//------------------------------// // Chapter One: All That Matters // Story: Welcome to the Show // by DWK //------------------------------// Aria Blaze stopped her playing long enough to scribble down another bar’s worth of notes onto the rapidly-crowding staff. Despite literal centuries of practice, her notation was sloppy and probably illegible to anyone save herself, but it didn’t matter, as she was the only one who ever read it. The only exception was the rare occasion on which she submitted her work to one publication or another, occasions which had only decreased with frequency as time had passed. She used to think it pointless to compose if no one ever saw the fruits of her labor, but at some point she had come to the conclusion that life itself was pointless, and therefore artistic endeavors should be undertaken for their own sake rather than for recognition. Had there been an end in sight, maybe she would’ve felt differently – she could understand the desire mortals had to be known, to leave behind a legacy that would endure past their own ends – but it seemed that still might not be something she and her two compatriots had to take into account, at least by any natural means. When the pendants had shattered, one of her first thoughts had been horror at the possibility of being thrust back into mortality, but as the days, weeks, and months had worn on, her fears had been quelled; she still wasn’t aging, and neither were the others. Six months might’ve seemed like too short a time in which to come to that conclusion, but after staring at the same reflection every day for a thousand years, she knew she would’ve detected even the most minute of changes. She was just about to strike another chord before being halted by what she had long ago decided had to be the most annoying noise the multiverse had ever summoned the cruelty to produce. “Guess what day it is?” Sonata queried cheerfully, entering the living room from the adjacent kitchen. “Tuesday,” Aria told her, rolling her eyes and lowering the cover over the keys of her piano so that she had something to lean on in an effort to look as bored and exasperated as possible, “Taco Tuesday.” “Wow, Ari, how do you always get it right?” the blue-haired girl asked, a hint of wonder in her voice. “Oh, I dunno, Sonata,” Aria said with what she hoped was enough dripping sarcasm to penetrate the other party’s neutron star of a skull, “it’s almost like there’s a pattern here…as if Tuesdays happen with some sort of predictable frequency…” “That’s neat,” Sonata beamed, “also I made tacos!” However irritating the youngest siren was, she was made tolerable by being a more-than-decent cook, as well as the frequency with which she prepared food. Aria could not recall a day within recent memory that she’d had to make dinner for herself – or more accurately put, a day that she’d had to order something, as her own forays into the kitchen universally ended in disappointment, shame and/or structure fires. Though she would never, ever admit it, she quite looked forward to seeing what her air-headed companion would come up with on any given night, except on Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, she didn’t have to wonder, because it was always tacos. Ever since their short and turbulent stint at Canterlot High, and Sonata’s discovery of what she apparently considered the absolutely brilliant idea of consuming one particular food on the same night each week, this had been the way of things. Penning one last note, Aria decided this was as good a place as any to leave off for the evening and went to stand, only to find she didn’t need to. “I remembered no tomatoes this time,” Sonata declared with pride, holding out a plate with three indeed tomatoless tacos on it. “Are we just going to eat in the living room like poor people?” Aria demanded, her well-practiced withering gaze failing to affect its oblivious target in the slightest. “Why not?” Sonata shrugged, “that way you can still work on your music and Addy can…” her bubbly mood deflated slightly and her voice trailed off for a moment, “…stay on the couch.” An observer of the two girls’ interactions might not even have noticed that there was, in fact, a third person in the room, whom Aria now turned to regard. Sprawled out on the blue denim couch that occupied the wall opposite the piano, clad in a loosely-fitting hoodie and sweatpants, lay Adagio Dazzle, former leader of the siren power trio. When the pendants broke, Aria had lost something that she scarcely remembered life without: her immaculate voice, and the power that came with it. The change had been unsettling at the very least, and if she was honest enough to admit her own weakness, somewhere more along the lines of traumatic. But at least she had other things to hold onto – other parts of herself she’d been cultivating for most of her life. “Adagio?” Sonata prompted timidly. The possibly-unconscious form on the couch stirred slightly, accompanied by the clanking of empty bottles. “Addy, wake up! I made tacos…I know you like tacos.” The response wasn’t something coherent enough to be classified as a series of words, but Aria was pretty sure she understood the general sentiment behind it. “Come on, Addy,” Sonata continued her entreaty, voice carrying an edge of pleading, “you should eat something today.” She set a plate down on the coffee table in front of her inebriated friend, who still had not turned to face them. However, the smell of food must have tempted Adagio out of her stupor, as after a moment she rolled over and sat up, grimacing as she blearily rubbed her eyes. When she finally opened them and cast her glance upon the two girls who regarded her with polar-opposite degrees of concern, the two magenta orbs were bloodshot and unfocused, wreathed by dark circles that at this stage were beginning to resemble bruises more than the marks of simple exhaustion. Her gaze drifted down to the plate of food before her – prompting Sonata’s expression to brighten with hope – only to shift over to the partially-drained bottle of vodka that stood to the right of it. With a snarling frown that called in no uncertain terms for the both of them to get bent, she snatched up the vessel, rolled back over, and resumed her self-imposed exile in the land of semi-consciousness. If her visage had left any ambiguity in the equation – and it hadn’t – a single raised digit on her free hand made plain what Aria, Sonata, and any tacos in the vicinity could go do to themselves. ----- The amplifier hissed and popped momentarily before falling into a low hum as Aria plugged her cable in and turned the volume down to a comfortable level. Though her room was in a far corner of the house that she’d chosen specifically for its conduciveness to music practice, she had no desire to awaken a finally-sleeping Sonata, and even less desire to incite the gibbering wrath of a drunken Adagio. In fact, she was quite glad to be rid of the both of them for the rest of the evening, as each was draining in her own way. In no mood to tax her mind any further, she decided her newest composition could rest until morning, and instead opted to play an old favorite piece. While the grand piano would always be her instrument of choice, she nevertheless enjoyed the way her fingers could glide so effortlessly over a keyboard, even if the sound it produced was much less organic and dynamic. The slow, meandering ballad filled the room for a few moments before Aria did something that she had been attempting of late, but would never let the others hear: she began to sing. The sound that emanated from her throat filled her with confusion and a vague nostalgia, for though it felt alien to her, it was something she had known once upon a time, back when she was young and the world still seemed vast and full of joy. With the amulet around her neck, she’d needed to do little more than part her lips and will her words into existence to dazzle the world with her silver voice. That feeling of power resonating within her chest – however manufactured it might have been – would be something she would forever miss. What she could produce now was not necessarily terrible, but so very diminished and jarringly different. It was low and raspy like her speaking voice, and it took an almost painful effort to keep it melodic and to rein it in when it threatened to drift off-key. It was not beautiful, but in some small way it helped to fill another piece of the void. I am Aria. Whatever I become, I will never stop making music. That is all that matters. It had become something of a mantra for her over the past half a year, something she repeated in her mind while she played. She supposed it was humorous – in a cosmic sense, at least – that it had been the loss of her greatest musical asset which had caused her to redouble her efforts at practice and composition, but it wasn’t funny in the sense that she could laugh about it…not that Aria had ever been one for jokes. The long and short of it was that she could not and would not stop, for fear of what she might see or hear when the sound died down around her. The nameless song she had written so long ago ended, but she did not cease her playing, instead letting her fingers drift by their own will. She didn’t realize her mistake until it was too late, and her ears were met by a familiar melody that haunted nearly every moment of her recent memory. Welcome to the show… We’re here to let you know… She wanted to stop playing it, but couldn’t. It was the song they had never finished, and it was not simply that they’d never finished performing it; they’d never finished it at all. When she and her fellow sirens had still worn their pendants, writing songs had been unnecessary from a practical standpoint – all that needed happen was for Adagio to begin singing, and their voices would join together in magically-guided perfection. The music simply wrote itself as they sang it. What tormented Aria more than anything – more than that bright light, more than the screeching static in her ears as the three stones shattered, and more than the emptiness left in their wake – was that she would never know how that song ended; she could apply every last ounce of musical wisdom she had to attempting to write the ending, but nothing she could write would ever match what was wrote, and she would never hear its coda. She could feel the anger and impotence building even as the last words left her lips. We will break on through… Now it’s time to finish you… And that was where it ended. She lingered on the last chord for a long moment, desperately hoping that the next would be revealed to her, but it never manifested. No matter what she tried, nothing she could come up with sounded right, and no lyrics she could conjure made any sense. The feedback generated by her amp was not what frightened Aria when she slammed her fists down on the keys in frustration, but rather it was the unexpected dull thump against the far wall of her room that accompanied it. Shrugging off the start, she stood, striding over to the door and flinging it open, figuring she’d find Adagio ready to chew her out for making too much noise. What she found sent her mood shifting from confrontational to simply annoyed. Sonata was sitting on the floor, propped up next to the entrance and rubbing the back of her head, evidently having been startled enough to smack it against the wall. “I don’t recall asking for an audience,” Aria spat indignantly, her ire rising as she wondered just how much of her practice had been heard. Every last ounce of her anger drained instantly when the blue-haired girl actually looked up at her. Sonata’s cheeks were stained black by running makeup, carried by rivers of tears. Across one side of her face was an enormous red mark that bore a suspicious resemblance to a palm, and the fact that the inky rivulets ran over it uninterrupted suggested a certain progression of events. But the part that took the picture from pitiable to downright disconcerting was the look in her eyes – they shimmered wide with a kind of devastated betrayal that no quantity of offensive hand gestures or rejected meals could ever affect. “I’m sorry,” Sonata whimpered, turning away and lifting her hands as if to shield herself from further harm, “I didn’t want to interrupt.” It took Aria almost a full minute to realize that this reaction probably had something to do with the fact that her own face was utterly warped with rage as the details of exactly what she planned to do to Adagio etched themselves in fire across her psyche. She’d neither the sensitivity nor the tact to comfort her distraught friend, and so resolved to do the thing she knew she was very much capable of doing. “Ari, no!” Sonata cried, grabbing at her leg as she strode past. “Sonata…” “Please,” the youngest siren beseeched, “it’s not her fault.” “Oh, I beg to fucking differ.” “No!” Sonata shouted with surprising force, “no more fighting! I can’t STAND it when you two fight!” “What did she do to you?” Aria demanded, “what happened?” “I got up to…Aria, please, it doesn’t matter.” “If it doesn’t matter, then why are you here?” “I just wanted someone to talk to,” Sonata lamented, this conversation clearly not playing out at all as she’d imagined it, “but I can go. I’m sorry.” She made to stand, only to be yanked to her feet by one arm. “No,” Aria stated with finality, dragging the sniffling girl into her room, “get in here, and just don’t touch anything, okay?” “Okay.” ----- “Ari,” Sonata wondered breathlessly, “is all of this yours?” “Who else would’ve written it?” Aria countered, her fingers drifting lazily over her synthesizer, producing a disjointed, meandering line of notes. “I know,” Sonata placated, examining the scores of sheet music pinned to the walls, “but, I mean, this is a lot.” “I’ve had a lot of free time, in case you haven’t noticed.” Sonata ignored this last response, busy examining the thousands upon thousands of notes before her. Aria heard a sharp intake of breath, and when she looked up, found a glassy stare meeting her own. “Is this…” the blue girl trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase her question, “is this what I think it is?” she asked finally, choosing to keep the nature of her curiosity ambiguous. “I didn’t know you could read music,” Aria said thoughtfully, knowing at a glance what the piece in question was, “and yes, it is.” “I hear this song in my dreams,” Sonata breathed, “but I don’t know how it ends. I can’t stop wishing to know how it ends.” “Me either.” There was a long silence which even someone as dense as Sonata had no idea how to break. Finally she did so with a change of topic. “Ari?” “Would saying the last syllable of my name kill you?” “Aria?” “What?” “Does this help?” “Does what help?” Aria asked, becoming increasingly irritated. “This,” Sonata pointed, indicating the fingers that danced across the keyboard with boredom. “Yes,” the older former siren replied, “yes it does.” “I’m…jealous of you,” Sonata admitted with disarming sincerity, “I have so many more songs in me, and I wish there was some way to get them out.” Aria was rendered speechless. Despite being around her presumably ditzy compatriot for over a millennium, she’d always taken Sonata at face value. It wasn’t that she thought she was dumb, it was just that she’d never considered the possibility that someone as bubbly and open as Sonata actually had feelings that she wasn’t privy to. In retrospect it was an incredibly dense way of thinking. “It’s never too late to learn, Sonata.” “I know,” the other girl said sadly, “I just…I tried playing your piano once, and it wasn’t for me.” Aria eyed her companion, assessing her personality through this new filter and wondering – however loath she was to admit it – how to help. At length she stood and fetched something from the far corner of her room. “What about this?” she asked, handing the disused guitar to Sonata, “it might be more your speed. I tried to pick it up a while ago, but it wasn’t my thing.” Sonata drew her fingers over the strings, producing an uncomfortably dissonant sound. “We’re gonna need to tune this,” Aria told her, striking a natural A on her keyboard. Displaying a surprising amount of intuition, Sonata turned one of the tuning pegs until the second-lowest string matched it in pitch. Aria moved up to a D and very shortly heard the oscillations smooth out as a second guitar string mirrored the note. With wordless understanding they ascended before she finally dropped down to a low E. When it was finished, Sonata drew a fingernail over all six strings. “It sounds lovely,” she commented. “That it does,” Aria agreed, trying to stifle the hint of a smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. She struck a simple major chord on her keyboard, following it up with a second, then a third, and after a fourth she repeated the progression. “Now try to follow me.” ----- Hours later, Sonata snored loudly but peacefully, propped up against the bed. Her fingers were blistered, but she knew no pain in the tranquility of sleep. A small smile spoke of pleasant dreams. Aria wiped the smile off of her own face. She still maintained that she did not care much for Sonata, but there were certain evils in this world that could not be allowed to stand. She rose from the chair at which she usually sat to play her synth and retrieved a blanket from the foot of her bed, draping it over the sleeping form of her slumbering sister siren. She felt a few strange impulses of an almost maternal nature, but she resisted them, having much more pressing priorities. Looking at the disheveled mop of orange hair, Aria wondered if she would be a horrible person for not saying something first. Then she realized that she was already a horrible person. She did not let the sharp cry of pain and confusion linger in the air, instead grabbing at the collar of the shirt that lurked beneath the liquor-stained hoodie. A bleary set of magenta eyes met her own. “Give me one good reason,” she snarled. “There isn’t one,” Adagio replied, a delirious grin spreading across her face. With defiant nonchalance, she reached for the nearly-empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table and tried to take a drink, only to have it smacked out of her hand. “You are,” Aria drew in a deep breath, “disgusting.” A sharp bark of mirthless laughter left Adagio’s throat. “What are you going to do to me, Aria?” she taunted, voice laced with acidic bitterness, “are you going to hurt me?” “I could.” Another positively unhinged cackle split the air as Adagio laughed once more. “There is nothing left,” she giggled dementedly, “nothing left that you can take away from me. By all means, do your worst,” the eldest siren scoffed, “but you can’t make me hurt more.” “I can,” Aria threatened, “and if you ever touch her again, I will…but not this time. You have one more chance.” “You’re so virtuous, Aria,” Adagio sneered, “protecting the weak; sparing the guilty. If only I was as good as you, maybe we wouldn’t be where we are.” “I’m not good,” the younger siren spat with a murderous glare, “I’m just not the worst.” “Well, maybe one day I can scrape my way up to your level…” “It’s not far to climb,” Aria snarled, tossing the inebriated girl back down on the couch, “try harder.” Without another word she turned and stamped back to her room, fuming as Adagio’s laughter filled her ears all the way. ----- Aria Blaze sat in a familiar clearing, hoof lazily strumming the strings of her mandolin. If ever there was an instrument that an earth pony wasn’t meant to play, this was it. However, there were few instruments that actually were designed with her kin in mind, and if she was going to fight an uphill battle, she might as well fight the hardest one. The piano was, of course, her instrument of choice, but as much as she loved playing, it did not lend itself to portability, and she needed something she could bring outside on a lovely day like this one, as well as something she could play in the street to make a bit or two. She’d only been picking at the thing for a few weeks, but music was her gift, and already she had a few tunes squarely under her belt. She chose one to practice again and struck the first chord, but promptly silenced her strings when she swore she heard an echo of the sound in the distance. She listened intently for any other indication that she wasn’t alone, but when she heard nothing further, she struck another chord. This time, she knew she heard it. A voice, clear and true as a silver bell, sung the root note until it diminished into nothing. Curiosity more than piqued, Aria struck another chord and found it similarly matched. Cautiously, she began a slow scale, mesmerized as the beautiful voice mirrored her playing. When she was done, the song continued its ascent another full octave, reaching a pitch that no mortal being should naturally be able to produce, yet not faltering for a moment in clarity or intensity. Wanting to meet this pony that she was becoming more jealous of by the moment, Aria stood, set down her instrument, and called out. “Hello?” The low rasp of her own voice sounded grating and obnoxious when contrasted against what she’d just heard. The reply came in the form of a single note, long and sustained, and she followed its sound to the trees. As she cantered further and further and further, she realized just how far the mare’s – for it was undeniably a female – voice carried. After several hundred yards, the trees parted, and she stepped into a verdant meadow, gasping with wonder. In the center of the clearing, perched – for lack of a better word – upon a rock, was a strange yet beautiful creature. A long, serpentine body of glimmering golden scales wrapped around the stone. The front half of it looked something like a pony, though its muzzle was longer and its hooves larger and cloven. In place of its mane was a crest that ran from the top of its head down its back. But the most enchanting and unearthly thing about it was its voice, impossibly high and clear. It trailed off after a moment, and the creature fixed its golden, reptilian eyes upon her. “Your voice is lovely,” Aria breathed, suddenly feeling as though she was intruding. “So kind of you to say, my child,” the creature replied, displaying a mouth of sharp teeth, but managing to look friendly rather than menacing. “I’d give anything for a voice like yours,” the pony admitted, no longer attempting to hide her envy. The creature’s toothy grin grew even wider. “Why give,” it asked, “when you deserve to receive?” ----- Aria awoke suddenly and in a very sour mood. This was no different than most days, but this time she actually had several good reasons for it, and they all had to do with one particular person. Still, she wasn’t one to dwell on dreams before coffee, and so dragged herself painfully out of bed, pulling on her usual pair of jeans and not bothering to button them. She sometimes wondered exactly what course in life had led her to wear such absurdly tight pants on a daily basis, but once again this was not something to contemplate before coffee. On her way to the kitchen, she found the couch predictably occupied by what she was sure was the world’s most unruly mess of hair, and the comparatively small person to which it was attached. Adagio’s orange mop had always been something to behold when she’d taken care of it, but now that she was letting herself go it threatened to engulf the entire living room and any unsuspecting passersby. Aria considered yelling at her some more or possibly even hitting her again, but decided that could wait until after coffee. “Ari!” Sonata cried happily over the hiss of a sizzling griddle, “you’re up!” Aria stiffened as she received an affectionate hug. In days past she might’ve ended it by force, but as it was she was content to grimace and let out a displeased groan. “Don’t be so grumpy,” her bubbly counterpart insisted, “I’m making bacon!” “Did you wash your hands after you took it out of the package?” Aria asked squeamishly, shrugging off her assailant, “I’m not really a fan of trichinosis.” “Of course!” the blue-haired girl beamed, “a good cook is a clean cook! Now, sit down, it’ll be ready in just a minute.” Aria sat, not one to argue with Sonata when food was involved. “Where’s my guitar?” she demanded when the jovial humming that filled the room finally took too much of a toll on her uncaffeinated psyche. “Oh…” Sonata said, her bouncy mood losing some of its momentum as she paused in siphoning off the bacon grease, “I took it to practice this morning, but I’ll bring it back after we eat.” “I didn’t say I wanted it back,” Aria grumbled, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, “I just asked where it was. You can keep it.” “Really?” the youngest siren queried breathlessly, turning around to face her. “On two conditions.” “Anything.” “You practice every day…” The command was met by a vigorous nod. “And don’t hug me again.” The second command was met by a less-vigorous, more solemn nod. “Thanks, Ari.” “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t.” Sonata gave one last gesture of assent, busying herself with pouring the bacon grease into a pan and then ladling pancake batter on top of it. Neither girl said anything else until the meal was prepared and set down on the table. “I’ll be right back,” said Sonata, “I’m just gonna see if Addy wants some of this.” “Why bother?” Aria frowned, biting a strip of bacon and chewing rudely as she talked, “you know she doesn’t.” “Because,” Sonata countered with conviction, “maybe she will this time.” “There’s nothing you can do for her.” Sonata’s face twisted into a sad expression of confliction, but her resolve held. “I want to help her, Aria,” she stated plainly, voice barely above a whisper, “she needs our help.” “What can we do?” Aria demanded more angrily than she figured was warranted. “We can keep trying!” Sonata shouted, her anger rising to match as she banged her fists on the table, upsetting a glass of orange juice. “She won’t even try to help herself. Tell me what brilliant plan you have that’s going to bring her back to normal.” “I just don’t understand you, Aria,” the younger girl fumed, “how can you have so little empathy?” She rose from her seat, palms planted firmly on the table as she leaned over it to be face-to-face with the target of her wrath. “How can you care so little when you’re going through the exact same thing as she is?” “Because I’m dealing with it, and she isn’t.” “Exactly!” Sonata all but shrieked, “that’s why we have to help her!” “Then do it. Beat your head against a wall, but I won’t have any tears for you, and I definitely won’t have any for her.” For a moment, Sonata looked like she was going to cry, but then she visibly steeled herself. “I feel sorry for you, Aria,” she said shakily, grabbing a plate of food and exiting the kitchen. She paused at the doorway, turning back. It looked as though the right words were on the tip of her tongue, but after a moment’s hesitation, she continued on her way. “You’re the worst, Sonata,” Aria whispered to herself, “I hate you so much.” ----- Aria ran her fingers across the keyboard, playing a simple series of arpeggios. Normally in the evening she’d be at her piano, but she had no desire to see either of her housemates, and so had sequestered herself in her room, having to be content with the instruments therein. She wanted to play something more complex, but was bothered to distraction by how idiotic her sister sirens were. Realizing that her heart was pounding in her chest, she took a moment to center herself. I am Aria. Whatever I become, I will never stop making music. That is all that matters. She was Aria. That was all she could say that she was, having been so many things over the course of her exhaustingly protracted life. She was the pony who became a siren who then became a human, yet through all of it she had maintained a sense of self that no number of years in any realm of the multiverse could take away. She’d been transformed, banished, and cut down by divine magic, but she would never let the passage of time or the changing of her mortal shell break the part of her that knew who she was. She was Aria Blaze, she had always played music, she always would play music, and that was all that mattered. A knock at the door interrupted her introspection. “Go away, please,” she intoned harshly, hoping that even through a wall the disturber could hear just how unappealing she found the prospect of company. There was a second knock. “Go away!” “No,” came a voice from the other side of the door, “open up.” At least it wasn’t the drunkard. Rising from her seat in defeat, Aria made the short journey across her room and flung open the door, an expertly-crafted look of utter disgust already on her face. “Wha–” The demanding shout did not make it past the first syllable before she felt two skinny arms wrap around her. “I’m sorry, Ari,” Sonata cried, clinging to her like a giant blue leech, “I’m sorry I got angry with you!” “Are you even capable of expressing emotions without touching me?” Aria cringed. “Sorry,” Sonata sniffed, releasing her grip, “I just wanted you to know I meant it.” “You can still mean it from an acceptable distance!” “I’m sorry,” the blue-skinned girl said, sniffling again, “I’ll go now.” Aria heaved an immense sigh. “You don’t have to go,” she drawled in annoyance, “just please don’t hug me again.” “Okay,” Sonata nodded. There was a long silence in which she rocked back and forth awkwardly on her feet, clearly not having planned to talk about anything else. “Go get your guitar,” Aria said finally, “I’ll show you some things.” “For realzies?” “Go get it! And don’t ever say that again!” ----- “Ow!” Sonata winced, letting her strings ring to a halt. “What’s the problem?” “I think I need a break,” she admitted, “my fingers really hurt.” “Let me see,” Aria commanded, standing and striding quickly over to her companion. “Damn it Sonata,” she huffed, looking at the shredded, blistered fingertips that greeted her eyes, “you’re going to get an infection. How were you even playing like this?” “I practiced a lot this morning. It hurt, but I didn’t want to give up.” “Sonata, there’s a difference between and giving up and admitting your limitations,” Aria reproached, “you can’t master an instrument in one day; give it a rest.” “Okay,” Sonata conceded, “I just didn’t want to let you down.” The elder siren said nothing in reply, instead sitting back down in front of her synthesizer and busying herself with the next part to her most recent piece. It was a strange piece, the tempo being fast and jazzy but the notes following a dark, minor progression. It gave voice to the confusion she’d felt of late. She had started from the beginning, and when she reached the end of what was already written, the next few notes revealed themselves. She paused to scrawl them down on paper. “That was lovely,” Sonata breathed, having listened with rapt attention. “Thanks.” “Ari?” “Out with it,” Aria snapped, knowing that otherwise the following words would be something along the lines of “can I ask you a question?” “What are we, now?” “W-What?” she stammered, caught off guard by such an earnest and yet nebulous question. “I mean,” Sonata searched for the right words, “we were sirens, right?” “Right…” “But when we sang that song, the sirens left our bodies and attacked those girls.” “So?” “So…I saw it happen, but I was still me,” Sonata reasoned cautiously, “and when they beat us, the siren that came out of me shattered, just like my amulet.” “So what? What are you trying to say?” “I’m just wondering…back when I first met you and Adagio, I was me. Then I put on my amulet and became a siren. But now the siren is gone…so what’s left?” “Sonata…” “I’m confused,” Sonata said sadly. “I never looked at this,” she indicated her human body, “and thought that this was me. I always thought that the real me was waiting inside, and that when we got back to Equestria, she would come out. But then the thing that I thought was me came out when we sang, and I saw her broken into a million pieces. I’ve just been wondering…what am I?” The question was posed with such disarming innocence that Aria felt a twinge at the corners of her eyes. “You’re Sonata,” she asserted. “But what is that?” Sonata questioned. “You’re Sonata,” Aria insisted, her fingers leaving the keyboard to rub in what she hoped was a casual way at the edge of her eye, “and you’re always happy, even if you aren’t. You love to cook. Your favorite food is tacos. You just started learning to play the guitar. You’re not a what; you’re a who, and I know who you are, even if you don’t.” “Am I a good who?” Sonata asked hopefully. Aria felt her heart tremble under the weight of such an existential responsibility. She was silent for a while. “No,” she said finally, her features turning up in a wry smirk, “you’re the worst.” She received a grateful smile in return. “I love you too, Ari.”