Chapter One: Silence

The sun had barely started to illuminate the sky as I walked sleepily through Ponyville, towards the town’s only music shop. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my teeth from chattering as I endured the biting cold, the sound of my hooves against the frost covered ground echoing around an otherwise empty street. A set of keys hovered before me, held within a faint emerald glow. I opened the heavy glass door, and a small bell rang cheerfully above my head. Decorative gold lettering adorned the door’s surface with my name, Lyra Heartstrings, emblazoned at the top, which was followed by the simple yet unimaginative description: “Musical Instruments, Accessories and Books”. This ensemble was accompanied by a simplified facsimile of my cutie mark; a golden lyre.

With a quiet yawn, I entered the building slowly, squinting as I turned to glance upwards, attempting to use what little light was afforded to me to try and make out the time. According to the wooden clock above me I wasn’t due to open for another fifteen minutes, which was just enough time to prepare and make some coffee. I didn’t need to rush though, I usually only started getting customers coming in around lunchtime.

I closed the door, shutting out the frigid January morning air, and fumbling with the keys still within my magical grasp I locked myself in. Blinking out towards the crimson horizon beyond the glass door, I tried to focus while I endured a haze of jumbled thoughts, brought through a lack of sleep. I hate mornings, I’ve never really been a morning pony.

A brighter cyan glow surrounded me as I pulsed energy through my horn and sent out a series of sparks through the air, maneuvering them to flick every lightswitch inside the shop and illuminating my surroundings. A collection of shiny brass instruments sparkled within a glass case against one wall, other instruments were either laid out on small tables to be played, or hung delicately from ornate stands. One wall was completely dominated by racks and racks of music books, containing songs for every instrument I sold and more, as well as binders of blank manuscript parchment, quills, inks and writing sets. As my final spark flew out and hit the last switch, I heard a faint pop from somewhere, and that part of the store remained swathed in darkness.

“Typical,” I muttered aloud, my voice fracturing the delicate stillness that had endured since my arrival. I trudged my way through the shop, my shuffling hooves barely audible against the soft carpet below. Carefully, I shuffled past a rack of instruments and accessories, opened the door to the storeroom and reached a hoof through the doorway to tug a cord, filling it with a pale, yellow light.

I grimaced as I cast my gaze around the cramped interior, gingerly stepping over several boxes and moving towards where I thought I had stashed the bulbs. I definitely had to tidy this place up soon; to be honest I hardly knew where anything was. I began shifting boxes and crates around until I found what I was looking for. Exhaling triumphantly, I levitated the small box outside, its contents gently rattling within as I haphazardly replaced everything back wherever it would fit before turning off the light and closing the door.

Once more the store fell silent, save for the soft buzz of the lights and distant ticking of the clock above the door. It was a tranquil kind of silence, I thought, one which invited the light strumming of a guitar, or the curious, gentle tinkling of a glockenspiel, sounds that would no doubt come to consume the shop in a few short hours.

I turned my attention to the dead lightbulb above me, igniting my horn and firing off a sole spark to turn off its corresponding switch, then began to unscrew the exhausted glass dome from its fixture.

“So long little buddy, thanks for your hard work,” I playfully cooed as I floated the defunct lamp away, depositing it into a trash bin behind the counter. I opened the box in front of me and elevated a fresh one from within, taking a moment to examine the delicate interior before lifting it up to the now empty socket. I squinted, sticking out my tongue in concentration, before a sudden loud knock from the front door made me jump, severing my telekinetic grasp of the bulb.

“Huh? Who is—Ow!” I winced as the bulb fell from above, striking my head sharply and landing on the carpet, thankfully I didn’t hear it shatter. I quickly lifted it onto the counter before glancing to the door to see a patiently waiting mailmare holding a large box, watching me with one eye while the other slightly drifted off centre.

Rubbing my head briefly, I made my way over to the door, lifting my keys with me. The bell once more chimed above us as the glass door swung open. “Good morning, Miss Hooves. Sorry I didn’t see you arrive, I was in the middle of replacing a light that went out.”

She smiled wide, flapping her wings enthusiastically. “Hello Miss Heartstrings! Delivery for you!” she replied in a soft sing-song voice. She behaved as if nothing untoward had happened, so I doubted that she had seen me drop the bulb on my head, or if she did, she was sparing me the embarrassment. The pegasus mailmare was holding the parcel aloft, as if presenting a crown on a pillow for me.

“Thank you, any letters today or just the box?” I asked, levitating the parcel from her, my eyes following it as I carefully sent it over my head and gently set it down just inside the door frame. I could hear the soft sound of rattling wood from within.

She frowned, deep in thought, before her bright smile returned. “Nope, I didn’t see any, but if any show up I’ll be sure to come back and give them to you!” Her eyes were bright and full of joy. It was clear as day that the pegasus greatly enjoyed her work, going above and beyond to ensure things were promptly and correctly delivered, making sure every package came with a smile.

I nodded and took a step back into the store. “Alright, I’ll let you continue with your rounds. I need to open the store, I’m running a little late,” I said, glancing up to the clock to see the minute hand already pointing beyond the topmost digit. “Be careful out there, the roads are a bit icy this morning,” I added.

She let out a giggle, a bright, warm and innocent laugh. She unfurled her wings suddenly, startling me, before she began flapping them again and hovered in place in front of me. “I will, don’t worry. I can hover over the nasty, slippery ice!” she exclaimed jubilantly, and floated away from where I stood. Taking hold of her large mailbag, she soared upwards and began zigzagging down the street, tossing letters expertly into mailboxes and dropping parcels onto doorsteps as she went.

Lingering in the doorway, I watched her disappear around the corner, a few of Ponyville’s denizens made their way past. Some were dressed smartly, on their way to work, others looking like they were heading for the morning market in the centre of town, with large baskets and saddlebags in tow. It had to be said that not many ponies had aspirations of musical grandeur at this time of morning, most had much simpler desires. Such as coffee, like the pot I was yet to make.

A frightfully chilly breeze cut through me. I took a step back and shut the door gently, and flipped the sign upon the glass so that the word ‘Closed’ was facing me. Looking down, I engulfed the newly delivered box in a sparkling glow and lifted it up to eye level. Upon reading the label on the side, I felt a weight lifting from my shoulders as I scanned the words printed upon it: ‘20pcs bow; 80pcs strings - violin / viola / cello / contr. full set / single.’ About time.

With a heavy sigh of relief, I sent the box across the room, setting it beside the counter delicately. I had been without strings to sell for over a week, and I was worried I would start losing business. Instrument sales weren’t that common, and I made the majority of my bits on accessories and replenishables like manuscript paper, strings, bows and music books, not to mention a friend had asked me to order in a set of very expensive cello strings. I had put this order in three weeks ago.

I stood for a moment, frowning into the deep blue carpet in front of me, trying to remember what I had been doing, until a dull soreness on my head jogged my memory. My eyes were drawn to the box containing the bulbs, which lay abandoned in the shadows. I took a deep breath and lifted the bulb up from the counter gently, inspecting it for cracks or a broken filament inside, before once again lifting it to the fixture above. “Hope you still work, even if you did hit me,” I chuckled, finishing the task and sending a spark of energy to the accompanying lightswitch. Too late I remembered to look away and was suddenly blinded, the globe igniting and flooding my vision with light.

“Gah! That would be a ‘yes’, then,” I yelped, reaching up to rub my eyes as stars danced and shimmered around me.

Taking a few slightly uneasy steps as I waited for my sight to fully return, I approached the counter and the newly delivered box. I opened the top gently, glancing at the various invoices and info sheets situated on top, before placing the papers onto the countertop and began to unpack the various boxes and containers within. Sure enough, there were stacks of different bows and many brands of strings, with one single, very expensive set neatly tucked amongst them. Carefully, I levitated the myriad containers over to where I kept string instruments and their accessories, and began unpacking as neatly as I could.

It was fast approaching noon as I sat behind the counter, absentmindedly scribbling notes onto some sheet music. It was something I liked to do to pass the time when there were no customers, I would sketch out pieces of music with very little premeditated thought to them, and perform them later. I then could take parts I liked, and try to incorporate them into a larger, more cohesive piece. I’m fully capable of writing with purpose, but doing so took near immeasurable concentration, which I couldn’t afford as I could be engrossed in writing only to be interrupted by a customer coming in and lose my inspiration. I didn’t like reading books, so it was a way to pass the time while also being creative, without worrying that I could get distracted at a moments notice.

My ears twitched instinctively as the bell above the door announced the arrival of my second visitor—and first customer—of the day. I dropped the pen onto the page and immediately turned my attention to the door, smiling warmly as they entered, the bell softly coming to a standstill and the store returning to its former hush.

“Good morning, Lyra,” called the mare, her violet eyes briefly meeting mine before she began making her way towards me, elegantly trotting past the racks of music books and precariously suspended instruments, a slight dusting of snow clinging to her charcoal mane and pebble grey coat. I hadn’t noticed that it had started snowing outside.

“Morning, Octavia,” I replied, glancing back down to my sheet music briefly before stepping out and making my way towards where she stood. “My shipment of bows and strings finally came in earlier, if you still need those strings you asked for,” I added, moving to stand before her. She was a regular customer, the cellist having come to me countless times in the past year since I opened, as I was the only pony stocking the kind of accessories she preferred. At her request, of course, I was more than willing to oblige for her convenience, if not also for the bits.

“Oh wonderful, I was worried I would have to take a day trip to Canterlot to procure a new set. Vinyl has done her best to preserve the low C through the last two rehearsals, but I fear it’s a few strikes away from fraying completely and shearing in two, and the rest of the strings aren’t looking much better,” she chuckled, although I could sense the apprehension in her voice. I remembered she had told me of an upcoming performance, and the date was drawing close, so I could understand why.

I offered a comforting smile before pointing a hoof across the store. “Let me get them for you, Larson Mediums, right?” I asked, to which she nodded. “Okay, let me grab them.” I made my way across the store, to where I already knew I had unpacked them. They were the only set I had ordered of that brand because of their high price, and although they had the calibre to match, I doubted I would sell many. I lifted the box of strings from their rack, surrounding the maroon box in a soft, shimmering glow, and carried them over to the counter. “Do you need anything else, any rosin or polish?” I asked, setting them down lightly.

She looked down at the floor for a moment, her brow furrowing before pressing a hoof to her forehead. “I should have checked to see if my rosin was running out, I can’t remember,” she replied with a soft sigh, glancing back up at me, letting out an exasperated sigh, visibly but silently scolding herself for her lapse of memory.

I felt a tug in my chest. It was easy to sympathise with the cellist’s forgetfulness, considering the importance of her upcoming concert. Quietly, I levitated a pot out from the rack above me and sat it down next to the strings. “Take some on me, as apology for making you wait for the Larsons to arrive,” I said, before making my way back around the counter slowly. I saw her fumbling with her front hooves against the floor.

“It’s a wonderful gesture, Miss Heartstrings, but you don’t have to, really…” she protested quietly. “I can go home to check and come back if I need it.”

I held up a hoof to stop her, smiling reassuringly to her. “Don’t worry about it, really, and you know not to call me ‘Miss Heartstrings’, Octavia. We’re friends, right?” I giggled and sent a few sparks of magic towards the cash register. I then lifted the nearby invoice to check the price of the strings, and felt my heart flutter at the number I saw beside the strings Octavia was buying. Dear Celestia, those are expensive…

“I-I’m sorry, I do it when I’m anxious,” she mumbled, shuffling closer to the counter gently, lifting her gaze and forcing a smile. “How much do I owe you?”

I put in an order for zero bits for the rosin while working out the standard charge for the strings in my head, then with a series of button presses and a mechanical whirr, I confirmed the final total. I watched as the display spun briefly to reach the required digits, though I already knew the figure they would ultimately reach. “One-hundred and twenty bits,” I replied, keeping my voice steady as I could, and tentatively looked up to meet her gaze.

Without pause, Octavia nodded and reached behind her to the saddlebag upon her back, opening the flap and gently taking out five, prepared and neatly bound stacks. “Here’s One-hundred twenty-five,” she said simply, and waited quietly for me to sort the coins.

Doing my best to remain professional, I lit my horn once again, stripping the stacks of the soft string that bound them, and began sorting the coins quickly into their various denominations. I then pressed a button on the register to open the till, and levitated the coins into the various compartments within, gently clinking as they settled. Closing the drawer, I dropped her change, a single five-bit coin, for the cellist to reclaim. As she slid the lone coin off the counter into her bag, I took the opportunity to also levitate the strings into the open bag for her.

My nerves easing, I closed the drawer and the machine began whirring once more. A slip of paper jittered its way from a slot. A moment later, the whirring ceased and I tore the paper from the slot, gently holding it within reach of Octavia. “Receipt?”

She nodded, taking it in her mouth delicately and placing it in her bag before re-clasping it shut and began shrugging the bag back to the centre of her torso. “Thank you so much. I would so love to stay and catch up, but I need to go change these before rehearsal tomorrow evening, the sooner I change them, the better.”

I smiled softly, shaking my head in understanding. “That’s absolutely fine. I’m sure we can meet up another time.” As she got her things together, I politely looked down as to not stare at her. I found myself staring back down at my sheet music, and could sense something was bothering me. I scanned back and forth between the notes, and eventually saw it. Picking up the pen, I changed an F in the second bar to an F-sharp, then looked back up as I heard her leaving. “Best of luck at the rehearsal, and if I don’t see you, hope the performance goes well.”

“Me too,” she said, facing away from me. I heard her exhaling long and slow, her breath shaky and strained. I considered walking over to give her a hug, but as soon as the thought struck me, she was well on her way to the exit. She paused as she reached the glass door, then looked back and smiled to me. “Take care, Lyra, and thanks again for getting the strings for me.”

I shrugged with a smile, shaking my head again gently. “Any time, Octavia. Hopefully it doesn’t take as long next time. See you later,” and turned my attention back down to the parchment before me, puzzling over where to begin again with the piece. A few moments went by, my ears perking slightly as the bell to the door rang, but I didn’t look up. What did make me look up, however, was the sound of a light gasp that followed a moment later.

“Oh, my apologies, miss. Please, after you,” came Octavia’s voice, and I watched her step aside for another mare that had just that very moment arrived.

They both hesitated briefly, before the other mare tentatively stepped past her, smiling and bowing her head a little as she replied, “Th-Thank you…”

With a reciprocated bow of her head, the cellist vacated, allowing the door to gently close behind her. I allowed my eyes to follow her as she walked past the window. She didn’t look back in, though her anxious expression seemed to have lessened once outside. I hoped to myself that it was from the relief of having procured the much needed strings, but I suspected it was more likely a reaction to the cold. Once she had disappeared completely out of sight, I turned my attention to the mare who had come in.

She was an earth pony with a cream coloured coat, her mane a twisted mixture of soft pink and dark azure. Her teal coloured eyes darted around as she stood silently by the closed door in silence, looking every bit like a foal who had wandered down a forgotten path and found themselves somewhere unfamiliar and intimidating.

I gently cleared my throat to get her attention, and gave her my warmest smile. I knew coming into a new shop for the first time could be daunting, even a little scary. “Hi there, miss, my name is Lyra. Please feel free to look around, and if you have any questions or want to try anything, please just ask.”

It took her a moment to process what I had said, her gaze shifting nervously between where I stood and the instruments near her, but she avoided eye contact altogether while I spoke. She continued to remain still, her mouth slightly ajar. “I-I…” she began, stammering, before our eyes met briefly. She nodded in understanding, then looked towards the rack of wind instruments on her right.

Maintaining my smile, I looked back down at the barely touched piece of manuscript, and I decided my concentration had been broken for too long, and needed a fresh start. I slid the page onto a nearby pile of papers and took out a fresh page. As I grasped the pen, I marked off three flats on the stave next to the pre-printed treble and bass clefs, and began to jot down notes onto the stave.

A few minutes passed, and as I paused to meditate on what I had written, I looked up. I had to stifle a gasp. The mare hadn’t moved an inch from where I had last seen her. She just continued to stand there, looking around herself. I thought I could see her trembling, and definitely saw a glint of fear in her eyes, as if something was waiting to jump out at her.

Quietly, I slid out from behind the counter and approached her, taking a deep breath before speaking softly, not wanting to startle her. “Miss? You look a little apprehensive, is there anything I can help you with? Do you know what you’re looking for?”

She gasped, her eyes shutting tight, and she took a step back away from me. She opened one eye, looking down at my cutie mark for a few seconds, before opening both to look up at me. Her ears gently lowered as a defeated expression began crossing her face. She spoke, her dispirited voice making my chest ache slightly. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll just go…” She began turning towards the door, her hooves dragging against the floor dejectedly.

I raised a hoof up, holding it out to her gently, before lowering my own ears apologetically. Was it something I said? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel upset. You’ve not done anything wrong, I just wanted to ask if I could help. Can I help?”

Hesitating, she turned back to me, her eyes soft, and I was certain I could detect a shimmer within them, but she turned away before I could truly tell. “N-No, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I… I have to go,” she replied firmly, her voice cracking. Without warning, she opened the door and briskly trotted out, an icy wind blowing past us as she disappeared.

For a moment, I stood there completely stunned, replaying the last few moments in my head, over and over. I felt a lump in my throat forming as I bit my lip and turned and made my way slowly back to the counter. The ringing of the bell above the door slowly fading into silence.

It didn’t sound that cheerful anymore.

The rest of the day went by without much fanfare. A few regulars stopped by for their usual purchase of strings, paper, quills and music books. By mid afternoon the shop was filled with the harmonious cacophony found in many music shops, musicians playing independently without a synchronized beat or common score, the notes and timbres bleeding together like an unfocused mixture of colour upon an invisible canvas of sound.

My manuscript lay in front of me barely touched since the earth pony from earlier had departed in such haste and distress. Her sullen expression kept invading my mind, and I kept repeating our conversation in my mind, until I couldn’t clearly remember what either of us had said, until I convinced myself that I had, somehow, said something to upset her.

Five o’clock came about swiftly, and as the remaining customers made their purchases and left, I got up from behind the counter to lock up. It was already dark outside, the short January days robbing me of any time in the little daylight this time of year brought. I didn’t mind though, The long nights were very peaceful, friends and families choosing to spend more time indoors at this time of year, cozied up by the fireplace sharing stories and quiet thoughts. The street outside was covered in snow, and though it wasn’t heavy, I could see from what little light there was that flakes were still slowly drifting down to the ground.

I let out a gentle sigh, flipping the door sign and locking the door to prevent any last minute customers from barging in while I was cleaning up. I did my best to stop my mind from wandering as I cleared out the front, putting used instruments back in their proper place, tidying the music books and collecting any garbage I found. Moving back behind the counter, I approached the cash register, and with a few magical taps the machine began to whirr and a long piece of paper began juddering out, curling up around itself as the register calculated the days earnings and printed them out. I took out several coin bags from a compartment and began to fill them with equal amounts of each coin denomination. Once finished, I tore off the end of day sales report, and went to the back. Turning on the light, I eyed up the hastily stacked piles of boxes from earlier, groaning aloud. “Maybe tomorrow,” I mumbled. I turned a nearby dial to open the safe where I kept my lock box. I deposited the days earnings inside and folded the paper report neatly, placing it in a small tray within, and locked the safe once more.

I turned off the majority of the lights around the store. I levitated my bag from behind the counter, along with the latest sheets of music I had scribbled. There was only about twelve bars I’d actually written, but I slipped them into my saddlebag anyway.

With a final cursory glance around the store, I unlocked the door and headed out into the cold evening air. Immediately I started shivering, looking back and sending a spark through the air to turn off the final light before closing and locking the door and pulling close the safety gate in front of the glass door. To my dismay, the lock had completely frozen, making it impossible to lock properly.

“Ugh, seriously?” I groaned, before aiming my horn down to surround the mechanism in a teal glow, pulsing magic through it to generate hundreds of tiny vibrations in the hopes of warming the lock enough to turn it. I grunted, and with a click, the key twisted and secured the gate shut.

“Thank Goddess…” I sighed, wiping my forehead dry of sweat. As I turned, my eyes caught a glimpse of something moving close by, something which quickly slipped into the shadows beside the row of buildings as soon as I took notice. “H-Hello?” I called out quietly, a nervous twinge to my voice. Taking a nervous breath, I took a reluctant step forward and spoke more clearly. “Is somepony there?”

For a few moments there was nothing but the distant sound of cheering from across town, and the wind softly wafting past my ears. I listened deeply for any sign of presence looming there in the shadows, while also ready to flee should there be an assailant waiting to strike, perhaps an opportunistic robber hoping that I took my earnings home with me. A minute went by, and just as I was sure I had imagined it, I heard the crunching of snow from beyond the illuminating glow of the streetlamp, until the silhouette of a pony presented itself just ahead of me.

I was scared now. As I took a hasty step back, feeling my heart rate rising, I prepared to run. “Wh-Who’s there?” came my squeaking voice, my earlier confidence already dissipating as I watched tensely, the hoofsteps pausing for a moment. I held my breath.

The seconds scraped by, and I heard nothing again, but I was certain my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me by now. I had no idea what to do, as I stared into the blackness, towards the silhouette beyond the amber light at my hooves. Eventually, I exhaled, needing to breathe evenly again as I tried to steady my racing heart.

I should have run already, I thought. Somepony was clearly watching me, but I was too afraid to turn my back, or leave the relative safety of my shop. I knew that if they advanced, I could open the gate and be inside in a matter of seconds, and lock them out. I glanced at the lock, my legs trembling as I raised my keys, the metal objects jangling within my shaking grasp. I began sliding the larger one into the gate lock, as quietly as I could, ready to turn it and open the inner door.

It was then that I heard a quiet sob. A mare’s sob. It took me a moment to register, my mouth becoming dry as the cold sweat on the back of my neck started to fade, my eyes widening. I took a few calming breaths, before I spoke up again, my tone much softer this time. “Hey, a-are you okay? I didn’t mean to yell, you startled me. Do you need help?”

Suddenly there was a loud gasp, as if whoever was there had only just realised I knew they were there, and this was followed by the sound of what sounded like panicked breathing. There was no reply, but as soon as I took a step forward, raising my hoof in a gesture of peace, I heard the crunching sound of cantering hooves upon freshly fallen snow, their owner charging off to into the distance.

“Hey, w-wait!” I cried, reaching out, but it was far too late. I stared after them before I ran a hoof across my face, shaking my head firmly. What’s going on today? I thought, dropping my leg back down onto the snow and looked ahead to where the pony had ran, seeing a trail of hoofprints under the next streetlight in the distance. I bit my lip pensievely. There was nothing I could do, they’d be half a mile away by now.

I turned to silently make my way back home.

Shivering from the cold and still slightly shaken, I trudged into my front room, dumped my bag on the floor and made an immediate beeline for the shower. I hoped that a few minutes under the hot water would warm my body and ease my mind. I stepped under the stream of hot water and sighed aloud, remaining motionless.

I definitely didn’t do anything wrong this time. Why are ponies running away from me today? I closed my eyes, I saw the sad expression of the earth pony mare again, standing at the entrance to the store. I saw her eyes brimming with tears. I heard a mare sobbing from the shadows outside my store. Why did she run away? Was she frightened by something I said, or was it something else?

I leaned forward and rested my head against the tiled wall of the shower, letting out a sigh. Before long I had decided the shower had warmed me enough. Without looking I reached a hoof to turn off the stream of water, and stood motionless in the stall, watching the water dripping rhythmically to the floor below me and draining away.

“Was it her waiting outside my shop? Was it her that ran away?” I asked myself, looking towards the door, as if expecting to find an answer there. There wasn’t one.

I shook my head, stepped out and grabbed a clean towel from the pile beside the sink. I pulled it over my mane and used a hoof to rub slowly. I imagined the towel soaking up the stress of the day, pulling the concerns and worries from my mind into the soft, permeable fabric. After a minute of rubbing, I tossed it into the hamper and levitated a larger towel across my back, padded out of the bathroom and made my way to the front room to sit by the fireplace.

As I waited for my coat to dry I felt myself beginning to shiver again. I tossed a few pieces of kindling onto the logs, and sent a match into the pile before closing the fireplace door. I lifted the sheets of manuscript from my bag and cast my eyes across the pages. After a few minutes the sound of softly crackling embers filled the room, and an amber glow began to flicker over the half finished bars of music in front of me. I allowed my magic to take a telekinetic grasp across the strings of my harp, which sat at one end of the lounge and, softly, I began to play out the melodies I had written that day.

The room slowly began to warm up as I played the same melodies over and over, repeating them each in turn with varying tempos and timbres, trying to eek some feeling from the haphazardly produced score. The first few melodies were mediocre, notes meandering around a common centre but were still thoughtful, but suddenly what I had written devolved into dissonant clusters that had no clear relation or purpose to what had come before. The final few bars were a peppering of simple notes in minor key, a slow, lonesome waltz in the relative minor. My mind began to drift once more, still torn over the memory of an upset customer, of a pony running off into the night. I had a knot that had begun to twist itself in my stomach, I couldn’t shake the guilt hanging over me.

I stopped playing.

Lifting my head I looked directly into the fire, watching the dancing flames within. I allowed my grasp of the strings to dissipate, and they continued to resonate for a few moments until all I could hear was my own breaths, punctuated by the occasional snap from the burning fireplace. Why were the events of today weighing so heavily on my mind? I was certain that I had been courteous and friendly to every single customer that had visited and even tried reaching out to that pony outside, after I felt sure that I wasn’t in any danger. Did I not do enough, is that why I felt so torn up?

Turning my eyes away from the fire, my gaze returned to the pages of sheet music in front of me. Frustrated as I was, I didn’t immediately cast the parchment to an early demise. Emotions can cloud fair, critical thought far too often, so instead I slipped the pages down beside the harp, deciding to revisit them tomorrow with a clearer mind. As the fire burned, warmth soon consumed me, and before long, I felt my eyelids becoming heavy.

Author's Note:

Special thanks to Nethesem, Symphonic Sync, Zeppo, Mag Prime and the wonderful friends in my Discord server. Happy reading!

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