Chapter 64 - Defiance
A living being is only meant to have one soul; that should be a given. The soul is the gross summation of unfettered existence; it is, for all dubious intents, the actual life of the living. Why would—and how could anything dare to grasp the means to possess two or, Tartarus forbid, more? We have the souls that we are born with, that represent us, and that bind us to the mortal coil. We do not have the capacity for more. Nothing does.
That is what Princess Celestia would have the world think. What could be more anathematic to Her Solar Faith than the concept of hoarded life—of the glorious existence that She so generously granted us plucked from our heart of hearts and made off with like purloined goods? It seems vile. A sick joke at Harmony's expense.
Perhaps She is correct. Maybe life is a sacred, individual gift meant to be cherished.
Or maybe it's a commodity.
-Light Flow's Compendium, Chapter 2: The Soul's Immensity.
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Light's sullen gaze traced over the usual brown cover of the unusual tome of scientifically-definable fantastical topics again—twice—thrice—and then quarce if... that was even a real word. It sounded right. It probably wasn't.
A lot of things were feeling right when they probably shouldn't have.
He did his best to suppress a symptomatic sigh as he looked up from the weighty book he held in the tactile grip of his humming mana, peering as best he could through the oppressive sunshine of the perfectly idyllic day to frown at the exterior bark of the large tree he'd left just a few minutes ago.
Sitting in the little grassy park across the street from the ironic library location, he had a terrific vantage point to imagine the laughing silhouette of a smug purple unicorn staring down at him from its leaf-rung window.
Taunting. Gloating.
Purple.
He glared back at her—he hoped he did, anyway, and returned to his conflicted inspection of the book's front, scanning his squinting eyes across the boring font of the title's grey lettering. No matter how he wished his perception to blur before his eyes like he was still a mental patient, all remained normal with the innocuous tome.
Until he let his gaze wander just a bit farther down.
His forehead met the book's cover—a solid thunk of an impact that would've left him cringing in fear for its safety any other time, but at the moment, he was still edging onto the mental precipice of trudging into the woods and just hucking the Tartarus-damned thing.
Where did he even start with this one?
Twilight Sparkle: her name where the author's name should've been, printed in cute little smarmy text right above the vague date and below the admittedly obvious emblazon. A publication with her accreditation. A book written by her that wasn't a diary or a cleverly worded faux-technical document about something illegal.
An actual book about actual things that she'd written and that she'd given to him without even thinking to mention that—oh, was it not obvious—the stupid thing was her work! Twilight wrote it!
And it had been her first impulse to shill it.
His slightly smarting head rose from the book's unfeeling cover as Light cast his bleary eyes up, pursing his lips and sending a prayer to the heavens. He knew he invoked a lot of names he probably shouldn't, and he knew he was a nonbeliever of every religion ever, but if there was anypony—or anything taking the time to listen in vain to somepony as smugly irreverent as him, would they just... wipe him off the planet? Please?
The blue sky above showed little but a sensibly planned smattering of fluffy clouds. A pegasus drifted by.
Light shut his eyes and let his head hang forward with a groan. Nothing ever broke his way.
Feeling began to funnel back into his legs as he forced himself into a standing position, rolling his shoulders with a gratifying crack and taking the moment of exhilaration to turn and wiggle a hoof into the flap of his right saddlebag. The empty pouch opened—Light sneered at the book—and out of sight went it.
He snapped the latch shut with a brief flicker of mana, turning and taking a deep breath in time with the draining sensation of power from his system. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments—all that deserved to be spared—and nodded to himself as he glanced to the left, beginning a quick trot thataway.
He didn't have to devote much attention to adjusting to the weight of the book bouncing at his side, but that didn't mean he wasn't tense. He spared nary a glance nor thought to the disparate milling ponies crossing the streets he shortly cantered down, for he had some heavy thoughts to ponder. Yes... most heavy indeed.
...Okay, there really wasn't much to consider besides the potential egotism of Twilight recommending her own book for study. That gesture was just the eye-catching period at the end of an aggrandizing run-on sentence.
Back in the library, she'd not given any indication of pride or even special notice of the book, other than hugging it like a foal. Maybe she'd thought he'd noticed and just didn't care? Though, to be fair, he'd not exactly spared much time for chitchat after she'd... ugh. The thought—even the memory just made him... shiver.
She wanted to... teach him.
Light faltered for a half-step, swallowing down his acid reflux with a gag before returning to pace, narrowly dodging a pair of bystanders as he made a sharp right turn to cross the threshold of Ponyville's downtown area. He was pretty sure he heard a cry of 'rude!' somewhere behind him, but his own actions were hardly his concern.
He was more interested in sorting through his feelings, though he was finding it difficult to fully realize just what those were. He could feasibly just slap an emotive mask on and call it an ever-so-dreary day, but he was finding that concept more and more reprehensible, lately.
He didn't want to... lie anymore. Not to himself, at least, and certainly not to his marefriend. He'd not been able to trust anything for so long; at this point, he wanted to hold tight to whatever solid reality he could.
There was just one problem. There was a part of him that really despised the thought of changing. It seemed a rather difficult portion to change in and of itself, ironically—or maybe that should've been obvious.
Either way, it was making his headspace very hard to reckon with. Like... a tug of war.
Keep his emotional course, or try to grow? Sneer and spit, or forgive and forget?
Stability, or change?
The ground fittingly faded from trodden dirt to pleasant greenery as his canter continued. His expression quietly disconcerted, Light looked up from his path, watching the extremely stylized building on the near horizon approach with a... true sense of unease nestled somewhere in his breast.
Where was he going with his life, and was he even ready?
Did he even want to be?
Soon—sooner than he might've been ready for, Light stood at the open door of Carousel Boutique.
Feeling at a bit of a loss.
As a foal, he'd often been far too recalcitrant to up and walk right into the Boutique—afraid that somepony would see him and mistake him for agreeable—but these days, he just had too much on his mind to care. He busily strode in through the midday-welcoming door and scanned through the professionally messy showroom.
There were some ponies in the Boutique today, but that was expected for a place to business. They were mostly off to the side and milling about, showing off their suits and pretty frills in mirrors wherever they weren't rummaging through open drawers for accessories—but no Rarity in sight.
Frowning, he flicked a glance wherever he hadn't yet. "Rarity?" he called out, drawing a few turned heads for the perfunctory moment of interest, but as he understood, it was well within the norm to seek an audience with the seamstress. Always in demand, as she'd once told him.
He'd told her she was demanding, and she told him the rip in his cloak was going to cost an extra five bits to mend.
Good times. Aggravating times.
His ear flicked to catch the noise of a muffled shout from upstairs that sounded like Rarity, which he supposed was enough reciprocation, so he leered around once more to make sure none of the other patrons were staring at him and made his way off to the right of the shop. Amidst the standing ponnequins bearing the fashionista's latest designs, he zeroed in on a stray stool by its lonesome.
He made his way over without delay, checking over his shoulder at the back of the shop where the stairs were to see if Rarity had come yet, finding nothing so far. Keeping his eyes there for a moment as he rested his rear on the plush surface, he flicked a glance over to the front entrance. Nopony had come in yet, and nopony had left.
It was just him and the other patrons.
Now seated, surrounded on all sides by dresses and everything else he couldn't name, Light clicked his tongue.
Speaking of, he felt sort of strangely fixated on the various ponies lingering in the shop. Not on their souls or anything, either; he was just... weirdly cognizant of their presence, like a burn on his periphery.
It felt like they were all staring at him, even when he knew they weren't.
They were making him kind of nervous, actually.
More than usual.
Way more.
Hm.
...
...
...Rarity still hadn't come yet.
Light's shoulders slumped as he let out an impatient groan, no doubt attracting more attention than he felt was due—but he didn't care! He wasn't comfortable just sitting around, suffering through this... miserable atmoshpere of mundanity while his erstwhile tailor was upstairs catching lint balls or whatever inane task she was working on!
All he wanted was to ask for her advice since it'd obviously worked out so well for Twilight, and all, because if he tried to let himself work through these problems like any normal pony could, he'd just walk around in circles until he convinced himself of whatever his worst impulses wanted! He didn't want that! He needed another perspective!
He was freaking out, though; he could barely force himself to clamp down on the urge to let his eyes dart about their prisons like caged birds. He'd not had to exist in a public space for more than a moment since he'd died, and he wanted to look everywhere at once, and—and now he was thinking about his death and how abnormal that was and how everypony around him was so mundane and lively and that was making him anxious! He didn't fit in and everypony knew it! They could read it on his face! Stop staring!
Crap. This was bad. He was one step away from hyperventilating, he could feel it creeping up on him. His skin felt clammy under his bristling fur, and... and there was a growing... thrumming in his ears. He itched, but he had to cool down—don't look at any of the ponies, not even their souls. Just... he just needed to look down. At his hooves.
Nopony was there; he was alone, save for his hooves and the plush cushion he sat on. As long as he kept his attention away from—don't even think it. He was going to be fine. Everything was fine. He was okay.
Actually, he had something better to focus on. Something much better.
His horn lit with a twitch—he inhaled the electric sensation of pumping mana—and the latch of his saddlebag clicked open. He found it a great comfort to lay eyes upon the book as it floated out, even if Twilight's name was printed on it, and its weight pressing on his mind was already really helping him to... ease up a bit.
He ran a hoof over its large purple star with a small, relieved smile to himself, relishing in the ticklish feeling in his brain of brushing his hoof up against his mana. Oh yes, the burning tension was already sloughing off.
He flicked half a glance up, then back down to the book as he eased its front cover open, letting his mana trickle down and envelop its backside like a little bed. Restfulness was just as important as mindfulness.
Nice, crisp pages—pretty and white—but the first thing that greeted him was a somewhat lengthy foreword. Ew. He didn't want to hear about Twilight or from her. He just wanted to read.
He scoffed lightly, keeping his eyes low and lidded with focus as he skipped to the table of contents, scanning down the page as briefly as he could. The first chapter... history? Too in-depth. Too little patience. Not right now.
Chapter two was on mana; he'd start there.
The correct page earmarked and flipped at his beckoning, and Light was met with a solid wall of text. Already, he could pick out some fascinating buzzwords from his own limited dealings with the topic, and to speak digressively, intrigue was currently a very hearty friend of his.
This would be a wonderful way to take his mind off everything for a minute.
Chapter 2: Mana’s Characteristics
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2.1: Basic Terms and Meanings
When examining the principle fundamentals of magic on Equus, one must first be familiar with a few key terms relating to the study of magic, formally known as Arcanicism. As Arcanicism has been explored as a sister theorem to the less fantastical sciences, many of the long-held colloquial understandings of the past have been upturned and nearly fully explained, leaving just a few mysteries left to magical phenomena.
The term 'magic' refers to the manipulation of a natural force in the world - referred to by Equine as 'mana'. Magic is both the literal term used for the act of manipulating mana as well as a sort of catch-all term used to refer to outlying phenomena involving mana. In any form besides those conclusively proven otherwise, any action involving mana is to be referred to as magic, except in cases where outlying, conventionally unexplainable phenomena are involved.
Mana is a semi-scientifically defined natural resource existing in multiple different forms, many of which, while seeming opposed in physical concept, retain several key qualities used in their identification. If any phenomenon holds these qualities in common with mana as it is known, it is likely a form of mana, except in cases where an outstanding designation has been given.
Also to be referenced is the term ‘arcane,' a typical synonym for magic. This and many more terms are dispersed interchangeably in the place of more common terms depending on the context, some holding additional meanings in different fields, though the majority of arcanicists see little discrepancy in small amounts of contextual liberty.
"My, you two do look quite alike at times."
Barely registering through his intense focus, a familiarly tinkling laugh shocked Light out of his barely-begun delve into the world of Arcanicism. Alarm sparked through his veins, bringing him to whip his head up from the page at the far-away noise and frantically throw his gaze one way, then the other. "What- who- where- I was-"
As he found everything still holding relatively benign, the frenetic hammering of his heart began to ebb in time with the warning sirens going off in his ears, though he still held a hoof to his heart for safety as he finally landed on the white unicorn before him—holding her own hoof to her mouth to very badly muffle a giggle as her flashy purple soul hued faintly gold.
She was just the pony he'd been looking for, but he couldn't deny he felt a little violated as he gave Rarity a couple once-overs for peace of mind. She was wearing... some frilly purple frock or something—he didn't know anything about clothes—but what really caught his eye was her very unadorned neck.
For whatever reason, even above his own concerns, the sight stuck in his craw.
"Hey," he accused—began to, anyway, as he pointed up from his floating book to just under Rarity's questioning stare. "-where's your Element?" At that, she blinked, her hoof trailing down from her open mouth to gently touch at the latch of her throat as Light raised an eyebrow. "I figured you of all ponies would be wearing hers."
Twilight hadn't been, either, but he got the sense that mare wouldn't know anything about the importance of appearance if she looked in a mirror and it inexplicably shattered.
Or maybe she did, because no sane pony would ever wear that dumb crown around.
He soundly clapped the two covers of his book shut, turning to stow the tome away once more just in time for Rarity to stop staring in a sort of haunted fashion and quietly harrumph at him. "That is awfully presumptuous, Light, and I would thank you to enquire into others' business with a bit more tact."
He bit back a rude retort as the unicorn drama queen literally turned away in a huff, but wasn't anywhere close to the first thing on his mind. Rarity was a drama queen, but that whole objection was a lot, even for her. She wasn't even the type to deny that she was fashion-focused—she reveled in it!
Why'd she get so huffy about her element? Further, when he'd asked, why had she looked so... distant?
And why had her soul hued such a muddled green?
It was a question to ponder for another day—or maybe later today—as Rarity soon stopped physically shunning him and turned back to set a marginally softer glare on him. "I would ask for your business in coming to see me today, but I believe I'm rather owed an explanation, now." She sniffed disdainfully, turning her nose up at him. "So, what is it you've come for? What is it, darling? I'll have you know I'm very busy."
Whoof. She may as well have picked up a broom and swatted him out the door.
He made a show of slouching and very obviously rolling his eyes, grousing in a resigned monotone even as Rarity humph'd. "No, please, turn me away faster, why don't you? That's all I came for, you know."
He must've piqued her curiosity, and so he perked up as her gaze fell to him from her haughty roof inspection, freely allowing his troubled thoughts to bleed into his conflicted expression. "Seriously, though, I need to ask you for some advice, Rarity." He shrugged gently. "I'm... kind of... stuck, and... Twilight said you were good for it."
Taking the gleam of interest in her sapphire-blue gaze as affirmation, Light took a breath to speak—but he was shortly interrupted by a call for Rarity across the shop. The named seamstress' ear flicked and she turned, while Light leaned around her other side to see a blue pegasus in a half done-up... dress thing waving their way.
Light frowned, internally wondering if he shouldn't just leave and not look back while Rarity airily waved to the mare. "Be right there, miss Flitter!" With her cheery placation, the shop's in-demand owner turned back to him with an on-brand beatific smile. "As you well know, Light, I can only work but one miracle at a time."
She cleared her throat. "So, as much as a pleasant surprise it is to see you opening up—" She cut herself off to lean closer, fluttering her long lashes closed with a curled smile. "And I am so proud of you, darling." She straightened once more, regaining her posture and continuing on as he balked. "—I do have customers waiting, so I haven't much time for a tête-à-tête!"
He couldn't help making a face at her insulting commendation, though even his scorn fell away at her dismissal. The unfitting... unfamiliarly foreign phrase gave him pause just long enough for her to turn, already airily waving goodbye to him over her shoulder by the time he stood to babble an attempt to get her to wait a second!
Except, as he made to follow her with a pout and an upset tirade making camp on his tongue, Rarity oddly slowed, turning her head with an uncertain murmur as her hoof twisted in the air and suddenly came down in a pivot. The motion was most like a last-second swerve as she turned to face him, her expression a bit more thoughtful.
He stepped back with a blink as she softly hummed to herself, eyes and soul alike twinkling with consideration as her expression tilted back and forth from pained indecision to what he hoped was genuine concern.
"I... If I could just suggest... this one thing without asking much of the... messy... finer details at the moment?" she ventured haltingly, looking as though she were taking great effort to keep a lid on whatever she was thinking.
Light had been surprised enough to halt in place as she'd turned around, but as her seeming mood did a turn of its own, his surprise crawled straight down his throat to wariness. Still, though the gleam of... restlessness in her eye gave him some measurable pause, he nodded, trying not to frown too widely.
At his affirmation, she remained silent for another moment more, her gaze hooding with obvious scrutiny as a dainty white hoof rose to press into her lip. For a moment, he was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu, and he had a horrible moment of terror that her pause would somehow end up massively drawn-out or something.
Thankfully for his psyche, he only had to urge her along with a pleading stare for a few moments before her eyes narrowed and closed with a subtle nod. With a hefty breath through her nose, she opened them to set upon his, her ever-flashing purple soul twinkling all the brighter for it.
The she smiled. A coy, knowing smile, as though she had it all figured out.
"You simply shouldn't try so hard to change your own mind."
That was all she said, spoken in that pompous faux-bred accent she always slapped everypony with. The declaration was so certain—so obvious that Light had to shake his head, frowning as he opened his mouth to...
...shut it. He shut his mouth, and for the next few moments, he couldn't think of a reason to open it again.
Rarity, curiously critical stare gleaming with something suitably inscrutable, only watched him for two or three of those silent moments before she quietly murmured once more to herself and turned away. He watched her go just as silently, eyes still intently trained on her as she sidled up to the pegasus who'd called her and began to run her hooves over the half-finished outfit, the air already filling with her busily amiable chatter.
At the forefront of his mind, he was sure there must've been more to say. If he went over and interrupted her, he could shake her down for the really incisive stuff. Surely, he needed something more—something tangible to guide him. Rarity never left it at just one thing; she always had more to say.
But then... he thought to himself about it.
He found himself turning away, tearing his leery gaze from the mare whom he'd often tried to tap for answers over the years, who had typically bombarded him with schlock and fanciful drivel. She was a profoundly vain and shallow mare, he often told himself. That was the usual takeaway.
Every once in a while, though, she took his requests seriously. Instead of closing her eyes, giggling and spouting off her delusional nonsense about high society and the way everypony should be acting, she'd look at him. Quietly, considerately, she'd take this... long look at him.
It was a thorough examination of his every facet—of every angle she could possibly present from, and staring back at those rippling pools of sapphire blue, he found much more than the shallow surface she so often put forth.
She had more depth than he often gave her credit for.
And she had a great eye for detail.
So it was that Light left the boutique with his head held high and his own curious gaze set towards the sky. Without speaking again to the mare he'd come to see, and without thinking very much of where he was going, his hooves carried him forward.
Somewhere in his mind, perhaps pressed up against his wandering thoughts like a bent-out-of-shape shadow, the distinct feeling that he was wandering off course continued to nag at him.
It carried itself along with him like a gnawing little parasite as he gradually made his way across town, his walk continuing almost completely unconsciously. It wasn't until the disconcerting sensation of cantering ponies brushing against his pack and pelt dwindled to nonexistence and the hum of wordless chatter dammed to a halt that his focus fell to Equus, and he found himself slowing.
He turned his head and cast his gaze back with a blink, finding the familiar schoolhouse where he'd received his lackluster education a short while behind him. Before him, as he turned back, there were little more than endless trees and plains spread out on either side of the well-worn dirt trail that stretched to the horizon.
Beyond the forest-edged trail, the path ended on a distant hill where the trees flowered in rosy red. A rustic brown building sat in stark contrast amidst them, and past it, several smaller structures nestled about a barn.
Now, at least, he had an idea of where he was going.
He set off.
And until he set hoof in Sweet Apple Acres, he had all the time he needed to reorganize himself.
As his hooves quickly picked up a familiar cadence he'd long since committed to memory on his many visits, the path and the dangerous woods beside him faded into casual disinterest. All that remained was the steady rhythm of his canter and the thoughts it stirred.
Where else to begin but Twilight?
He didn't hate her. He felt like he should, but he didn't, and he wasn't impressing anypony by pretending.
Rarity was right—about a lot of things, like her ostensible comparison between him and the bookish... okay, whatever he was about to follow that word with was just going to be an insult to him. That just went to show that they were basically only distinguished by three letters, their birthplace, and their upbringing.
There was a lot about her that set him off, but he was a persistently disgruntled pony. Everypony set him off in one way or another or ten. Twilight wasn't outstanding in that regard.
So why did he keep convincing himself she was Nightmare Moon reincarnate?
That was easy, he supposed. It was... it was easy to admit—he was afraid of second guessing himself.
He knew why, too. Changing his mind so suddenly... it felt too much like... like the way it'd been.
When nothing had been certain. When his mind hadn't been safe. When the ground could have turned black with oozing ink at any second because there'd been something in his head and his thoughts weren't his.
The refreshing afternoon air and the warm sun on his back didn't help the shiver. Not the flash, either.
Cold cyan eyes. The persistent fog. The overpowering white noise—the ringing in his ears.
The cold. So cold.
But it was okay. It was gone. He was safe now, and no matter how many times he closed his eyes and saw Hers, they'd never leap from his mind to attack him. He'd not be set upon with endless scorn and flaming breath, nor forced to bear witness to casual self-mutilation and burning static in the air.
He'd found love, and that sheer fact of reciprocity was enough to quell the raging screams echoing through that ancient castle. The cold was lesser next to that wonderful warmth. It didn't bother him so much anymore.
Neither did Twilight.
She was a perfectly fine mare—startlingly similar to... well, to what he strived to be. She was definitely far more neurotic than he was—if there had still been voices in his head, they'd agree, too—but that was kind of charming, in a way. He felt... kindred with her around, if a little intellectually dwarfed.
Frankly, he was a little honored she'd offer to teach him. Even then, it was kind of breathlessly incredulous that he was lugging around an entire book penned by such a frank genius. How rarified would he be—will he be to receive personal tutelage from the mare who'd been the closest disciple of Her Holy Highness?
...Personal epiphany and general tone of hope aside, thinking of Celestia as holy made him want to barf.
Regardless of their differing stances on religion, he'd certainly be taking Twilight up on her invitation. He'd taken the book and booked it without talking to her about it, but when next he had a chance, he'd gladly accept any massive advantage that just so happened to fall right into his lap.
He'd be an idiot not to. There was just no reason to pretend like it wasn't exactly what he wanted.
He was entitled to the things he wanted. After all he'd endured, he deserved it.
He was allowed to want good things.
A rustling flurry of sudden activity sprung to life in his peripheral, and suddenly he was in danger. He'd gone too far. How dare he hold out naïve hope. He should've known better. She'd stamp that out. She'd take it away. She'd taught him better. She would make him do it again.
The murky fog stretched out below him.
It was only a few moments after he threw himself to the dirt in a full-body cower that he tentatively peeked an eye open to see what was actually happening, and as he did, the wave of relief that washed over him was second only to the shame that began to burn a hole through his face.
It was a squirrel, brazenly scampering out from the edge of the Everfree with a nut in its paws. It sat a short distance away, perfectly harmless, nibbling on the prize it had somehow scrounged from the dead forest. If the animalistic gleam of vulnerability in its eyes didn't properly convince him, the small stature of its whitish-grey soul should have thoroughly assured him it was just a woodland creature.
Light hurriedly pushed himself to a standing position, brushing his hoof across his saddlebag and down his barrel as he suppressed an embarrassed cough. Pursing his lips, he wiped a hoof across his muzzle as he busily searched the sky for flying onlookers. All seemed right. Just a routine ground inspection. Carry on, everypony.
Feeling... dopey, he cast his attention back to the placid squirrel, imagining for a moment that it was some horrorterror in disguise just waiting for him to let his guard down. The thought, of course, was silly. He could see its average soul plain as day—no trickery whatsoever. It made him want to scoff as he turned to carry on. What was wrong with you, Light? You're supposed to be confident and grown up, not jumping at noises in the bushes like a little colt. For shame.
...But then he stopped, and his intent gaze flicked back to the squirrel sitting not ten hoof-lengths away.
His focus landed on its own gaze, but it hadn't looked at him once since it'd burst from the brush. He'd not made much noise, he supposed, and he was rather brown. He must not have stood out as a threat, or... at all.
It would've fled if it'd seen him. If it knew, it wouldn't have stayed.
It didn't really seem to know he was there.
His gaze fell, landing on its soul. Spinning gently and flashing in its below-average fashion, the muted luminescence still shone like a brilliant torch amidst the darkened shrubbery it crouched in. He'd always loved that about them. No matter the darkness, the soul would always keep its luster.
Its... intoxicating luster.
Maybe it was the country air, so far removed from civilization on both sides. Maybe it was his introspective state brought about by his great uncertainty of the preceding day. Maybe it was Her memory—that... thorn of creeping chill in the core of his being that thoughts of Her only seemed to exacerbate.
There must've been a lot of reasons why, whatever he tried, his mind kept circling back to the same thought.
It's just a squirrel.
It only took a little repetition for his gaze to fall to his hooves, searching for a rock.
It wasn't hard to find a stone clumped into the dirt on the side of the path—there were plenty, really, and he had his gracious pick of the lot. Good as his eyes were, it was even easier to pick one out from the crowd, and just the size he needed, too. He loved it when things took a turn for the easy.
He'd often put a lot of effort into the vast magical potential of lighting his horn quietly, and it seemed as though his years as a troubled youth with nothing better to do than terrorize others was finally paying off as his system awoke with a mental prod and his horn began to glimmer. A dull, very quietly tinkling red haze flickered to life around the top of the half-buried rock, and gently, he wiggled it free.
As it floated to an equilibrium next to his head, he slid a silent gaze back to the squirrel. It was sniffing the air.
Light had already been holding his breath, but he had to stow a gasp as a sudden pang of fear tore through him at the prospect of losing his chance. It was all he could do to stay still, and not breathe. Don't move.
After a moment, it went back to nibbling, hunching over its meagre prize and gnawing at it from all sides.
He wouldn't waste time professing his relief. Light's gaze tracked back to the rock he'd chosen, hovering it closer and mentally hefting it. By his reckoning, it was about the same weight and size as an apple.
Slowly, cautiously, his unblinking crimson eyes slid back to the squirrel.
If there was anything he knew how to throw, it was apples.
The animal's head perked up as the weighty object went sailing through the air with an uncanny whistle of displaced air, giving Light one last look into its beady eyes before the rock impacted the side of the small creature's skull with a quietly wet crack. The rock bounced into the undergrowth while the squirrel tottered around and crumpled to the grass.
Light let out a resounding cheer as he bounced on his hooves, finally able to suck in an excited breath at his success, not wasting a second to trot briskly over to the unmoving fauna he'd just done a fair job of murdering.
Well, murder was a strong term for a squirrel, however technically apt. If it had a family or loved ones, they'd likely forget it in a week.
That thought and just a few more like it were why Light felt no reservation in riding the continuing surge of power thrumming in his core to reach out and lift the limp body by its limp leg. His eyes caught on a subtle drip of red falling from the broken skin of its head, though it only fueled the perverse giddiness dancing along his nerves.
How exhilarating that'd been! He'd always wanted to do something like that, but as a foal, he'd always been too fidgety and unwieldy to stand still or throw straight. The animals he'd tried to kill many times in the past all got off scampering or fluttering away, much to his angst-fueled frustration.
Now, to his absolute delight, he'd undergone more than enough trauma to stand still and aim like a true psychopath. The animal was his to marvel at—to peer forward with wide, unblinking eyes, and to shamelessly explore every dirty scrape and mussed bit of fur he could find as it gently turned in his grasp.
Of course, its workaday appearance wasn't what he was interested in, nor were the shallow pants and fluttering heartbeat gradually slowing to a cold stop against the firm press of his mana. He had no interest in sadism.
Because he wasn't a psychopath.
He was just entitled to the things he wanted.
And what he wanted was that little ball of grayish light that he could feel drifting so close.
The squirrel was barely clinging to life—not that he was really paying much mind to its final moments—but there was no way he'd be able to stave off the dizzying anticipation that was currently running through his veins to let it be. The day may have been beautiful and the summer breeze refreshing, but those were both guesses as to the atmosphere, because Light could only see the deadened forest before him, and his soon-to-be-dead prey.
It was not an aesthetic he was keen to deny. Right then, stuck in his own little world on the hardly-traveled path to his marefriend's farm, Light was free from the burden—the guilt of what he was doing.
No memories of painful smiles and dead bunny rabbits.
There was nothing except him and the squirrel.
And he felt so alive, rife with joy and heart and besieged by the most wonderful sensations.
He could feel the pulse of the souls within him, calling in feverish voices out to their kin with a two-step rhythm of sonorous harmony for what he desired. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was fading—a frenetic hammering of drums easing in and adding to the melody. The rustling of the trees was melding into a vast choir of tolling bells.
He was the conductor to this grand music—the center of this jarring symphony. Every piece rang in an endless harmony in his ears, and in that isolated moment, he was sure he was the only one who would ever understand it.
It was perfect. It was immaculate—complete and fulfilling for some inscrutable intrinsic place deep down inside him that he hadn't even known had been lacking for so much of his life. It made him better. It made him whole.
But there was something wrong. There was a silent player in the theatre.
It sat silent and odd amidst the whorling chords and tones that suffused him, but he could taste its refrain on the tip of his tongue. It was dying to join in—to fall into step with the band.
It was lonely. How that tugged at its heartstrings.
He smiled, and he felt the motion quirk at his lips. It only had to come closer.
He only had to beckon.
Bit by bit, tooth over heel, he beckoned for it. No matter how it began to hurt, and no matter how the scent of heat and wrath stung at his nose, he beckoned. Forth, ever forth, he beckoned. He needed it. It needed him.
His veins burned. His head pulsed with frothing anguish. His skin was suffocating him.
As the orchestra swelled to its apex, and as the writhing pain of an impossible pressure bore down on him, something caught the edge of his ear. His heart leapt into his throat, and the world around him seemed to ripple in a hesitant waver. Time slowed. Equus eroded to dust.
In a single instant, he felt its presence snuff out. It was closer than it had ever been before, and he couldn't hear it.
Then the cork popped.
And all was right.
The melody had found its accompaniment.
And he couldn't believe he'd ever lived without it.
Light's eyes fluttered open, leaving him to wince at the harsh greeting of the sun's unrepentant light, that solar mule. He lifted a hoof to shield them with a grimace, waving away the fading mist of ill-fitting purple that he probably should've bottled as he took a deep breath of... what felt like long forgotten fresh air.
Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe it had been too long to recall.
Everything seemed that little bit fresher now.
Now that he could feel the swing rhythm of three souls in his heart.
His hoof fell to the ground as he blinked mistily over his shoulder, finding nothing but the pleasant country landscape. He was shocked for a moment at how... green it all seemed, but not enough to hold him off returning his gaze forward.
Forward and down, and he frowned to himself.
There laid the sprawled body of a dead squirrel, its head nearly curled under its crumpled body. If anypony wanted to strike him down for murder, now'd be a good time to do it while he was standing over the evidence.
Not that it'd be there for long. Cruel as life was, some enterprising hunter from the Everfree would swipe the easy meat in a matter of moments once he was gone. The ignorant squirrel never should've been there in the first place—it was like asking to have its soul tugged out and made off with.
How could he be judged for carrying out the due course of nature?
Still staring down at the tiny corpse, wondering if there'd be unforeseen karmic repercussions in his future, his hoof wandered up to press at his chest. It was just an idle habit that he decided to indulge in, and faintly, he could feel his heartbeat, but if he focused...
Three points of warmth. Three instruments in the grand song.
Two of them were so much smaller, but it was still so much warmer. So warm.
Light was warmer than he had been in a long time. He felt... wonderful. Exuberant.
Like life was bright and really worth experiencing. Everything was so beautiful.
He raised his attention from the dead animal, turning to the path as he made to leave the carcass behind. The shiver of the undergrowth behind him may or may not have been his imagination, but he was already more intent on other things. Better things.
The things that mattered to him. That he could feel... so much more strongly.
His hooves were carrying him forward and faster than he might've ever gone down the road to the Apples' farm. The urge—the need in his trembling jaw to see her was just growing worse. More painful. Like he'd been carved out and his heart was beating sickly fluid all over the ground. He couldn't stand it.
He had to see Applejack. He had to... love her. Let her know. Have her let him know. It wasn't right without her.
Nothing was right without her.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A gently scrunched brown muzzle cautiously poked in through the top of a half-opened stable door, followed closely by two curious crimson eyes as their owner cast a glance from the left side of the room to the right. Finding nothing but the regular homely decorations and green painted walls over wooden molding—smiling photographs included—Light pushed the bottom of the door open and took a step in.
Keeping his eyes on the opposite end of the room where the stairs rung the wall, he closed the door with a nudge from his hindleg, raising his chin and calling out as he did. "Applejack? Granny Smith?"
It wasn't a big surprise that there was nopony in the sitting room, but it was a little odd he hadn't seen any Apples on the way to the house. The whole extended family had been in town for the Summer Sun Celebration, he knew, but they must've all gone home by now. Otherwise, he'd have been accosted by friendly greetings seven times over on the walk up from the orchard. Neverending welcomes to a transient y'all.
He wasn't a big fan of... all the Apples—all... five thousand of them, or so it felt like. The concept of extended families always kind of disturbed him, was all. He was supposed to like all those strangers just because they were all bound by blood or something? Not even in the so-called cool way he used to be obsessed with, just by genetics.
He was glad they weren't his extended family. Not... yet, anyway.
As a whole, they were disturbingly adherent to the stereotype of country livin' ponies, complete with the accents, mannerisms, and bluster that he barely tolerated coming from his marefriend. They all tended to be too loud, too boisterous, and upsettingly ignorant of their cloying folksiness.
Though... as his call for attention echoed through the lonely house, and a knock on the ceiling above him rapidly grew into a pattering of smallish hoofsteps over his head, he couldn't fight a small smile.
He liked the Apples that he was close with. On them, it was charming.
He didn't have to idle by the door for long before the clambering from upstairs grew loud enough to wince at, though before he could properly brace, a yellow-on-red bolt shot from the stairs unseen to crash onto the bend.
As Light did his best to regain his bearings from the house shaking, the yellow filly who he could swear was so much bigger than he remembered turned from where she'd leapt halfway down the stairs, setting wide auburn eyes on him as the reddish soul behind the fur of her chest visibly jumped.
"Light!" He'd been in this scenario enough times to know; as soon as Apple Bloom caught sight of him, he was already holding his hooves up and out. For a brief moment, the motion was a bit funny; for most of his life, his first thought had always been wasted hoping she just wouldn't hug him.
Now, he was smiling.
He heaved a grunt of exertion as the filly flew into his open arms, wobbling back on his hocks and holding his breath for dear life as her hooves wrapped tight around his neck. As her delighted giggle played around his ears, he surreptitiously snaked his hoof into the stifling junction of their stomachs to scratch at the latch of his saddlebag, allowing him a marginally easier breath as his bag fell to the floor with a muffled thump.
With his breathing slightly less labored, his contented smile returned in full force as he held her a little higher and huffed a breath down her back. "Hi, Bloom," he murmured, drawing a dreamy hum from the filly in his arms. Her grip tightened, as did his in response. "I missed you, too."
He really had; he wasn't being facetious. Watching the foal grow from that wide-eyed little lemming into the remarkably conscious filly she was today had been... one of the greatest joys of his life. That he'd not remembered her on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration was... painful—how it hurt in hindsight.
The foggy memory was like a burn in his throat. Somepony so important to him... and he hadn't known.
Terrifying.
His ever-worsening mental state over the years had warned him off visiting the farm very often for fear of... pretty much everything here, but he'd been especially grief-stricken over the thought of acting wrong around Apple Bloom. If he'd done something wrong, and she'd been there to see—to react...
She wasn't ever supposed to be sad, and he didn't think he could handle it if he was the cause.
She was supposed to be... bouncy. Happy. Excited. She was warm, soft, and so cuddly—aside from choking him, she gave the best hugs—and she was probably the only good filly on the planet. She wasn't gross, she was smart and worldly enough to not present herself as constantly inane, and she was so sweet!
Speaking of which, his heart tangibly soared as she laughed behind his ear again, and though he was content to sit there in the entryway just snuggling her... forever, he let his grip go slack when she began to tug away.
His hooves stayed on her back as she pushed herself up from his chest, allowing him a sugar-inducing look into her laughing gaze. "Aw, Light, it's only been a few days since I saw you!" She tilted her head with a quirked eyebrow, bouncing her bow with a shake and a smile. "Y'all couldn't've forgotten, could ya?"
He was only glad he'd been distracted by the warm feelings of love for the filly whom he'd practically adopted as a sister, because his fugue helped to hide the rush of regret that washed over him at the inflammatory remark. She was too serendipitous for her own good, stabbing right at the heart of his insecurity like that.
He hid it well, though—he was well practiced—and managed a mostly even grin back at the innocently staring filly. "No, Bloom, I just meant..." He chewed on the next words for a moment as he ushered her off his lap, letting her settle onto the floor as he stood with a deep breath. He let it out in time with the sag of his shoulders, relaxing as he fixed her with a warm smile. "...I haven't been... around all that much, lately."
Apple Bloom, the sweet child, took his response with a roll of her eyes, scoffing in that well-meaning—yet disastrously snarky—way that she did. "Ugh. Y'don't gotta tell me." Her gaze focused back onto him as she fell onto her haunches, twitching her obvious grin into a bad frown. "I swear, I could count on four hooves the times I've seen you in the past year!"
Now it was Light's turn to roll his eyes—all the more so as she held her hooves up for emphasis. "Apple Bloom, just because I've been... busy, doesn't mean I stopped dropping by to visit your sister every other week." He stepped up to the filly, gesticulating over the petulant foal with his own unfelt frown. "Not to mention I came around on yours, your sister's, your brother's, and your grandmare's birthdays!"
He pointed one hoof up—just because he needed three to stand. "That's four times right there!"
The filly under his mock glare adopted one of her own, jumping to her hooves and doing her best to stare defiantly up into his eyes. "Yeah, well—" She simmered with... what he hoped was fake frustration for a moment, stamping her hoof into the floor with a pout as she found her runaway sentence. "That doesn't change that you ain't been around as much as y'used to be!"
It was growing increasingly difficult not to break the tension and burst out laughing, especially staring at her twitchy little face and that cute little bow in her bouncy mane, so he appeased the urge by turning away with a huff, quirking the end of his frown into a grin where she couldn't see. "Yeah, well..."
He trailed off on an obvious silence, firming his shoulders and raising his chin haughtily to give off his best upset impression, which he hoped was translating well from behind him. He kept an ear perked, listening to the filly shuffle in place for a few moments before she stepped forward, then again, then began to circle around him.
It was then that he struck.
He planted his butt down, pivoting with an arm stretched out and catching the filly unawares and off her guard, heaving the smaller pony up to his chest with a growl and hugging her close as she let out a surprised yelp that rose with an inhale into a giggle as he pressed her back into his stomach. "—I'm here now, you little pest!" He yelled into her mane, grinning wildly as he blew a raspberry into her hair and her laughter redoubled.
Amidst her cries for him to stop and to cut it out, he wholeheartedly continued to shake her like a little sack, nuzzling the back of her head and blowing hot air into it for what felt like an hour. An hour he wished wouldn't end.
It was just so easy to indulge the impulse to let himself love the filly—to show that he loved her like family.
The warmth made it so easy.
Eventually, though—very shortly, actually—his arms got tired, and he slowed down to just hug the filly. She wasn't all that big, but she still weighed as much as a boulder, and he wasn't all that fit in the first place.
Breathing deeply of her familiarly... er rustic, scent, he shifted his muzzle up and out of her very messy mane to rest his chin onto her half-undone bow. "Hey, Bloom?" he murmured, to which the filly shifted her head back against his stomach and chirped curiously. He shifted his arms around her midriff, chewing on his tongue for a moment as her hooves squeezed his arms. "Is... Granny around?"
The filly wasn't silent for a moment before she answered cheerily, bouncing in his lap. "Yeah, she's in her chair!" He flicked a glance to the right, towards the saloon doors on the adjacent wall that separated the sitting room from... the other sitting room. He'd figured, but it was only polite to ask given she hadn't responded earlier.
He felt the filly shift again, so he did his best to match her gaze, finding an incredulous question within their shining depths. "Y'all didn't come around jes' t'see Granny, did'ya?"
He hemmed for a moment of thought, raising his chin up from the filly's head as he cast a glance sideways, hoping she wouldn't see how he couldn't quite keep his mouth from wiggling in quiet uncertainty. "Er- um, no, I didn't. I did come to see Applejack, I was just..." He coughed, firming his grip around the filly with a resolute nod. "...wanting to ask Granny something, is all."
He'd been going back and forth on this on the walk to the farm, and he really hadn't wanted to make it a certainty, but then it'd just kind of... slipped out, so he supposed it was too late to back out, now.
His gaze drifted back to the door. The... possibly impending doom.
He choked down a swallow, holding Apple Bloom tighter to her quiet protest.
It was definitely too late to run away.
Gasp! Jinx, you're back! 
That's right! I'm back, and I'm blander than ever! 
...Hopefully not, obviously, because I always do my best to make my writing as interesting as possible! I feel as though I fail most of the time, but either way, you'll like this chapter if you're here for the feelgood sappy stuff, and you'll hate it if you're here for everything I promised and keep failing to deliver! It doesn't matter how interesting it is! 
Anyways, if you were wondering where I've been—oh yeah, my last blog was a month ago, huh?—then stop wondering, because I've been right here the whole time! Right where you left me! The real treasure was at home the whole time!
Seriously, though, December sucked and I wasn't able to write for the month, but January wasn't so great, either. Real life was... strenuous, and my creative fervor suffered for it. No matter how much I wanted to write—and I tried every other day—it's no good if what I'm coming up with is no good.
I always say that the most important thing you can do as a writer is just write, no matter how you feel about the quality. Sometimes, though—oh, those accursed times in-between—writing without direction hurts more than it helps. Editing is all well and good, but if you put too much work into a dead-end, then you might devote energy in vain to trying to improve it instead of just starting over like you probably should. You get nowhere with bad plot points, and you just end up hating yourself.
In the end, it would've been better to just take a break.
So I took a little break! this chapter still feels a little subpar, though
This chapter... whoof. Did you know I split it in half? I've got the other half of what was supposed to be Defiance in another chapter of 7k words yet to come—still waiting for its finishing touches. It was a rough decision, because the conglomerate whole was written to tie into the theme of the chapter, but at that length, it was becoming too unwieldy to properly manage.
Think about it like this: a 10k word chapter can be split up into five separate sections of two thousand words apiece, clean and simple, and those sections can be tackled relatively easily for individual editing one after the other. It's not much of a bother. If you've got eighteen thousand or so words, though, then the golden standard two thousand word editing block demands nine sections. You have to edit all of that over the five sections, stepping back and looking at the massive whole from time to time, and fatigue end up setting in much more strongly.
The longer a chapter is, the more you have to keep in mind, the longer your editing sessions become, and the less attention you have to devote overall.
Honestly, even this 9k word chapter could be better. 
Anyways, the next chapter shouldn't be too long, now, since it's almost completely done at this point. After that, we'll be getting into a chapter that I feel as though will be exciting to write, so I probably won't drag my feet so much! I'll write so much that I'll get into a groove, and we'll be back on our merry adventure! 
...Hopefully.
Also, one last thing, I made that doofy little book cover! I'll have you know I took a digital design course in high school! It shows, right?! I'm so great!
snrk
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Too many italics, honestly, even for Light Flow's normal mental pattern. Or at least, that's my humble opinion.
Here was far less external jerking around of his mental state and the rapid strong emphasis on so many half thoughts seemed excessive, even for his not-ideal mental health.
Fun chapter otherwise, but it was actually mildly painful to read where I don't think that was your intent this time.
11813526
To be honest, I'm surprised to hear you say that! I felt as though my italicizing was far worse in the past; if not in excess, then at least it could've used improvement in where I was using it. I feel as though I was a bit lackadasical with the emphasis in previous chapters, so I tried to listen to where the narrative would've sounded emphasized, this time. Sorry I failed!
As for the so-called jerking around... I dunno what you mean? Well—I have some idea. For this chapter, my main focus was actually keeping the pacing a bit less... meandering for once, so I tried to keep things moving along without the whole song and dance Light usually goes through. Of course, I still let him wander where it was due—this story wouldn't be the way it is without pointless thinking—and I certainly wanted it to seem jarring, but if it seemed too sporadic to properly follow, then that wasn't my intent. I'm sorry.
There was a lot about this chapter I was hesitant about finalizing, so your concerns aren't at all surprising. Not to mention I stopped writing regularly for a while, and this chapter was in production for a whole two months, which may have correlated to my style seeming off. I hope I don't disappoint you again going forward.
...It is funny, though, to hear you say it was painful. Honestly, I consider my writing to be absolutely tortuous, and hearing that opinion vocalized seems a bit overdue.
also, this isn't your fault, but golly gee my nerves are shot with this being the chapter's first comment.
Eh, this story is not weird, it just has some character : ) Also, I don't think I ever encountered Purple being used as an expletive! Good job, please keep it up : )
11813809
D'aw, thanks! This story is rather abnormal when compared to typical literary practices—probably the only story in the world that's spent 450k words in the prologue—but I appreciate you saying so, regardless!
Yeah, Light's not a big fan of the color purple. It reminds him of grapes. Bleh.
I quite literally set aside time to read this, wonderful story and extremely interesting and unique feels like a breath of fresh air each chapter I read compared to the othe stories on this site that follow tropes like a guidebook and follow the same storybeats tirelessly. Hope I can see more of lights soul orchestra
11813559
Ah, sorry to do a number on your nerves; I do enjoy the story.
When Light Flow is at his worst earlier, with NM in his head and Celestia's conditioning wrestling over what little free action he is left capable of, painful writing was apropos.
When I meant jerking above, I didn't mean left and right to topics, I meant like, slamming the gas pedal then the brake pedal in a car. Italicized emphasis is like hitting the gas for word or phrase, but the more you use it, the less meaning it has. when every single sentence has one or more italicized bits, it's like gas-brake-gas-brake and my mind is trying to parse precisely what about the sentence is emphasized.
Consider the following six sentences:
He didn't really mean that.
He didn't really mean that. (but someone else did?)
He didn't really mean that. (despite what you might otherwise believe)
He didn't really mean that. (even if it sounded legit)
He didn't really mean that. (the speaker said something easily misunderstood)
He didn't really mean that. (the listener has apparently misunderstood something)
Every instance of italics kicks off a subroutine in my brain where I am trying to decode the context (as in the parentheticals above). Emphasis is intended to pare down the possible interpretations of a sentence by highlighting the key word the unspoken context hangs off of.
When Light Flow is totally losing it, context and clear understanding is a distant dream. When he seems sober, awake, and rational (as he gets), I'd expect him to have internally consistent context, etc., even if his internal monologue goes unconventional places.
I guess the thing to ask yourself is, whenever you toss in italics, what potential other interpretations of the same words in that order are you trying to eliminate? If there are none, is there a specific reason for the emphasis? If there is none, is the italic needed at all?
Sorry for the unsolicited advice, and please don't let this impact your stress levels or anything!
Well, congrats on getting through the slog that is editing, especially when there are billions of italic words! Those slanty words add such an immense amount of feeling to Light's experience.
It's almost as if I understood what he is trying to emphasize and how he feels about it. My internal voice is entertaining to listen to because of the micropauses and sneer of Light's thoughts and views.
That tranquil and zen moment that Light experienced, I felt something like that before. I don't remember how many times, but it was a fleeting feeling. Your descriptions got me to experience a momentary zen state where all is right in the world. It's very well written!
Apple Bloom. I kinda forgot how much Light actually likes her.
Screw all other Light ships. He must have his little sister Apple Bloom! Even if Applejack doesn't work out. I hope not.
Apple Bloom should practically have some of Light's manerism rubbed off on her. Though, maybe not. Limited exposure. He'll definitely be an awesome step-brother!
Also, a perfect set up to where Big Macintosh realises he has a more limited brotherly bond with Apple Bloom. Now Applejack, too. A stallion to stallion squabble is just around the corner.
I wonder if Light will start developin' an accent.
I also love the fact that we get to see Light going full psycho.
11813903
Your italicized emphasis thing reminds me of the following:
" Let's eat Grandma! "
" Let's eat, Grandma! "
Commas save lives.
11814341
Oh! Hi Screw! I promised myself during the two-month vanishing act that the next time I saw you I'd give you a biggol reply! Your name may just be the one I look forward to seeing the most whenever I post a chapter; your comments are always full of so much attention and theorizing and just... so full!
So, first off: thank you so much! For sticking around, for all your wonderful comments, and for putting up with all my garbage!
To start with, it's so funny that you praised(?) my overusage of italics, because I got another comment earlier that you probably actually saw that sort of condemned me for how liberally I sprinkled them in. I was even gonna edit through what I have of the next chapter to make it less... offensive, but now I have no idea whether I should!
Do let me know if you were being facetious so I can laugh along with you—and continue working on my style.
Thanks for praising the soul fugue I put together! Writing anything involving souls is so arbitrary and spiritual that I pretty much run along with whatever interpretation feels best at the time. I've previously likened it to innumerable points of warmth and a stream of pulsing water, so this time, I went with music! I figure if I keep coming up with different metaphors, I'll stumble on one that feels right for everybody!
Yes! Apple Bloom supremacy! The only relationship that matters is that of sisterhood!
mmmyeah, I think it's really important to emphasize that Light grew up around all the Apples, and he cares for each of them in different, important ways. For Apple Bloom—well, he watched her grow up! Her immaturity helped to temper his own, and—under threat of his best friend—he was forced to grow alongside her. He couldn't insult her, yell at her, or throw apples at her, and eventually, all that toleration and care kinda... wore him down!
Not to mention she's just totes adorbs.
I am only a little sorry for saying that
I always thought that Apple Bloom was a smart little cookie, and here, I think spending all her life around such a pompous windbag using such big words all the time would've rubbed off on her. She always struck me as the sort to absorb information from her environment like a cute 'lil sponge, which is a trait that definitely would've been exacerbated by Light's presence.
Whether that's a totally good thing is... up for debate.
It was absolutely my intention to make Light seem just a bit like an actual sociopath for a while—and I have definite purpose for how he acts after. I don't want to explicitly spoil the plot points I have coming up, but if I were you, I'd keep a close eye on how Light is thinking about souls.
His, and the ones close to him.
11813867
say more nice things next chapter
Pff—you are such a charmer!
It's not really like I try to subvert tropes or anything, it's just been years since I regularly read any fanfiction! I kinda just run off my faded memories of all those fandom greats and what I remember from when I last watched the show—I should really set aside time for a rewatch—so otherwise, I just make up everything that happens! Creativity! It's a miracle!
Thanks for ascribing good vibes and a name to what went on in Light's head, by the way! I mean, it's pretty much the same process he's already gone through extracting souls, but I thought it'd cool to try out different interpretations every other time. There's really no good way to describe something as speculatively spiritual as soul extraction and meditation, so I figure describing it in a bunch of different ways will eventually satisfy everyone with an individual process! This time was music!
...I also just thought it'd be cool and artsy—and it's not all authorial reasons; Light's meditative method would naturally differ based on... his environment and stuff. You know, how he's feeling. That probably accounts for it in-narrative, right?
11814401
I'm glad you find my comments just as entertaining as Light's story!
I do mean it when I say that I've enjoyed your italicizations. They took a while to grapple and wrap my mind around, but when I did realize that those were Light's personal thoughts and tangents, my internal voiced morphed to the holier than thou tone whenever a word is italicized.
It definitely flows much better than being ridden with commas. Especially when it's tangents are unrelated, yet unexplainably linked.
And yes, I did come across some comments about it and I gotta say this comes down to how you want the tone of the story to feel like. The story, so far, has been this way. Long enough that it's practically it's own voice and style.
I also don't mind if you do it less, to be fair. It depends on how you want to tell Light's story.
Commenting once per chapter so far has been bad, especially with long nothingess between chapters. I definitely feel like I have forgotten some relavent points I wanted to bring for up next chapter. Oh well.
P.S. Apple Bloom is awesome!
11815463
Thank you for such an expedient response! I feel as if honesty is golden; how else is someone supposed to improve, afterall? It's all well and good to sugarcoat things, but at the end of it - sometimes a verbose explanation of someone's thoughts and opinions is truly needed to help catalyse important and meaningful discussion, and to provoke thoughts on how one can truly improve; along with giving a retrospect!
I hope you don't take my review as too-negative, frankly; I was a tad harsh at times in it - but overall the story is amazing; and with your later comments - while yes, the story does breach narrative traditions- you've pulled it off amazingly! This is very much a slow-burn type of story, from what I can feel from how it's been written; with the main bulk not being goofy hijinks or adventures, but a genuine, deep-dive in what it means to actually be a person, a pony living with the curse - and blessing of being a natural Necromancer. It's a slice of life, except you've given us the whole pie!
Don't push yourself too hard on any responses :>. Merely continuing to write such high-quality work is more than enough for me!
And that's how you permit yourself evil. Declare yourself more, the other less. -living or otherwise- Yourself superior, the other nothing.
Make yourself believe the lie, and...
"It's just a squirrel" Said the horse and killed the squirrel.
"It's just a piece of rock" Said the monkey and ruined the world.
I do really love that you actually put thought into it.