When she’d lost her sight, Fluttershy had adapted. She’d begun to adapt even before the process was complete. It became easier and easier to trust her nose and her swivelling ears. She didn’t think she heard more now that the light was gone. Perhaps she did. Twilight would know, or the nurse who helped Twilight sometimes when Fluttershy visited. Rather, Fluttershy felt it was simply that her nose and her ears had always been telling her what they told her now, and that she had simply not paid attention until the world had forced her hoof.
Her nose was telling her many things. Mac was wearing cologne, which was silly of him, but endearing. There were candles… she actually wasn’t sure what the scent was. She would have to ask. Pine, fresh and wholesome.
Mac’s steps, heavy and so emphatically present, were on hard wood now. He helped her stand beside him, and she took a deep breath. “Is this?”
He hummed. “Eeyup.”
She wanted to see it. She wanted to see the house that he had built, and the wedding dress, and the cakes. She wanted to see the sun between the orchard’s trees at dusk. She had wanted to see Rarity lose all of her decorum in desperate pursuit of the bouquet. She’d wanted to see all of her friends at her side as she locked gazes with her… Husband, she thought, tasting the word. What a strange thing.
She wanted to see all of these things. It hurt. It hurt so much that she couldn’t see them.
She sniffed and leaned against him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I suppose. I’m livin’ here too, y’know.”
She giggled. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it.”
“Counting on it? Well, I’ll be damned, and here I thought it was all a surprise.”
She pressed her face into his side and felt the fabric of his coat against her cheek and nose. “I can’t believe I missed you dressed up.”
“You seen me that way. Remember the Ponytones concerts?”
“Mmm, that’s different.” She nuzzled up towards his neck.
“Not so different.”
He led her into the house, describing it all. Every part of it, he’d made himself or had some hoof in. Friends had come in secret to help him build furniture and raise the roof. She wondered, then, how much of her own home had been built as she sunned on the porch.
“I wish I could see it,” she said at last, as they lay on the bed. He’d helped her out of the flowing dress. “The dress, the house.”
“They’re both wonderful.”
“I know.”
He kissed her neck.
She continued, softly. “I just wish I could see them.”
Mac didn’t answer, and she liked that about him. He knew that sometimes there was no answer that worked, or was right, or applied. So he didn’t say anything. He waited and he watched.
Stretching out in front of her in the dark--and she somehow knew it must be dark--she knew what would fill her days in the coming week. She would learn this house and its dimensions and peculiarities. The world had become strange and tactile, a thing to be felt and explored intimately, and she had become an adventurer simply to make her way.
It was a more difficult world and sometimes a frightening one. It was big, and full of noises that she couldn’t identify fast enough and voices that blurred and ponies who were probably staring at her blindfold.
It was a kind world. She had spent so long waiting for its kindness in the birds singing at morning and in the cool air of night. She had heard it singing each to each in spring through the calling birds and through the foals playing in Ponyville. And she heard it still in the voices of her friends, light denied.
“I wish you could see it too,” Mac said at last.
She turned over and fumbled for his mouth but found it at last. She kissed him.
“I’m happy,” she said when she pulled away to catch her breath.
“It’s all I hope.”
She paused, and smiled. “I am.”