Canterlot’s elite and noble were gathered once again in the grandest concert hall in all of Equestria. Thousands of wealthy and otherwise lucky ponies were in attendance, and the cultural grandeur their tickets promised to them did not disappoint. Rows of seats trickled down almost without end until leveling out in front of a wide stage adorned with the finest curtains on either side, with a much larger one pulled high up above a small assortment of musicians. There were four in total, each playing a different instrument, yet harmoniously melding their music with that of their neighbors into the most dulcet symphony many in attendance ever had the pleasure of hearing, save for those of prominence who frequented the theater — and its performers.
Octavia’s eyes were closed as she pulled a bow across her cello with the grace and rhythm of a true expert. She gently inhaled the familiar notes surrounding her, allowing the tones to fill both her body and her spirit. Her craft was her life, and so great was her practice that playing her instrument came more naturally to her than speaking to a peer. Then again, why wouldn’t it? She spent her formative years studying rigorously, knowing full well what she wanted most in life, and this concert was a continuation of the realization of the dream she formed so many years ago.
Even as the final chord of the night’s ultimate piece echoed in the vast room Octavia did not open her eyes. She didn’t have to open them to hear the hoof beats of approval. She didn’t have to open them to know that every pony in the audience stood from their seats without hesitation to show their respect. She wouldn’t even have to open them to read the paper in the morning to see the latest review of her performance, because she already knew what it would say. The words written would be the same every critic in every Canterlot paper used to describe her concerts.
“Perfect.”
- * -
“Exemplary performance tonight, Octavia.”
“As always, Parish.”
The night’s performers were packing up their instruments while the dull sound of ponies shuffling out of the auditorium struggled to reach any further than the door to the stage behind them. Octavia settled her cello into a blemish-free carbon fiber case lined with a rich red silk, her bow in an unassuming pocket within the case’s lid. Once secured, Octavia stepped through the strap on its side to situate it on her back.
“Would you like a hoof there, Miss Octavia?”
The grey mare whipped her head around, and her long dark hair blocked her eyesight for a mere moment. She gazed at the stallion who addressed her with bored violet eyes. He was an unassuming individual: a dirty-brown coat topped with an off-grey mane. His copper eyes looked happy, if a little nervous.
“The only reason you are on this stage is because a hoof was needed to raise and lower the curtain,” Octavia said coolly. “I hardly trust the care of this case and the instrument inside of it to the professionals who made them, much less to somepony whose occupation requires no more than a collective thirty seconds one or two nights a week.”
“I do other things…” The stallion’s words were without conviction, and no ear received them; the cellist had already left.
Octavia decided to walk home. She didn’t trust the occasional bounce that even the sturdiest of carriages could not avoid, and it was a lovely afternoon; the pegasi really outdid themselves generating the perfect weather for the wedding taking place that day. Octavia couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of indignation at the thought of the ceremony; because of it, her concert took place much earlier in the day than usual, as a good number of patrons (including many of the establishment’s financial backers) received invitations to attend both of the day’s events. She also felt a little sore that neither she nor her colleagues were contacted to perform at said wedding, despite it being one of the most important and sophisticated events in recent history. In fact, she caught wind that a pegasus from Ponyville was put in charge of the music. Octavia scoffed to herself. Ponyville… Now there was a hick town she hadn’t thought about in some time. Even so, she couldn’t complain too much; she still performed, and she was well compensated. Perhaps if she were in a good mood that night, she’d join the crowd waiting and watching for the newlyweds’ carriage out of the city.
The cellist’s thoughts kept her mind occupied until she arrived at her apartment. The flat could almost have been considered a home in some regards; it had two floors, with a kitchen and living area on the landing, and two bedrooms just up the stairs. Despite a large amount of space for a single pony, the home was scarcely furnished. The living room had a fireplace on the far end (though it was rarely used), a simple yet pristine couch across from it, and a narrow bookshelf holding an assortment of memorized songbooks. The kitchen was just as if not more barren, as the shelves and cabinets were seldom stocked.
Octavia crossed the entryway, closed the door behind her, and proceeded up the stairs while moving carefully so the hoof rail would not rub against her cello’s case. At the top of the stairs she entered the room on her left, set the case down, and stepped out of the strap connected to it. She propped it up on a stand against the far wall, next to another of the same size, one slightly bigger, and one just longer than her front legs. These cases alone would have made the room the most decorated in the apartment, but a few shelves around the room were adorned with plaques, certificates, and trophies celebrating various accomplishments. As she looked at them, the corners of her mouth pulled back into what could only be described as a smile, although some would argue that thought had they seen it for themselves. As she left the first room she eyed her neatly made bed in the one across from it, considering for a moment whether or not an afternoon nap would be completely out of the question; she hadn’t done such in years. The trend would continue as she decided to take the afternoon she now had available to visit one of her favorite outdoor cafés.
The tables outside the café were sparsely populated, if at all, though this was nothing Octavia felt the need to complain about. Not long after she sat, a mare with an off-yellow coat and light blue mane approached her with a smile and gave her a menu before trotting away to another table. Octavia opened the menu and glanced over it, despite already knowing exactly what she wanted. To her dismay, her favorite tea was no longer listed among the drink specialties.
“Excuse me,” Octavia said to the waitress, who was on her way back to the kitchen, “but are you no longer serving the ‘opal essence’?”
“No,” the mare replied with a sheepish grin, “we’re kind of out of stock at the moment. We hosted a dessert competition last week, and it proved to be quite popular among those in attendance. I think Princess Celestia had three or four pitchers’ worth herself.”
“Princess Celestia?” Tacky though a dessert competition was, Octavia couldn’t help but feel a little self-satisfied with the idea of sharing a palate with royalty. Even so, this was clearly shaping up to be one of her least favorite days in recent memory. “Disappointing, but very well. I’ll take a cup of your jasmine tea then.”
“Right away, ma’am.” The waitress gave a short bow before disappearing into the kitchen again.
The cellist sighed and broke her trademark prim posture to rest her head on her hoof. She eyed the other customers with disdain. They all seemed to be enjoying the pleasant afternoon air, chatting and laughing with colleagues over a mid-afternoon snack. Not one of them appeared distressed in the least to hear the finest tea the establishment could offer was unavailable. Surely there was no justice in the world. And what in Celestia’s name kept blocking the sun?
Octavia was now vaguely aware of a certain darkness sporadically covering one or both of her eyes. At first she thought it was simply clouds drifting by, but these shadows were moving far too fast to be moved by wind, or even from a pegasus pushing one along. Isn’t the sky supposed to be clear for the wedding anyway?
Without warning, the sound of breaking glass rampaged around Octavia. She jumped with a start. Her head rotated with fervor to each of the buildings around her, but not one showed a single broken window. She then focused her attention on the other customers with an angry glare, wondering which of the uncultured dolts broke the establishment’s fine china. To her surprise, everypony around her looked just as startled as she did. On the horizon she noticed a pink hue she couldn’t recall ever being there rapidly disintegrating.
Somepony behind Octavia shrieked. She turned to see a pink mare with long blonde hair pointing up into the sky. Octavia followed the mare’s hoof to see what looked like green fireballs descending all over the city. Loud bangs, crunches, and booms echoed from where each of the spikes of energy hit.
Several ponies were screaming. More still were running, though if the various directions of their movement were any indication, no one could find any place that was safe. Octavia, however, did not scream or run. She continued to sit, as though patiently waiting for her inferior tea, with the exception that a look of horror was plastered across her face. She briefly snapped out of her confusion when one of the green bolts plowed straight through a tower to her left, only a few meters from where her legs still had yet to decide on a course of action.
As if to add to the fear coursing through her body, Octavia spotted a dark figure rising from where the green flame came to rest. It was about as large as a pony, but clearly not a pony at all. A black exoskeleton glistened in the warmth of Celestia’s power. Piercing teal eyes followed ponies running in every direction before focusing on one who stayed still. The creature opened its mouth and let out an inequine screech. It then flared its translucent wings and charged straight for Octavia with its single blade-like horn pointed directly at her chest.
Octavia remained frozen in both body and mind. It was as though every part of her being abandoned her, save for her vision, left to process what she was experiencing on its own. It watched as the unrecognizable monster before her drew ever closer, its eyes fixated, and its dagger-like horn hungry for the flesh sitting in front of it.
I like your mane.
Octavia yelped and finally sprang to life. In a knee-jerk reaction, she slammed the table her hooves had been resting on and sent the half opposite her crashing into the chin of her assailant, causing it to stumble backwards, tripping over its hole riddled legs in the process.
The cellist ran. She didn’t know where to, as long as it was away from that… thing. What was it? She’d seen a number of creatures in her life, more often than not in her audience as guests from a foreign estate, but nothing she was familiar with came anywhere close to the monstrosity she so narrowly escaped.
She turned a corner, and her galloping strained for a moment to maintain her balance. Not that it mattered, as she came to a complete halt almost immediately. Two more of the creatures stood in front of her, and their heads turned towards the sound of hooves screeching in the street. After a beat, both demons' faces contorted into what Octavia could only surmise was their version of a smile before they were engulfed in an emerald blaze not unlike the ones that brought them from the sky to begin with. Although the spontaneous combustion only added to Octavia’s terror, a small twinge of relief hit her; something else had consumed the beasts. Her heart only beat faster when she was suddenly looking at a pair of mirrors, though with the most sinister of grins rather than the look of absolute fear she could feel stretching across her eyes and gaping mouth.
“Oh, sweet Celestia!” she cried on impulse.
“Oh, sweet Celestia!” the doppelgangers cooed in a mockery of her own voice and alarm.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
“Get away from me!”
Octavia ran harder than ever before in her life. She routinely went on a trot during her mornings in an effort to keep up her appearance, but never moved with enough vigor to warrant getting sweat in her finely groomed fur. On this day she found herself sweating enough to make up for each and every day she refused to. Despite how hard she ran, she could hear the sounds of identical hooves just a few short paces behind her.
Turning another corner in an attempt to lose her pursuers, her heart threatened to jump out of her throat when she found herself standing in front of an alley with a high marble wall at the other end. She turned to go back the way she came, only to be blocked by her newfound twin sisters. They stopped running at this point, opting instead to step slowly towards her with satisfied smirks. Clearly they relished Octavia’s almost non-stop heartbeat more than they did the actual capture of their target. Octavia walked backwards until the marble wall stopped her.
The two identical grey mares opposite the cellist encased themselves in green flames a second time, reverting to their true natures. They cackled at the sight of the little pony, and a sound like knifes against porcelain bowls invaded Octavia’s ears. They were mocking her. Once they had their fill of one another’s laughter, their eyes met and they nodded before turning back to their prey. The panicked cellist was trying to make herself as small as possible, but she still couldn't lose their sharp blue gaze. The monsters pounced, and Octavia covered her face in her hooves. Just above her head she heard one of them screech, but something about it seemed off. She wasn’t an expert in the noises the things made, but it almost sounded as though the creature’s voice was laced with… pain?
Death taking an unusually long time, Octavia looked up to see her would-be killers no longer in the air above her. In fact, they were sailing backwards at quite the pace, already a good hoofball field or two away from her and flying further still. She couldn’t help but notice the pinkish hue she spotted on the horizon now spanned her entire vision, though it grew dimmer the further the two fiends flew. It was almost as if the color was pushing them along with it. Octavia now noticed several other black specs surrounding her assailants, also being flung far and away from her at a similarly speedy pace, though not one was flapping their strange insect-like wings. In fact, their departure looked entirely involuntary. She could see one larger bug, almost Celestia’s size, at the center of the speeding mass. Her screams barely reached Octavia’s ears. It was then accompanied by something else: cheering. Octavia was used to polite hoof beats, but cheering was something a little more unfamiliar. Ponies near her were celebrating. The threat was over. Life would soon return to normal for the ponies of Canterlot, and they could go back safe to their friends and family, grateful for the chance to see loved ones once again.
- * -
Octavia returned to her apartment. She moved to flick on a light, but missed; her body was shaking terribly, and she was still trying to get complete control over it again. She gave the switch a second swipe, this time landing her mark. She made for the stairs, and found ascending them more difficult than most days. As soon as she managed to reach the top, she made for and collapsed onto her bed, and gripped a pillow to her chest as though it were her one anchor to the world. She shivered hard and panted for breath. The once calm and refined artist waved one hoof in front of her face, and with it she regained her composure; her body stopped convulsing, and a stately expression retook its place upon her features. Within moments, her body shook yet again, and the muscles in her face strained to maintain its form. She gave another wave, clawing desperately to some sense of serenity, but this lasted shorter still. The quiet, dignified musician shuddered and finally let out a wail that on any other night would have garnered a noise complaint. She buried her face into the pillow, and her wailing continued in full force with tears to now accompany it. Not once in her life had she been so overcome by emotions. Sure, she’d felt fear before, like the time she was almost late to her first professional performance, but this was worlds more harrowing than that memory. Even during the moment in question she kept herself quite calm; the only sweating she so detested was done on the inside. In fact, she hadn’t shown many emotions at all since she was a filly. Not since…
Octavia stopped crying and took a moment to breathe. After a few deep gulps of air, she gently released her anchor and put all fours hooves back on the ground. She slowly crossed the bedroom and went into the other across the hall. The cellist looked around the room, took in the sight of the instruments she’d collected throughout her career, and gradually moved her gaze over a nearby shelf that was covered with small trophies.
After staring at one trophy in particular for a while, Octavia took the award down and turned it over a few times in her hooves. “1st Place” was all that was written at the base of it. The phrase was far from uncommon in the room, but Octavia still could not help but stare at it. There were no other words, symbols, or any sort of insignia on it to tell more about its origins. Clearly it was for something important; why else would there have been a trophy? The golden cup maintained Octavia's focus until she realized that the memory of its achievement was simply not going to come to her that night. She replaced the trophy on its shelf, then stepped back from it to look at its neighbors and all of the other prizes that decorated the room. She soon discovered that first award was not at all unique, as Octavia couldn’t remember where almost half of the trophies in the room originated, the thrill of their capture long since passed.
What was the purpose of this room? Octavia told herself that it was a room dedicated to celebrating her accomplishments, but if she no longer celebrated them, then what was the point? Suddenly the collection of gold medals and blue ribbons meant nothing to her. Not after the experience she just had. What she really needed was what all the other ponies in Canterlot were celebrating that night; somepony they can hug. Somepony they’re happy to see each and every day, even if it took an event like that day’s invasion to show them that. Octavia wasn’t partial to affection. Ordinarily she refused to even allow herself to be touched, save for the occasional hoofshake with somepony of great influence, and even then it took quite the importance on the pony’s part for Octavia to consider extending her foreleg.
Octavia fell back into her bed and stared at her ceiling in silence. She pulled her damp pillow close, wishing it could hold her tight in return. She found an almost dry part on the wad of fluff, and proceeded to dampen it as well.