Coda Da Capo

by Cinder Script

Heartstring Melodies

She returns to Canterlot, a changed mare in a changed city. It's fall, in the mountain city. She wanders, trailing from job to job. The Equestrian Historical Society contacts her, helps her get therapy, and gets her story of Sombra's Reign.

It's part of what will enter into history books, but she can't bring herself to delve into the horrors she suffered. Not fully.
The therapy isn't working.
The medication doesn't help.
She sees a gray world, a gray city devoid of color.

It's winter now.
A pink mare in a pink scarf sits on a bench in the park, watching the ponies go by.
She watches their eyes, listens to their conversations, and she finds gray.
A mare with a new foal, lamenting the expenses in the same breath she adores her son. A stallion discusses a business investment, oblivious to the stress on his face.

She sees a thousand ponies wearing masks.
A new year comes.
It's the night the year ends. Ponies count down the hours, then minutes.
A pink mare in a pink scarf lays in bed, staring at a black ceiling.

And then she stands.
She fetches her bag, leaving a small sack of bits and a letter on the table, along with her key.
She leaves her apartment, and walks down the street.
All around her, ponies with friends and family, cheering on the new day.

She's quiet inside.
Down twisting avenues and loud streets she walks, staring at the sky.
She gives her scarf to a cold looking filly on the street. A smile as the filly runs off, another mask.
She can see it. The waterfall, in the industrial section of town. It won't be her first visit.

And then she stops.
A faded mare looks up at a brilliant sign. A mare stands where a filly did, millennia ago.
She walks up to the booth, and purchases a ticket. It costs her what's left of the savings from her bag.
A price she pays gladly, a final happy memory worth all the money in the world.

A faded mare sits down. Her seat is in the middle of the theater, one of the best seats in the house.
She's the last to arrive.
The lights dim, and she drifts off to a memory.
A filly sits in her mother's lap, ignoring the stares their glow earns.

On the stage, a middle aged stallion with a cello, alone.
He rises his bow, and all is hushed.
The memory breaks on a low, rich note.
A gray mare in a pink bowtie stands on the stage, awash in lights.

She sees nothing, hears nothing. She raises her bow, and puts her soul into music.
Somber, gentle and rising, falling, rolling with the breathe of her crowd.
A faded mare sits in a crowd, and she cannot look away.
A gray mare stands on a stage, and she cannot stop playing.

Time stands still, and souls connect.
A mare is empty. A mare is somber. A mare is enraptured.
The melody plays upon heartstrings as much as the cello.
A pink mare exits the theatre. There are tears on her face, shining like diamonds.

She looks to the waterfall, so far off.
And turns away.
A crystal mare, shining in the glow of streetlamps and fireworks, walks through avenues and busy streets.
All around her, ponies with friends and family cheer on the new day.

She's very loud inside.
A shining mare enters her apartment. She drops her bag upon the table, and lays in bed.
She weeps. She smiles. And she looks out onto the world.
There is gray, but she's no longer afraid.

Gray is beautiful, and so is this world.
In that decision, she lays upon her bed, and succumbs to sleep.
Heartstrings and bowstrings play across her dreams.

The Beginning.

Comments

[Ice Star]

She's quiet inside.

This is really fucking good.