Okay, my brother might be some sort of eldritch being of limitless power. I’m not one-hundred percent certain since he still poops in a diaper and burps up on himself, but no normal baby should be able to walk through walls, disappear, and make grown ponies fly on a semi-regular basis.
To be fair, I suppose most of the adult unicorns can probably do that last one too since they’re always levitating something or other, but I’ve yet to see any of them pull off the insane, reality-warping stunts of Blueblood. I also haven’t seen any of them show remotely the level of concern and awe such feats should warrant.
As a matter of fact, they seem prepared for it. I’ve spotted servants with helmets and war paint, lookouts stationed outside the doors and windows, and neither my brother nor I are changed or fed without at least one other pony present for backup, usually sporting an oversized butterfly net.
To put it simply, the mansion has become a mad house.
Even my patience with Blueblood is wearing thin, if not for my own sanity and the constant ache behind my horn, than for the health of our caretakers. I’ve noticed frayed manes and tired eyes on more than a few of them, and that includes Mom and Dad. I still try to be as considerate as I can, only crying for my needs to be met when my brother is already being fed or changed, but it has become a lot harder. About the only time I can rest now is when Blueblood is asleep.
I’m only trying to help, but I think the madness my brother has wrought has already gotten to the adults, because, despite his actions, I’m the one they look at with confusion and worry. I don’t understand, I haven’t set anything on fire or flipped any furniture, so why did my new Mom start to tear up when she held me this morning?
What am I doing wrong?
Ornate sat quietly as her mother sipped tea across from her. Despite her age, the older mare still looked beautiful with her wavy gold mane and bright yellow coat, only crow's feet giving away that she was no longer a young mare. Over the last six weeks, Ornate had been more than glad to host her mother, the two sharing all sorts of foal stories and laughs. As her own foals grew more and more however, Ornate began to notice a distinct difference between her tales to those of Golden Garden.
At least, for one of her children that is.
“So, have the magical surges started happening? I’d say it’s about that time,” Golden finally spoke after several minutes of silence. “With how tired you look, I’d say the answer's obvious.”
“Oh, yes,” Ornate responded, trying to sound engaged as she smiled. “Little Blueblood has been quite the hoof-full this last week, just like you said he would be. I honestly didn’t believe all the stories I always heard about unicorn foals until now.”
Golden chuckled with a pitying head shake, “Nopony ever does until their foal turns them green with magenta spots.” The older mare gave her daughter a mock glare. “You scared me half to death with that one, little missy. I thought it would be permanent.”
That got a giggle from the younger mare. “Did I really do that? Little Blueblood has been driving us all up the walls trying to run free through the house, but I’m glad to say everypony is still the right color, at least.” She breathes a sigh and stares into her cup. “For all the mischief he gets up to, Bluey couldn’t be prouder in his son. He thinks it’s a sign of great potential.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that before,” Golden said with a roll of her eyes. “I swear, for all the parents out there who think they have the cutest foal in the world, they are nowhere near as obnoxious as a unicorn father thinking their foal is the next Star Swirl.
“Your father was the same way with your older brother,” she continued, taking a drink of tea, “The lad makes my petunias grow to the size of carriages, and all that lughead can do is gab about how our son had the green hoof of a hundred earth pony farmers. Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep the flowers from toppling the house over by leaning against it.”
“Well, Sunlight is a pretty successful botanist now, so…” Ornate voice trailed off with a smirk, getting her mother to glare.
“Don’t let your father ever hear you defending him like that. He already thinks he’s always right; he doesn’t need you kids siding with him too. He’d be insufferable.” The serious expression only lasted a few seconds before both girls burst into giggles.
“So, what about Pureblood? I can hardly imagine the little angel causing trouble, but you know what they say about the quiet ones.”
Ornate sobered instantly. “Oh… She’s… she’s doing great. So well-behaved. Hasn’t caused a bit of trouble yet.”
Golden gave her daughter a strange look. “That’s… good.” Leaning in, she asked, concerned, “Is she doing all right? She isn’t sick or anything, is she?”
“No, or at least, we don’t think so.” Ornate once again broke eye contact to stare into her teacup. “She doesn’t have a fever or cough, and she eats regularly too. She’s… maybe not sleeping as well as she used to. Or smiling as much.” She sighed. “She’s hardly touched one of her picture books lately either, even though I bought her three new ones.”
“Foals are a fickle sort, dear,” the older mare comforted. “Why, I remember you used to love mashed carrots, couldn’t get enough of them. It was carrots for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’d turn your head to anything else until one day, you stopped liking carrots. I was at my wit's end trying to get you to eat. Then one day I ask Sunlight to feed you while I was busy, and I come to find you munching on mashed peas. Peas! You hated peas, and yet, there Sunlight was, making silly choo-choo noises and you were just gobbling that goop up.”
There was the barest hint of a smile on Ornate’s lips, but it did little to change her melancholy look. “You’re trying to say it’s a phase.”
“Exactly right,” her mother answered with a nod. “I’m not saying you should ignore it completely, but, well, teenagers aren’t the only ponies prone to such things. Perhaps little Pureblood will start feeling better on her own.”
Ornate sighed. “It’s not just the behavior, Mom, there’s something else… Mom, have you ever heard of a foal not having magical surges by their first month?”
Golden Garden blinked owlishly for a few seconds. “Well, by a few days, I suppose, but never more than a week.” She tilted her head curiously. “Are you saying Pureblood hasn’t been surging? Honey, it doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong if a unicorn foal isn’t causing spectacular mayhem with their surges. It might be a sign of below-average magic strength, but that’s hardly something to be worried about.”
“That’s just it, I’d be happy if she cast any magic, any at all, but, Mom… She hasn’t shown even a single spark yet.”
Golden couldn’t stop the small gasp. “Are you certain? Perhaps you simply weren’t there, or-”
“The help hasn’t noticed anything either, and we’ve all been keeping an eye out for any sign.” Tears started to form in the corner of the younger mare’s eyes. “Mom,” she whispered, “what’s wrong with my baby?”
I’m trying not to panic, but the all too familiar place my pony parents have brought me to is stirring up memories I’d rather have kept behind me. The memories, and the thought that they will become my future, are terrifying.
I’ve already seen the doctors, ponies in white coats who had no sense of personal space, and been put through tests of some sort. They shined bright lights in my eyes and ears, moved things through the air for me to track, and even made silly faces to get a reaction from me. I tried to give a smile at that, but it was obviously forced. That flimsy smile dropped completely when they covered me with wired sensors and flipped on a huge machine. It wasn’t painful at least, but I was concerned by the incredibly long sheet of paper that spewed out onto the floor.
What sort of thing could have been written on those pages to warrant so much? What did they say about me?
My mother holds me tighter as I shake, whispering what I’m sure are meant to be comforting words in my ear, but I can’t stop staring at the dull white walls or get the sharp scent of antiseptic out of my nose. A part of me is saying I should get used to them now and get it over with. After all, these familiarities would be my only comfort for however long this life would last.
Another part of me argues that I feel fine, better than I ever did in my last life, that I could breathe without thought and my body never ached. But… that wasn’t true was it? I had been ignoring it, brushing it off as nothing, but my head had been hurting practically since I was born.
Was this some sort of cruel joke? To have to spend an entire life ill, a burden on those who foolishly loved a broken girl until the day I broke their hearts, and then have to go through it all again?
A doctor enters the waiting room and my pony dad rises to meet him, they exchange words, Mom asks questions herself, and judging from the raising volume of Dad’s voice and the growing tension in Mom’s frame, it’s not good news. Tears that had been building in my mother’s eyes finally begin to fall and my heart clenches. Soon, the tears I’d been holding back all day fall to match hers.
My understanding of the language has improved, but I still don’t know what the doctor has said, which is a shame since I would like to know how long I have…
No.
I am not going to let it end this way. Not again. My first mom always told me that optimism would help me recover, and I am determined to do so. I will face whatever is wrong head on and overcome it. No more just accepting my fate and waiting. If this is a second chance, then I’ll prove I deserve it. If this is a cruel joke, then I’ll teach the prankster they messed with the wrong girl.
Turning in my mother’s grasp, I looked her in the eye. This is where I’ll start; I won’t let these ponies cry on account of me, and it starts now. Drudging up what little of the language I’ve learned, I return the comforting words this mom is always soothing me with, and hope she understands that I won’t leave her, Dad, or my brother without a fight.
“Well, I have some good news for you,” the doctor spoke, both parents listening with rapt attention. “Your daughter is in perfect physical health, and there doesn’t seem to be anything mentally wrong with her either. Actually, in the latter’s regard, she might even be advanced.”
“That’s… good to hear,” Ornate said, voice soft, “but…”
“But what about the magic then?” Blueblood the 16th demanded. “If she’s in perfect health, then why hasn’t she produced even a glimmer yet?”
At this, the doctor looked down at a clipboard in his hoof, frowning slightly. “Yes… there is that.” Breathing a sigh, he met the stallion’s gaze. “I’m afraid, while a healthy filly in every other regard, your daughter suffers from mageiasthenia, meaning her magical reserves are extremely shallow.”
Blueblood tensed. “What do you mean shallow? She’s a direct descendant of Princess Platinum; one of the strongest unicorn lines in Equestria for crying out loud!”
“Sir, please calm down,” the doctor tried, getting the larger stallion to flare his nostrils. “As for how this has happened, well… we don’t know. The condition is rare, going far beyond simply being below average in magical strength, and so it hasn’t been well-studied.”
While Blueblood looked like he was about to snap again, Ornate cut it. “You’re saying she has less magic than normal. How- how much less?”
Looking back to his clipboard, he frowned slightly. “It’s… practically non-existent, a mere fraction of what would be expected of a pony her age.”
“And why are we just hearing of this now?” Blueblood interrupted. “Shouldn’t you doctors have noticed something like this when she was born?”
“Not necessarily,” he answered. “I of course pulled up the examination results from her birth since they make up the entirety of her medical history, and I can see why no red flags popped up. Her magic at birth was only slightly below what is to be expected of a newborn. I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but ponies of any tribe are born with practically no magic both for their safety and that of their mother. It’s not until a foal is safely out of the womb for a month that their magic begins to rapidly grow.”
“That’s all very interesting, doctor,” Blueblood nearly growled, “But what about my daughter? How can this be fixed? What’s the treatment?”
The doctor looked hesitant, but answered. “I’m sorry, but there is no treatment. All that can be done for Pureblood now is to manage the symptoms until her magic completes whatever growth it will and hope it’s enough for her to live without discomfort.”
While Blueblood stumbled back a step, stunned, Ornate squeezed her filly closer as if to protect her and asked, “Symptoms? Discomfort? W-what are you talking about?”
“When you came in, you told me of Pureblood’s sudden change in behavior, that it started roughly two weeks ago, yes?” Ornate nodded in answer. “About the same time her brother began having his magical flares?” Another nod. “While mageiasthenia may not be a well-understood condition, the effects it has have been documented.
“Scientists believe that the near lack of magical energy within the afflicted causes, at least in part, for them to be hypersensitive to magic in their environment, often causing them some form of discomfort when exposed to high magical pressure. With her current reserves, the magic released from even low-level spells probably cause her some degree of pain, and with a unicorn foal surging right next to her, it’s no wonder she’s been acting strangely.”
Ornate gasps and begins to cry. “You-you mean I’ve been hurting my daughter by using magic near her? But I’ve never noticed- I-I would have-“
“Mrs. Garden, please don’t blame yourself. There was no way to have known and, honestly, things like small-scale levitation probably didn’t affect her much at all.” The doctor consoled. It didn’t seem to work however as the mare kept crying.
That is, until little Pureblood squirmed in her mother’s grip and looked up at her with wet, but determined eyes. What she did next shocked every pony in the room as she leaned up, wrapped her tiny hooves around the mare’s neck, and said, “Hush, Mommy, don’t cwy. Pewblood is hewe. Hush.”
As she ran her hooves up and down Ornate’s neck, making soothing sounds, the mother couldn’t help but cry a little louder, though now it was through laughter. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.” Pulling the filly away, she kissed her right below her horn and smiled. “I love you, Pureblood.”
Ornate looked over as she felt a hoof on her shoulder, seeing her husband with a tired, but happy smile. “We both do,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss his wife on the temple before doing the same to Pureblood. “And we always will.”
The filly giggled, reaching up to catch her father’s face and kissing his chin with a exclamation of, “Daddy!”
At that moment, Ornate Garden felt a weight be lifted from her withers. The mare knew then that, no matter what life threw at them, at her daughter, they would get through it together, and her beautiful, bright little filly would outshine the stars themselves.