Epiphanies
Heavy rain drenched down. As the mighty skies took their dreary tour, Fiddlesticks dragged her hooves through squishy sludge. Sqluiching, they slumped in deep. Trudge by trudge, she carried on. Whipping blasts of winds quenched their desire for violence upon her. The fiddle felt heavier than the storm as it hung on her saddle. Home, she must forward towards, against the weather. Her scowled face dripped tears upon every bouncing thought of where she went wrong.
Here she was, in the lonely midnight country. Having been unable to afford a train home, it was her only way back to Ponyville. At this pace, it’d take another week. Still, Fiddlesticks marched on. Save her fiery lantern in hoof, darkness swallowed every turn. Tree siding on the uneven dirt pathway swayed loudly from the enveloping gusts. She could go faster by ditching her instrument, yet she couldn’t bring herself to. The very tool of her success–and abysmal failure.
Going up a steep hill, the yellow mare squinted her eyes. A faint light appeared on the inclined horizon. Rumbling roars of a distant river barely escaped the storm’s constant thunder. If she was in luck, it might be a place to stay for the night. Onward she went with faint hope. The trek to reach the took adroit maneuvering. Carefully, she watched her hoof steps the whole way up. Fiddlesticks was huffing by the time she reached the top.
She looked down. To her relief, there was indeed a building. The path split between it and an arched bridge a few hundred feet further. Its steel beams gleamed in the flashing lightning. A few minutes later, Fiddlesticks stood at the inn’s door. Outside, lamps revealed a sign reading “Lackadaisy Den Inn”. Not a name she’d heard before, but “daisy” seemed nice enough. And she was in the middle of nowhere. Despite it feeling warm, Fiddlesticks gulped nervously as she knocked on the door.
To her surprise, it opened right away. Attached to its handle leaned a brightly smiling yellow unicorn. Her dark crimson and light vermilion hair complemented her shining teal eyes. The unicorns took her hoof to hers. Quickly, Fiddlesticks was ushered in. A teal aura ripped the soaking cloak right off her. In addition to hanging it to dry, her saddlebags were also placed in a neat stack alongside other pony’s belongings beside the door. The lantern was extinguished.
Fiddlesticks took stock of the lodging as she stumbled inside, the door slamming shut. It looked quite antique, like the interior hadn’t been renovated in decades. Given the birch floor’s dilapidated streaks of wear, that could very well have been the case. Confoundingly, the old-time style provided a welcoming sense of rest to her exhausted state. The first flood reassembled both a pub and museum, and the side staircase presumably led to the rooms.
A flurry of seconds later, she found herself seated by a fireplace, shivering but warmer. The unicorn popped up beside Fiddlesticks as she tried to process what just happened. In a flash, a frothy mug rattled a few inches away. She flinched. Luckily, it didn’t spill. Fiddlesticks nabbed it back as she glanced askew. At least a dozen other ponies of various colors and species milled alone or in groups. The cushioned and wooden furniture and chairs further communicated the inn’s age.
The unicorn walked up to the table’s edge, interrupting a sip. “Hello there!” The unicorn greeted, not booming, but not soft either.
“Uh, hi, there. Th-thanks,” Fiddlesticks managed to stutter out, still confused by the frighteningly fast reception.
She practically pranced in place. “What brings you to our lovely adobe?”
“Well, I-” Fiddlesticks muttered, unsure of how to go about this.
“Oh my bad! Names!” she spliced in. “I’m Sunset Shimmer, but most call me Sunny!’
The eagerness pierced her ears. “Maybe a little less loud?” Fiddlesticks eked out.
Realization sparked in the unicorn’s eyes. Fiddlesticks’s hooves cradled the mug to take another drink, while she could; the fireplace gradually warmed her up. Sunny took a deep breath in; deep breath out. In one cycle, she calmed. Her hooves settled their shaking. However, her wide smile remained. Sunny cracked and scratched her neck. A tentativeness resonated from her that Fiddlesticks could not quite place.
“Um, sorry if you feel uncomfortable or a mess.” Sunny’s tone cracked as she leaned left
“It’s just that we don’t have new visitors often!”
“That’s-that’s okay.” Fiddlesticks took a large swig, looking wearily at the floor.
Sunny cocked her head. “So, what brings you out to the greater, unvisited parts of Equestria?”
The enthusiasm caused the earth pony to wince. “Oh, uh, just passing through. Going home, Ponyville.”
“That’s a rather long walk! Lots of dedication to go through with it.”
“N-not really.” Fiddlesticks sighed. “Just couldn’t afford a stupid train ticket.”
Teal eyes perked. “Yeesh, they can get stupidly expensive for some of us. Stupid metal machines ruin the environment.”
The mare shrugged, unsure of what to make of her new peer–presumably the strange owner. “Make sense.”
“Anyway, enough about me!” The fireplace danced behind her mane, blending together in a pseudo-illusory state. “You should be toasty now!
“Thanks…” Not much for her to say.
Sunny’s face suddenly bunched, something shifting. “Er, anything we can do for you?”
Fiddlesticks shook her head. “N-no. I can pay for the drink and room.” She pointed to her sack by the door. “I am not long anyway…”
“You seem rather… sad.” Sunny cocked her head as if to examine her.
“Just personal stuff,” Fiddlesticks nigh-whispered.
“Nah, nah, I’m fine.” Fiddlesticks tried to give off a fleeting small smile.
Fiddlesticks averted the meeting gaze to hide her desperation, finding a flickering red spot to stare at. Really, she didn’t need Sunny’s help beyond booking a room and holing up for the night. Such niceties weren’t deserved anyway. She just needed to get home and wallow. Make it through the treacherous outskirts of Equestria. Make her failure known to her family. Certainly put her fiddle away for a while.
It’d been an arduous quest so far. There was no urgent need to make it any easier on herself now. Nights sleeping on hard ground, under soaking forest rain and miserable mountain mist. Shrouds of green and black and brown filled her days. It felt like the right collection of consequences. Celestia’s personal grace granted her this one stay of reprieve, but would very well turn out to be a cruel joke inevitably, when—
“…. No, no, you’re not.”
Her focus broke from blankly looking at the fireplace. “Hm?”
“You’re not alright. I can see it in you.”
Fiddlesticks shivered, biting hard on her lips–this mare saw through her. A spine-tingling chill shot. Her mental vulnerability lay bare, scraped, and exposed by this unicorn. She felt herself start to hyperventilate, but she managed it to just under control. Harsh rain pattered against the blackened window. The other ponies kept to themselves, offering no solace. Friend or foe was the question Fiddlesticks knew not the reasons for the aid provided by ‘Sunny’, as she claimed her name to be. If-
“Get me two blankets, a biscuit special, and an extra cider!”
The ear-splitting shouts, and Sunny’s commanding presence, confused Fiddlesticks. Quick delivery of the blankets from a green-hair pegasi confirmed Sunny’s intentions. The double layers provided soft cushioning. Trapped heat brought a shudder to the body. A crack of thunder crackled far away. The inn’s near silence produced a soulless, diluted atmosphere that bit at her. It reminded her of all too eerily of when it happened. Sweat poured.
She tried to distract herself with questions. Ignore the haunched Sunny. Focus on the blazing log formation encapsulated by their stony captors. Why was this random inn owner, so she still assumed, helping her out? She practically had nothing of value to pay back with. Maybe manual labor. Her hooves had wasted their talent on music anyway. Smells of cooking wafted; sticky beverage aromas from other patrons tempted. She finished her drink.
Fiddlesticks stared into the comforting fire as her internal turmoil boiled about. She tried to drown it out. Nonetheless, the thoughts returned. Pounding against her skull. Wanting to torment her. Fiddlesticks gritted her teeth. She couldn’t let those memories back in. She was a failure already. Remembering only served to humiliate further. A spark of popping ember light caught her fluttering attention. The fire’s yellow-
-lights flashed on the stage. The whispering Canterlot crowd. Fiddlesticks strung away as if her life depended on it. From high to low and low to high. She danced across the stage as the royal sisters watched. To do or to die. This was her moment. Her masterpiece. An ascension to become known across Equestria. Years of fiddling to pay off. Heat pierced her mane as the bow rapidly moved up and down, up and down. Truly, it was a golden-
-opportunity for it all to shatter.
One slight miscalculation in her step. The tiniest crack in the wood sliced her hoof. Fiddlesticks fell backwards. Her limbs reached up into infinity. A violent screech ripped through the palace’s auditorium. The silence boomed as her head slammed on the stage floor. Darkness swallowed her heart. Lying there, head bleeding, staring at the princesses, she knew she’d blown her only chance at grandeur. Their cold, judging eyes. Sweat broke at as she quickly took her fiddle and ran into the bustling–
-flames flickered in unpredictable motion. Fiddlesticks snapped to reality. Her mane was almost dry now. The snuggly blankets tucked and broadened themselves across her shoulders fully, draped as if stage curtains. A warm meal, plus a new cider mug, caught her attention. Sunny sat beside her. She, too, gazed into the colored plasma. Dulled eyes–as if she too was recalling. The chill of the memory resonated. She’d done it again.
Affixing focus, Sunset had an empty, stick plate. She seemed stuck in her translucent haze. The soft glow of her horn affirmed as such. Her own meal, presumably in the house, tempted, delicious sight staring back. The shame of her failure hounded her pounding heart. Fiddlesticks, unsure of how to proceed, picked up her fork and stabbed the biscuit. Nothing better to do. Her angry stomach agreed to this course of action.
Besides, Sunny’s empty glass implied she wanted to save talking until she finished her meal. That, Fiddlesticks did. Bite by bite, she refueled herself. Filling her stomach considerably improved her mood. Thick gravy ravishingly slathered the crunchy, moist walls of the biscuit. A slick swirl of finely-brewed drink, with a phantom sweetness of apple, washed down. It didn’t feel right to eat so lavishingly. But her thin frame demanded pride be literally swallowed.
Betwixt her the gorging, scrumptious chomping to fill her appetite, she felt Sunny pat her back. Odd feelings swarmed her as she got through the meal. She didn’t know how to describe it. From drink to bite to fire to the cacophony of outside, the negative storm of thoughts… somewhat melted. Gradually. The pained days of travel, scrapes and bruises, relaxed to uneventful. Complacent to her calm mood. Still, an apprehension remained.
“So,” as Fiddlesticks finished the last drop of cider, “How do you feel?”
“I… don’t know.” Fiddlesticks looked her straight in the eyes for once.
“Be honest to yourself,” Sunny said. It was not reprimanding nor ordering.
Uncertainty pooled, and a few tears dribbled, which she wiped away. “Physically fine.”
“Good meals always help, that much I’ve learned.” Sunny’s smile felt infectious.
She could not quite understand this mare’s desire to help. “That… I’ll remember that.” The same sentiment echoed with the fuddled instinct to trust her.
“So, I still haven’t caught your name.” Rain whistled in the background.
“Fiddlesticks.” For once, a genuine answer.
“Glad to know you. No need to pay for your stay here.”
Fiddlesticks could only summon one response. “But… why?”
“Failure is okay, Fiddlesticks.”
Mild panic flashed in tandem with thunder. “I never told you-”
Sunny put her hoof to Fiddlesticks lips, causing her to stop. The soft touch bristled.
“I’ve seen enough ponies in my three years. I myself was once in a pit.” Sunny raised a saddened, but hopeful smile.
Fiddlesticks let the tears flow again, opting to let them. Sunny gripped her in a tight, if awkward, side hug. She didn’t object.
“I don’t know your story,” Sunny spoke. “Nor do you have to tell me. It’s your choice.”
The presence of the other ponies, their seeming stares, filled Fiddlesticks’s rattling mind. She knew they didn’t care, yet she could not shake the self-doubting feeling.
“But know that mistakes are okay. Don’t give up on yourself. There will always be another day waiting for you.”
Nothing compelled her tongue to move.
“Take your time, Fiddlesticks. Be ready when you are.”
Fiddlesticks vaguely nodded.
The time passed by. Sunny released the hug, but sat there alongside Fiddlesticks. At some point, the same pegasi from earlier refilled her drink. Fiddlesticks watched as the mare’s green tail swayed, serving all currently in the inn. The question of why gnawed at her again. Everyone here welcomed each other. Without judgment. The fire cackled as if a listening companion. Everything blanked out.
She listened to them talk about their own massive failures. They laughed with the others, and at themselves. It didn’t feel right to desecrate oneself. Fiddlesticks knew she wouldn’t. Nevertheless, a miniscule understanding formed. It was how they coped. Maybe she was too young, or perhaps inexperienced, if not clever enough. Still, every pony here, perhaps half of them stranger to each, had moved on in some form–except her.
Over drinks and through the storm, trapped here together, these travelers and merchants and locals alike mixed in company. Together, whether sitting by themselves or by another, in this wooden husk of fraternization. Scarce slivers of silver light seeped past the brims of the cloud at random intervals. She held her silence as her emotions brewed; Sunny did the same in an unagreed mutual vow. Listening intently provided a myriad of windows into their lives
Fiddlesticks flapped her empty cup between her hooves. The gentle fusses of its last drops of bottom content sloshed about. Nearly empty, grasping out, capable of being wiped in one swoop–just like her. Unlike a directionless, abiding liquid, however, she could choose to not be so pushed over. The glistening amber brought a rhyming scheme to mind. Warm and well-fed, a small hum nervously escaped.
One by one, she fell into the tune of their stories. The green unicorn, kicked out of college for a crime committed by mistake; he found a career in helping the homeless after experiencing it. A former blueberry farming earth pony; stripped of family land by debt from failing crops, she’d found work advocating for better rights. Some crippled pegasi from a training accident in flight school; he discovered a passion for medicine and helping others heal.
Some of the lonely visitors kept to themselves, but Fiddlesticks sensed, as Sunny claimed to be able to do, that their stories may contain similar themes, no matter their ages. Burned to the ground, and risen from the ashes. Toiling their way through their failures. The grind took its toll. Yet, the light at the end eventually came to fruition. Others were still in the middle, as being drunk out of their mind indicated.
The green-hair mare came around again, giving Fiddlesticks a slightly stronger content cider. Thanking her, she downed a small dosage. The fire’s roar filled in her tormented mindscape. A small comfort amidst an ocean of darkness, the delicious cider helped distill. In between the surface and the bottom, the weight of her fiddle floated. To sink or swim or surface. Fiddlesticks felt unable to capitulate to any option. She preferred to switch as she wanted in a swirl.
Rain pounded on the roof. Outside, the river thrashed to be heard through the falling water’s might. Fiddlesticks started to feel a strange serenity. Lightning lit the quaking glass. The thunder boomed in a string of echoes. The ponies’ voices formed a chorus of their own. Owls spoke to each other. Hoots to the buzzing of the insects. An empty stage devoid of any performers. Yet the music flowed without a director.
Fiddlesticks found herself tapping her foot on the floor. She downed another gulp of her drink. Inspiration seeped. Listening further, the sounds created a melody. It felt lively and warm. Extremely stark to the cold harshness of the Canterlot stage. No pony here would deem her a failure for doing as she pleased. No one to scandalize one performance gone wrong. Music… swept back into her heart.
The fear exploded once more. Of herself crashing in decrescendo upon the shining limelight. Mockery, rendering years of practice wasted in a flash. Who were these ponies here to care for, though? They were all stragglers like her. Sunny had something more to her. Fiddlesticks still did not know if she was the owner or the hired caretaker. She’d ended up here, somehow, and made the most of it.
Reflecting on her days of travel, memories swept. The helpful souls along the way. No matter if she had nothing to her name but a fiddle to play, she’d played it all the same as the price to stay the night. Dry mud itched her hoof. Another drink. Fiddlesticks liked the soothing of her instrument. Her nights of self-loathing felt increasingly useless. She’d done her music beautifully. Despite what she’d told herself the whole journey to here.
Maybe she was still terrible at her music. They might judge her in heart, and she’d never know. However, that shouldn’t be an excuse to never perform again. Home called to her broken heart. She’d never make it her own in this state. Perhaps taking a rest for the night here would not hurt. If that were to happen, she’d need it to be a home in any small amount at all. There was no easy solution to these feelings. What she could do, Fiddlesticks epiphanized, was take one small step forward.
“Sunny?” Fiddlesticks spoke.
“Uh, yes?”
“Have you… ever failed?”
Sunny nodded. “I failed my mother and myself years ago.”
“How do you… deal with it?”
“Everyone had their own way. How would you like to?”
Fiddlesticks contemplated for a moment.
“Might you… get me my saddle, with the fiddle?”
With a pop of yellow, Sunny’s cyan aura streamed to life. It weaved across the length of the inn. No one paid the magical threads any mind. Cautiously, it entangled in a loop around the asked item. The bag bobbed over the floor as if it were a fish on land. A minute later, it dangled right beside Fiddlesticks. Next, it was bequeathed right beside her. Sunny’s horn sparkled off. Fiddlesticks carefully unsheathed the cover. The wooden varnish gleamed.
Fiddlesticks looked at Sunny.
“Could I?”
Sunny nodded.
“Play to your heart’s content.”
Fiddlesticks unleashed her fiddle in full. With caution, she stood one hoof on the seat, and another on the table. Her hooves shook as she laid into her usual playing position. In pure defiance of her thumping, screaming heart, she took bow to string. It sounded a wonderful melody from one note alone. Breathing in, she closed her eyes for a moment. She let the music become one with herself. As inn smells swirled, and storm streaks clashed outside, Fiddlesticks felt the sky’s rumbles in her chest.
She opened them. The lightning lit again as she did so. Moments later, the music flowed. Rumbling threads of the rhythm of the river. Jumping strings like the wild breezes banging against the doors. Soon, Fiddlesticks found herself jaunting in tune with the natural world outside. No pony in the inn minded her. She could feel their like-minded desire to simply do as they pleased.
The striking of cords, as the bow leapt from string to string. At moments, it smoothly transitioned akin to a sailing craft across a wide, calm lake. Then it might screech in the range of a raging, lashing ocean, unleashing the wrath of a tsunami. Other times it simply bounced, as if a stone skipping the water’s brimming surface. One with the motions of the storm, and stringing the score to the tune of herself, a burning, burgeoning feeling of upheaving tranquility, in Fiddlesticks.
Fiddlesticks looked at Sunny.
The unicorn’s smile brightened.
She smiled back.
Closing her eyes again, Fiddlesticks continued on, one with the storm in her heart.