> Genesis
>  by Power to the Bronys
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Mare in the Mirror
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

			

This story is dedicated to David, my father, and Janette, my mother. Clearly, there is a gracious God in the heavens to have allowed me to have been brought up under such wonderful people. I could not, no not in a million years if I were ever to live that long, ask nor dream of better parents. I love you both, even if you do question my choice in television. 





Genesis 
by  
 Harold Shepherd 
   and 
 Edited by Zach theDane 


Chapter I: The Mare in the Mirror


Round and round the world spun. First, I saw Octavia as she was at the counter, then I saw Lyra over in the strings section of the music store, then Pinkie Pie through the window as she ran down the street throwing confetti into the air with Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy in hot pursuit. I could only imagine what those three were up to.  Then the world changed again, showing Tavi at the counter then Lyra, then window, then Tavi, then Lyra, then window, then Tavi, then Lyra, then it began to spin so fast that all I could see was bits of blue as my mane whipped around my head. “Hey, Tavi!” I shouted, my voice vibrating as the turn table wiggled underneath me. “You have got to try this!”  

I couldn’t have said it at a worse moment. The turn table that I had been sitting on suddenly tipped forward and sent me careening right into Lyra, who fell onto a guitar display, which fell onto one side of a keyboard. I had set a cupcake on the other end of the keyboard when Octavia and I had come into the store, and now it was airborne on a clear trajectory towards Octavia. She gave a frightful squeal and then at the last moment managed to duck out of the way. But the cupcake still flew onwards, smashing in a horrific display of frosting and caked goodness into the cashier’s face. 

Once he had cleared his eyes of frosting, he looked down at Octavia with a scornful expression, bits of frosted cake dribbling down his chin. She just smiled sheepishly back at him, suppressing a squee of embarrassment. He pointed to a sign above the counter that said in big bold letters: YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT. Octavia sighed. “I don’t suppose you take credit?” She said.  





“What in sweet Celestia’s name were you thinking, Vin?” Octavia hissed at me when we exited the store, two hundred bits poorer. “Sitting on a moving turn table? Why couldn’t you just do that at home like always? Now we had to pay money we don’t have.” 

“Two reasons: one; that turn table can support three times its weight without slowing down, and two; I was there, it was there, and you were taking forever, as always. Besides, after tonight’s concert, we’ll be able to trash all the music stores in Ponyville, if not Equestria.” 

“It’s only a one thousand bit gig, Vin, just like all the others.” That was Octavia for you, always miss-lets-look-at-the-glass-two-thirds-empty. “We still have to finish paying for my new cello after you blew up the last one, not to mention that the rent is due soon.” Sheesh, will she ever let me live that one down? You hook it to a bass cannon, forget to ratio the frequency, then the whole thing goes ka-blooy.  It’s an honest enough mistake, anypony could have made it. But she was right, money was tight, and we were broke.  

There were a few moments of silence, and I swallowed my pride. “I’m sorry.” 

That seemed to lift her spirits a bit because she smiled and even laughed a little. “I forgive you. But that’s not what has got me troubled. You do realize what day it is?

She didn’t have to elaborate. I know she what was talking about: the anniversary. That wretched day exactly ten years ago when everything about my life was flipped, turned upside down, and flung out to dry. Octavia’s too, although not nearly as bad. I know that may seem like a selfish and self-pitiful thing to say, but it’s true. She left because she chose to. I left because I had to, with nothing being left to me. I didn’t find leaving hard, or even sorrowful, but it was the events leading up to that moment that are driving nails into my flank and fire out of my soul. A dark time, a terrible time, if only I could forget. 

But that was a long time ago. I wasn’t her anymore, thank Luna, and never will have to be again. 

After we had walked on in a few more moments of silence, Octavia suddenly started giggling to herself.  “What is it?” I asked. 

“Did you,” she said in between gasps of laughter. “Did you see the look on the cashier’s face right before the cupcake smashed into it?” 

I instantly saw an image of the poor, surprised colt moments before the collision. I couldn’t help but join Octavia in an uncontrollable fit of laughter at the remembrance of the hilarious expression on his face, with his mouth hanging open as if to say Cupcake Landing Zone and his eyes as wide as a tea cups.

“Priceless.” I said when the giggling had subsided.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way to Twilight’s library, but preferred to walk in silence admiring the scenery. Ponyville is a really nice place once you hang around awhile, nothing like the older, noisier cities like Las Pegasus or Manehatten. It’s actually quite beautiful, with many well taken care of trees with leaves that flutter in the wind, and rivers of deep serene blue. The birds, thanks to Fluttershy’s tender care, were always in song and the crisp clear air always carried the faint whiff of apples on the breeze from Sweet Apple Acres. Because the town is set between two mountain ranges we would get the best dawns and sunsets as the sun reflected off the snowcapped peaks and through the tall oaks that border the town. It’s paradise, if there is no other word for it. 

That’s not to say that there is ever a dull moment, though. Ever since Twilight came into town, she and her friends have been quite amusing in all the mischief that they seem to have gotten into over that past couple of years. Then there’s Derpy, the local zany mare. I’ve heard a lot of crazy stories about that pony, and after seeing firsthoof what she did to town hall, I don’t doubt that any of them could be possible. I even heard once that she used to live in Canterlot until she accidentally set Princess Celestia’s hair on fire. But once you get to know her, she’s not so bad. 

Yep, this was Ponyvillie. Home. At least, now it is. I try not to think too much about my past, but it’s always there, like a storm cloud, especially today. Today it took great delight in tormenting me, reminding me of sins and mistakes long gone but that still refused to be forgotten. This was my place now, not that place where, had it gotten the chance, would have suffocated me. It almost had. 

It didn’t take long to reach Twilight’s home, which was really just the library that had been carved out of a giant oak. It was a nice enough library, I guess if you’re into books. I’d rather have a max spinning turn table with 50-inch subs. That doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy a good Daring Do novel every once in a while, but I much prefer wubs to books. 

Octavia knocked on the door, which was answered with a muffled “Come in.” Octavia opened the door and we stepped inside. The first thing that caught our attention was the chaotic state the library was in. Streamers and half-dead balloons hung from the rafters, confetti was scattered over everything in a thick layer, an empty punch bowl sat upside down on the floor, and almost all the books were scattered on the ground. The place was trashed. 

“What happened here?” Octavia asked. 

A small pile of books off to the left suddenly shook then fell apart to reveal a dizzy, cross-eyed Twilight lying on her back. I’d played at enough college gigs to know that she suffered from party lag.  

“Wow, you ponies really threw one down here last night, huh?” I said, admiring a giant banner that hung in the center of the room. 

Twilight groaned and staggered to her feet. “Pinkie Pie?” Octavia guessed. Twilight gave a feeble nod, but then stopped and looked down with her eyes squeezed shut, clearly fighting off a migraine. 

“What time did you get to bed anyway?” I asked. 

“Bed?” Twilight replied. That answered my question. “What are you and Octavia doing here anyway? Don’t you need to be preparing for that concert tonight?” 

“Actually, that’s what brings us here.” Octavia said. “Vin here blew up my cello during practice earlier this week.” Upon mentioning my name, she gave me a hostile glare. I could only grin and say, “Ah, Tavi, are you going to honestly tell me that you didn’t enjoy being flown across the room and into the wall with your bow embedding itself mere inches above your head?” 

Neither of the mares were amused. 

“That aside,” Octavia continued. “I’ve always had a friend of mine string my cello when I needed it done, but she’s out of town today. So, I thought I would stop by and see if you had a book that thoroughly explains the process so I can have it strung by this evening.” 

“Oh, I believe I have just the thing. Somewhere.” Twilight groaned, looking out into the vast sea of books. 

We began searching for the book, but Twilight couldn’t remember that exact title, so we had to show her every book we found that might possibly be the one we were looking for. Needless to say, this slowed our progress greatly. 

At some point our work must have woken Spike because we soon saw him coming down the stairs, his eyes drooping and a groggy expression on his face. 

“Welcome back to the world, sunshine.” I said. 

“The world needs a snooze button.” Spike huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Now, Spike, be nice.” Twilight said. “Since you’re already up, you might as well help us cleanup.” 

“Ah, but Twi-” 

“No ‘buts’ Spike. If I remember correctly, you caused most of this mess.” 

Grumbling to himself, Spike retrieved a broom from the utility closet and began to sweep up the confetti. The rest of us returned to looking for the book. 

Several hours passed and there was still no sign of the book. Spike had cleaned up most of the confetti and had begun to straighten things up like flipping the furniture back over and rounding up all the balloons. But, seemingly for no reason, he stopped in the middle of the room, his face clinching up and his right eye gave a little twitch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but was only able to mutter “Ah…Ah.” 

Twilight looked over her shoulder to see what he was going on about. 

“Ah...AH.” Spike continued to gasp, now bringing a claw up to his nose. 

“Sweet Princess Celestia!” Twilight cried, knowing at once what was happening. “Everypony take cover!” She jumped behind one of the few remaining piles of books, pulling a bewildered Octavia with her. I dove underneath the nearest table, which must have been used to set the food on, because there was still an assortment of cupcakes on it. 

“AH…AH!” Spike had his head tilted back and was very near the edge of sneezing, when his gasping stopped. But nopony dared move, waiting to see what would happen. Minutes passed, and he didn’t as much as sniffle. 

“Huh,” he said. “Must have been a false-AHCHEOOO!” A giant green turret of flame erupted out of his mouth and sent him sprawling backwards onto the table I was hiding under.

It was the kind of table that had only one leg in the center, so when he landed on it, it tipped forward, flung the cupcakes into the air, and smashed down on my head. A momentary blackness blocked my vision, and then everything became hazy while stars did the waltz at the corners of my eyes. 

I staggered out from underneath the table, my head swimming in a cloud of pain. I tried to make sense of my surroundings, but all I could see was a blur of reality. When the haze subsided, the first thing I was able to clearly see was an assortment of cupcakes falling in my direction. 

I didn’t have time to duck or even blink. I was instantly showered in frosting and cake.  

Octavia looked up from her hiding place behind the books, got one look at me, and burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter that sent her to the floor, pounding her hooves as if in a seizure. “Looks like you got your just deserts!” She said, which only added more laughter to her ludicrous display. Even Twilight couldn’t resist a smile. 

“Haha,” I said. “Very funny, Tavi.” I turned to Twilight. “Where’s the bathroom?” 





It took a good twenty minutes to get all the frosting and cake crumbs out of my mane. When I was done I stared at the mare in the mirror, making sure I had gotten all the cupcake off my face. 

But then I stopped. The mare in the mirror was much like me: she wore black rimmed, purple tinted glasses, had a short cut mane style that was dyed two different shades of blue. But an image of another mare flashed into my mind; an image of a mare that I hated with all my being. 

I slowly took my glasses of and let them fall to the floor. Now that the glasses where gone, I could see the blood red color of the mares eyes. The same eyes as hers. 

I turned the faucet on and let the sink fill up the brim with ice cold water. I lowered my mane into the sink and began to rinse the dye out of my hair, giving the water a transparent blue hue to it. As I moved my head around in the sink, water splashed out and onto the floor, but I didn’t care. 

I had sworn that I would never have anything to do with her again, but it had been so long since I had seen her, and the storm cloud above me threatened to burst into a furor, that I had to. I just had to. 

I lifted my head out of the sink, now soaked in water, and shuttered as the icy cold liquid trailed down my neck and flank. I looked again at the mare in the mirror, which now had a sleek, wet mess of black hair on the back of her head, all the blue dye now washed down the drain. I pulled the hair over to my right side and let it hang over my face, partially covering my right eye and ear. I imagined it being longer until it covered over half my face and horn. The mares mane, now black, was in deep contrast to her snow white flank. 

There was just one thing more to do. I closed my eyes and began to conjure a spell my mother had taught me. It was a simple enough spell, and didn’t even use enough magic to cause my horn to glow, but my mother had made me practice every day until I could use it without even thinking about it. I had, however, not used it in ten years, so it took a couple of tries before I was able to get it right. When I opened my eyes, the mare in the mirror eyes were no longer bright red, but a slightly deep green that, when in combination of her black mane and white flank, gave her a sort of royal beauty to her overall appearance. 

And it was done. The mare in the mirror, me, was now a complete doppelganger of her; the mare that I used to be. Everything that I had learned to despise. 

The storm cloud above me finally fractured and rent itself apart, raining down despair on me. I once again felt the pain of loneliness and the hate of my own heart from long ago; the betrayal, the malice, the hate, the desolation of my own soul, and all the pains and hopelessness of my past. 

I gripped the edges of the sink and vomited. Tears welled up in my eyes, causing me to sob. I leaned on the sink and lay there, weeping. 

Twilight and Octavia must have heard the commotion, because the next thing I saw was the door opening in the mirror’s reflection, and I heard Octavia’s voice through the crack saying “Hey, Vin, is everything okay in there?” She must have guessed what I was up to, because she poked her head in when I didn’t answer. Her eyes fell upon me as I was hanging onto the sink as if for dear life, and they looked from my wet face to my night black mane and then finally my green colored eyes. She looked at me with an expression of pure horror. 

“Is she okay?” I heard Twilight inquire, sounding concerned. 

“Get her a glass of water.” Octavia replied out the door, and then turned back to me. 

She came over and knelt by my side on her front legs and looked at me sympathetically. “Oh Vinyl.” She whispered. “What have you done?” 

By letting me support my left hoof on her shoulders, she helped carry me out of the bathroom and into the main library where Twilight was waiting for me with a glass of water. She offered it to me and I hastily accepted it and gulped down the contents.  

“Oh, you dye your mane.” Twilight said, noticing the black hair that fell over my face. “I didn’t know that.” 

I handed back the glass and slumped to the floor, crossing my hooves over my eyes, fighting back another wave of tears.

“What’s wrong with her?” Twilight asked. 

Octavia started to explain, but I didn’t listen. I just wanted to find a hole, crawl in and let this storm of my life consume me. I wanted to die. 

Octavia must have finished telling Twilight what was causing my trouble, because I soon heard her gasp with shock and she leaned down next to me. “You poor thing! Here let me-” 

“Back off! I’m not a helpless filly.” I screamed, sounding very much like a helpless filly. 

Twilight shrank back at the hostile tone of my voice. Seeing that I had offended her sent another wave of pain from my storm cloud, which only brought more tears. 

The torrential down pour sent me deeper into myself, forcing me to look at who I was. I had made an oath that I would never remember what had happened ten years ago. I couldn’t remember it; I refused to. But the rains of hate and despair pushed me deeper and deeper. I had to. I had to remember. 

> Remembrance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                       Chapter II:Remembrance	

I hear the cries of my past echo as screams in my head. A relentless indifference to myself, a virulent torture, forsaking all cessations, forcing its weight on me. Intolerable, yet unavoidable. The storm in full force as it rained this agony on me. 

The memories and shadows moved across my mind like a phantasmagoria, penetrating my defenses. They swarmed around my head, mocking and ridiculing me, showing me the sins of past mistakes. 

There was only one escape, one way out of this doom. I had no choice; either surrender to the storm, or face a lifetime of this misery. I had no alternative. I had to. It was all that was left to me. 

With a feeling of dread and horror, I did what I thought I could never do: I remembered. 




“I hate you. I hate the way you make me act. I hate the way you make me talk. I hate the way you make me dress. I hate this life. But most of all, I hate you!” These were the words I always wanted to say, but couldn’t. The words that, every time I saw my parents, I wanted to hurl at them and make them feel the way they made me feel. But they were the words I never said. The words I couldn’t say, or risk losing everything I held dear in life. I was only fifteen years old then. What would I do if I did tell them, and because of their closed mindedness, what good would come of it? 

Most ponies would have no idea if they met me today, but I once used to live in Canterlot as the child of royalty. Then, I wasn’t called Vinyl or any other name that I’m known by today. My name was, and I guess technically still is, Viniam Mary Sicarth. But that was a long time ago. 

I say I was royalty, but in reality, the only royal aspect of my family was that we were clear descendants of the Kings and Queens of the ancient Unicorn Tribe from all those eons ago. We held no real power in the affairs of the Castle, nor were we given titles such as Prince or Princess. But family tradition, which was nothing more than stuck up pride, demanded that we stay as royal as possible, mainly by keeping our “purity” and holding power in the courts and councils and war generals in the Equestrian Empire. 

Because of this “tradition”, I was expected to act as if I was miss frilly-two-shoes; to always walk with a dignified expression, to always hold myself up higher then everypony else, and to basically become a self-righteous snob like all my family before me. I couldn’t stand it. Every moment that my mother made me practice talking with a high pitched Canterlot voice instead of my natural bass like articulation was like chewing glass, and the whole point of the eye-changing spell that my mother taught me was so I could go out into public without what she called, “A diabolical set of red eyes.”, which only increased my hate for her. Why were they so unhappy with who I was? 

To my parents I was nothing more than a pawn that they could use, through royal training and manipulation, to somehow get the Royal title again added to the Sicarth name. All I was to them was a ticket back to being one of the most powerful families in the Empire. My father would never admit to it, telling me in his dignified Canterlot accent, “My dear Vinia, your training is only for the purpose of preparing you for a proper, couth life and to minimize the risk of condemnation from society.” Obviously, I didn’t take it to heart. Notice, he didn’t say “Because we love you, my child.”, or anything else a father might say to his low self-esteemed daughter; he only cared to give me a proper “couth” life with acceptance from society. That was my parents all right; all training, yet completely missing the overall picture: me.  

There was only one pony in my entire foalhood who showed any real love towards me, and that was my Uncle Monty. When I was young, he was the only pony who took time to see to my needs, regardless of his own. I remember back when I was nothing more than a filly, he would set me in his lap and tell me stories, all from how Equestria was formed or the scary tale of the Mare in the Moon. I remember sitting there, devouring every story and hanging onto every one of his words. He had a talent for doing that. 

He wasn’t really my uncle though. Technically speaking, he was my great-great cousin from my father’s side, which would make him my grandfather’s cousin. He was the son of my great-great aunt, who married outside the Sicarth family, so he wasn’t related by name, only blood.  

But that didn’t matter to my parents. They hated him, and treated him with as much disdain and loathing as possible because he had gone against everything they believed in and eloped with a Pegasus back when he was my age. Because he was only related by blood, and didn't share the Sicarth name, the family name remained "pure": but because he had married, and later had foals with a Pegasus, he was hated and treated like he had committed the ultimate crime. But about two years after I had been born, his wife had died from a mysterious illness, and having no other family to turn to, he came to live with me and my parents in Canterlot.

We were outcasts, he and I. Not because of any choices we made, but because we were different. 

My past is haunted by terrible memories of how wrong my life has been, but I remember now that there was a short time when I was happy, listing to my uncle’s stories and all the games we would play when I was a filly, back before reality came down on me in a crushing torrent. 

I remember one occasion in particular when he told me the story of the Three Tribes for the first time. I remember sitting in his lap as always, staring wide eyed with my mouth agape as he went on in descriptive detail to tell of the bitter relationship between the Tribes, of how they set out to find a new land and how they inevitably became friends in the end.

“And so it was.” My uncle finished. “That all the leaders of the three Tribes, the Commander of the Pegasi, the Princess of the Unicorns, and the Chancellor of the Earth Ponies raised the new flag with the united banner, declaring in loud voices ‘This is our new home. This is Equestria!’”  

“That was amazing, Uncle Monty!” I remember saying gleefully. “Tell me another one!” 

“Now, now, my dear Little Vinie.” He said in his deep gentle voice. Little Vinie, that was the nick name he had for me. I never minded it, and it suited me better than Vinia, Viniam, or just plain old Vin.

“That was the third one I’ve told you today. Surely there is something you would rather do then sit here listening to an old colt ramble on?” 

“Oh no, Uncle Monty! Your stories are the best!” 	

“Oh, they are, are they? Even better than the stories your mother tells you?” 

“Mommy doesn’t tell me stories. She says they are ‘trite.’” 

“Really, now? Bah! What does she know?” I didn’t think anything of it then, but now I remember that his eyes went out into space, as if looking at another place, another time. Remembering. “Yeah,” he said to himself. “What the buck could they possibly know?” 

I giggled, laughing at the strange word he had used. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“’Buck.’ That’s funny. You said a funny word.” 

His face instantly reddened, embarrassment creasing across his old, wrinkled face. “Now, Vinie, do you know what that word means?” 

“No.” I was only a filly. 

“Well, you see, your uncle didn’t mean to use that word. It’s a bad word, a really bad word, and I don’t want to hear you use it, you got that?” He said, waving a hoof in my face.  

“Yes, Uncle Monty.” I said ashamedly. 

“Oh, now, don’t feel so sad.” He reassured me, patting my head. “You just didn’t know any better.” 

He fell silent then, and looked down at me with reverence in his eyes. I could see tears forming around their edges.

“Do you, Little Vinie, know what Equestria means?” 

“Isn’t it the name of our home?” 

“Well, yes, but do you know what the name means?” 

I had to think for a minute before wagging my head. 

“Equestria means ‘New Harmony’ in the Old Pony Language.” 

“Then why didn’t they just call it that?” I asked. 

He chuckled in that loving, gentle grandfather-like fashion that he always did when around me. “Well, you see, they did. Back then, nopony talked the same way that you and I do. Over the years, the Old Pony Language changed in many ways, until, eventually, they were speaking a practically different language. Equestria literally meant New Harmony for the Three Tribes way back then.” 

“So,” I said, slightly confused. “Ponies used to speak differently than today?” 

“Exactly.” He said, bopping my nose playfully. By this point, tears had become visible under his eyes, and even a couple ran down his cheeks. “Do you know what ‘Viniam’ means?” 

I was startled by the question, not seeing where he was going with it. “Why, that’s me, of course!” 

“Yes, but do you know what it means?” 

“Is it old pony speak for New Harmony?” I randomly guessed. 

“No, you silly filly.” He said kindly, tears now running down both sides of his face. “It’s an Old Pony word for ‘Sacred Honor.’” 

Not knowing what either one of those words meant, I asked, “What does that mean?” 

“It means, Little Vinie, that...” He paused, looking for the right word. “It means that you are special, my dear Little Vinie.”  

“I’m special?” I said, milking it, as all foals do. 

“Yes,” He replied, the tears now coming down in a steady rhythm. “More special then you know.” 

I wished I had asked what was wrong because that was one of the last times that I ever got to be with him. After his heart attack, he was confined to his bed for the rest of his life, where he died shortly before I left Canterlot forever. After he was sent to live the rest of his days in a bed, I didn’t see him as much, my parents finding other things for me to do, more “appropriate activities other than listening to the farcical, unimportant stories and flights of Fancy from the mouth of that impure imbecile” as my mother put it. Instead, they had me do things like practicing dancing with a book balancing on my head, or had me memorize the proper, lady like way to eat, walk, talk, and even act and dress. I hated every moment of it. 

I can’t help but think that if it wasn’t for my parents and their snooty, up tight ways how different things would be now. I probably would have stayed in Canterlot, married a Stallion of my parents choosing, and would probably be living comfortably with a couple of foals to look after. I can’t say I regret loosing that.  

It happened one night that began like any other. We were all gathered in the gilded dining hall waiting as our butler Jeffery served the measly portions of food that we always had while my parents discussed politics as usual. 

“Honestly,” My mother said after taking a sip from the wine glass that she held up with her magic. “If that Pegasus Javelin thinks he will gain another term as Captain of the Royal Guard, he is very much mistaken. I wouldn’t vote for him, even if he was the last suitable stallion on the face of the earth.” 

My father, who sat at the head of the table with Mother on his right and Uncle Monty to his left, looked over at her rather offended. “What if I was still around and chose to run for the position of Captain? Would you not choose me instead?” 

“Now Reginald dear,” Mother said, patting his arm. “I said ‘suitable’, and you hardly fall under that category, now do you?” 

“Oh, of course. How silly of me.” 

“Why,” Mother continued. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Celestia had him stripped of his rank and exiled from the Empire.” 

“Well, he certainly will be stripped of his rank.” Father commented. “After the way he harassed that poor unicorn boy at last year’s Summer Sun Celebration, he deserves no lesser of a punishment.” 

“Pardon my interruption, sir.” Jeffery said as he set Father’s food in front of him. “But I remember reading an article about that incident in the Canterlot Times, and if the writer was correct, I believe it was the unicorn that caused the altercation, not Commander Javelin.” 

“Jeffery,” Father returned impatiently. “Was I including you in our conversation?” 

Jeffery looked as if he was about to argue, but remembered his station and simply replied “No, sir.” 

“Good. Now resume your duties and keep your opinions to yourself.” Jeffery dipped his head and left to fetch the rest of the food. 

“Well,” Mother continued. “Even if he was not a direct cause of the quarrel, he was most certainly a contributing factor to it. The colt is nothing more than a rude imbecile, with a pompous attitude and harsh military mind set on life. Why, are you aware that one of his soldiers accidently sneezed when at attention, and Javelin had him stand rooted in the same place for almost two whole days?” 

“Well, the Royal Guard is trained to be the best soldiers and fighters in Equestria as their job is to protect the Princess, our fair ruler. But two days is an extreme.”

Jeffery returned once again from the kitchen, this time carrying two trays with his magic. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. My parents had kept me busy almost the entire day, and I had missed lunch and was anxious to see what was for dinner. Jeffery set my plate in front of me and lifted the lid, and my heart instantly plummeted in disappointment. Instead of a well nourishing meal as I had hoped for, it was only a plate of three baby carrots, two pieces of lettuce and a measly little shrunken grape that was only a few moments away from being a raisin. 	

Mother saw my disappointment and said in what I took to be a comforting tone, “Now, Vinia, you are entering a stage in your life when you must be very cautious about what you eat so you can grow into teen hood with an acceptable figure.” Then she resumed talking to my father. 

I sighed glumly and poked my food with my fork (I had yet to figure out how to use magic). I felt a nudge on my shoulder and looked over to see my Uncle holding his hoof to his mouth in the “Don’t tell” gesture. He looked down and I followed his gaze to the underside of the table to see his free hoof covertly offering me one of his juicy celery stalks, away from the eyes of my parents. I leaned down and hastily gobbled it up before they noticed what we were up to. 

“He said that to her face?” Mother said, replying to something father had mentioned. “I’m surprised that Celestia didn’t have him court-martialed on the spot!” 

“Well that’s the war-minded out look of the Pegasi for you. Sweet Mother of Celestia, what is it that provokes them so? It’s like they are given control over the weather, and all of the sudden, they think they’re gods.” 

“Now Reginald,” Mother said, rather disapprovingly and looked directly at Uncle Monty. “It’s not their fault. They are, after all, a daft breed of pony.” 

My Uncle, who had been ignoring the conversation so far, slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers and his usually jovial features took on an edge of seriousness. “Don’t you talk about her that way.” 

“Her?” Mother replied, purposely taken aback. “How was I talking about her? But even you must admit, darling, that there was something…off about her.” 

“Oh, most certainly.” Father replied. “The way she handled business by being more concerned for the economy rather than her own personal gain was practically a heinous crime in itself."

“And let’s not forget the way she treated the poor and weak and was always willing to lend a hoof, even at her own expense. The poor and weak are poor and weak because of their own ignorance. They don’t deserve such compassion. I dare say she was the dumbest and most idiotic prone Pegasus in all of existence.” 

Her horn glowed a deep purple as she lifted her glass to take another sip of wine, but suddenly the liquid jumped up all on its own and splashed against her face, drenching her mane. I quickly turned to see a dark green glow subside from around my Uncles horn. His features were no longer pleasant, but clenched in a rage I had never seen him express before.

Father was instantly on his feet and yelled at Uncle Monty “How dare you do that to my wife?”

“How dare you do that to mine?” He shouted even louder and pounded the table forcefully, causing the china-wear and glasses to tinker and ring. As he spoke, he revealed a level of fierceness to his voice that I had never heard before. Throughout the time I had known him, he had always been meek and mild mannered when it came to other ponies disapproving of his “impurity”; but that day it seemed as if there was something else both he and my parents knew that they weren’t telling me. 

Several minutes that seemed like hours were spent in silence, in which time both my father and Uncle Monty stared at each other, as if dueling with their minds. Mother finally decided to break the silence. “You should be ashamed of yourself for acting so foalishly in our home that we graciously opened up to you after nopony else would have you. Just who do you think you-” 

“Oh, shut it.” Uncle Monty said. “When will you two learn that the world doesn’t revolve around you? Life is not about you. News flash: you’re not even Royalty anymore! You just sit here on your pampered behinds leeching off the money your ancestors worked tirelessly to make, lounging around, scheming to get your way. You’re nothing but self-righteous swine, and you certainly don’t deserve any of the luxuries that you flippantly abuse, including having this precious gem as a daughter. You lie, cheat, connive and steal for your own agenda. You are nothing but a bunch of loathing, egocentric wretches!” 

“Ahem.” We all looked in the direction of the cough to see Jeffery standing in the door way. “Sorry again for interrupting, but-” 

“Oh, what is it Jeffery?” Father said testily. 

“I was just going to suggest that given the direction that the current conversation is going, that it might be best if I escorted young Viniam off to bed for the evening.” There was something in his voice, I couldn’t be sure what, but it was as if he was subtly hinting at something. 

“Oh, very well.” My father agreed. “Off to bed, Vinia.” 

“But I’m not even tired!” I protested. 

“No objections.” Mother said, wagging a hoof in my face. “You heard your father, now it’s time for bed.” 

I sighed once more that evening with disappointment and turned to leave, when Uncle Monty placed a hoof on my shoulder. 

“Viniam,” he said, and I turned to face him. “You need to know, that no matter what happens and no matter what anypony says tonight, you will always be my Little Vinie, and I still love you.” 

“I love you too, Uncle Monty.” 

This simple act of foalish sentiment had more of an emotional effect then it should have had, because his face lit up with a smile and tears formed under his eyes.  

“Now, how about giving your uncle a kiss good night?” 

I leaned over and gave him a small peck on the cheek, as I often did before going to bed, and then let Jeffery walk me out of the dining hall. As we left, both my parents maintained a steady, threatening gaze with Uncle Monty, who unwaveringly returned it. Once we were out of the room, with the door closed behind us, there was instantly an explosion of loud voices beyond, and I heard Uncle Monty use the ‘bad word’ repeatedly. 

We walked up the stairs in awkward silence, listening to the muffled argument from below. It wasn’t awkward because of the argument though, but rather because it was silent. Jeffery, although he was still fairly young and only in his late twenties, had been the family butler for as long as I could remember. But for some reason, he always went to great lengths to make sure that I was well taken care of, such as in this case taking measures to ensure that I wasn’t caught up in a family quarrel. He was the butler and was his job to look after his clients, but it seemed that he took particular interest in serving me, which was a little awkward at times. 

We got to my room still not having said anything to each other; and as Jeffery tucked me into my four poster bed, my mind kept going back to what Uncle Monty had said, or rather, the way he had said it. The whole argument began when Mother had insulted his wife, which was strange because he was usually very meek and indifferent to disapproval when it came to his impurity. It was almost as if they had been hinting towards something else entirely. Then there was what he had said to me before I left the room. What had he meant by “No matter what anypony says tonight”? 

When Jeffery was positive that I was comfortable and ready for a good night’s rest, he turned to leave, shutting out the lights as he reached the door. 

“Jeffery?” I said. 

“Yes, miss Sicarth?” He replied, turning back to me, the light from the hall falling around his charcoal gray flank. 

“Do you know why Uncle Monty is mad at Mommy and Daddy?” 

He paused for a moment in solemn silence. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.” 

“Will you tell me?” 

“It would be entirely inappropriate for a pony in my station to tell you of such matters.” 

“Huh?” 

“No,” he reworded for my young mind. “No, Viniam, I won’t. That is something you need to hear from your parents.” And with that, he closed the door, casting my room into complete night.  




I spent the next several hours tossing and turning, genuinely trying to get to sleep, but the angry voices coming from downstairs interrupted my dreams and would drag me back into the real world every time I even so much as dozed. I couldn’t make out what was said, but the tone was unmistakable; harsh and murderous. 

I held my hooves over my ears and buried my head in my pillows to block out the voices, but I could find no escape. Finally, when the voices showed no sign of easing, I flung the covers off, exited the room, and raced down the hall. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was only five years old at that time, so my heart still clung to a false sense of innocence in reality. I thought, like all young ponies, that the world was still wholesome and perfect, including my wretched parents. I couldn’t just lay idle while they fought, and decided to put an end to it. 

I passed a startled Jeffery as I flew down the stairs. “Miss Sicarth,” he said. “What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” 

“Somepony has to stop them, Jeffery!” I shouted over my shoulder, not even slowing down. “They can’t keep going on like this! Somepony has to stop them!” Without giving him a chance to respond, I jumped the last step and made a dash for the dining room. 

“Miss Sicarth, that is not a good ide-” 

I ignored him burst through the double doors. 

They were much like we had left them. Mother was still seated at the table while father and Uncle Monty stood facing each other; their demeanors each trying desperately to show male superiority over the other. Their clenched jaws and hostile glares betrayed the immense disdain that they had for one another. 

“Are you aware,” Father was shouting. “Of all that we have done and gone through to fix your mistake?” 

“My mistake?” Uncle Monty roared. “What about the one that you two are currently involved in?” 

Nothing had changed. They were still going at tooth and claw. Somepony had to do something or they were going to kill each other. 

“STOP!” I screamed, my squeaky filly voice cracking. “You all need to just stop fighting! You can’t keep going on like this! It’s just not right; it can’t be!” There was dead silence once I finished, tears now streaming down my face. 

“I’m terribly sorry.” Jeffery said behind me. “I tried to keep her from interrupting. Here, I shall-”

“You’re excused, Jeffery.” Father said. 

“But sir, pardon me for saying so but-” 

“You are excused. That means go.” 

Jeffery was silent for a moment, then said “As you wish sir.” and then left, closing the door behind him. 

There was another moment of silence.

“What are you doing out of bed, Vinia?” Father said, forcing himself to remain calm for my sake. 

“I couldn’t go to sleep because all I could hear was the nasty and mean things you, Mommy, and Uncle Monty were shouting and, and…” By this time I was sobbing and choked on my own words. 

My ever comforting Uncle Monty instantly rushed to my side and embraced me in his arms, offering me solace. “Shh, hush now.” He said reassuringly, stroking my mane. “It’s all right, Little Vinie. I’m here now, everything’s okay.” Little did he know. 

“Viniam,” Father said. “I understand that this has upset you, but there are rules and regulations in this household that are to be obeyed to the letter. Now, you were told by both your mother and I to go to bed, and this was an adult conversation. As our daughter, you are required to respect these guidelines and regulations-”  

“’Rules and regulations?’” Uncle Monty said forcefully, his chest vibrating next to me with his words. “That’s what you going to tell your crying daughter? That she needs to obey rules and regulations? What kind of parents are you? Are you so heartless that you will turn away your own daughter when she needs you the most?” 

“She is my daughter! And I have the right to parent as I-” 

“Exactly!” Uncle Monty hollered back, and I could feel a pulsing rhythm as his heart increased with rage. “She is your child! And yet you treat her no different than one of your degraded colt-servants!”  He practically screamed the last words, and I looked up to see his face redden and contort with rage. 

“Look!” He said, moving his arms to show me to my parents, as if revealing me for the first time. “Look at her! She needs you, but you just push her away as if she’s trash! You can’t keep passively overlooking her like this!” 

“Now I have had just about enough of you!” Mother said throwing a napkin she was holding onto the table. “You live here by our grace, and you also are expected to respect our way of living. We don’t expect you to live by our understanding, but we at least expect you to accept our choices as our own. You may not completely agree with our lifestyle, but that does not mean that you should treat us as if we are nothing more than dogs! How dare you? If anypony here is a dog, it is you, with your impure flesh and-” 

“When are you going to tell her?” Uncle Monty interrupted. Both my mother and father fell into silence. “Well? You did plan on telling her one day didn’t you?” They just stared back at him. “Unbelievable. You bucking wretches! You weren’t even going to tell her? You were just going to let her go through life not knowing?” 

“Not knowing what?” I asked. 

But he just ignored me. “How can you even sleep at night? You talk about all you’ve done for this family, but what about what I’ve done, eh? What about the things I’ve had to give up, just to help you fulfill your selfish desires? You asked so much of me, and I granted it, but how can you ask this is of Vinia? She’s just a filly! And you can cut the ‘grace’ crap. I know the only reason that you put up with an old geezer like me is because you’re afraid of me.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Father scoffed. 

“I know you fear me, fear what I know. You both do. I can see it in your eyes. You’re afraid that I’ve told her the truth, but that’s not my place! I will not be around to see the sadness in her eyes, no, I leave that special task for you, you good for nothing sinners. 

“But when are you going to tell her?” His voice growing even more powerful, causing spit to fly out of his mouth. “When are you going to tell her that she is really…that she is...” His voice was suddenly lost on him, and his breathing started to come only in ragged gasps. “Th-that she’s….” He stuttered and looked around, as if he was becoming disoriented and didn’t know where he was. He fell to the floor, accidentally flipping me over next to him. I landed on my side and quickly looked over to see him convulsing from a fit of terrible coughing, his hooves clutched to his chest, and his face turning blue from suffocation. 

“Uncle Monty!” I screamed, and instantly rushed to his side. 

He lay there, coughing and wheezing, his frail body shaking violently with every convulsion. The coughing eased slightly and he tried to stand but his weak legs couldn’t support him, and he fell once again to the floor, this time hitting his head on the marble surface, a small gash appearing on his forehead. A small splash of deep red blood splattered across the floor and flowed in a steady, light stream. 

“Uncle Monty!” I screamed, louder this time. He looked up at me, the coughing finally stopping. “Little Vinie,” he said, then his eyes rolled back into his head, and the hall once again fell into silence. 

“No,” I breathed. I turned to my parents and to this day swear that I saw a gleam of delight in my father’s eyes. “Somepony do something!” 

My parents shared a silent conversation in a glance and, having come to a unanimous decision, my father shouted “Jeffery! Call the doctor!” 

He must have been waiting outside the door, because the next thing that was happening was both my father and Jeffery carrying the unconscious Uncle Monty out of the room and into an awaiting carriage; rushing him to the hospital. Mother and I stayed behind. I pleaded with father to let me come, but he stated that a place of such drama, blood, and death was no place for a filly. As if there had never been any drama here. 

I waited by the window all through the night, staring out into the street glow of the city from the balcony of my bedroom. At some point exhaustion must have finally overcome me, because the next thing I saw was bright sun light streaming through the balcony windows and gracing its warmth upon my face. 

I leapt from my bed and ran down the stairs. I walked past the dining hall, but it was empty, the table having been cleared as if nothing had happened last night. Even the blood stain had been scrubbed away.

Maybe it never happened in the first place, I told myself. Maybe it had all been dream, a bad, horrid dream induced from hunger. Yes, that’s all it was, I convinced myself, just nothing more than a nightmare. I heard hushed voices from the lounge and I knew that if I looked in I would see mother and father talking on the sofa, while Uncle Monty read the newspaper from his favorite chair, just like every normal morning. I picked up my pace and sped around the corner. “Uncle Monty, I-” The words died the moment I saw the empty chair. 

Mother and father, who had been talking while drinking tea, saw me come into the room and hushed their voices, making it clear that I was currently unwanted. 

“Where’s Uncle Monty?” I asked. 

“Viniam,” Father said. “You need to understand that he’s an old colt, and his health is far from perfect and-” 

“Where’s Uncle Monty?” I repeated. 

“Your Uncle is resting.” Mother said. “The doctor said it was a heart attack and was surprised that he lived through it. He has a few stitches in his head from where he hit the floor, but other than that, he is completely fine.” She scowled with the words as if it was terrible news. I eased a sigh of relief. At least he was okay. 

“Can I see him?” 

“Not at the moment, no.” Father replied. “He is asleep, and needs his rest. The doctor did say however that his attack was brought on by stress, so from here on out until the end of his days he will have to remain in bed, to avoid any more stressful environments.” 

“Besides,” Mother said. “There are infinitely better ways to spend your time other than listening to that pompous fool.” 

“Now, off with you Viniam.” Father said, and walked me towards the exit. “Your mother and I have some issues to discuss.” He pushed me out into the hall and violently shut the sliding doors. 

I just sat there, the shock of everything over taking my filly brain. So, that was it. The end of the good old days, and my father had once again treated me like I was nothing more than a nuisance. 

I hung my head and was about to wonder off back to my room, when suddenly something occurred to me. Last night Uncle Monty had been on the verge of saying something, and it seemed important.  

I very slowly crept back the door and pressed me ear against the cold, dark wood. The voices of my parents came in muffled bits and pieces through the thick oak, and it was hard to make out who was speaking over the clattering of their tea cups. 

“…..she’ll wonder about…night. We’ll…to…tell her” I thought I heard father say. 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous…no reason…absurd.” Mother replied. 

“But she…go through…out knowing.” 

“Don’t tell me…you feel the…that hooligan. She doesn’t…and…never will.”  

“What are you doing Miss Sicarth?” A voice whispered next to me. I whirled over to see Jeffery, who had probably snuck up from behind while I was occupied with what my parents had been saying.  

“Uh…” Think, Vin, think. “I was, er, looking for, uh…termites! Yes, that’s it. I was listening for termites in the wood.” I added a big squee to help make myself look innocent. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Fine,” I sighed. “I was listening in on Mommy and Daddy to know what they were talking about.” 

“Ah, I see. You still wonder what they were ‘discussing’ last night, I take it?”

“Yes. Will you not tell me, Jeffery? Will anypony ever tell me?” 

I looked up at him pleadingly and could see that he desperately wanted to tell me the truth. But he just sighed and said, “Miss Sicarth, there are secrets within these walls that I would do anything to protect you against. If denying you truth is what I must do, then so be it.” He turned and started for the stairs. At the foot of the last step he turned back. “Sometimes, madam, ponies do things they often regret.” And with that, he turned once again, and left me sitting by myself, with only his last words to ponder. 

> On Trial  
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                          Chapter III: On Trial 

And that was it; the end of my filly life as I knew it. Never once after that did I ever play a game with my blessed Uncle Monty, never again did we run through the leaves together in the fall, never again was I to sit in his warm lap and hear one of his entrapping stories, and never again did I have a moment of true joy in that house. 

My life became a flash of dinner parties, dresses, galas, proper etiquette and sophistication, all at the hooves of my parents. They enrolled me in an all mares academy when I came of proper age; one of the best, next to Princess Celestia’s Academy for Gifted Foals, or so they said. I hated every second that I spent in those mundane school uniforms, and I was appalled every time they sent me to that awful school and the way it forced their sophistication down my throat. They never once asked if I was uncomfortable in those uniforms, never gave a second thought to my obvious embarrassment in them, and never once did they consider as parents the feelings and thoughts of their own daughter. 

What made it all the more unbearable was that I had no sanctuary; no safe heaven to hide in. Uncle Monty had been sent to die in a bed, and my hatred for my parents spread into all of the vain of Canterlot, so I never made any real friends. I was completely alone, doomed to the oppressive life under the tyranny of my parents rule. 

I was trapped in an endless maze of grandeur and agony, with no exit to be found. I was suffocating under the constant pressure of their sophisticated dictatorship that they had over my life. My parents were unknowingly killing me from the inside out. 



 

“Good morning, madam Sicarth!” I heard an over joyful Jeffery call through the depths. There was the brief sound of something sliding open and I felt an instant warmth fall across my back. I tried to retreat further into the blissful deep, but then my world started shaking lightly and a voice said through the murky water of my brain, “Come now, madam. It is 8 O’clock and that means time to get up. Your parents won’t approve of you sleeping in again.” 

“Mmpp,” I grumbled and swam deeper. I could taste the sweet, mindless nothingness of sleep and its smothering embrace when a voice whispered in my ear, “Miss Sicarth, please.” 

“Jeffery, I will pay you double whatever it is my parents pay you as our butler for five more minutes.” I said, the embrace pulling away from me, my mind desperately reaching out for it. 

“Such bribery is clearly prohibited in my job description, I’m afraid.” 

“Fifty bits.” 

“And it is now time for to get up, madam.” 

“Eighty bits.” 

“Up, up, up, Miss Sicarth. You don’t want to be late for what your parents have planned for you today, now do you?” 

“One hundred bits, Jeffery, and that’s my final offer.” I said, pulling the covers over my head in a last attempt at evasion. 

I heard an exasperated sigh come from Jeffery, and I thought he was giving seriously considering my offer. “I’m afraid you leave me no choice, madam.” The embrace, which had begun to return, was suddenly and violently shattered and the depths ripped away as I felt a gust of wind fly up from underneath me, bringing the cold touch of air to my skin. I opened my eyes to see my blanket deserting me and fly away to land on the floor, a magic halo guiding its path. 

“Are you awake now, Madam Sicarth?” 

“Very.” I growled, shivering lightly from the cold.

Sleep no longer an option, I slowly rose and sat up in my bed, rubbed my eyes and took in my surroundings. The brief moment of warm sensation that I had felt earlier had been Jeffery opening the balcony door curtains; letting in the sunshine which had fallen on my sleeping form. I made an effort to stand, but the momentary grogginess of waking caused my head to spin, and I fell back onto the bed until my head cleared. 

“Now, if that will be all that you require of me, madam, I will excuse myself to attend to other duties.” Jeffery said, looking at me. 

“Yeah, go ahead. Go… do whatever it is you need to do.” I said, still a little dizzy. 

Jeffery left the room, leaving me to my grumpy self. After much more grumbling and complaining about the ridiculousness of waking at this hour, I finally gathered enough strength to get out of bed and get dressed for the day. Most ponies don’t normally go around wearing clothes throughout their everyday lives, but my family never made any claim to being normal. My mother always insisted on me wearing a cape or dress or at the very least a hideous head garment of some sort even if all I was to do that day was stay indoors. She said it was “Tradition to always maintain the Royal appearance.” or some other kind of crap nonsense. I don’t much care for clothes; they restrict my movements and force me to always watch what I am doing to avoid getting them dirty or staining them at dinner and let’s not even get into what would happen if I wore one out on the muddy streets. They were simply a bother, as far as I could see. That, however, did not excuse me from having to wear them. 

I trotted over to my walk in closet and opened the door, dreading what Mother had hoof picked out for me to wear today. The light from outside streamed in as the door opened and fell upon a simple, yet somehow elegant black flowing, sleeveless gown resting in the chair that sat in the middle of the closet. I picked it up with magic and draped it over my head, slipping into the shoulder straps and felt the cool silk brush against my flank. Underneath the dress I found a beaded pearl necklace and strapped it around my neck. Luckily for me, there was no head piece. 

I turned to the floor to wall mirror and had to admit the black dress added a nice touch of grace in combination with my white flank and long, black hair. But the pearls, they had to go. I couldn’t stand having to deal with the weight of them around my neck and the spaces in between the individual pearls itched and pinched my skin. If Mother asked, I would just say that I didn’t see any pearls, thank you. I looked again at my reflection, and found that the simple black silk and the way it fell over my back supplied a certain degree of beauty to my overall features, and I had to question my mother’s choice in this particular garment. I had only worn it once before on my… 

I shoved my face into my hoof. “Idiot,” I mumbled. I had forgotten that today was my fifteenth birthday. My heart instantly sank, and I longed for the depths again; maybe I could go back to sleep, wake up, and have it be any day other than this one. Like all events in my life at the time, my birthday was something I had learned to despair over. Other than being yet another reminder of how little my parents actually thought of me, it meant that I was one year closer to being of proper age to be married, or as I liked to call it, being paired off with a complete stranger at my parents demand.

My parents had always thought so little when it came to my birthday, the day that I was physically brought into their lives. Instead of throwing parties or taking me places, they would simply have a cake with my name written on the top that I would get a piece of after dinner. Instead of presents, they would order something and have sent it through the mail, then make Jeffery take it up to my room where it would wait for me until I turned in for the evening. I was lucky if I even saw them at all on my birthday, seeing as they always claimed to be too busy. They never even once uttered the words “Happy Birthday”, at least not in my presence. It was like it was just another day with a few extra matters to attend to. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was no Happy Birthday for Viniam. 





There were a couple of slow knocks as I gently rapped on the oaken door.

“Come in,” said a voice from the other side. It was a low, pathetic voice, wounded and given up on life. It was the voice of defeat. 

I eased the door open and stepped into the dimly lit room, cringing at the gloomy setting that was only pierced by a thin sliver of light that came from a small gap in the curtains. 

“Oh, Vinie, it’s you,” Uncle Monty said from his bland bed, sitting up as his saddened expression instantly brightened. His eyes that had once sparkled with life and dominated his features had faded, like a dying star in a bloody dawn.  “What are you doing visiting an old relic like myself?” 

A smile crossed his lips, and the light flickered lightly. By all appearances he seemed happy, but I knew the sad truth. He was only putting on the effect of happiness for my sake. I could see in those amber eyes of his that he would cry himself to sleep every night, and that every moment stuck in that bed of his was like being imprisoned in chains. I could see that this was the darkest place he had been in.

“I brought you your breakfast,” I said, hovering the tray I had carried from the kitchen in front of me.  The white cloud of my magic moved as I pushed the tray forward and set it in his lap. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you.” He said, looking down at the tray. “But isn’t this something Jeffery should be doing?” 

“Oh, I see how it is.” I said, glaring jokingly at him. “Well, if you don’t want breakfast, so be it.” With my head held sarcastically high, I picked up the tray and started for the door. 

“Wait!” Uncle Monty called just as the tray was out of reach. “Please don’t take that away. Meals are all I have to look forward to these days.” I set the tray back on his lap. 

But he just stared at it. He looked at it, lost in time for several minutes, sitting in silence. “How come you never visit me anymore?” He finally asked. 

I couldn’t help hanging my head in disappointment. “I try, I honestly do. But between school and the training that Mother and Father have scheduled each day, I never have time. It’s like they don’t want me anywhere near you. I practically had to force Jeffery to let me bring this to you.” I spoke quietly, feeling ashamed for not making time for him. I was, after all, the only reason he had left to live. 

“Hey, now it’s okay.” He reassured me. “A young whippersnapper like yourself shouldn’t be hanging around crazy old colts like me anyways. You belong out in the world, making a difference.” 

I laughed lightly. Good old Uncle Monty. Even on his death bed, he still had an ability to make me smile. “But I don’t want the world. I want to stay here with you.”  

“Who said anything about giving you the world? You can be in it and not of it, you know. Besides, what would be the point in that, eh?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why wouldn’t you want to make a difference? If you hang around me all the time, you won’t be able to, and miss your chance like I did. I’m old, Vinia, old and dying. I’ve wasted my time. Don’t be like me, don’t waste your time. Promise me you won’t.” 

“Why? Why do I need to promise?” 

“Because Viniam,” He said solemnly. “If you don’t stand for something, try to make a difference, this life will drag you down and make you fall. Promise me, my Little Vinie, promise me above all else, that you won’t fall; that you will make a difference.” 

“I promise.” I said. 

Two words. Two simple yet powerful words that forever bound me; a binding I willingly made. Two words to myself and Uncle Monty spoken for the purpose of future good. If only I had kept them.  

But he took me at my word and I heard no more on the subject. 

Uncle Monty turned to look down at his tray which consisted of a glass of water, grapes, and other breakfast fruits such as sliced pineapples and cantaloupes. There was even a rose sitting in a small vase off to the side to add that special touch. It was also the first thing to go. 

“So,” he said, biting off everything except the stem. “What incredible tasks of grandeur do your parents have planned for you today?” 

“I honestly can’t say.” I replied. “Yesterday, they said they needed to go over something with me, but I have no idea what. “

“Hmm.” He said, looking up from his tray. “You didn’t by chance bring a fork, did you?” 

“What?” He hadn’t exactly been in his prime at the time I was born, and he was even older now. He may have been capable before his imprisonment, but these days using magic for even the smallest of jobs took too much strength and mental strain from his old and weak mind. He was forced to do things manually that he otherwise would have used magic on, such as picking up food to eat. “I’m pretty sure I brought one up.” 

“Ah, well, I can just do with my good old hooves, I guess.” He said, picking up some of the grapes. 

But as he lifted them towards his mouth several of them fell out of his hoof and rolled off the bed. They cascaded down the blanket and descended to the floor, some bouncing underneath the bed. 

Uncle Monty looked at me, and then at the ground, then back at me. I stared back at him. “Well, I can’t get them.” He finally said. 

I rolled my eyes and began picking all the ones around the base of the bed and placed them back on the tray with my magic. 

But he just continued to stare back at me. “What?” I said. 

“What about the other ones?” 

“What about them?”  

“Well, aren’t you going to get them?” 

I looked back at him in confusion. “Why should I? They went under the bed.” 

“Yes, and there they will rot and attract all sorts of insects and parasites.” 

Something was very peculiar about the way he was acting. First, he had asked me about my day, but then brushed it off by asking for a fork, which I was positive I had included. Then he made a big deal about a couple of grapes, something he would have otherwise immediately forgotten.  I looked into his eyes to try and glean some insight, but I might as well have been staring at a brick wall for all it got me. I decided I would play along, just to see where he was going with it. 

Lighting my horn in a magical display of soft white light so I could see, I poked my head underneath the bed. Most of the grapes weren’t hard to find, but one had rolled a fair length away, coming to rest next to a small box wrapped in glistening red paper and tied with a sparkling gold bow. Forgetting all about the grapes, I grabbed the box and crawled out. 

“What is this?” I asked, holding up the box. 

“Oh, my goodness,” My uncle said, putting his hoof to his mouth in an expression of mock surprise. “Now how did that get there, I wonder?” He leaned back ever so slightly, and the strip of light coming from the window glinted off a silver lined fork poking its way out from under the blanket. I smiled as it all fell into place. 

“Come on, Uncle Monty. You didn’t have to do this, really you didn’t.” 

“Of course I did. Now, go on.” He motioned the present closer. “Open it.” 

I pulled the bow off and let it fall to the ground, anxious to see what it was. I ripped the red wrapping paper off and popped the lid open, parting the packing paper to reveal an old pair of glasses. They were black rimed with purple tinted shades that evoked an emotion in me that I had never felt before. It made me feel indestructible, like I could accomplish anything or climb any mountain; a feeling of invincibility. It felt like my destiny. 

“Wow,” I said. 

“Happy birthday, Vinie.” 

“Where did you get it?” 

“It used to belong to…Well, that’s not important. What is important is that now it’s yours.” 

“It’s perfect,” I said, mesmerized by its beauty. 

“Well, go on,” Uncle Monty coaxed. “Put them on. Let’s see how you look.”  

“How?” I asked, looking around and noting the lack of mirrors in the room. 

Uncle Monty shoved the rest of his breakfast over the other side of his bed, the fruit slices and glass of water clattering to the ground. He held it up, tapping the shiny surface. I put the glasses on, and my world was instantly plunged into a sea of deep purple and light pink that presented my surroundings in a way I had never experienced before. It was like being immersed in a dream of reality; a cloud of lavender that made everything seem…better, somehow.  

I peered through the lenses at my reflection and laughed. The glasses looked like something from retro times and turned me into an aristocratic hippie in comparison to my dress. “I look ridiculous.” 

“Oh, rubbish.” Uncle Monty replied from behind the tray. “You look divine, like a queen.”

I took them off and placed them back in the box. “Thank you, Uncle Monty. It’s perfect.” 

“Glad you like it. Now you take good of care of them, understand? They used to belong to somepony very special to me. I suppose you could say they still do.” I smiled again as I understood what he meant behind that phrase. 

We spent the next hour just talking about nothing in particular, spending time with each other as we had longed to do over the years but very rarely had the opportunity due to my overbearing parents. It felt good to carry on a conversation that in some way wasn’t about tradition or the royal ways as I did with my parents, but rather just to talk and share each others' company. But, like all the good moments of my life, it didn’t last forever and eventually Uncle Monty started dozing off. 

“You need to go to sleep.” I said. 

“What?” He replied, his eyes snapping open after almost falling asleep for the third time. “Oh, don’t be fit; I’m as ridiculous as a fiddle.” He mumbled, his eye lids dropping once more. 

I walked over to the side of the bed and gently lowered his half conscious head back to his pillow. “Shh,” I whispered, pulling the covers over him. His eyes finally closed all the way, and his breathing eased to a steady rhythm that rose and fell underneath the blankets.  I leaned down and kissed his wrinkled brow. “Sweat dreams, you crazy old colt.” 

“Crazy…colt,” He murmured, a small grin etching its way across his face. And with that, he was out like a light. 





Carefully easing the door open so as not to wake him, I carried my present out into the hall and slowly pulled the door shut behind me. I looked up and down the hallway, but nopony was in sight and the hall loomed before me, dead and quiet. I double checked to make sure my parents weren’t lurking just around the corner, and walked down to my room. In the silence and solitude of the walls, I sat down on my bed, my thoughts going back to what Uncle Monty had said and the promise I made. 

I took my present out of the box again and stared into the lenses, looking for a hint or a clue that would help me. What had he meant by taking a stand, making a difference? That if I didn’t, I would only fall, like a lost ship about to perish in the waves of the night? Was I that ship? And if so, who was the night? I looked deep into the glasses, but I was only met with a pair of green eyes staring back at me. Defeated by the unknown, I lowered the shades and let the matter drift from my mind. 

I went over to my dresser and opened the jewelry box that sat on the top in the middle, a light, crystal tune playing as I brought the lid up. I lifted the glasses up and looked at them, admiring their raw texture and the way they glistened under the daylight, and then set them in the back of the jewelry box. 

I could never wear them; both Uncle Monty and I knew this. If my parents ever so much as found them, they would probably throw them in the trash saying something like “It is uncivilized to dress in such an embarrassing manner.” But I couldn’t help but smile. Uncle Monty had once again made me feel like pie in the sky when the rest of my life was a torture.

Even with Uncle Monty’s strange words maybe, just maybe, it was going to be a good birthday after all. 





I stared down at my name that was expertly crafted in a bright, cheerful blue frosting set in a pure white background with elegant blue, frosted edges. It was beautiful, and had clearly taken hours if not days to accomplish, having been made with the utmost care and precision. It made me feel like vomiting. 

There were no candles and no notes were sung in celebration; but instead I sat alone at the table, unmoving and unresponsive, looking down at my birthday cake. It mocked and laughed up at me, intending to be special but harboring only bitter loneliness. My parents hadn’t even waited around, but had gone off to take care of other business, leaving me alone in the hall. I couldn’t control myself as a single tear trailed away from my eye. 

There was the far-off sound of a door opening, and I quickly dried my eyes as Jeffery came to stand next to me. We stayed that way for several moments before he finally spoke. “Uh, perhaps you would wish for me to cut you a piece, Miss Sicarth?” 

“You know, Jeffery,” I replied, pushing the tray away from me. “I had a big dinner. I think I’m going to skip desert this year.”  

I heard him sigh behind me as he processed what I meant. I could feel him looking at me and I knew that he wanted to offer me some words of comfort, but after a few minutes he said, “I actually have come to fetch you at the request of your parents. They ask of your company in the lounge.” He then exited the room, leaving me alone once more. 

My company, oh how wonderful. I thought. I could only imagine what they wanted from me this time. Perhaps they somehow knew about my visit with Uncle Monty earlier, and it would be easy to deal with as I had gotten in trouble for doing so in the past. Or maybe it was yet another lesson in the fine etiquette that I lacked, in which case I would just grit my teeth and bear it like I had all the rest. But yet, there was a lingering feeling in the back of my head told me it wasn’t that simple. 

Gladly removing myself from the melancholy atmosphere of the dining room and my ridiculing food, I went through the side door that led to the lounge and, consequently, my inauspicious talk with my parents. 

Dismal, drab and dark are the only words that can accurately describe the lounge. There was very little furniture, with only a sofa and a chair facing opposite of it in the center and a few end tables set next to them with low lit lamps perched on their tops. Uncle Monty’s chair had been removed long ago. There was a large floor to ceiling window behind the sofa that would have illuminated the entire room in bathing light, but the drapes were always drawn, giving the room a gloomy mood. In many ways, it was like the unwelcoming sensation of being in a court room.  

My parents had yet to arrive, so I trotted over to the chair where I would usually sit with my parents across from me with Mother on the sofa and Father standing guard by her side. Because it was set directly across from the sofa, I was always in the spotlight, and it gave me the awkward feeling that I was being put on trial. 

I only had to wait a few moments before the doors at the other end of the room parted and my parents entered. I stood when I saw them, as I had been taught to do so when addressing my “elders,” and Mother gracefully made her way over to her seat. 

All rise, the dishonorable Judge Martha Sicarth now presiding. 

After she had taken her seat on the sofa and Father respectably taking his position next to her, they turned to me to begin the proceedings.  I sat back down. 

“Good evening Viniam,” Mother said to me in her direct monotone. “I trust you received the special addition to your dinner in light of celebratory events?” 

“Yes, Mother, I found-” 

“Ah, ah, ah. Vinia, if you are going to address me, then you must do so properly.”  

Gritting my teeth in silent aggravation, I took in a breath and raised the sound of my voice an octave. “Forgive me, I am sorry.” I lied. “I found dinner to be delightful.” Lying twice in a row to my parents always had serious consequences, but now even more so as I was being sworn in. That is, if they ever caught me. 

“Good,” Mother replied. “Now we can move on to more important matters.” 

Hear ye, hear ye, the court is now in session. 

“Now Vinia,” Father began the trial, presenting the evidence before me. “You understand that every year we indulge you in the, well, quite frankly, frivolous pasttime of offering you a gift once a year, as the lower classes do.”  

“Yes, Father, and I’m truly thankful for it.” The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was all thrown out the window, thanks to my lying tongue. 

“I’m glad you can see the way of it. The act of gift giving really should not have the merit that it does today. It is simply a way to spoil a child from the inside out. However Vinia, you have, unlike most of the younger generations, have had plenty of the proper training and up bringing that your mother and I feel you are trusting enough to handle the responsibility of the practice.” 

“And again Father, I am grateful for that.” I might as well have been a crooked witness with a fixed story with all the falsehoods and half-truths I was spewing. 

“Over the years,” Mother said, beginning the prosecution. “We have given you various trinkets and trifles, have we not?” 

“Yes, you have.”  

“And have you been pleased with them?” 

“Yes.” 

At this, Mother smiled. “Good. Then you will be thrilled with what we have to tell you today.”

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see where either of them were going, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. Just play it cool. I thought. They have got nothing on you. Just let them hear what they want and you’ll be fine.

“Vinia,” Father said.”Today, you are fifteen years of age. Are you aware of what that means?” 

“No.” I plead not guilty. “I’m afraid I don’t.” This was yet another lie. I knew exactly what it meant. 

“Well it means quite simply that you have come to the proper age of courtship.” 

Objection! “Don’t you think I’m a little young for such commitment?” 
“Why of course not!” Mother overruled.  “It has always been the tradition of Sicarth mares to look for a candidate for the role as husband at the age of fifteen. That way, when she comes of full age, she will have already found a suitable spouse whose family she will marry into when leaving the Sicarth household.” 

Keep cool. I told myself. You can get out of this.

But no matter how I looked at it, the whole conversation didn’t make much sense.  They had first started in about the gifts I had received in the past but were now doing a one-eighty, going on about the proper way to acquire a good husband and the tradition behind it. There was only possibility that came to mind, and my cakeless stomach churned at the thought of it. 

There was a brief pause as Mother and Father looked at each other, unsaid words of excitement passing between them, then turned back to me. I suddenly felt very threatened and my hooves began to sweat as the look in their eyes confirmed my worst nightmare. 

“Vinia,” Father said, smiling over the hidden evidence that he presented before the court. “Although we are not in the habit of approving the action of gift giving, this year we have decided to offer some marvelous news that benefits you extremely as your gift this year.” He paused, his smile beaming with pride, and then continued. “Vinia, it is my honor to announce to you today that your Mother and I have found such a suitable colt for you to court as your future husband.” 

I sat in silence, my gaze falling to the floor. I had to think fast if I was to escape the airtight case that my father had just made. 

Deep breaths. You can do this.

“Well, Vinia, doesn’t this news please you?” 

I sat up in my chair and met my parent’s eyes, building a false look of confidence to help sway the trial in my direction. “Mother, Father,” I said, nodding at each in turn. “I understand what tradition says, but I do not feel that this is the right time for me to be looking for a husband, much less accept one that you offer.” 

Both of my parents stared back me, bewildered. “What exactly are you saying?” Mother asked. “Do you not trust the judgment of your parents?” 

“I’m saying that maybe I should wait until I find the pony that I know I’m meant to be with, the one I know I’ll truly love and-” 

“Stop right there.” Father said slowly. “You said ‘truly love.’ What do you think that means?” 

I thought carefully and chose my next words wisely so I wouldn’t bind myself in nets of my own making. “I mean the one whom I will love unconditionally until my dying day.”  

My parents sighed in disappointment, and I could feel a lecture coming. I should have just kept my big mouth shut. If I wasn’t going to be found guilty before, I most certainly was now. 

“Vinia,” Father began calmly. “I am afraid you have been woefully misinformed on the matter.” 

“And I can take guess as to whom.” Mother grumbled to herself.  

“You see,” Father continued. “This ‘true love’ you have spoken of simply does not exist. It’s nothing more than a gross misdirection of affection and that itself is fleeting. One day, as all ponies do, you will die Viniam. It is a fact of life. But if you spend your entire life chasing after this fleeting affection, what then will be your legacy? How then will you be remembered and revered, even after death, if that is all you have?” 

“But Father,” I said in a desperate attempt to shift the weight of the scales in my favor. “If true love does not exist and it is simply a foolish pursuit, why then would you have me be married?” 

“Why, for the sake of tradition, of course.” Mother said, demolishing my argument. “It has always been the respected practice of Royal families to be joined in matrimony as it signifies power and order in their lives as well as ensuring the further reproduction of the pure race.”  

I could see where they stood on the subject, and there was no convincing them otherwise. Arguing would only bring another nail in my trial’s coffin. 

“I hope you understand our line of thinking.” Father said, concern written on his forehead.  “Many ponies go through life go pursuing this lie, never knowing the truth of it. You have come to see that, haven’t you?” 

I nodded my head in compliance. 

“Now,” Mother said. “Returning to present matters. Are you aware of Celestia’s nephew, one Prince Blueblood?” 

The name sounded slightly familiar, but honestly I didn’t even know that Celestia had a nephew. “No, I am not.” 

“He too has recently come of proper age to begin courtship. He comes from a long line of pure blood as well as being of the unicorn race. Because of these attributes, your Father and I have decided, with the permission of Prince Blueblood’s parents of course, that he will make a fine husband for you. It has been arranged that you will begin your courtship in two months time.” 

Having nothing left to me, I dipped my head in acceptance of my awful fate. My heart screamed injustice, but there was nothing I could do, and I felt a bit of it die that day. 

“Vinia?” Mother said when I hadn’t replied. “Why are you not happy? You will be marrying royalty. Surely this is good news to you.” 

I looked back up. Lie. Just lie. It’s your only way out. “Of course this is good news to me. I just wish to remain respectable and not make a scene in front of my parents.” 

“Excellent.” Mother said, rising from position on the sofa. “However, your Father and I have other business we must attend to.” 

I rose as they left, then departed for my room. Once I was there, I laid back on my bed, spreading myself over the silk sheets. I stayed that way for hours; lying there, absorbing the silence and thinking about what my parents had bombarded me with that evening. 

It was something I had feared would happen for a long time; that my parents would, with total disregard to my feelings, pair me up with a complete stranger. What was worse was that even their intentions weren’t in the right place. They hadn’t said anything about it, and would have probably denied it if I had asked, but I knew the only reason they were forcing me into a relationship with this Prince Blueblood was part of a plan to get the Royal title once again added to the Sicarth name. I was to be married to him and become his Princess, and likewise the Sicarth’s would once again be associated with royalty. 

I had long suspected my parents would try to use me to get back the title, but up this point I had had very few clues as to how. And now I knew. But I couldn’t condemn this poor Prince for their actions. I had never met him before and for all I knew he could be quite the gentlecolt.  My parents, however, had just earned all the hate my depraved soul could muster. 

I sighed, the weight of the world on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and welcomed the depths once more. But just before they embraced me, my thoughts wandered back to the trial. 

The verdict? Your Honor, we the court find Viniam Mary Sicarth guilty of treason against the standard of tradition in the first degree, which is punishable by death. 

Happy birthday to me.