Rise
They all listen as the mare is lectured within the sorting room of the red brick building -- no, berated would be closer to the mark and, given where some of the anger-produced spittle is landing, that can be taken two ways. The postal employees have gathered within hearing range because the current mini-scene is high among their favorite playlets. The mare presumes it's something which makes them feel better about themselves. Because no matter how many mistakes they make or what kind of complaints are filed against them by those on their own routes... at least they're not her.
It's a familiar arrangement of lines: one which only needs a few tweaks to fit the current situation. There was a Very Important Letter, one which the mare had to make sure was precisely delivered on time, to exactly the right address, and sometimes the supervisor wonders if she can even read. It had to be signed for, and then she had to bring back the card which proves receipt. So where's the card?
She can hear the others now, because the inner walls made of sorting cubbies and piled-up postal saddlebags only block them from sight. They always listen. (She tells herself that they always listen.) One of them, her least favorite (and that's a crowded race field with far too many contenders for the lead, and the wagers never pay off) is starting to -- 'vocalize' would be accurate, but far too polite.
The mare stands perfectly still, looking down at the floor. Or rather, she manages that feat as best she can, which means she's partially getting a few of the half-loaded Outgoing cubbies off to the right. There are times when she gets headaches at the end of a long day: something which irritates her because her brain should be accustomed to reconciling her wandering visual field by now. She's probably going to need a painkiller before she finally tries to sleep tonight, something which is going to be postponed for a while because she has to go out. And before she does that, she has to get home, she has to meet her kid and this utter moron is preventing the mare from taking care of her daughter before starting into that one night...
It's a special night. She only goes out like this once a year and this idiot --
-- still lecturing her. Berating. Demanding --
Where's the card, Derpy?
--- attacking under a name which was never hers.
There are times when she wonders if any of them actually know her name. (She's told herself that nopony would believe it.) It's on file somewhere at the central hub, because that's where the pay vouchers are distributed. But locally, within this post office... no. She doesn't believe they do. Knowledge might intrude on the chance to snicker.
That one bitch always snickers.
(It has to be far more than one.)
Where's the card?
Well, let's see.
She got saddled with the worst of today's mail loads again, because that's what the others do. They all have standard routes, but there's some flexibility because every postal employee has to know the entire town and with all the new ponies who've been moving here, creating equally-new houses and entirely fresh streets... that's becoming a little more difficult. So under the rather poor pretext of teaching her the virgin areas, they shuffle her around.
(Or maybe they really are trying to teach her.)
(Which still means they feel she needs teaching.)
And when it comes to bad assignments... well, getting somepony to sign for legal papers is close to the top of any list. Because that's what confirms receipt. The signer then officially knows they're being sued or dragged into a hearing or that the little accounting trick they tried to pass off as their last tax return didn't quite work, and now they have to act on it. Which means quite a few ponies have concluded that as long as they never sign anything, they officially know nothing and as far as the mare is concerned, that's rather accurate. Just not under the definition they were hoping for.
Where's the card? You can start the answer with 'Where was the recipient?' because when it comes to getting a signature for that kind of letter, you often have to chase them down. There was no answer when she knocked on the door, and that was accompanied by the suspicious sort of silence which can result when somepony within a house is not only making no noise, but has decided their survival depends on negating any sounds which were already there. She became suspicious at the moment the pipes stopped creaking. Then she got in the air, started peeking in windows, and when two brown eyes pulled back at the sight of golden ones --
-- the right eye spotted him first: it was that kind of window arrangement --
-- she wound up having to chase him down. He hadn't been expecting that. Nopony ever thinks she's going to be any good in the air. (She's rather adept -- when she wants to be.) And once she had him cornered, he still refused to sign because surely she had the wrong stallion, everypony knows how many mistakes she makes and she probably just mixed up the houses and fur colors and that was when she put a cloud together.
Ponies feel she's stupid.
Surely she's just weaving vapor because she's going to take a nap right here.
...and because she's incompetent, the cloud is turning oddly... dark --
-- no don't bounce --
Where's the card? Well, once she got back to the post office, she put it near a heating vent so the half-soggy paper would dry out. (The mouthwritten signature is a little shaky from fear, but she's sure it can be identified as having come from the recipient.) And after that was finished, she placed it onto her supervisor's desk. Within the proper tray. Where, if she's guessing correctly, it probably got buried under his late-afternoon snack, displaced to the floor when he slammed a sandwich down, maybe turned into a napkin if he really wasn't paying attention and now he's just going to yell at her because he can't be bothered to look.
Or maybe he olive-oil-stained the signature into oblivion and this is his way of forcing her to go get another. While never, ever admitting that anything is his fault.
The mare sometimes feels her employment to be safely permanent. After all, if she was fired, who would take the blame? The ponies who'd actually screwed up? Perish that thought.
She listens to the berating, more or less. It's mostly just comparing words to the ones which have been shouted before and noting the lack of variety. But she doesn't respond, not until the very end. She just stands in one place and looks stupid. Utterly idiotic. Not a thought in her head. Nature abhors a vacuum -- unless you give it grey fur and feathers: in that case, it just uses the results for comedy.
Her supervisor yells himself out. Slams his hooves into the floor until he reaches the exit, which doesn't quite cover the sounds of her entertained coworkers heading home for the day. She doesn't get punished. What's the point? It would be like painting a graffiti checklist onto a wall and then kicking the stone for not understanding instructions.
It leaves her as the last one in the building. Again.
The signature card is under her supervisor's desk. She winds up having to blot the grease off in a way which doesn't distort the ink.
Her mother said she was so special. Their good little filly.
Special just means 'different'. She worked that out when she was three.
It took somewhat longer to realize that her parents never saw her as being capable. Because there was a birth and they looked into the face of their first (only) filly and if something was wrong with an eye, then there clearly had to be an effect upon the brain. So if the filly learned to talk a little earlier than most, then at least that milestone had been within her reach. The most ordinary of accomplishments were seen as the filly having an especially good day, and they never bothered to work any math on the total 'good day' count. Going to school with everypony else was an accomplishment because she'd made it to school. And her grades...
She was a playful filly. For a while, even with nopony she could truly play with. Happily chatting with what few beams of sunlight pierced the windows of an exceptionally cheap house or rather, with the shadows her hooves placed onto the wall. Because there's an age during which children will accept just about anything. They're too young to understand what 'normal' is, much less how the adults lie about it or define the term solely by themselves. It was the age during which she could have just been brought into that generation as a laughing, happy part of it and they kept her home because they were still waiting to see what else was wrong.
She didn't really get to meet any fillies or colts until after the window had started to close. And then the other parents would see her, whisper to their own children about keeping some distance from a filly who had been so isolated. Just in case something was wrong. Stay away from the special. The different.
There's a stage in life where children will accept just about anything. After that, they mostly turn into monsters.
Or start to act like their parents.
It's the same thing, really.
Children can be cruel. And when they feel that cruelty is bringing approval...
The mare loves her daughter more than anything else in the world.
Most of the town believes that the mare doesn't think. She thinks all the time. They talk freely around her because surely she won't understand what's under discussion, and that just gives her more to think about. She thinks -- but there is an exception, and she's perfectly aware of what it is.
When it comes to her daughter, if it meant protection or salvation of the most precious filly... she would give up her life for Dinky in an instant. On instinct.
The mare has no spouse. (Anypony who wants to make her consider laughing simply needs to propose that this could change.) Her shift normally runs beyond the primary school's hours, and that means Dinky is a latchkey child. She has to come home by herself, unlock the door, fetch the snack which her mother prepared that morning, and start on any homework alone. It's usually at least two hours of that and the mare worries so much, but... Dinky is safe. Dinky has friends. They trot with her until the little unicorn reaches her own door, and there's adults observing the youthful procession and keeping an eye on the house and watching everything and the mare has decided that they all do it because they've decided the mother can't.
She's discovered several side benefits to the way ponies think of her, in believing that she can't really think at all. Any piece of fallout which protects her daughter must be maintained.
The mare greets her filly with a nuzzle, because she loves her daughter more than anything in the world. Also, if you keep a nuzzle going for a while, you can check your offspring's body for bruises. Because Dinky is lovable and beloved and has so many friends, one of the happiest children the mare has ever seen and surely that means her parent is doing something right --
-- she doesn't trust it to last.
She has to teach her daughter about the ways things can change --
-- but this isn't the time, because the mare has to go out and that means Dinky will be with a foalsitter for the night. The mare only goes out like this once a year: something which makes adult supervision a little easier to arrange. Tonight, Dinky will be staying with Lyra and Bon-Bon for a few hours. Lyra has been serving as Dinky's initial tutor in unicorn magic, and that's been going on for a while now because Dinky was the first in her class to reclaim a corona. She's so far ahead of everypony else in finding any magic at all, she's learning quickly, and the mare is so proud...
(She feels Dinky is on track for the Gifted School.)
(If her daughter wants to go.)
(If it's safe...)
So the mare nuzzles her daughter, and they talk about school and subjects and all the games which the children play. (The mare is learning about some of those games for the first time, by proxy.) Homework is reviewed. There's giggling, fur is carefully brushed, and then they head into the cool autumn evening to meet the married couple.
Lyra and Bon-Bon. One tutors her daughter, and does so with gentle patience. The other half of the married couple is all too aware that they're going to be expecting their own child soon and just wants some practice at being a parent.
It's an easy transfer. Lyra is always happy to see Dinky. Bon-Bon, who's lurking close to the kitchen... well, watching over the single best filly in town lessens the candy shop owner's concerns over having something break. Slightly.
Lyra eventually asks about how long the mare will be out. Double-checking.
Just a few hours.
And because it's just a few hours, they don't ask why she needs them. Again.
The mare has done this before. Once a year, every year. Always on the same day. An anniversary, really.
Or, looked at from another perspective, it's... a date.
An anti-date.
A few hours to herself, once a year. That's all the time it takes.
To review.
To remember.
To bring back all the reasons why she's a single mother.
And to recognize why that status will never change.
Lyra smiles at Dinky. At the mare.
All right, the adult unicorn says. Have a good time, Dulci.
Her name? She knows it's on file with the Herdbook Registry in Canterlot, because that's where all the birth certificates go. But there's probably a copy in Ponyville. Somewhere. She was born here. She... just didn't stay, and that was because of her parents. The filly almost got all the way through primary school.
Then they moved.
She waits for Sun to be lowered. Until streets and skies are a little more empty. And then she makes her way to the first of her stops: her own home. She stands upon cobblestone and focuses on the old master bedroom as best she can. Every story starts somewhere.
After that... not much has changed at the primary school. She went to Ponyville East. But there was a district shuffle while she was away, and now the borders which determine building and teacher assignments have shifted. Just one block can make the difference, and Dinky isn't following in her mother's hoofsteps.
Something to be grateful for.
The mare doesn't object too much to her daughter's instructor, at least when it comes to the quality of education. Dinky's doing fine in school. There's twice-yearly mandatory meetings with the teacher, and the mare truly wishes that the stallion would stop trying to explain her daughter's progress with one-syllable words.
Ponyville East... the building has a fresh coat of paint. Some of the playground equipment has been replaced. In both cases, you can place the credit (or blame) at the hooves of the Crusaders, because it's amazing what can be pressed into service in the name of not getting a mark.
At this hour, the building is dark and quiet. No light shines through the windows. (The windows have been replaced several times.)
It's still the same old merry-go-round, though.
The mare places herself upon a segment of the flat-topped rotating circle. A foreleg dangles over the edge. She's too big for this kind of joy now.
There are times when she still wonders what it feels like to ride one.
Nopony ever pushed.
Did anypony at her original primary school know her name? Use it? Maybe the teacher. The mare can't remember...
She has a name. But she also has an eye which wanders, where she has to fight to keep her vision focused and the effort always wears off eventually, and when you're different and among children who never had a chance to accept you... that's when the nicknames start to pile up. 'Derpy' came in early, and it's the one which sees the most use. Ask just about anypony who she is: that's the most probable response. And because so many ponies tend to think the same way, when they can be bothered to think at all... she didn't get to leave it behind in the move. They crossed half a nation and when the little family arrived in the new settled zone, the colts and fillies of privilege came up with the exact. same. thing.
They moved. Left Ponyville behind, and there was certainly no trauma involved in having to say goodbye to the friends she'd didn't have. But her parents said there was a different house waiting, a better one because a higher-paying job had been found on the east coast. They moved into an area of wealth and privilege and...
...the family made more money. It was a significant increase. But when it came to wealth -- well, they were certainly living in its rough vicinity. There were other parents and children about, and most of those families had money. But, just like the true piles of bits, they never dropped by the new house. So they never learned her name.
Her name? Her best guess for its existence, based on her understanding of her own parents, is that they saw a foal who would be forever -- 'special' -- and wanted something unique. So they abandoned the Equestrian language entirely, and thus her name is Dulcinea. Foreign, exotic and, when it comes to just about everypony she's ever met, unknown.
So many ponies believe names are destiny...
The mare looked up the translation once. It means 'sweetheart'. Or, in a slightly-separated context, 'beloved'.
So much for the power of names.
She didn't go inside the primary school, and the mare never would have considered trying to get into the secondary school building. That still has a few lights on, just barely visible off in the distance when looking across the sporting fields. The mare is sure it's unlocked, but... an adult wandering around the interior of a school, when she doesn't have a child attending there or any mail to deliver... that invokes questions. If they spotted her...
Never identified, but always recognized. There are times when that feels like a strange way to live.
The mare was born in Ponyville. But there were years when she wasn't here, and... she's not sure anypony even noticed. There seems to be an assumption that she's always been here. Just part of the background. And has locating her turned into a game? Can the population pick her out of any crowd? First one to manage the feat scores points and gets to invent a new nickname! Not that any of them are capable of true invention, but they won't be aware that it's a duplicate: surely that counts. And since they're searching, they'll need something to look for. It won't be fur or mane or even the mark --
-- her wings are starting to tense. She forces them back into the rest position.
This wasn't her secondary school. But the true is dozens of gallops away. She will never go back there again. In fact, if certain parties happened to be standing too close, she legally couldn't.
Not the actual site. So she finds substitutes.
It's enough. The memories can flow.
Once a year.
Every year.
The filly is only special at home. (Her body is trying to offer counterevidence, and yet she's still their good little filly.) 'Special' in the way which means she's never really seen for who she truly is, and yet she tolerates it because at least it feels as if somepony loves her. Or is trying to protect her. From... everything. As with youthful monstrosity and parental copying, those are two states which can also become confused.
There's a new school, and the protection still stops when she leaves her own door.
Her grades tend to be poor. She's wondered if her parents like that, because it reinforces their view of the world. Of her. But it was usually a case of having a single factor placing a downdraft into the flight path, and... well, bluntly: how are you supposed to nose over your homework when somepony just chewed it up? The filly was a natural target for bullies, because they had all reached an age where the different was supposed to be attacked. She lost a few textbooks in similar fashion. And when several of the other students are covering for each other, the herd speaking against the outsider... surely she just dropped it somewhere. Again.
And now she's in a new place, only with the same appearance and the same eye and she didn't know how to make friends because she'd never had one and... it was too late anyway. A place of wealth and privilege. She lives near their homes, goes to the same school as their children. But she isn't one of them. The central differences are that the excuses have become that much more expensive, and having less means you're almost automatically in the wrong.
But she keeps trying. To pass her classes, at the very least. To make her parents see her, instead of a doll who had to be carefully posed and propped on a shelf because nopony would trust a doll to stand up on its own.
(She never got to attend flight camp. Completely self-taught.)
She struggles so much against everything which tries to keep her down that the struggle becomes a part of her. The defining characteristic. And when that happens...
The mare has explored the talent offered by her mark, and knows it to be a curious one. Esoteric. The magic granted by the icon manifests in ways both subtle and strange. But she seldom speaks of it with others. Why would they believe her?
She could explain it, though. Summarize. The short version consists of a single word.
Rise.
Rise despite the pressure.
Rise when the weight of the world is upon you.
Rise, even when it feels as if you're drowning.
Elevate and overcome.
But she doesn't talk about it. Because they wouldn't believe her.
How can a pony be so stupid as to misunderstand her own mark?
Her mother didn't believe her.
There was a birthday party. It was just the filly and her parents. Plus a lot of bubble soap.
The mare was born in Ponyville. She didn't spend her entire life there, but... she's only been to a cloud settlement once.
(It was a special occasion.)
(There are times when she can do more because ponies assume she's stupid. Because a few of them feel sorry for her.)
(She wanted to see what the Best Young Flyers competition was like.)
(She was still under the age limit.)
(The mare has told herself that she was admitted on pity. But she never would have won that way, so there was no true harm.)
So she doesn't really know very much about what they're like. She had a hotel and the stadium. After that, she needed to get back to Dinky. Quickly. She never spends more than two days away from her daughter if she can help it, because she has to take care of that which is most precious in the world. It didn't leave a lot of time for exploration.
Most of what she's familiar with is at ground level. (Slightly unusual for a pegasus.) And since she didn't get to see any secondary schools in Cloudsdale...
She has to guess. But she's making her way across the current sporting fields, and...
The filly becomes an adolescent. She already has her mark, and now she starts to find her magic. It doesn't take long to find out that she's especially good with lightning, and all of that is self-taught because of course her parents aren't going to teach her and the school has been told not to let somepony like her get into the deep subjects. She can't make them see her, she can't talk them into letting her demonstrate and gets into trouble for pushing too hard, but... theoretically, she now has a way to fight back. Except that she's just about middle-class in a place of wealth and privilege. At best, she might be able to bluff a lot. And then get punished for causing fright, because fragile egos surely can't withstand the sight of a cloud.
She has her mark. Her magic. She also has puberty to deal with, and it turns her into a trembling mass of feathers and hormones with absolutely no outlet to express any of it. She already knows what the school thinks of her. The students find amusement in watching her try to focus on a chalkboard. So that means there has to be laughter, and anypony who isn't actively bullying her or stealing her homework isn't doing anything to stop it, which just means they would if they could and --
-- she -- shouldn't think that way. They won't see her, and... doesn't that kind of thought mean that she's refusing to see some of them?
She has to give somepony a chance.
Anypony.
But she doesn't know how.
And there's this boy...
'Stallion'. She could say that if she wanted to, because he's so far ahead of the others in height and build and even the unicorn's magic is especially refined. She loves to watch him lifting things, because the corona is so smooth at the edges. Almost silky. And the sparkles...
She watches him from afar. She's hardly the only one, because he's just about the most handsome pony in school, from one of the wealthiest families. Bits and privilege: he never lacks for either. And his locker is close to hers (but not too close), she can hear his voice and it's so sweet, beautiful tones, just his voice is enough to make her wing joints loosen and every night, she enters the nightscape to find phantom company waiting for her. And only her.
It all changes when she wakes up. Sun shines upon a world which will never let it happen, she loathes having to be awake and she's reaching the point where she lives for those dreams...
A trembling mass of feathers and hormones, when she's near him. Anypony could see it.
He has such a sweet voice.
If she'd only heard what he was actually saying...
Anypony could see her reaction. He does. So do several of his friends, colts and fillies alike.
There's a wager.
...almost there...
He was almost shy when he first approached her. Skittish. It made him endearing --
-- he. came. to. her.
And then the dreams were under Sun.
She adored him, she loved him, and who wouldn't? She had watched from afar, and he'd seen her, he'd... wanted to take the chance, hoping that she would believe him, and of course she did! She'd told herself to give somepony a chance, and... it could go to him.
Her dream.
He... saw her.
(She still dreams of that time.)
(Lucidity doesn't come easily to the mare's nightscape. But she's become very good at forcing herself to wake up.)
Is the relationship a secret? Only a localized one. They keep it confined to the school. He tells her that he wants some time before informing his parents, and she's willing to wait for that because then she can bring him to hers. They don't exactly go around town, but they hang out behind the curtains of the school's stage and play with the props. An empty chorus room is a wonderful place to talk, and the tones become all the sweeter. He's her lunch date at every midday meal, and it doesn't take long before he introduces her to some of his friends.
They laugh when she talks. Because they think she's funny.
Also, Ponyville accent. She starts to work on getting rid of that.
(There was this one filly. The lone earth pony in the group. Who, after a time, tried to speak with the adolescent alone, and then he came to whisk her away.)
(On the night before.)
(The mare... almost thinks the filly wanted to warn her --)
She adored him. She loved him. Anypony could see it.
She... wanted to prove that she loved him...
...she would have done anything to keep a jaw grip on that feeling, to have it pressed between her hooves forever and know that she had been seen...
He asked her for something.
It was so little to give.
At the school. Only at the school. So they snuck out to the sporting fields. And the viewing stands, the climbing rows of benches mounted (and 'mount' made her giggle on that day) within a rising metal frame -- the underside of that structure consists of a few support beams and a lot of hollow, mostly-concealed spaces. Plenty of room.
He ruffled her fur with his corona. Caressed her feathers. Then he put glow around her entire body, making it tingle.
He told her it was a contraceptive spell.
It was not.
If you go up high enough, then... as with the stadium, perhaps the spectator area will be made of clouds.
But the mare goes under the frame. Trots within the hollow spaces, ducking occasionally. And she suspects all viewing stands are the same.
She celebrates Dinky's birthday every year. She could argue that far too much of her income goes towards that joyous escapade. But on this night, on the anniversary... she remembers her daughter's conception.
He's won the wager, and that means he doesn't need to be near her any more. For her part... she feels like he's taking a break. The first (only) time was difficult for both of them, especially as her dreams turned out to be a less-than-reliable source of instruction on what to actually do. Most of what she felt was horribly awkward, and that was followed by some lingering pain. He didn't have any more experience than she, his movements were rough, and it was all over rather quickly. But she does feel as if she caressed his snout rather well. Wings are good for that.
The nuzzles felt oddly cold.
...he's taking a break. He'll be back in a few days and when he returns, she'll have a surprise waiting. She's already working on ways to make the next time better.
Everything's going to be fine.
And then it isn't.
She needs to land on a nearby roof to get a good view of the medical facility, and it takes a careful line of sight to draw a bead on the maternity ward.
Her head is beginning to ache. She ignores it.
She was only special at home. And once her parents knew she was pregnant... she wasn't special any more. Clearly she wasn't their good little filly. Three words shattered into lies with a single kick. It was almost worth it, just for that.
They didn't talk to her as much. There were days when they barely looked at her. They didn't understand. But they never had, so it didn't feel like much had changed.
Pregnant...
She was afraid. That was natural. But there was one rather specific fear, something which was just about the whole of her terror, and that took over the nightscape. The same dream every time, of being in the birthing room and it had all just ended and the doctor brought her child to where she could see the foal for the first time and --
-- the adolescent usually woke up then. Sometimes she woke up screaming, and nopony came.
She was terrified. And she had the option to take certain herbs. That would theoretically make the terror go away, along with...
...her parents want her to take the herbs...
Rise.
...whatever is in her uterus is a consequence. She's decided it's also a life. An innocent one, which has no fault in any of this.
Take the herbs.
No.
They try to get her mouth open: awkward with hooves. Her teeth are nearly chipped. Force --
NO!
-- it's her first static discharge, created directly from feathers and fur. (She eventually spends eight moons in figuring out how to do again.) It's also enough.
They aren't talking to her. As a special bonus, there isn't any cooking and that's good, because the adolescent doesn't exactly trust her mother's ground-up greenery now. Start learning how to prepare food, because now she's eating for two.
The dreams keep coming. They get worse. She begins to pray. It's something she's never really believed in, because a filly asked Sun and Moon and Princess to fix her eye, and nothing happened. But she's praying now. Anything which might help.
She's still going to school. It means she's there when the pregnancy starts to show, and a boy who hasn't approached her in moons slowly, awkwardly forces his hooves in her direction. It's no longer endearing.
He talks. She listens, and manages not to laugh.
He... he knows this was from him. Because of him. And when the foal is born, he... it's not as if they can get married, but the foal... he should at least...
...he knows he screwed up. That he was horrible. She could kick him right now and he'd just stand there and take it.
(Forget kicks. She's wondering how quickly she could get a cloud together.)
But he thinks a foal should at least know their own father.
...he's going to talk with his own parents about this. Tonight.
She decides he's lying.
She's wrong.
She finds out she's wrong because it's the last time she ever sees him.
His parents pull him out of school. Send him to the west coast. Then they confront the adolescent when she's halfway back to her parents' house, say that he isn't responsible. If she tries to make that claim, then they'll take her to court and make sure she can never come anywhere near him, get anything from any of them --
-- but somepony has to consider the foal. And as she clearly isn't capable of raising it, if the foal is fully healthy (and she understands 'fully')... then perhaps she should just consider... giving it up for adoption.
They would be first in line.
There would be a nominal financial gift. A one-time thing. To cover... expenses.
Moving costs.
The contract which forbids her from ever approaching the foal again will just be a standard thing.
She tells them she'll think about it. They give her a moon.
Rise.
A moon during which she gets every law book she can find, reads the relevant sections, and studies her notes until both eyes water.
Then she takes them to court, while representing herself. And in doing so, introduces them to the concept of Malicious Agreement.
The foal? Why, they're absolutely right. Their son is not the father. Personally, she in no way wants anypony making that claim. Ever. And during her studies, she learned something important. Restraining orders work in two directions. It's a mobile shield. They won't be able to come anywhere near her. Or, for that matter, near either of them. Because that offer to take her foal... it came out of nowhere, and that makes her feel like they're dangerous. So she's locking them out of her -- their lives. Forever.
...if the judge listens.
They brought their own attorney. He's very expensive, which apparently means he's also very good.
He's talking about custody and competency and her grades and he keeps bringing up her eye in ways which directly suggest that the brain isn't even the start of the issues.
He puts her under cross-examination. Two days of torment. Every time her wings twitch, paperwork goes flying.
She wins.
The boy's parents are stunned. Screaming. The bailiff has to push them out of the courtroom.
The judge simply comes down from the high bench, congratulates the adolescent, warns her how hard it's going to be, softly wishes her luck, and then limps away on three legs and the prosthetic which replaced most of the birth-lost fourth.
The mare stops at Barnyard Bargains. It's not a formal part of the anti-date. She just wants to send Judge Perspicacity a card. Another card, once a year.
Which means there's going to be a postpony delivering it. And when that pony sees the sending address...
The majority of Ponyville has decided they know everything about the mare.
A postpony who pays even casual attention to her deliveries...
Holidays? Homecoming is a prime example, because it's the time of family reunion. (The mare doesn't celebrate.) So where are the notice cards coming in from? How many? Is there a new sender? How about a fresh absence? The mare can usually guess a reason for the latter, because ponies who officially aren't talking tend to continue arguments via ink and even if she would never open a single envelope, it's easy to spot the frustration chew on the corners.
Or perhaps there's been a death. The mare would know. Law firms don't exactly stint on the envelope decoration, and there's a distinctive packaging for wills.
How's your health? There's been a lot of letters from doctors lately. Maybe you should save some money for that sort of thing, because there's a lot of packages coming to the house and the bills aren't far behind. Also, about that personal request you made. The one to have any letter from this address sent to the office, because there might have been some misdirected business. The mare has trouble with one eye, but she can smell the perfume just fine, thank you. And a few moons later, attorney-branded envelopes will be flying in all directions.
She knows so much about those on her routes, just from paying casual attention. She's currently using none of it. There's such a thing as morals. Somepony should have a few.
Unless she gets pushed too far --
-- it's basic logic, isn't it? They all feel she's an idiot, based on the evidence of their own thoughts. So why not behave that way? It's not as if she can ever convince them otherwise: at best, any sign of thought means she's having 'a good day'. So... when she makes a real mistake, put on the act. Drop her voice, look at nothing in particular, and then she just doesn't know what went wrong. Again. It's amazing what you can get away with, when the world assumes you're stupid. And she can act out, especially when the stress builds too much and she's sick of just about everypony (and that means nearly the whole of three species), it's not as if anypony asked her to work on repairs to Town Hall, she was pressed into service as if she would be too stupid to understand that she was basically being treated as a slave...
...she caught the police chief looking at her after that one.
The officer has been seen around the house a few times. During the day, anyway. The mare knows Miranda Rights understands pegasus vision. The unicorn is only nearly undetectable under Moon when working with the standard range of light. If the mare isn't spotting her in the dark, it means she either isn't there or managed to acquire a chillsuit.
...chillsuits exist.
Some ponies feel the mare is incompetent. Stupid. Incapable of existing without help. Surely that means she can't raise her own daughter. There's been rumors that Miranda is wondering whether to...
...the mare isn't afraid of going to court.
Nopony can claim her daughter. Ever.
Pick out a card. Head for the registers --
-- and she passes the store's owner. (He owns a lot of stores.) Moving the other way, down the Stationery aisle.
He looks at her, nods politely. Keeps moving. And she doesn't buy it. Because she's seen the other way he looks at her.
It's... almost polite. He's certainly been discreet, or at least that's what he thinks. Surely he has to believe that she hasn't caught him. But the right eye wanders, and... well, there can be glass in odd places. She's spotted his reflection. The quick examination, something which almost moves into lingering, a sort of distant hope, and then -- an unstoppable surge of guilt mixed with denial. That lasts just barely long enough to see, and then... it's gone.
Until she delivers something else to his office, and he has the chance to look again.
He keeps doing it. All of it. Especially the guilt and denial.
There was a boy who gave her a portion of that look once. She thought he was a stallion, and she was wrong. Just a boy. This is a stallion. Strictly average-looking, and that's allowing for him to eventually do something with the mane and treat those frequent bags under his eyes. Older than she is, by a significant margin. With a daughter of his own.
Single.
The single mother, and the single father...
...no. That's almost funny. For appearance, he's average. But when it comes to wealth and privilege, he could have just about any mare on the continent. She knows what those types are like. You can't trust them, And not only that: his daughter is a horror. The mare recognizes bullies on sight, and that wasn't necessary because the filly has said things about her directly. The fact that Diamond hasn't been attacking anypony for a while doesn't means she isn't going to start up again.
He looks, and she will never trust anypony who looks at her that way. Not again.
But... he's been discreet. (Or what he clearly hopes is discreet.) And he isn't acting on it. So she's left him alone. She delivers his mail. No dark clouds are going to be used as a trampoline on top of Barnyard Bargains. Something which will remain true for just as long as he doesn't push his luck.
(Ponies say he's a good stallion.)
(They also say the mare is an idiot.)
(Looking for stupidity? 'The wisdom of the herd' is an oxymoron.)
Maybe she's wrong. He could just feel sorry for her. More than the usual. It's possible that the central postal hub only took her on out of pity. We Hire The Hindered: For Proof, See Ponyville.
Some of the ponies on her main route leave tips out for her before Hearth's Warming. (The store owner is one of them. It's a significant tip.) Is it because they feel she's good at her job? Or is it just more pity?
It doesn't matter. She's a single mother. The bits are for Dinky.
She prays every night. Also every morning. You have to cover Sun and Moon. Getting the Princess just means facing Canterlot and starting over.
It's the same prayer every time.
And when her labor begins, something which requires her to drag herself to the hospital... the prayer becomes more of a litany.
not like me
please not like me
She made a promise, to herself and her foal. That she would love her child no matter what. She would see them for who they truly were, always. And she would help them to rise.
She made a promise. But how can she make an entire world keep it? Because some conditions are in the blood. She doesn't know why her right eye is like this. It's just been that way since birth, and if her foal arrives, the doctors bring the newborn to her and she sees that innocent face for the first time as the eyes open to regard her and one of them is...
not like me
please
That was the true pain of her pregnancy, and a replacement for the agonies of labor. She barely noticed the contractions, because her mind was too busy pushing out waves of terror.
And then it ended.
She asked to see her foal.
(Her filly. It was a filly.)
(The doctors also said 'unicorn'. That didn't matter.)
To see her eyes.
The newborn was carried to the adolescent. Golden eyes opened, in perfect innocence...
It would be hours before the mare fully stopped weeping.
Perhaps everypony has but a single prayer heard in their lives. One true wish.
She didn't waste hers.
The mare doesn't drop the filled-out card into a postal receipt box. She can send it out tomorrow at work, and do so in a way where she's the only local pony who manages that piece of mail at all. It's possible to learn a lot about somepony from seeing the exterior of their sendings, and she has no intention of letting her coworkers take custody of this little fact.
Her next stop on the anti-date is the police station. It's not her ideal, but... Ponyville doesn't really have a courthouse of its own. Local cases are heard in the capital. So this is her substitute and as a special bonus, it allows her to see if she can catch the police chief coming or going. She doesn't. But she also hasn't caught Miranda behind her all night, which is either perfect or slightly worrisome.
There's a little night traffic. To the west, a pair of pegasi are flying together. She can hear them laughing.
They're probably not laughing at her.
Probably.
(She has to be careful about thoughts like that.)
(It's unlikely that they even saw her.)
Maybe they're just friends.
Friends...
Dinky makes friends so easily. She's a happy filly, and those around her want the child to be happy. They try to keep her that way.
The mare never figured out how to make friends. But she still has a few. Just about all of them are due to her daughter.
Lyra... there was a market day where Dinky wanted to stay and listen to the music. Then the unicorn started to gently teach her daughter how to sing, and... that was the beginning. It took a long time before the mare truly trusted Lyra, but they found a way to bond. These days, they get to play games of Whose Parents Were Worse? and somehow, Lyra usually wins.
Time Turner is halfway between a friend and an annoyance. There are times when he acts as if he's trying to be the mare's father, and that just makes her want to kick him in the face. She's actually told him that, during those times when the annoyance is threatening to approach maximum. The stallion is from Trottingham, and she can finally give him teeth to suit his birthplace. But... loving Dinky forgives a lot.
Spike? The little dragon has her problem: those who look and assume -- or the ones who look, and then refuse to ever look again. But meeting Spike, then wanting to continue speaking with him -- there was a pony who partially controlled access, and that meant eventually revealing herself to Twilight. Something which hasn't gotten back to the other Bearers. The mare isn't quite sure how long that can last, and is fully prepared for Rainbow not to take anything well.
And there was an old mare who lived on her primary route. She didn't realize the immigrant was a friend until after the former Mazein resident had died. And then it hurt all the more.
She says the mare's name out loud every so often. Just so somepony will.
She has friends. They don't laugh at her.
They don't all laugh with her, either.
They think she's playing a dangerous game. That eventually, she will get caught at merely pretending to be stupid. Seen through. And when that happens...
It hasn't happened yet.
It won't happen.
(At least it would mean that they all finally saw her.)
One more stop. The train station is a good way to close the anti-date.
It represents departures.
She only got to stay in the house for exactly as long as her parents were legally obliged to provide her with a residence. Just to prevent arguments, she trotted out with Dinky on the exact anniversary of the mare's birth. Almost down to the second.
The mare wasn't their good little filly, whoever that was supposed to have been. They didn't love the adolescent, because a good little filly doesn't get pregnant: in fact, that filly presumably wouldn't have been capable of thinking about sex at all. (Or, for that matter, thinking.) And with their granddaughter...
There is a tiny unicorn in the house. She is adorable. Precious. Perfect. She also has her horn ignite for the first time ten days after her birth, and that leads into an extended period of what the local police will eventually term as some of the most destructive Surges to ever scar the land of that settled zone -- or at least the majority of the house's lawn. The newborn has strength, wants love, misses her mother when the adolescent has to be at school, the grandparents won't give her enough attention, and... the foal lashes out.
The adolescent can calm her down. Just coming home will do it. But that's more time away from school. And the police do post unicorns outside the house, waiting to counter, but -- they aren't always quick enough. Or, with Dinky in play, strong enough.
Surges always fade out before the second birthday. Most of the neighbors keep a running countdown.
Her classmates? Nothing really changes, except that now she's the one who made the best boy in town leave. They don't know her, they don't care to know her, and one of the few good private laughs of her school career comes in senior year. Because there's a yearbook, because some ponies just want a personal record of their mistakes. And there has to be a little text blurb for every student.
It's three moons before graduation when they realize that they have nothing for her. That they don't know her.
So two of them approach, make awkward contact, try to learn anything notable about her which isn't Has A Small Adorable Bomb Living At Home, and she tells them she likes muffins just before flying away.
Within two weeks, half the school decides her name is 'Muffins'.
(She doesn't know if that's what made it into the yearbook. She didn't get a copy, never even submitted a picture, and collected her diploma in the principal's office. Attending graduation would have been a waste.)
The mare sells off just about all of her possessions. Takes that money and her daughter, and then --
-- goes back to Ponyville.
Yes, it's where the old reputation was born, but... are things really going to be that different anywhere else? New settled zone, same result: the residents will see her and judge. It's arguably best to start where she's already been found guilty because that way, there's no stress from placing hope in a verdict which will never come. Besides, that's where her parents left. Fled, really. They won't want to come back, not to live there again. And it's not as if they're ever going to visit.
She gets a job. (Perhaps that came from pity.) Her original home, being a piece of horse apple smear, is still available. She spends a lot of time fixing it up. Dinky winds up in her parents' old bedroom, because why not?
There's a place to live. A steady income. No friends and she doesn't want to deal with anything approaching family. She's recognized, and the old laughter starts right back up. The nicknames. Nopony remembers her real one.
But she has a daughter. She dedicates everything about herself to that filly. To making sure the child has a better life than the parent.
There's stress. Laughter, and she convinces herself that so much of it is directed at her. As far as she's concerned, she's judged instantly by just about everypony who sees her, nearly every time. and it always comes out the same way.
She plays stupid, because so many assume she is and this way, the joke is on them. There are times when she lashes out. But... never at her daughter. She would die before allowing herself to hurt Dinky. Catching anypony else trying it would raise that to 'kill'.
The mare loves her daughter more than anything else in the world.
Her daughter is her world.
The mare tells herself that the way things are now... that's as good as they could ever be.
She tells herself that she's happy.
(She tells herself a lot of things.)
By the end of the anti-date, the headache is well and truly settled in. She stops for m'changa at the pharmacy and doesn't approach the foalsitters until the painkiller takes part of the edge off.
Dinky is all bounces and smiles and laughter during the trip home -- during those times when she isn't yawning. She tells her mother about the magic lesson, and it's an exciting one. When you're just getting control of your corona back, lifting a pin without breaking it is exciting. And now she's doing lots of pins!
Her daughter almost falls asleep on the way up the ramp to the bedroom. The mare gently nudges her across the last few body lengths. Gets her into the bed. Tucks her in, by mouth and wing. Waits until the little form has its breathing slow, and then nuzzles the horn.
She loves her daughter. More than anything.
It's possible that the Gifted School is in Dinky's future. The mare has already asked Spike about that, and... the little dragon went quiet for a while. Said it wasn't for everypony. But it might work for Dinky. And then he asked... that if Dinky sent her a letter, said it was bad, or that she was lonely and there were no friends... he asked for the mare to bring her home.
It's all he said. All he would say. So now the mare needs some time with Twilight, to find out what the school is like. She doesn't expect it to be a long conversation. (She's also thought about asking Twilight to take some of the tutoring duties, but... they aren't that familiar yet, and the librarian is incredibly busy.) Clearly the alicorn will want her daughter to go. Who wouldn't? And when it comes to being lonely...
...the mare will be lonely.
It's a boarding school. Canterlot is close enough to reach via train commute and it's a boarding school.
For the majority of every year, her daughter will just be... gone.
The mare is going to miss that much more of Dinky's childhood.
If her filly stayed --
-- no. This is about Dinky. Because the mare's talent is to rise. (Not above herself. Not beyond her own past.) So maybe it's also about elevating others. She wants Dinky to be better than her parent. To have a perfect life. And that may mean having to let her go a little early. It'll hurt, but... love means being willing to suffer that pain.
And for Dinky to be lonely? That won't happen. She'll miss her mother: the mare is sure of that. But Dinky makes friends so easily, when the mare cannot. Children crowd around the filly to make her happy. Fillies and colts.
Colts...
So the mare looks after her daughter. Protects her at all costs. And when the time comes... she'll offer a crucial lesson. How to tell the false from the true, taught from experience.
How to make certain no adolescent colt (or pretender to stallion, or worse) ever comes near her.
Touches her.
And once she's learned that... the daughter will be better than the mother.
Dulcinea knows it.
Her daughter will rise.