"Enjoy the ice cream, Diva. The doctor and I will be… talking just outside."
Mommy shut the door behind her.
Diva looked down at the bowl. Maybe it had been ice cream before. But of course it wasn't now. Diva couldn't have anything cold. Her throat had to heal.
The doctor had said she was luck to be able to swallow at all. She didn't feel lucky.
Her ears pricked, and the sound of voices drifted in over the music. Not distinct, but perceptibly unhappy to a filly's ears.
Diva glowered at the bowl, as if somehow it was at fault. It wasn't ice cream, it was just cream. She dipped her hoof into it, pulled it out, and laughed that the color was exactly the same as her coat.
Or she would have laughed, if it were possible.
An accident. A little stumble. A trip and a sharp corner was all it took.
"And you call yourself a doctor? What did your magic to do help my daughter? Nothing, that's what! Useless!"
Diva shrunk under the covers. She didn't like it when mommy sounded mad.
"A life of singing ahead of her, and you can't do a thing to help her!"
The doctor had said he'd done what he could, but her larrinks or whatever refused to heal. Said it was as though her own magic was pushing back. That didn't make sense to Diva—she could barely manage sparks, and if there was one thing she wanted it was to talk.
She'd learned last night that she couldn't even sob anymore.
She wanted to tell mommy she didn't want to sing; that she hated the endless lessons and the scowling teachers; that she just wanted mommy to come in and hold her until it was okay again.
The voices hadn't gone away; mommy and the doctor were still talking on the other side.
Diva didn't like being alone.
She rolled over on the bed and shoved the bowl of cream away from her. It slid effortlessly across the table, striking the phonograph stood against it. The record skipped.
Shik.
Diva's ears perked.
She wasn't a fond of whatever was playing. "Moh's Art" or something. But the sound was something new.
She crawled to the edge of the table and shook it. This time the table bumped the phonograph, and it squeaked again.
Such a strange sound…
Diva cast a furtive glance to the door, checking it was still closed, and crawled over the table.
Bump, followed by a sheek as the record continued.
She touched the record, and the music stopped.
A spin, and more sounds came. A kind of low hiss. Pause. Faster, and a shrill squeak, sheeeeek.
She tap-tapped the table, and spun the record again. She liked it.
Tap-bump tap-ta-eeeek.
The door opened and mommy entered, scowling.
"Diva! What are you doing with that phonograph?"
Diva looked down, then back up at her mother.
Shik-sheeek.
"Stop that at once."
Diva twisted her ears. She had to get the pitch just right. Shik-sheeek.
Mommy stomped over. "Diva, I won't ask you again—"
Diva looked at her, desperate, and tried a third time, trying to match her pitch exactly, SHIK-SHEEEk.
Mommy!
Mommy froze.
Diva didn't breathe for a moment. Again she looked at the phonograph, back at mommy.
shuh-shuh-shish-eee.
Mommy's ear twitch was the only thing that moved.
Diva tapped her heart, held out to mommy, and again, shuh-shuh-shish-eee.
"I… Diva?"
One final time, shuh-shuh-shish-eee.
Mommy swept forward, curling Diva up in her forelegs. They nuzzled each other desperately, the message clear.
"Oh, Diva, of course your mommy loves you!"