It was a total mistake coming here.
The first time, I mean.
Accidents that are repeated don't deserve to be called "tragedies." They're just the soul's way of connecting all the ashen dots that have been burned ever since the first collapse... the initial plunge into despair.
I had been diagnosed for two months... completely bereft of all the things that made me... me. One by one, every agent I ever met dropped me like a bad habit. It happened slowly, like a melting glacier, as everyone in the industry slowly... painfully woke up to the reality that had chiseled its way down my horn and found a home into my useless throat.
There was no recovering from what had happened. No recovery for my career... and no recovery for their bit bags. I was fruitless, sterile. With each agonizing day, the real world confirmed the real fears inside, and I was abandoned.
That's the funny thing about life. Everypony tells you to "believe in yourself" and to "follow your dreams." It's a very noble idea, and it does work... but only for a little while... at least until it's no longer practical to wave such a mirthful flag. Sometime, the wind just cuts out, and you're stuck there with your flaccid banner... stranded on a motionless sea... and there's nowhere to go except down... diving into the icy depths. In hope for what? Treasure? Colors? Warmth? All you'll ever find is darkness, but at least you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you brought yourself there... that the only real choice we can ever make in life...
...is to end... before the end expects us.
Yes, it's a bitter thing. But it's ours. It doesn't make us powerful, but it makes us unique.
All my life... all I've ever wanted was to be unique. And seven years ago, after the very last connection in the industry had fizzled dry... I found myself here, awash in a sea of magenta, my banner deflated and my sails empty... and I had only one way to claim power over all the elements that had stranded me in the heart of desolation, even if it mean losing that power.
Octavia...
Tavi...
You gave me something... so very special.
The song you played, you played for me and me alone. It doesn't matter if you didn't know who I was or what I was doing or how I had gotten to such a lofty place...
...you reached through the falling snow and frigid winds. And—with tendrils of sweet violet, you caressed mine. Like red wine, you had intoxicated me. It didn't make sense to feel so cherished, and yet... I didn't care. Because in your company, in those arms and nuzzling smiles that dried so many tears and salvaged so many heartbeats...
...I felt unique.
And for seven long years, that sustained me.
But not anymore. Because I now know that I wasn't sustaining you. I held you back. Instead of diving for a solution, I clung to a feeling. Emotions are poor substitutes for progress, and in my selfishness and desperation, I held you tightly. I sealed us both deep in the brig of that boat in the middle of a frigid ocean of stagnance.
I thought I was providing you comfort and joy. Instead, I was still the pathetic mare sobbing herself into near unconsciousness in a bathtub just six trots away from where I now sit, my back to the bed of this dilapidated hotel, gazing out onto the river... the bridge... realizing that I never truly climbed down. I only brought you up to the brink along with me.
And because of my possessiveness—when the manure hit the fan—it was nearly you who jumped instead of me. For all I know, maybe you already did, and right now you're sinking away someplace peaceful... someplace dark and cool... a liberating emptiness where none of the words of your father can find you... where first chair with the Canterlot Symphony can simply remain that—a fool's dream in a fool's world where there are too many souls vying for so few inane trophies. It's no wonder that such mournful minstrels find each other on this plane, adrift across the dead surfaces of the world, stuck in their eternal refrains.
A good song can't last forever. You were ready for the next movement. But I? I was perpetually stuck in a loop, like some unimaginative dance track. I almost tortured you with that beat. That's why I can't hate you for leaving. I can only hate myself for not letting go sooner.
But it's okay. Hate is a fleeting thing—like shadows. The light dwindled in my life over seven years ago. You were just the reflection of something I once believed in, Tavi. But now, all the surfaces have dulled. My shades are off. I am lucid.
I don't like what I see and hear any more than that mare did seven years ago. Only now, things have changed. I've become more complex... a critic... a connossieur of written music.
And your strings? They're delicious. They were always delicious, Tavi. But now...
Now I think the most your song's worth is some applause... maybe even a smile...
The seven year encore is over with, and that mare has someplace to be, and it's about time she took the next step.