Fly West, Love, Towards Canterlot

by Cynewulf

How Changed From What She Was!

How Changed From What She Was

She lies there.

If she sees me watching her from the stairwell, she makes no acknowledgement of it. Rainbow is still as much as she can bear. She breathes, she stares. The Daring Do novel Twilight brought by a few days ago lies on the table with a bookmark between its almost virginal pages. I know it's stayed somewhere between pages twenty-five and twenty-six for a while now.

The glass of water remains half-empty, as it was when I last saw her.

I consider calling out to her, greeting her. Of course, I know what will happen: Rainbow will turn around, smile at me, and she’ll even manage conversation. I can almost map out the conversation now as I stand on the stairs.

“Heya, Rares,” she’ll say, giving me that lopsided smile that I love.

“Are you alright, Rainbow?” I’ll ask her, unable to do anything else. I cannot hide my worry when it comes to her; it is a flaw in my pursuit of decorum and a stoic face. With her I have always worn my heart like an amulet around my neck.

“I’m fine. Just a little sleepy. I should thank Twilight next time I see her, this book is great.”

And so it would continue. I would dance and she would dance, but it would be so unlike our regular waltz. There would be no teasing or smiling, no suggestion. No, perhaps it was not a dance. A chase. But not the kind I adore leading her on. It is not the kind where I always plan to be caught in the end. The end of this chase frightens me.

So I say nothing.

Her head lies on her hooves. Her wings are bound to her back as they have been since the day I carried her in my magic’s hold. I can almost feel the strain of it now, as her every groaning and squirming caused me agonies I would never tell her of. From Twilight’s house it was a long walk to the hospital. Big Macintosh’s help had not made it any better, for then there had been the blood, and my skills had been so useless.

But I say nothing. I walk up the stairs quietly, my hooves carefully mounting each wooden step. A Lady does not throw pearls to swine. She speaks only when it will do good, or when perhaps there is still hope.

I pause.

When there is still hope. Once, when I was younger, I had a list I kept. On the the top of the paper was the phrase “A Lady...” followed by maxims of things I imagined in my girlish innocence defined a lady of true refinement. I still remember writing those words, the enchanted pen recording my thoughts.

My will to clean is gone. The living areas in the boutique will survive another day of being slightly dirty and out of order.

Instead, I enter our room and find myself drawn to our bed. I lie down.

Below me, I know Rainbow is still.

I look over at the calendar on our bedside table. When she wakes up in the morning, Rainbow finds it groggily and checks off yet another day. At the end of the appointed marching days, I know there is a red circle around a date and words declaring it “Doctor. Wings.”

But that doesn’t mean that they’ll be fixed. Only that we’ll know by then which way the wind blows.

I imagine, as I always have. In my discontent, I picture Rainbow Dash standing on a wooden fence as she has done before on Applejack’s farm. She is balancing, careful not to fall one way or another. She will not hope. She will not feel pain and tell me. Instead, she stands with all four hooves where there is not enough room for even one, and she despairs and thinks I will not see. She will not move away from the fence. She will stand on it and die.

Why won’t she choose? Why can’t she care? How is it that I am apart from her, my own pony, and I care more for than she does? When will she love herself as much as I love her? I would rather she be cold or hot, because what sits on my couch is lukewarm and it is not Rainbow. I would spit it out of my mouth, for it offends me. It steals Rainbows eyes and face and voice and wallows in discontentment.

I blink away my tears and look again at the calendar. I think I will move it down to the kitchen, so that at the very least she will have to come down stairs and hopefully speak before beginning the day’s sitting.

She doesn’t come up the stairs. I wish that it was night, so that she would return to our bed. In the dark I can lie and tell myself that with a kiss I can convince her to choose something besides sitting, but when the lights are on I know she may not.

Comments

[Habanc]

Ugh, why are there all these feely, gloomy things in my body trying to learn to juggle with my heart, stomach, and mind?

Beautiful chapter, this is. My favorite of them all.

[Cynewulf]

2606621 I fight you

2606639 I actually did that as an add on to Foxes, and realized I had like redone all of the bad feels of Foxes in like a fourth of the space. :P

2606642 Thank you! That's kind of ya

[q97randomguy]

2606680
En garde!

[Cynewulf]

2607382 And I'm very glad.

[Cynewulf]

2608128 I had lots of fun with that. Typed it out on my iPhone bit by bit, just purple prose for the sake of it! Lots of fun

[Deathpony45]

My feels are so jumbed right now this is another great chapter I love your RariDash stuff cause its just some of the best shipping out there I don't know what it is about how you write I just love it

[Themaskedferret]

So this looks cool and all, but assuming they're unconnected and such, a single sentence of plot would be more effective to getting (Me at least) to read them.

[Cynewulf]

2746403 oh, they're connected.

Pinkie is moving through dreams from the Tower at the Edge of Creation back home to Dash.

[Ice Star]

I honestly hadn't picked up on this here 2746511. Spooky.