//------------------------------// // Two sides of the same coin // Story: You can't build Love // by Gray Compass //------------------------------// You Can't Build Love It was a beautiful afternoon, Fleur walked through one of the many busy streets of Canterlot, her unique pink mane contrasted with an equally immaculate white coat — a super-model — she was called. All eyes turned to her. She was everything a mare could dream of becoming, or a stallion dream of... Possessing. By her side was a successful business magnate; Fancy Pants. You could say that this couple was the perfect symbol of class; the image of perfection. The sunlight gleamed on the polished marble tiles under their hooves, Fleur smiled — she had nothing to worry about. They had money, beauty, love, and an enviable reputation. Oh, if I could... I would give up everything in this world to be on his place, a single minute would be enough; sixty seconds to gaze into her shining violet eyes. They emanated perfection, but when you look behind the curtains of reality, everything has a flaw. 'They' do not exist. And my reality, is far away from perfection... Grayish clouds covered the sky over my head, they were heavy and looked like polished steel. Last night a torrent of rain had washed the entire valley, like a deluge. Some droplets of water trickled down the leaves of the trees above, and dripped onto me. Those were cold and bulgy drops, they carried a scent of freshly cut wood. It didn't bothered me. Step by step, I made my way through an old stone path, doing my best to avoid the puddles and the chunks of treacherous moss. I knew it was practically impossible to leave that little grove dry and clean, but this is a routine I've been maintaining since I was little. Nothing special or magical about the grove — I can assure you — it just happened to flourish around the pathway behind my house. Certainly, I could call this place my one and only home now, but to be honest with you, the castle ended up in my family hands centuries ago. It was once a very prosperous manor. Here beneath these ominous lands lies the story of my ancestors, the blood of my parents, and the memories of those who passed by these slippery granite tiles. Right under my feet, hidden behind the ancient castle of the Mondragons, crosses the centenarian Road of the Lost Dreams — a medieval route used to lead prisoners to their deaths at the gallows. It's not a beautiful story, but unfortunately, things worked differently in Middle Ages. If you were too 'different', you were either hanged or drowned. Not a matter of choice. Ironically, this same road was the place I used to hide whenever the pressure was too much to bear. It was a shame to my family having a child like me living under their roof; a Mondragon who dishonored his own blood. It hurt knowing I was a bastard child, one without a ribbon, born without their blue ridiculous blood — as if I was guilty of my father's 'sins'. Still, against all odds, I was raised by him. At first he denied the responsibility, throwing me aside to the servants and maids. Those, I am urged to admit, were a blessing. How I wish I could've stayed with the servants for the rest of my childhood. But my father's consciousness eventually grown heavy with the idea. How could a respectable man like him allow such a shameful thing? Firstly he tainted the immaculate bloodline of his ancestors with a commoner. Then his son was seen around with the housemaids. It was too much for him. It may seem unbelievable, but we do lived in the 21st century. People would be surprised if they knew how ordinary was this sort of behavior among aristocratic families. My mother died a few months after I was born, I never knew exactly what happened — I wasn't given the right to ask — but today I prefer to believe it truly was a car accident, as they roughly explained. It didn't mattered too much. I was alone. For a long time my father treated me as if I had died together with my mother; I was just an unfortunate ghost for him. I was home-schooled during my childhood and early teenage years, and except for the children of a servant who sympathized with me, I never had any friends of my age. Those kids appeared for a week, and then vanished as if they were never there at all. It was tough at times, but I can't say I had a terrible life — bittersweet would become a better description. I lived in a castle, I had my own room — for years I accepted that as everything my father would give me. It wasn't until my 15th birthday when something strange happened: Certain day late in the night I was just wandering around the web, and I accidentally came across a video, a twenty minutes long episode of My Little Pony. Normally, a boy wouldn't be too interested in a cartoon about ponies. Normally. But something else drew my attention: 'Friendship is Magic' Was it? I had never tried. I decided to give it a chance. Twilight Sparkle sent reports to the princess, Fluttershy loved her animals, Rarity always generous and beautiful, Rainbow just as narcissistic and awesome as she could be, and Pinkie Pie... Being Pinkie Pie, of course. Then there was Applejack. Her simple life seemed perfect for me; she had friends, an incredible family, a brother and sister who really cared about her. They were happy. Every single pony in Equestria had their own role, had their own personal reason to smile. That little world of colors and magic was a dream to me. And it was... Just a dream I felt more alive every time I watched the show. When the world disappointed me, I could find hope on those pastel-colored equines, when I thought about giving up, they held me in a tight knot. In a life surrounded by melancholy and pain, this cartoon was my anchor, my personal oasis. The Mondragons were a rich and powerful family, they had absolutely everything a man could dream of; wealth, power, respect— you name it. They also had a heir. My father's first child, Carlyle. He never really cared about me — and I was incredibly glad for that — as Carlyle was one of the worst persons you could have the misfortune of meeting; an obnoxious monument to stupidity. Yet, he was the only diamond in my father's eyes; Carlyle the great was the man who should perpetuate the family honor. Like I said, I never had any friends, let alone a girl to call mine. Until I met her. I had never been in love before, it was a foreign feeling to me. Unfortunately, as nearly everything in my life, this love also implied trouble. 'She' was nothing but a background character. She was a unicorn on the screen. Fleur de Lis was the one I always wanted to meet, every little detail of Fleur was perfect, even though It was obvious she hadn't too much of a personality in the series. This open space allowed me to mold what I thought she would behave like, the things she would like, her sense of humor. As the time flowed, I expected this illogical crush to simply go away. I heard people saying these things fade. But this never happened. My mind was fertile ground for this sort of thought, and it planted its roots deep within myself. The crush turned into love, which turned into obsession; and soon my soul was poisoned with her. I loved Fleur, I desired Fleur, I needed Fleur. I couldn't have Fleur. And it was around this time when my life had its largest twist since I was born. A few weeks before, I had attained my so awaited age of 18. Sadly, I couldn't simply leave my home; aside from my family fortune I had no personal money. I took what was given, and it wasn't much. My father and Carlyle traveled to Switzerland, and as usual, I was left alone at the castle. But it was no big deal for me anymore, it wasn't like their presence made too much of a difference anyway. I learned how enjoy the benefits solitude. After dusk, when most of the servants finished their chores and left the main building, not a sound could be heard through the thick walls of stone. The castle drifted into a deep slumber, and the tiniest sound echoed like a dragon. This tormented me at times, and reminded me of the devilish raven of Edgar Allan Poe poem. So when the dense night came, I had already locked myself in my room. A major thunderstorm had engulfed nearly half of Europe, including here; Britain. The wind roared outside, but found no gap to enter. I was resting cozily next to the warm light of the fireplace, a closed book resting on my lap. My cellphone rang, disturbing the comfortable sounds of rain and fire. Half asleep as I was, I blinked twice before extending my arm to reach it. "Hello?" I said in a drowsy tone. "Sir. Albert?" Replied a feminine voice. "Yes? Who's that?" Between the splattering sound of rain against the window panes and the crackling of the fire, I heard the words that would soon change my life forever. "Sir... It's with tremendous regret that I inform you, that your father's plane—" "My father's p-plane- W-what?"I stuttered. "Sir. Albert... The plane succumbed to the storm." I couldn't believe in my own ears, but the words were there. "...crashed into the Alps, and unfortunately — there were no survivors." I remained silent, staring at the burning embers of the fireplace. Shock. Was the only word capable of describing what I felt at that very moment. Nauseated, I paced through a nearly endless path bordered by family tombs, looking into the empty eyes of those marble statues and baroque angels perched on top of the gravestones. I was there, escorting the two lonely coffins until they were lowered inside deep stone graves side by side. Relatives of mine surrounded the ancient mausoleum of the Mondragons, some I had seen before, some were unknown faces. Nothing in this world could prepare them for this event, everything just pointed to my father and Carlyle as the apparent heirs of the family fortune. But things don't always work the way people expect them to. And destiny — It seems to play with us. The rain still poured bleakly over our dark clothes, and splattered against the plastic raincoats and umbrellas that some people bothered to use. I didn't. Each drop washed my fear and despair away. I cried, but no one noticed as the bittersweet droplets of water intermingled with my tears. There in front of me was my father, and my brother — as dead as they could be. Despite their profound lack of consideration with me, despite all of the terrible moments they made me go through. I loved them. Isn't love a slippery thing? There I was in my wet black suit; shoes carved in the damp grass of the graveyard, the living stare me, throwing venomous glares over my soul, with no effect. Life made me bulletproof. The shame of the family was a grown man now, I wasn't the foolish child I used to be. Now I was Albert Mondragon, heir of all the wealth of this putrid family. Whether they wanted, or not. Such a desirable thing is money. Four castles and manors, twelve companies, and almost fifty billions — dumped into the hands of an emotionally destroyed young adult — seems like a dream to many, I'm pretty sure about this. But for me it was a nightmare. All the greedy eyes of my so called 'kinsfolk' turned to me; during my entire youth I had to deal with those hungry faces, filled with envy and grudge. 'How can this dirt-blood take what is ours?' I once heard an aunt of mine say. It never left my ears. This money was like a curse, haunting me on every corner, everywhere I went I never had peace. During almost a decade, I endured the immeasurable responsibility of carrying the weight of my father's companies and business. A decade — of fake friendships, corrupted relationships, and lies; so many lies. But I did it, I tolerated all of this, I replied my 'friends' with fake smiles and compliments. I tolerated, because I knew that by the end of the day, I could go back to my room and smile with Fleur, even though I knew her smiles were not for me. After all, she was still a cartoon. And along the troubled path of my life, I met someone; she said it was love what she felt for me. And my weak and innocent heart believed in every single word she tenderly spoke in my ears. We dated, married and lived, I thought it was real, I thought our love was as pure as love is supposed to be. But if my father taught me something useful, was that one day, every lie comes to light. And destroyed again I was. All those claims, of loveand forever, all the time I've wasted with her. I heard as she said it was real, I heard as she declared herself in front of me over the sacred steps of matrimony. Our 'bond' was nothing but a sham. Not a single drop of truth or kindness. Since I was born, my life could easily be summed up to false expectations and disappointments — the only one in this world who ever loved me, died at my birth. Back to the beginning; there's me again, on the old road around the castle grounds, I walk silently, jumping from stone to stone, the ground still damp from last night's storm. It's always raining here. I finally reach my destination: A large rock stumbled alongside the path, moss and weeds grow freely above it, the own forest wrapped its roots around the ancient stone. During decades I came to this place in special to think about my life, here, only the nature could disturb me. I sat atop the slightly wet boulder, and stuck my arm into a narrow gap between the stone and the ground, some scratches later I retrieved it. After so many years it was still intact, worn by the time and covered with dirt of course... But nonetheless, Intact. I cleaned the mud with my hands, and revealed the true shape of the object. A heart-shaped golden pendant. Inside it lied a small photography; My mother and father, together. Aside from all his family disapproval, they loved each other. Even if it was only for a short period of time. I closed the small adornment and kept it in my pocket; I don't need to hide this anymore. Here, on this same rock, memories of my childhood flooded my mind; all the times I had to flee from the castle only to have a moment of peace. Being hated by your 'friends' is one thing, but being hated by your own parents... All I ever asked was someone who cared about me, someone who could enjoy being with me, someone who missed me and awaited for my return at the end of the day. And all I had was ponies; fake, unreal, cartoon, ponies. Among them, was her, the only thing giving me strength to withstand this life, she was my purpose. It always was. Fleur. I'm tired of being treated like an undesirable piece of shit, tired of having my ears filled with nothing but lies. All I ever asked was love, and it seems like no one can provide this. I thought it was just a phase, just a nonsensical madness, but it wasn't; every day my passion for her grows, there's no woman in this world who can give me what I want, there is no human in this planet who can rid me from her. She's the only one who can truly love me. I needed Fleur badly, and it doesn't matter anymore if she does exist or not. If you have a dream — and I had one — you need to fight for it, and if they say you will never achieve it... Fight more. If no one can love me, I will build someone who will.