Book 1 - The Behemoth came to Canterlot

by Equimorto

De(

And she asked herself what she wanted out of life. Whatever it was, she wasn't getting it. Not right then, not in the previous months, not in the previous years. Only at moments, in recent times, she felt like she was heading somewhere she would be happy. Only moments, almost losing control, walking almost as if she was dreaming and doing things she'd never dreamed she would do. Some times she shunned those thoughts the day after, but slowly she realised they were her one source of happiness, and if the world wasn't going to change then she would, and if the world wasn't going to care she'd make it care.

What was the point anyway? What had they ever given to her that was worth giving back to them? All they had done was sustain her, at most, the bare minimum, and for what? She'd never done anything wrong, she'd never done anything other than being herself. Had that not been enough? But there was a new her, and she'd continue to do what she'd always done. Be herself, and maybe this time they'd care. Did anything else matter?

The town was asleep and the Moon's light shone down on her as she walked down the streets like a mare possessed. She didn't know where she was going, or what she would do there, but she knew the how and why. She was listening to herself. Letting her newfound inner being guide her towards whatever place and action it desired. Being free again and happy again, finally doing what her heart called her to again and finally knowing she'd be acknowledged for it.

She had hated, always hated the way that more than anything else others simply didn't care for her. She was barely seen, rarely acknowledged, the overwhelming majority of the time not for the things she wanted to be recognised for. She may as well have been a street sign or a piece of furniture. Functional, useful, appreciated for that, but not something with feelings. Not something with wants and wishes, not something that felt pain. She knew the town would miss her if she was gone. They'd miss their chairs too if they suddenly disappeared. But they took her for granted, and never showed her love. Not the way they did with each other.

That wouldn't change. She knew it wouldn't. It was her fate and she was stuck with it, for no crime other than being the only mare she'd known how to be. But if not love, then at least something. Be it fear, be it mere attention, she wouldn't be just an afterthought in their lives any longer. She wouldn't be someone they would not remember. She didn't care about what name they knew her by, if they even knew it was her, she didn't care what they would think. She would leave a mark, in their memories and in history, not just lines in a newspaper, bones, and carvings on a gravestone.

Comments

[Speckle]

Oh? Is, perhaps, Stella's interruption somepony else?

[Saix]

Wick Clip snapped.