beating he received gave him an excuse to spend time alone, practicing, ignoring the pain of dual kind. Such measures against foals had recently been legalised prior to Luna’s banishment, as a way to aggravate Celestia, legally. In actuality, it was seldom practiced.

He moved onto other objects—a clock here—a cup there—even his cute parasprite doll Hungry Bug. He’d been told he’d have better success if he tried the spell on objects that meant something to him, but all it seemed to do was leave those objects in more pieces than when he’d started, by no magical mystery. To him, the pseudo-violent compulsion he felt was a mystery.

Fey was disappointed to hear what her grandson had done, but a lot calmer than his parents had been. She was calm enough to be aghast when Alex, Sombra’s father, told her he’d hit him. Not with great force, he insisted, but enough to ‘teach the colt a lesson.’ Mien gott, did it teach him a lesson! It was a lesson on how to hate your father. He wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, but his suffered injustice inspired the kid to aggressively enforce his sense of justice. He hit a bully who had paid no mind to him, but earned neither respect nor praise—just a few days off school and yet more disdain from Alex. He tried appealing to his mother, who only gave him an apologetic smile. 

Now both bored and angry, he tried other spells he’d seen ponies use. Sombra had been cautioned to not attempt anything except the most basic of magic at his young age. They’d told him that he might hurt himself trying. As much as he denied it, he was afraid. But he thought it’d anger his father; that was motivation enough for him. Sombra was a foolhardy colt.The most the foal could do was make a few pathetic fizzles from the tip of his horn. And he kept doing it, having great faith his efforts would be rewarded. Everypony had told him good things would happen if he worked hard, even those in fairytales. The sisters were happy; they worked hard. So was his mother and so was his teacher. If he worked hard like them, wouldn’t he be happy? No he wouldn’t. He learned nothing, however much he wanted to, during his three days of suspension. His little experiments weren’t completely fruitless, as it turned out, even if he didn’t realise it. Sombra’s approach changed when he faced continual failure to one carefully conceived. It was still infantile and narrow, but he did stop trying the same over, eventually. 

Alex tried to assuage his son, through gifts and nuzzling, as plastic parentals do. But Sombra wouldn’t have it. He’d seen just about everypony was nicer than him and he’d even started wanting to hate Alex. Such emotional intelligence, if it can be called that, was truly incredible for any prepubescent pony to have. Teachers and friends gave him craved sympathy when he told them about what a mean father he had. And Alex grew callous once Sombra pushed him away, believing there must be something deeply wrong with his son, if he was refusing fatherly love. Alex thought the solution was to push it onto him until he accepted it, and knew what a wonderful thing it was—to be adored by your father. By the time he gave up, it was too late.

Sombra wasn’t just emotionally intelligent though. Robyn, his mother, had asked that he take up the piano, because it was healthy. His teacher described him with the phrase ‘extremely talented.’ He’d been skeptical about taking it up, but he trusted her with more than his heart. While she occasionally didn’t step in to stop Alex, she never refused Sombra shelter, from Alex. That wasn’t the case. She was passive in the development of her son, except for a few niches like music. But Sombra couldn’t see that. The contrast between Alex and her was too great for Robyn to only be a statue, like she was. If Alex was the subject of all his hate, then Robyn was the subject for all his love, but they were both dolls with different coloured manes. She didn’t break his bond with her, but she didn’t reinforce it either.

His anger as rage, faded, but he still held a grudge. Alex euphemistically referred to his sons attitude toward him as ‘ruthless determination to best his father.’ The description left ponies to ponder for a moment, if it was just that. Even the most trusting ones sensed eerie discord in the wording. Sombra only spent as much time pushing Alex away as his father spent attempting the opposite, so their feuding died down to tense, wordless dinners together, where neither had energy to start a spark.

Among everything else in the colt’s life, he found there was one more activity he excelled in at and contrary to many others, he enjoyed it for only himself.