> Death of A Cellist
>  by Docboy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Act 1: Old Nocturnes and Shattered Dreams
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Death of A Cellist



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Author's Note: This story has parts with musical accompaniment. At the link, remember to open in a new tab. I also recommend using headphones if available. Enjoy!

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Act 1


A complaint was made of loud groaning noises coming from old Frederic Horseshoepin’s apartment. They seemed to be long, incessant wails of anguish; however, the neighbors needed their sleep for another busy day in Canterlot. Horseshoepin’s next-door neighbors called upon the old gelding’s caretaker to come see what the problem was in the retired musician’s flat. The young colt trudged up the stairs grudgingly in his pajamas with a candle to light the way. Being called at half past the stroke of midnight to inspect whatever was wrong with his grouchy patient didn’t quite sit well with the caretaker. He approached the door to his master’s chamber and rapped impatiently with a sharp tempo.

“Monsieur Horseshoepin, what’s the matter that you wake us all up in the middle of the night?”

No answer, only another moan of pain. He grunted and rapped thrice again on the large wooden door.

“Monsieur Horseshoepin, open the door this instant!” he growled. The caretaker heard a shuffling of hooves across the floor from the other side. 

A pause. He heard a muffled shout.

“Octavia! Octavia! I admit it, I murdered you!” The voice deteriorated into a sob. “Oh, please forgive me, Octavia!” The colt rolled his eyes, taking these as mere ramblings of senility. He hadn’t a clue whom this, “Octavia” was. He pounded furiously on the wooden panels.

“Monsieur, if you don’t open this door, I’ll have you admitted into the nearest asylum! Now stop this nonsense!”

No response. An eternity of deadly silence followed. The colt was becoming a bit worried. Old Frederic never acted up quite like this before. Mostly, he was an elderly, grouchy pony who obstinately resisted any form of assistance. He resisted taking his medication, complained when it was bath-time, and threw temper tantrums when his caretaker insisted that he engage in his daily exercises. However, Horseshoepin was never quite so melodramatic…

So… suicidal. The caretaker stammered.

“Monsieur?”

A crash was heard from within along with an unnerving wail. An instant later, he heard a muffled cacophony like somepony slammed his body into the keyboard of a piano. The caretaker froze in his angst and worry. A small, drawn out moan was the only other sound he heard.Gathering up his strength, he braced his shoulder and ran into the door, breaking it off its hinges. 

The floor was soaked in blood.

The crimson stream ran in rivers along the floorboards and filled up the cracks. The caretaker, overcome with nausea, followed the vermillion flow to the spouting neck of his limp patient whose eyes rolled back in his head as he made grotesque gurgling noises of a most shiver-inducing nature as his throat spilled out a sputtering stream of hearty red. Horseshoepin lay on the floor, moaning and gurgling with his hooves outstretched to heaven, as if calling for the angels to take him to paradise or hell, whichever he deserved. In his outstretched limbs, he held a small shank in one hoof that he drew sharply across his own throat, and in the other, a cello bow.

No time was wasted in calling an ambulance and paramedics, who hastily bandaged the old pony’s neck and stabilized his heart rate with a generous shot of adrenaline. Once they made sure the old pony was alive, they hurriedly lifted him onto a stretcher and hauled him out to the waiting ambulance. The paramedics hoisted the semi-conscious gelding onto the cart and hollered at the runners to hurry up. The ambulance sped away through the dark streets of Canterlot as the snow gently fell on Horseshoepin’s pale, chalk white face. As he lay in the rattling wagon swerving through the streets, it  passed by a well-lit building with the sound of laughter and dancing as well as a warm candlelight pouring from the windows. It was most likely a high society Canterlot party. But the sweet song of a serenading string orchestra landed softly in Horseshoepin’s eardrum as the snowflakes landed softly on his brow. It was then, at the sweet sound of this music that he let out a most piteous groan of anguish, like one bearing an ultimate guilt and hearing the accusations of his enemies. The paramedics made no notice of this as they sped onwards toward Redheart Hospital. 

All the while the paramedics folded their ears in annoyance as Frederic Horseshoepin kept moaning, “Octavia! Octavia! Forgive your assassin, Octavia! I killed you and ruined you, I confess it!” The ambulance dashed onward, swerving as it rounded a corner and pulled up to the emergency entrance. Horseshoepin seemed oblivious to the world around him. He shivered violently as if in a seizure of the throes of death. The elderly pony screamed up at the night sky.

“Speak for me! Speak for me! I don’t wish to burn! Oh, please absolve me, dear Octavia! Absolve me!”

Paying no heed to his ramblings, the burly paramedics lifted the stretcher and carried him inside where he was operated on through the night against his will. The doctors put him under a heavy anesthesia that knocked him out till morning while a surgeon stitched his neck shut and sent the orderly to take him to a private ward. While asleep, the old pony was set in a secure wheelchair as he would be weak from blood loss. He would wake in the morning feeling quite groggy.

***


Snow crunched under the hooves of the pony priest as he trudged up the walkway to the hospital entrance. He was employed by the Church of Equestria as a priest specializing in hospice care. His job usually entailed hearing the confessions of the invalid who were thought to have little time left in this world. He pushed through the rotating door of the lobby to be greeted by a wave of heated air and the sound of complaints and grumbles of ponies waiting in line for a doctor for their various illnesses. A few looked up at the passing pony of the cloth garbed in the attire of his trade and gave him a nod and addressed him as, “father.” He acknowledged them politely as he briskly trotted over to the information desk where a nurse sat with a clipboard.  He removed his tri-cornered hat and cleared his throat as a subtle request for attention. The nurse mare glanced up attentively.

“Excuse me, miss.” He began quietly, “I’m looking for a Mr. Horseshoepin?” The nurse abruptly stood up and checked the listings. 

“Horseshoepin, eh? I heard he tried doing himself in, poor soul. Can’t imagine why. Wing P, Hospice Care, Room 69. Just follow the signs, father.”

“Thank you, miss.” He continued down the hallway as the sound of the nurse humming “Ave Celestia” grew fainter and fainter. After a good five minutes of an overly complicated navigation through the hospital corridors, the priest stood outside a white door with the number 69 tacked to the doorpost. He raised his hoof to knock, but stopped as he heard a faint musical sound coming from the other side. It was a slow, sad, but sweet tune that he didn’t recognize through the bit of musical education he received. He decided that, regardless, he should enter and conduct the confession. He eased the door open and stepped into the hospital room where he saw the old musician ensconced in his wheelchair in front of a small spinet in the corner by the open window opposite a vacant bed. The cold wintery breeze blew the flowing curtains away, casting an early morning sunshine on the floor, lighting up the room. Horseshoepin took no notice of the priest at first, continuing to play the melody with a sad look on his face as his hooves danced across the keyboard mechanically, but with a powerful feeling. He looked quite uncomfortable as he strained against his neck bandage to look down at the piano that was littered with collections of scherzi, waltzes, and sonatinas he had fetched from his apartment. He played with such a passion and familiarity that it was a shame the piano’s sound was humid and muffled. The priest watched him for a minute until he pulled up a chair and sat down. Horseshoepin heard the scraping of the chair across the floor and turned to see who the visitor was without stopping or slowing the tempo. He looked up and saw the pony dressed in the traditional long, flowing robes of the Church. He scowled slightly in disappointment.

“Go away.” He stated firmly. The priest sat up, not willing to let him wallow in the sins he regretted. He cleared his throat.

“How could I leave a tortured soul to suffer before he goes to heaven?” He said raising his eyebrows sympathetically. Horseshoepin rolled his eyes.

“If you knew what I have done, even you, dear father, would know that I’m not going to heaven.” He said gloomily.

“That’s not true.” He said with a firmer tone. “Offer me your confession, and I can offer you the forgiveness of the gods and goddesses of Equestria past.” 

“You mean those dead alicorns now living up in the sky?” inquired Horseshoepin dryly. His hooves moved with a mind of their own, pressing the keys with a methodical rhythm. “I don’t think they would quite forgive me for the destruction of their beloved.” He said looking out the window with a look of sad longing and regret. 

“Octavia… Crescenda Treblus Octavia.” said Horseshoepin with an agonizing sigh. The priest leaned forward.

“The mare you accuse yourself of murdering? She died decades ago when she was still young. Is it really true you killed her?” Horseshoepin turned away, not wanting to hear any more from this clergypony. He slowly looked back down almost lovingly at the piano as he continued to pour his feelings from his beating heart, translating them into the strokes of his calloused, but dexterous hooves. He scoffed at the idea of communicating with the gods through a mere, fellow mortal. But Music! Ah, Music! That is the very voice of heaven and the celestial bodies themselves, as the angels sing their lofty songs with harp and lyre to the gods and the demons chant their accusatory tones from the crucible of hellfire. What better way to communicate with them than in their own language? 

Nothing daunted, the priest pressed further.

“Please, my son.” He begged, “If you have anything to confess, tell me now.” Horseshoepin turned toward the determined priest with a gloomy glare. All the while, his hooves never ceased to continue the piece he was playing, as he knew the feel of the piano from playing it for all his life. He thought for a moment and the scowl turned into a look like he thought of an interesting question.

“Are you a musician at all, father?” The question caught him off guard a little as he made a small, perplexed scowl.

“I was taught a bit of music when I was a young colt.” Horseshoepin’s look softened as he grew eager to hear more.

“Where did you study?”

“Here in Canterlot.” The old pony’s face lifted itself into a happy, hopeful smile as it seemed his heart melted for a bit.

“Ah, good! Then you must recognize this melody.” However, the priest frowned.

“I can’t say that I do.” Horseshoepin sank in disappointment as the smile ran away from his lips. “What is it?” asked the priest.

“It was my most famous Nocturne from the peak of my career! It took me months to write and perfect. Never did a day go by for a decade after it was published that I didn't hear it hummed or played ubiquitously." Frederic paused and let out a bitter sigh. 

"Can you really recall none of my work? I was the most famous composer in all of Equestria. I was the toast of Canterlot! Ponies waited months to purchase tickets to my concerts and still, they waited hours at a time on line to see me! Now I’m nothing as I’ve watched my fame fade away, disappearing. This, you see, is my punishment from the gods for what I’ve done! As I die, not only am I watching my body deteriorate, but I am yet forced to watch my name turn to nothing! Blown away, as a nebulous puff of stardust lost in time that nopony will remember with love. But Octavia…” He trailed off. He shot an accusing glare at the priest. “Does that name sound familiar at all to you, father?” The priest shifted uncomfortably in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, not wanting to respond to the stern gelding staring him down.

“Oh, come now father. Surely you’ve heard of Octavia before? The legendary cellist of Canterlot most famous for composing her 25th Symphony, Ode…”

“To The Heavenly Sisters.” Finished the priest, with an air of guilt for confirming his suspicions. He expected an outburst from the musician, but the elderly pony’s face sank lower as the melody was dying out. “Who was she, Mr. Horseshoepin?” pressed the priest. The old pony turned towards him and with a sigh, prepared to answer his question.

Who was Octavia to Frederic Horseshoepin? A rival colleague? A lost love? 

Horseshoepin chuckled much to the chagrin of the priest who grimaced in his seat. Horseshoepin raised his arms and held his forehooves together as if in prayer.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

***


I had never really had a hard life before now. My career was as enjoyable as it could possibly be. Even my childhood, I have no complaints about and as far back as I can remember I have always been a musician at heart. My first encounter with it was at a Summer Sun Celebration that my parents forced me along to when I was but a young colt without a cutie mark. I stood there near Celestia’s platform where she would raise the sun that morning. I, myself, had no interest in Celestia moving the sun like she did every morning just this time in front of her subjects. I rubbed my eyes feeling quite bored and out of place as I was dragged here by my parents in the early morning hours. All of a sudden, there on the platform came a presence slowly rising, but then grew more pronounced and majestic with the sun as it rose. And no, I’m not talking about the alicorn princess as she rose into the air to raise the sun. Hang the Princess! I’m talking about the music that accompanied it! When Celestia reached the peak of the ritual as the sun glowed powerfully in the sky, the band played a symphony that nearly brought me to my knees as the melody overtook me. It was as awesome and powerful as the life-giving sun itself as the music pulsed through the air with such a presence of awe. Before I knew it, I discovered that my face was wet with the downpour of tears that gushed from my eyes as I had never felt such emotion before in my life.

It was beautiful as I realized what music could do.

It was then through the magic that rang in my eardrums that I knew my place in the universe. I wanted more than anything to play such beautiful sounds that would bring others to such a display of emotions as they had brought me. I desired more than anything to labor and toil to make melodies pulse through the air, singing to the gods. The burning longing to produce beautiful music that would last throughout the ages swelled within my heart, flesh and bones as I looked up at the majestic princess with tears in my eyes and thought of an idea.

Now, I was a loyal subject of the princess and I duly acknowledged her godly position and divinity that was the foundation of the Church of Equestria. It was then that I offered the most important and sincere prayer I would ever offer in my lifetime: 

Sweet Celestia, I thought, please hear my prayer. I know now, ahead of a mark on my flank what I want to do in this world. I want to sing, to produce music in your glory that others will hear and cherish forever. Let my melodies fill the ears of your subjects for all time with love and admiration in your name, O Goddess! Let the name of Horseshoepin be remembered forevermore. In return, I pledge to you a vow of charity through my industry. Let my music proclaim your name and make mine immortal!

I opened my eyes to the sight of the crowd cheering on their princess as the sun of the new day shined brightly in the sky. Celestia waved and smiled to her subjects as though part of a very familiar routine. However, all of a sudden as I finished my prayer, she looked as if she had discovered something amazing. She subtly turned to me and smiled lovingly, and with a nod, I could have sworn that her horn glowed with a faint aura. She shifted her head in a small gesture for me to take notice something.

“Frederic, look!” said my father with his voice full of surprise. The crowd around me made a small gasp and quickly burst into another fit of cheering. I stared blankly, not knowing what was going on.

“What? What is it?” I inquired with a scowl.

“Your flank!” said my mother excitedly. I turned around and saw what had appeared there. I gazed upon the black and white eighth notes that confirmed every hope I had of the princess hearing my prayer. You can imagine how I jumped for joy in my ecstasy as I started the long journey of fulfilling my purpose on this earth.

From that point on, never did a day go by where I wasn’t practicing and composing exercises for hours at a time. My family’s formerly dusty music room soon became littered with dozens of scores and sheets of music and theory exercises I bought with my allowance now instead of frivolous toys my peers would chose. I especially enjoyed it when I could get my hooves on Neighthoven’s piano concertos, for not a day passed when his sonatas didn’t fill the air of my family’s small home. There was never enough existing music to satisfy me. I needed to create my own art. Fairly soon though, I knew enough theory that I started composing more complicated pieces at an exceptional rate. By the time I was about sixteen years old, I had already composed a dozen etudes, six waltzes, three symphonies, and a full scale opera. All of them published and featured by the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra! Two years later even, I became the personal music teacher to Princess Celestia herself! Isn’t that incredible? I sat by her majesty’s side and played duets with her, correcting mistakes and teaching her sight-reading and music theory. Actually, Celestia probably has the worst ear for music in Equestrian history, but that mattered little. But don’t think I didn’t keep the promises I made at the Summer Sun Celebration. I was a paragon of virtue! I charged a minimum for my services as a maestro for local orchestras, and had countless pupils, most of whom I taught for free, and I donated most of my profits from my compositions to charity to help other musicians across Equestria! And by the time I was twenty-seven, I was commissioned for my nineteenth symphony as well as my eighth opera that sold out for a full year! From the stage door I would frequently peek out before Showtime and watch the endless line of ponies queuing for hours to get into the show.

Everyone loved me and my music. I couldn’t be happier.

Until she came along.

***



I once attended a Young Musician’s concert sponsored by the Celestia for Homeless Fillies and Colts Foundation as a fundraiser. As a member of the board, along with countless other charity committees I was on, it was an obligation for me to attend. As I trudged into the Canterlot Performing Arts Center, a grandiose, gothic structure that look more like a church on the outside than a theater with high archways, a stone brick structure, and even grotesques and gargoyles mounting the buttressed roof, I didn’t expect much from this event, as the musicians were a mix of talents, some good, some not so talented. Hence, I sat down in the front row of velvet chairs that ran along the floor of the dark, cavernous theater overlooking a small stage in front of the drawn red curtain basked in incandescent performance lighting. I regretted having gone to bed at a late hour the night before as it would be hard to not fall asleep at this point and not be rude. The first hour or so simply conformed to my predictions as I heard a mix of sloppy piano solos, screechy violin duets, and obnoxious clarinet quartets. A pink filly even came out playing a polka all by herself on a bass drum, trombone, harmonica, and countless other instruments I had no idea could be played simultaneously by a single individual. The audience burst out laughing at her, who took it surprisingly well and seemed to laugh with them at the end of her performance. I suppose laughter must have been her forte. In the second hour after hearing countless suites on out of tune violas, I nearly fell asleep again until I heard the next name called. 

“Octavia will now perform a Cello Suite.” The announcer called dryly. A bored applause leaked out slowly from a glazed audience as the performer ruffled the stage curtains trying to find the slit. When she stepped out, I couldn’t see very much as her long, flowing charcoal colored hair was in her face while she quickly made sure her instrument was tuned. With a little blush of embarrassment, she lifted her head and began to play.

The siren had cast her spell at the first sight of her. 

At first, it was a bit of a surprise to see how old this musician was. She was more like a young mare closer to my age than a filly as I observed the purple treble clef that adorned her flank, displaying her talent. And how talented she was! As the fairly simple tune she played began to develop, I could see the raw passion displayed by her countenance that jolted me awake with more effectiveness than a steaming cup of coffee saturated with cream and caffeine. Standing before me was an angel fallen from heaven, I was convinced. Her purple eyes, matching her cutie mark met mine for one infinitesimal instant in time that I cursed Celestia silently for the first time that it should pass. Never before had such a desire filled my soul before, even more so than my desire to become a musician at that Summer Sun Celebration long ago, as it immediately started to burn away at my heart. I hung on to her every movement with an unbearable longing as I watched her stroke her bow across the cello bridge, putting emphasis and passion in every single note. She was quite unlike any other performer I had ever witnessed. The emotion she displayed in playing the piece set her eyes ablaze with a flame that made me sweat profusely in my seat. Indeed, I had no doubts that this could have been no normal mare, but a musical angel of beauty that would leave Celestia with her gaudy, flowing mane jealous. In that instant, nothing else in the world, not my family, not my friends, not even my music mattered other than my desire to be with her. I reasoned that I could get to know her better under the right circumstances. I just needed to find a way to see her more. I thought for a moment until I came up with the perfect plan that would set us up together. I had confidence that such an ambitious budding musician wouldn’t be able to refuse the offer I would give her.

As she continued to play I noticed in the duration of her performance that she looked forlorn, lost, almost sad, which peaked my interest in her. On the outside was a mare of talent and beauty that I became so infatuated with, but I could see through her expression that all was not as it seemed. As the tune drew to a close, I could see that everypony in the audience admired her talent as well as I did as some already started to applaud Octavia before she even finished the tune. By the time she came to the end of the Courante, her face lit up in a proud smile that set my heart aflutter as I, along with the entire audience burst into a fit of cheering. Octavia’s cheeks turned a cherry red again and bowed her head modestly.

Here, I seized my opportunity.

I waited outside the stage door to the concert hall where the colts and fillies were filing out with their instruments. I was afraid I had missed her until I saw her trotting down the steps with her heavy cello case and her unmistakably long hair blowing in the cold, winter air. As she reached the bottom of the steps, I moved in closer and gave her a tap on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Miss… Octavia? Is it?” She turned around with an impatient look on her face that suddenly gave way to shock when she realized whom I was.

“Oh! Um, y-yes Mr. Horseshoepin?” she stammered as she frantically tried getting her hair out of her face.

“You know who I am?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Of course!” she said almost gasping. “You’re the Court Composer of Canterlot Castle and Princess Celestia’s music teacher, how could I not know you?”

“Well, I’m flattered! I… I just wanted to congratulate you on your uhh… good performance.” I was just as hopelessly inarticulate as I fell more and more in love with her. Her expression darkened.

“Good?” she said with a weak, quivering smile. I knew she must have taken that verdict as a death sentence sugar-coated with a euphemism. She must have believed I thought she was terrible. I tried to recover from my faux-pas.

“Oh! Well, more than good. You were sublime! I must admit I’ve never seen anypony quite like you Miss Octavia.” At this she froze. “In fact, I want to make you an offer. Where do you train, Miss?” It took a couple of seconds before she was able to articulate an answer after the shock of being praised by one of her idols. 

“T-Train? Well, I studied for a few years, uhhh… by myself actually. My mother taught me most of the theory that I know. I just practice a lot. But I hope to make it into the Canterlot Academy of Music someday. That is… if I’m any good.” She said timidly.

“What if I were to tell you that I think so? What if I were to accept you to the academy right now?” I said with a grin. Octavia’s bright purple eyes widened in disbelief. “No, no. I have a better idea. I want to make you my protégé.” Now she trembled with excitement and awe, not believing the words she thought I uttered.

“Wh-Wha…? I don’t even… Y-You can’t be serious, Mr. Horseshoepin.”

“But I am. When can you start?” At seeing her joy at her fortune, I could have died happy then and there. She snatched up her case with a quick enthusiasm.

“Whenever you want, Sir!” she said barely able to contain herself.

“Very well.” I replied, replacing my hat as I turned to go. “Meet me later today at my apartment. We’ll have lessons Monday through Friday for two hours at 12:00 in the afternoon. And please, call me Frederic.” I handed her a scrap of paper that I had written my address and number on. She pocketed it in earnest.

“I’ll be there, Mr.… uh… Frederic! Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!” She called out after me, waving her arm frantically.

“Don’t disappoint me!” I hollered with a wink and smile.

“I won’t, sir! You won’t regret this!” I chuckled to myself at the time.

I wasn’t talking about music.

***


Octavia fumbled with the lock and key as she hurriedly shoved the door to her small apartment open and slammed it shut behind her. Her flat certainly wasn’t very roomy, but it was comfortable, clean and well furnished. The peach colored walls shone brightly, absorbing the light of the sun coming in through the large French windows overlooking the Western Market district of the city in the late afternoon. She set down her cello in its case and proper place by her desk as she giggled giddily like an excited school-girl with a massive secret bursting forth from the tip of her tongue, waiting for someone to hear it. She sat down and started scribbling in her calendar, scratching off appointments that were now replaced by her education with the Court Composer himself as she uttered an excited whimper every few seconds. She almost wanted to just pick up her cello and just play for the hell of pouring out her joy to whoever would listen.

Suddenly, her euphoria was replaced by a pressing curiosity as a certain odor began to fill her nose: One that smelled unpleasantly of the process of food being turned to carbon by a scorching pan flame. The smoke filled her nostrils, prompting an uncomfortable twitch of her nose while panic began to kick in as the thought of a possible fire incinerating her beloved abode crossed her mind. She dropped her pen in a frantic fit while running to the kitchen to see what was wrong. Over the sink trying to douse a skillet of what looked like the cremated, smoking remains of a dearly departed onion was Vinyl-Scratch who could hardly hear the beeping smoke alarm with the ear buds in blasting her favorite dance tune. The look on her face was probably one of panic since her mouth was held in a tight wince showing her clenched teeth, but no clue came from those enigmatic eyes under her purple shades. But then again, she was in the middle of trying to douse the flame that consumed the pan and its contents while cursing furiously as she carelessly touched the hot skillet every few seconds. Octavia rolled her eyes.

“Third time this month, Vinyl.” She hollered, crossing her arms impatiently. Vinyl wheeled around and gasped, previously unaware of her roommate’s presence.

“Buck! Don’t bucking scare me like that Tavi!” Vinyl shouted with an angry scowl somehow mixed with a sigh of relief.

“I thought I was the only one around here allowed in the kitchen. Now you see why, I hope?” said Octavia with a smug smile. Vinyl tried to change the subject.

“Speaking of which, why are you home so early? I thought you would usually run by the music store by this time. What happened? Did your thingy break or something?”

“Cello!” said Octavia exasperatedly. “It’s called a cello! And no. It didn’t break.” Her expression changed from being annoyed to being excited to reveal her news. Vinyl raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Go on.” 

Octavia rubbed her hooves together excitedly as she told her that she would now finally be receiving a bona-fide musical education from the most important musician in Canterlot.

“DJ-Slaught3rH0rse-5?” asked Vinyl. Octavia facehoofed with a defeated sigh.

“No! Not one of those nightclub DJ’s you like! I’m talking about Frederic Horseshoepin, the Court Composer of Canterlot Castle!” Vinyl nodded her head with a blank stare, not registering any of what she had just uttered. Nevertheless, she knew it meant a lot to Octavia, so she played along. She smiled and raised her eyebrows in artificial surprise.

“That’s great news!” She said.

“I know!” replied Octavia, her eyes wide with feeling. She started talking quicker and quicker as more thoughts for the future raced through her brain. Her hooves vivaciously gestured and sawed at the air as she illuminated the possibilities of the future. “Now I’ll be able to play more instruments, and do more shows, and learn more theory! And more theory means more styles! Think of all the places I could play! Oh! Maybe even the Canterlot Garden party or even the Grand Galloping Gala! Oh wait no! I’ll even start composing and…” She stopped suddenly as Vinyl put a hoof to her mouth as she smiled almost wryly. Octavia blushed. She knew that smile. Vinyl advanced on her, gazing into her roommate’s eyes through her shades as she planted a warm kiss on her now trembling lips. Octavia smiled bashfully. Now it was her turn to change the subject.

“Umm… So what do you want to do for dinner?” she asked, eyeing the pile of burned vegetables in the sink. It was no use. Vinyl tightened the embrace.

“I think this calls for a celebration.” said Vinyl, suggestively.

“Uhh, yeah. You’re right! Let’s go out to eat shall we?” she said, starting to sweat in anticipation for what was inevitable.

“Nah, let’s celebrate right now.” said Vinyl quite seductively. She took Octavia by the hooves and spun her toward the bedroom as she laughed giddily. As fun as it was, Octavia protested another incoming embrace by Vinyl as she remembered her meeting with Mr. Horseshoepin.

“Wait, wait, wait!” she mumbled from under Vinyl’s kiss as she broke free of it. “I have to meet my new teacher in two hours.”

“So? You’ve got time.”

“But I want to be punctual! I even want to be early. I don’t want to disappoint him.” Vinyl rolled her eyes.

“Geez, Tavi you make it sound like the guy’s in love with you, is he?” Octavia chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, don’t be silly! Of course not!” she said, surrendering to Vinyl’s kiss as they stumbled into the bedroom.

She shut the door behind them.

***


As time went on, Octavia blossomed into quite the musician, to say the least. She was unfailing in attendance to her lessons and she absorbed the material like a sponge. Every weekday she would come to my apartment to better familiarize herself with the scales and technique as well as learn how to read sheet music quicker so any piece would be playable to her. Furthermore, she even ventured to let me teach her how to play the violin and the piano. She was so full of ambition and potential. It’s what continued to draw me to her. What surprised me was rate at which she learned. Her retention was quite incredible. She only needed to struggle through a page of music once before she could play it with relative ease the next. If a part from a cello suite took up seven pages of music and each page took five minutes for her to learn at first, it would mean that that it would take roughly a mere hour to be able to play it fluently! The best part of it all however, was the feeling and passion Octavia never failed to incorporate into her music. Her purple blazing eyes would flash open from time to time which always sent a shiver down my spine. Her manipulation of the cello and the bow across the instrument’s bridge was a powerful a sight as it was a sound. Her movements were fluid and deft, almost as if the cello and Octavia were mistaken to be two quantifications of a single entity. Instrument and musician in truth did not exist as two separate beings if you saw her play. She and the cello were one. It was one organism, something out of the most twisted nightmare that produced the sound of the universe, the voice of Heaven. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride swell up when I saw her stroke the strings as I had found this diamond in the rough and began to polish and cut it into a thing of beauty: 

My gem. 

Although, the only thing that bothered me was a fear that as this budding siren was the artifice in progress of my design, she wouldn’t love me as I loved her. Try as I might, she seemed oblivious to my flirts during her lessons with me where I would make a small comment on how graceful she looked when she played. She simply responded politely that she would like to continue the lesson. It seemed that subtle teasing and flirting wouldn’t work. I eventually stepped up my game and tried more ostentatious methods, such as leaving out flowers and even sweets for her. 

My heart hurt when she left without even noticing them. Still, I refused to give up by any means.

That was probably my biggest mistake.

For hours at a time, I paced to and fro in my music room trying to calculate a method for Octavia to notice me, as visions of love kept haunting me until I could stand it no longer. I decided that I needed a moment alone with her where we could talk and perhaps I could get how I felt across to her. I prayed to Celestia that it would work, for I began to fear for the day when she would no longer require my tutoring. That day, my bird would surely fly away never to be seen again. I began formulating a plan that would give me a pretext for taking Octavia out to dinner in a proper atmosphere, then hopefully, to my house again. My muse labored for quite some time until I had come up with the perfect solution.

A Nocturne.

Simple as it may sound, that was really all it would take, and I had everything planned out. I would ask her to play a duet with me in a live performance; the kind of attention she wanted to grab in this city full of potential patrons. The curtain would go up and on stage, in front of thousands of ponies would be my grand piano, the other keeper of my heart, occupied by me and my lovely protégé serenading the crowd with a touching melody. After all the applause and the shower of cheers, I would treat her to a night of drinking and atmosphere. At least, that’s how I planned it. 

The whole scenario went a little bit differently.

***


“…I still think the first and third beats of that measure should be tonic and dominant.” I suggested while pouring over a score that Octavia had been composing herself. She scratched out a few notes on the sheet of paper she was also hunched over.

“But wouldn’t it be better if the trumpets and bassoons were doubling the voices?” She made a good point. I thought for a minute as to help her decide what instruments in the orchestra should be playing with or in accompaniment to the voices of the choir. 

“Bassoons should be doubling the voices with the trombones, while trumpets play on the first and third beats with the percussion.” I said thoughtfully. She scratched out more notes and replaced them.

“Hmm, that’s good. That’s very good. Thank you, Frederic.” She said gratefully.

“By the way,” I started, shifting to the edge of my seat, “I was wondering if you were looking for a chance to perform for a crowd.” She looked up in surprise.

“Oh yes!” she said happily. “What kind of performance did you have in mind?” I knew she would leap at the opportunity to get noticed in the competitive pool of Canterlot musicians. I told her that I planned to have us play a duet of one of my Nocturnes. However, at the proposition of a duet, she turned up her nose almost in disgust.

“Oh, no, no, no!” she said hurriedly. “I won’t get noticed playing with you! Couldn’t I play the violin instead?” I was quite stunned at how she just snubbed me. But then again, it was probably my fault. She had become such an astounding phenomenon; she had a lot to be proud of. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised if she had become a little bit arrogant. 

“Why…uhh…of course. It will be a piano-violin duet then.”

***


That night, things didn’t go quite as expected.

Octavia and I practiced the piece we wanted to play that night for weeks without much of a fuss, as we both wanted perfection. As soon as we were satisfied, we agreed to perform it in honor of Nightmare Night, which turned out to be very rainy and dreary indeed. Almost immediately when I walked up the stone steps of the concert hall I saw something that froze every part of my being as I tried to register what was unfolding before me that shattered all my hopes and dreams in one fell swoop.

I saw them. Kissing.

They were standing in the vestibule between the lobby and the entrance under a plaque with the names of the theatre’s benefactors and founders engraved in the elaborately cut stone with their eyes closed, lost in each other’s conjugation. I barely had time to say anything when a stage manager called for five minutes until the curtain. I ripped my eyes from the horrible sight and staggered down the hallway to backstage feeling faint, trying to comprehend what I had just witnessed. The following, tortuous moments were a blur before I found myself sitting on a bench before my piano behind the apron. I shook violently with a frightening convulsion when I saw her taking her place behind me with a violin under her chin. She glanced at me and smiled with a happy anticipation for the show while I languished in shock. She obviously had the world going for her, with a budding career ahead of her with fans, money, admiration, a lover. A chill ran down my spinal cord as she made a final inspection of her instrument to make sure it was tuned.

“Bitch.” I growled under my breath. With a courteous applause, the curtain rose.

I struck the first chord on the keyboard with shaky hooves and a feeling of panic that I might make a mistake with unsure hoofwork. But then again, my mind was on anything but this damn concert for a crowd of stuffy Canterlot ponies. When I saw her smile plainly at me as she raised her fiddle, I do believe that I experienced a feeling worse than death. Nevertheless, I somehow managed to play the piece as we practiced. Everything was almost serene as the only sound to be heard was my piano.

Until Octavia came in with her violin.

It took all of my willpower not to recoil at the sound and ruin the concert, though I could feel my ears folding, not wanting to hear anything she played anymore. I felt as though I were falling through an endless abyss. I felt sick. It was a miracle that I somehow managed to methodically play the song with a passion. The only difference in the passion between this moment and the weeks before was where my emotion came from. Before, I played the melody with the happy hopefulness of being with my beautiful student. Now I stuck the notes with a pain and anguish bursting forth from my shattered soul.  

Of course I knew I could never have her now. That was obvious! What kept sending shivers across every fiber of my being was the unyielding desire to be with her still. I would never be able to get her out of my head. The storm in my mind of rational defeatism clashing with the violent wave of my unrelenting want sent me into a cold sweat. I detected a lump in my throat as the serenading violin made me shudder once again as I thought of my misfortune. I still felt her and saw her no matter how tight I shut my eyes. She penetrated my thoughts with visions and fantasies of disordered blankets strewn about under our bodies as I gently caressed her.  I felt drops of hot tears force themselves from my eyelids at the thought of all I cared for in the world being torn from my grasp. I opened my bloodshot eyes to a frightening sight:

That monster, beautiful as ever.

Once again, she manipulated the fiddle with such a grace that stoked the fire of my envy for that trashy DJ pony with a smug grin on her face in the audience under purple shades. She was no doubt watching her lover as I did, fused with the violin as the single being that, once again, scratched out the tears of angels that echoed across the dark theater. The steel strings of her fiddle were on eye level with those purple eyes that flashed open almost directly at me. At that, I panicked even more for I genuinely felt as though I were having a heart attack, as it was all but cleft in twain. I foolishly peered further into her eyes, into her soul that I now hated but lusted after all the same. The tears were pouring now, but I was powerless to look away.  I was staring through the cage of those metal violin strings at an absolute beauty.

That is, a beauty that would never be mine.

I wondered what wrong I had done by Celestia that I deserved this. Did I, in fact, commit some egregious sin? Was she actually testing me? Or was this some sort of lesson in humility by some sick game of her craft and amusement? It made no sense to me why she would choose to punish me so. In this fashion even! She was destroying me from the inside, building up my expectations and then utterly shattering them. I feared that this ordeal would never end, and that haunting images of Octavia would forever torment me.

I put the thought to rest as I tried to get through the rest of the Nocturne while maintaining my composure. It proved to be difficult however; I don’t think a single pony in the audience that night didn’t notice how shaken I must have looked. My pupils were shrunken in angst. I must have had a slight slight seizure every time Octavia bowed a screechy chromatic progression. I tried to focus only on the piano by keeping my ears folded and shutting my eyes. I tried anything that would keep me from hearing those accursed, beautiful sounds coming from her violin. I desperately tried keep anypony from seeing how distraught I was. However, with a stream of hot tears continually forcing themselves from my sockets, I couldn’t help but try to wipe them dry.

As we neared the end of the piece that took on a slightly happier note, I wished with all my heart that such would be the case with my predicament, and that all hope was not yet lost that I could, in the end, be happy. The audience began to clap slowly and few at a time with a gradual increase to a hearty applause. It became deafening as I felt something hit me softly on the head. Startled, I looked down to see what had fallen into my lap. A red rose lay there with its rich pedals peeling and falling off from the force of the impact. Such a gesture would have warmed my heart again until I turned around toward Octavia. It seems that I merely caught a bad throw that was meant for the violinist.  Dozens of scores of roses by the bouquet were piling up at her feet as she took a bow. The stage around her was littered with roses of red, white, and every color in between. She stretched out her arms haughtily and bowed once more with a triumphant look on her face.

“Octavia!” I heard them all shout as the roses kept leaping out at her from the dark theater. What about me? What about my flower?

“Octavia!” Was I nothing to them now? No roses except that spare one landed near me. They cheered louder still. 

“Octavia! Octavia!” I felt myself grow faint as I got up and trotted hurriedly backstage. I thought I saw her motion to me with a touch of concern.

“Frederic, wait!” She hollered over the roar of applause. “Didn’t you want me to see something with you?” I didn’t hear her. I clumsily stumbled to the back door out into the cold air. I tried resting for a moment on the railing down the steps as my sight was nothing but a blur. As soon I could manage to stand, I stumbled drunkenly to my apartment. I felt as though I were intoxicated, not with happy hour whisky, but the bitter spirits of shock and mourning. I lunged through the door of my flat and all but collapsed on the floor. No doubt the papers tomorrow would read of the great and powerful performance by the magnificent Octavia, the rising star of Canterlot. I broke into tears again as I cried myself to sleep that night.

“Damn foals!” I sobbed. “Damn foals!”

***



The door to Octavia’s apartment swung open as a wave of the laughter of tipsy ponies flooded the entrance. The violinist, blushing with a generous night of drinks in her blood, danced goofily into the hallway with Vinyl cracking up on her shoulder with a host of guests parading behind them, cackling like hyenas. The air began to become saturated with the smell of gin and cheap beer as there wasn’t a single member of that party who didn’t have a bit of the hard stuff in their stomachs. Their laughter shook the walls of the small flat, no doubt to the annoyance of the neighbors trying to sleep at this late hour. Octavia held her hoof up clumsily for attention as she tried to catch her breath in between chuckles.

“No, no, wait! It gets better!” she said as she brushed her now messy hair from a night of celebration out of her face. “As soon as she was done mouthing off to me I actually said this!” She threw her head back in a regal fashion and cleared her throat. “AND WE WONDER IF THINE MAJESTY HAS’T EVER HEARD SUCH MUSIC BEFORE ON THE MOON!” she imitated. The party erupted in uncontrollable guffawing again as a few spilled their drinks onto the floor while holding their sides.

“You should have seen her face!” Vinyl chimed in, gasping for air. “I swear she was gonna bust a gasket! I thought she was gonna send Tavi to the moon!” Her lover took another rather ungraceful swig of beer and threw the empty bottle to the floor while tossing herself onto the couch littered with concertos in every key from A sharp minor to B.

“Ah, buck ‘er!” she slurred. “And besides, I’m kind of tired. Should we all call it a night?” The small crowd muttered in agreement with phrases affirming their tiredness as well, how they should be getting back home, complaining about the bucking hangover they’ll all have in the morning, etc. The door shut with the last member of the tag-a-long party filing out with an abrupt slam. Vinyl caught her roommate starting to doze off on the couch and playfully woke her up with a tap on the stomach. Octavia woke up and smiled lovingly at Vinyl who was stroking her shoulder with a back-and-forth motion.

“You really did it tonight, Tavi!” whispered Vinyl. Octavia closed her eyes again let out a satisfied sigh.

“Yep!” she said while stretching her arms out. “You should have seen how many people in the audience were trying to get my autograph!”

“And better yet, how many are gonna be practically throwing money at you now!” Octavia looked perplexed.

“For what?” 

“For your services!” said Vinyl, rolling her eyes at how hammered Octavia was. “You can be hired as a maestro, or you can even have students now that you have a reputation.” Now it was Octavia’s turn to roll her eyes.

“I would rather Canterlot hear my music, since they love me so much.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t want to conduct, or have students! I want to compose and play at important Canterlot social events.” Vinyl grew a little concerned. She didn’t know much about the workings of Canterlot’s “upper” musical society. Nor was she the type to really care that much about money. But she did know that composition and work in social gatherings didn’t bring as many bits as teaching or conducting. However, she brushed the thought away as she trusted Tavi to know what she was doing. She had, after all, managed to hold on to this nice apartment. Vinyl only hoped that she wouldn’t let a more popular lifestyle drive her to spend more than they could afford. As she dismissed the thought of an irresponsible Octavia at that moment she stood up and poured herself yet another jigger of scotch. Vinyl rolled her eyes again impatiently.

“Tavi, I think you’ve had enough of that stuff for one night! I don’t envy the headache you’re gonna have in the morning.” Octavia whirled around, spilling the contents of her highball glass carelessly.

“Bucking chill out, will you?” she mumbled as she brought the glass to her lips.

Geez, and I thought I was a heavy drinker. I’ve never seen her act like this before. Vinyl tried a different approach.

“Well, we should at least go to bed then, don’t you think?” she suggested almost timidly as Octavia downed the rest of the whisky. When the contents of the glass were in her stomach, diffusing into her blood, she opened her eyes with a wicked smile pointed at her lover.

“Good idea.” She chuckled almost sinisterly. With that, she set down her glass and advanced on Vinyl, sandwiching her between herself and the bedroom. She gave Vinyl a playful push that sent her landing on the bed with a loud Thwump! Octavia shut the bedroom door behind her and pounced on her marefriend.

Sleep was that last thing she had in mind.

***


The light of a new day shone through the window into my living room onto the bust of its bringer, a wooden statue of Princess Celestia rearing on her hind legs with her majestic wings spread out. I had received it as a gift a while back from the ruler of Equestria herself as a present to show thanks for my teaching service (A bit of an ego trip if you ask me). The hardwood bust, about half the size of a young mare, rested on my piano, basking in the glory of the morning sun brought about by she whom the statue honored.

I knelt before it, my head resting in my arms as I held them up together in supplication. Beside me was the morning’s paper I had dropped to the floor, open to the Arts and Entertainment section. A review in there of last night’s performance had lauded the both of us, mostly that fillyfooler though. Octavia was praised as a new sublime violinist and masterful cellist, new on the scene of Canterlot’s musical society; a musician easy on the eyes as well as on the ears. Surely she is worthy of any patron’s attention now. No doubt she would be flocked to for commissions. When asked of her interest in pupils, she had given no comment. The article merely credited me for another good performance, praising my tearful emotion that was quite interesting.

“Damn foals…” I muttered once more. I took a deep breath and gazed at the statue bathed in sunlight that made it glow and whispered my supplication:

Princess, I prayed, I do not know why you have stuck me such a terrible blow. I do not know, nor do I venture to reason why you have brought that angel into my life that I so desired only to snatch her away from me. I only ask of you to acknowledge that I am humble now. I have changed for the better, I promise you. Please… I whispered still with more tears forming in my eyes. Please get her out of my life. I don’t care how. May she be successful in whatever she does, and may the winds of fortune always be at her back. Just please send her away. Let her find a position in Manehattan or Philydelphia. Anywhere but where I can lay eyes upon her. I can’t take the heartbreak anymore Your Highness. Please. 

At that, I rose to begin my day. I always started with playing one of my most favorite Etudes that I composed for about a minute. I smiled at the whimsical tune as I remembered that I would have more spare time on my hooves than usual today. It was reassuring to get back into a routine. I spent the morning practicing piano solos for upcoming performances while also taking some time to jot down ideas for various compositions I was working on, though I threw the scores down angrily at one point. Partly because inspiration eluded me that morning, but also because I had remembered how nopony seemed to be cheering me on at that performance the night before. I had gotten the poisonous idea into my head that they would no longer care for my music. Such a thought frightened me at the time. And yet I foolishly thought that the Princess would never break her end of the deal we had. I brushed the thought aside. The rest of my morning was spent with the dozen or so students I had scheduled for a practice session. Octavia wasn’t one of them. She had informed me before that she appreciated all I had done, but my tutoring was no longer required. Good riddance was all I could think to say after she had left.

After I had dispatched my teaching duties for the day, I had the delight of being able to attend the premiere performance of Fiddler on the Hoof down at the theater. As I turned onto the intersection between Oat Street and Luna Avenue, my walk became quite unpleasant. It seemed that Octavia had become quite the celebrity quickly in this town. Images of her were plastered up on billboards. Her name was flashing and blaring from lights above the street corners. 

Music shops were hawking cellos that now sold like hotcakes, as they were the new rage now for any musician who wanted to be like her. I angrily pulled my cloak over my shoulders and tipped my hat down, covering my eyes as I trudged through the slush and snow and crowd of ponies engaged in pouring over tabloids of the new cellist sensation known as “Octavimania.” I thought I would never hear the end of it until I finally reached the theater and turned in my ticket to go to the upper levels. I breathed out a sigh of relief to be free to forget about life for an hour or two as I sat down in my opera box and shook the snow out of my shoes. The performance was quite a touching story involving a village of ponies in land east of Canterlot near Stalliongrad. However, in the middle of If I Were a Rich Colt, I noticed a rustle coming from the royal opera box next to mine reserved for Celestia and her sister. Suddenly, the regal Princess herself came through the curtain and peered down at the stage. This was quite a strange occurrence. The Princess almost never had any time to herself, never mind an afternoon to spend at the performance center, although, she didn’t seem too interested in the show. She kept scanning the opera boxes until she caught me looking her way. She subtly jerked her head to the left, beckoning me to join her in the box. It seemed she had come on matters of business she wanted to discuss with me. I only wondered what she wanted to talk about that she had tracked me down at the performance as she let me in past the guards. Whatever it was, it must have been quite important.

“Please, sit.” She motioned to the extra seat meant for her sister. It felt a bit insubordinative to be sitting in Princess Luna’s place, but I obliged the ruler of Equestria. She took her own seat beside me and didn’t say anything for a few minutes, like she was gathering her thoughts in order to figure out a way to carefully articulate them. I sat there, shifting uncomfortably in Luna’s chair floundering to guess what was on the Princess’ mind that she seemed so somber about. I wasn’t worried that she would fire me or none the like. I just wish she wasn’t so severe. Finally, she turned her head to me.

“I need your help Mr. Horseshoepin.” she began quietly. “Do you think you can assist me?”

“To the best of my ability, Your Highness. What is it you need my help with?” She motioned to an extra seat on her left. I noticed somepony else who had followed the Princess sitting there, looking bored out of his mind, half paying attention to us and the other half drolly watching the show. I recognized him as her nephew, Prince Blueblood. I had never really made his acquaintance before now. He always seemed to be in a sour mood whenever I saw him, that is, whenever he was among the common folk. I figured he was one of those snooty upper crust types that it was best to stay away from. He turned his head lazily my way and nodded, acknowledging my presence. Then with an annoyingly loud yawn, he shifted his glazed eyes back to the show. It was quite obvious he had absolutely no desire to be here right now. Celestia cleared her throat again, a bit miffed at her nephew’s rudeness.

“You’ve met my nephew, haven’t you? Give Mr. Horseshoepin your salutations, Blueblood. Be polite!” Blueblood shifted slightly in his chair, as if he considered turning my way but thought better of it.

“That’s quite alright, Princess. I see moving too often is a bit of a strain for him.” I said loudly enough for the Prince to hear. He snorted indignantly, but made no motion to respond. Celestia chuckled quietly.

“Indeed. Though I believe I brought him here against his will.” She said, shaking her head disappointedly at her relative.

“Pray tell, what for, Your Highness if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ve decided that my nephew should take up music and try his hoof at an instrument.” This was too much for the grumpy Prince who wheeled around to face his aunt, his cheeks red with anger and probably embarrassment.

“I told you, I don’t want to take up another one of your useless “skills,” dear aunt!” he said too loudly for the auditorium, as a few patrons looked out way, perplexed and annoyed. Celestia glared at him.

“And I told you, a true statesmare or stallion is well versed in many different fields that gain him the admiration of his followers and suitors: Fields such as History, Martial Arts, Philosophy, Literature, and Music to name a few, and I am growing very impatient at your resistance to broadening your horizons as a member of the royal family! I am now done asking that you cooperate. I am commanding you to do so! Now be quiet!” she hissed. Her horn subtly glowed with a faint, gold aura. The next instant, a look of panic washed over Blueblood’s face as he held his hoof up to his mouth, finding that he was unable to open it to back sass Celestia. The shock of his aunt’s silence spell made him noisily fall to the floor. He got up with a muffled yelp and ran out the door. I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the Prince getting what he richly deserved. Celestia looked down and sighed almost remorsefully.

“I’m terribly sorry you had to bear witness to that little display Mr. Horseshoepin.” She said wistfully. Indeed, I felt bad knowing that it must have been quite embarrassing for her.

“It never happened.” I said crossing my heart. She smiled thankfully. “Now, as Your Majesty was saying?

“I was saying that I wanted my nephew to take up the art of music. I wanted your counsel on this issue, seeing that he needs a teacher.” As unpleasant as Blueblood was, a student was a student with bits to pay all the same. And money was always a useful thing to have in your pocket. I was happy that Celestia had charged me with the task of teaching another member of royalty that would indeed pay quite handsomely.

“Your Majesty!” I said with an air of pleasant surprise, “I’d be honored to teach your nephew.” Celestia shifted her eyes back and forth in a moment of awkward silence.

“Um… I was thinking of employing Miss Octavia.”

I won’t bother to describe the feeling of rage that passed up through my spine like an electric current and heated the filament of my cheeks, turning them a cherry red that I had to stifle in front of my boss. I wasn’t quite sure whether to think that Celestia had completely ignored my prayer, or to consider the possibility that my prayer hadn’t been uttered with the utmost sincerity. It was known that Prayer was a strange medium of communication with the princess. As a goddess, Celestia had could hear what transpired on a divine, cosmic plane of existence that was inhabited by the gods that had ruled Equestria long before her. In that plane was also the essence of prayer of those living in this world, each prayer flying about on its own like globs of wax in a lava lamp. But only those prayers that were pure would be clear to her. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt that what I had said that morning could very well have been missed by her royal ears. Nevertheless, don’t think for a moment that I was going to simply let that fillyfooler have a place in Canterlot Castle. I wouldn’t be able to bear it; to have something I longed for so constantly be right in front of me and yet out of my grasp. 

“Well.” I began, clearing my throat, “I certainly see why she would be a viable candidate.”

“Candidate?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Surely we wouldn’t want to choose a teacher for Your Majesty’s nephew based on fleeting favoritism, but rather on his or her worth.” Celestia wasn’t convinced.

“And you believe Miss Octavia isn’t worthy of teaching Blueblood?” She whispered.

“No, no, not at all. I simply meant that there are other viable musicians in Canterlot to choose from. If it pleases Your Highness, I would set up a committee with some of my most trusted colleagues to advertise for the post and to judge whoever comes and to select the finest teacher we can find.”

“I see.” She said quietly. “Well, that settles that, then! I appreciate your dedication, Mr. Horseshoepin. Please tell me when you have selected a teacher.” She got up from her ornate chair and prepared to head back to the palace to continue managing her daily affairs.

“Won’t you stay for the second part, Your Highness? This show is quite splendid.” I suggested in a friendly fashion. Celestia shook her head regretfully.

“My apologies, Mr. Horseshoepin, but I really must be getting back to the Castle. I believe I have a very indignant nephew waiting for me.”

As she left, I gave a small polite bow and sat back in Luna’s chair, left alone for the end of the first act, seething over the fact that Octavia would never leave now. She would always be in Canterlot if she had that position. I made a promise to myself right there that either Octavia would be out of my life, or I would make hers in this city miserable.

I vowed to destroy Octavia, my love, my most bitter rival, my most hated enemy.




> Act 2: Crescendo, Diminuendo 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 2


“The only detail that troubled me was the method on how I would go about doing it.” said Frederic, shifting in his wheelchair. “How does one do that, father? How does somepony actually kill another? In calculating, cold blood no less.” The pony priest shuddered, much to the macabre amusement of Horseshoepin. 

“Yes, indeed.” He continued. “I began having very…violent thoughts.” At this the old gelding started to cough horribly as he wheezed and gasped for air. The priest stood up to try and assist. Horseshoepin eventually recovered and waved him away.

“I’m fine!” He gagged. “Just a bit short of breath. If you want to assist, just help me lie down on the bed over there.” The priest lifted the old pony out of his wheelchair and placed his frail body on the small hospital cot in the corner of the room. Frederic pulled the comforter over himself and let out a final cough before clearing his throat once more.

“Pity.” He whispered through a wheeze. “I’m too weak to even sit up now. I hope I’ll get to play a Nocturne one last time…” he trailed off looking at the spinet on the other side of the room. “But where was I? Ah yes, that’s right. How was I to carry out the task of destroying Octavia?”

With a drawn out sigh of exhaustion, he finally gathered his thoughts to continue.


***


At first, I had no intention of even laying a hoof on her. When Celestia suggested that she be admitted to teach her nephew, I only aimed to make sure that I would never have to lay eyes on that mare again. I would do everything in my power to make sure she didn’t get that position. By and by, the committee consisting of me and a few other miscellaneous ministers and prominent musicians put out the word for an opportunity to teach royalty. I could just as easily have had myself recommended to the post; however that would be a bit self-serving and underhanded. I also didn’t envy the poor soul who would have to be patient enough to teach Blueblood, no matter how well the job paid. Eventually, I chanced to see Octavia’s application resting on my desk. The only part of it that caught my eye was the difference in hoofwriting. I saw Octavia’s beautiful, formal penmanship when I taught her how to write scores of music. It contrasted sharply with the sloppy chicken scratch etched hurriedly on the form, it was embarrassing to have such a document resting with the others. Nevertheless, I didn’t look twice at it for weeks until one day, I received an unexpected visitor. 

That morning, I had been practicing a waltz that I was composing when I heard my servant knock on my chamber door. The matter must have been serious since he knew well not to interrupt me when I practiced.

“Come in.” I hollered. He cracked open the door timidly.

“Begging your pardon, Monsieur, but there is a lady outside who wants to speak with you. I told her you were busy but she says it’s urgent.” I clicked my tongue.

“Did she say what her name was?” The meek lad shifted uncomfortably on his hooves.

“Sh-she gave no name, Monsieur. She only said that she needs to speak with you.” I sighed, rather annoyed at the intrusion in my morning routine. I thanked my servant and sent him back to his chores. Trotting into the living room, I half-expected Octavia to be standing there, but who I found standing in my doorway was almost as bad.

“Hi there, Mr. Horseshoepin. I don’t think we’ve met before. My name is Vinyl Scratch.” I didn’t need to be reminded. That horrible scene of that DJ kissing my beloved Octavia flashed before my eyes, all too fresh in my consciousness. Her purple shades seemed to hit me like a wall, sending me back into the abyss of my nightmare in a dark purple haze. I forced the corners of my mouth to turn up to put on a friendly air.

“Why, what a pleasant surprise!” I exclaimed artificially. “I remember you. You’re Octavia’s friend, right?” She nodded her head quickly.

“Yes, sir.” She said earnestly. “I was wondering if you had a moment to spare.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t a moment to myself this morning, my dear. Soon I have to review more applications for the royal position.” She looked about with concern, like she had been followed or as if somepony was watching her. Either way, it was clear from her expression that she knew she didn’t have much time. She wasn’t supposed to be here. However, she pressed further.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. Did you by any chance see an application from her?” I was becoming slightly annoyed at this point.

“Yes, I saw it. I look forward to reviewing it. If I like what I see, I’ll report it to the Princess.” I said, turning to head back into my chamber. She held up an insistent hoof.

“But that’s just it!” She called urgently. “Could you please do it soon though?”

“But I must review her application like the others all the same.” She moved closer with a pleading look on her face.

“Please. She really needs this position. But… the thing is… I don’t think she wants it. You see, she wasn’t the one who turned hers in. I did it.” The chicken scratch made sense then. This was all her doing.

“Then Octavia didn’t send you?”

“No sir. In fact, she would be frantic if she found out I was here.” My interest was piqued. How could such a budding musician such as Octavia not want a position as illustrious as this one? I had no intention of giving it to her, but I felt my curiosity tug further all the same.

“Go on, my dear.” I said slowly. “Why would you do all this behind her back? Doesn’t your friend want students?” She sighed like a mother sighs worriedly over her child. Despite the resentment I held against her, to see how much she cared for Octavia warmed my heart.

“That’s the problem, sir. She never wants students. She never wants to do anything that will bring in some money.”

“Is she not working?”

“Oh no! She works all day long at her desk. Sheets and sheets of music keep piling up.” She giggled a bit at the thought of her Tavi buried under a mountain of musical scores with just her quill sticking from the summit. However, just as soon as she smiled, a grave look returned to her face.

The waltz still rang in my mind.

“It’s just… I’m really worried about her.” Her voice began to crack and she started to sniffle. “She writes and writes but never acknowledges me. She’s just not the same Tavi I know.” This was a bit too much for the DJ pony who had tears leaking out from behind her shades as she buried her face in her shoulder. I truly felt sorry for her. But I had to know more of what was going on. I knelt down and put a hoof on her shoulder.

“There there now. Come dry your eyes and tell me what’s wrong.” She took off her sunglasses revealing her irises of striking red that branched out into her bloodshot eyes. Poor thing must have been heartbroken and sick with worry.

“She’s slipping from reality!” She cried through a sob. “Money just slips through her hooves and I already had to sell a lot of my equipment, and Celestia knows she would never sell her cello. I can’t reason with her! She even made me sell my bass cannon! She’s been drinking more and more and I can’t stop her.” She blew her nose and tried to stop the waterworks with the same tissue. Her look of despair turned into a grave scowl.

“And you know what I think?” She continued. “I think it’s all this attention gone to her head. I never thought she would let it all, but…” she trailed off and continued to cry.

“But what can I do to help?” I asked dubiously. She looked up with impossibly wide eyes moist with tears and beseeched me.

“Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Horseshoepin. Let her have the position! I thought that maybe if Tavi had a real job it would calm her down a bit. It would get her back on track. Please!” She broke off.

What in Equestria was Celestia up to? She brings up Octavia, the voice of heaven, to a name of fame and thus tears down the lives of those around her? First me, then Vinyl. Who was to be next? I figured that for the good of others, it would be best to swallow my own heartbreak and consider letting Octavia have the position. But first, I needed to see if Celestia was, indeed, a fair being. Surely now that I was willing to consent and let that fillyfooler have the damn position, by Celestia’s works, Octavia would want the job after all. It’s not as though she wanted to destroy those around her. I prayed for the influence of Celestia over her consciousness to make the right decision. Otherwise, it would become clear that my enemy was not only Octavia, but somepony else. Namely, a certain manipulative, cruel princess of Equestria. That is, unless she would fix it all: Get Octavia’s life back in order with the job, and keep up her end of our deal to keep my name famous in all of Equestria, for the thought still haunted me that Canterlot would one day simply stop caring for my music. 

“Go home.” I said softly. “And tell Octavia that I’m ready to give her the position.” She leaped up in the air for joy and embraced me in sheer gratitude. I felt horrible.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Frederic! I don’t even know what to say. I’ll head home and-” 

“But first, you must ask her if she wants it. Get her to place her signature, her real signature, on this application.” I said giving her back the sheet of paper with the forged penmanship scribbled on the lines. Vinyl looked worried.

“But sir, what if she doesn’t want to sign it? Can’t you just accept her anyway?”

“Princess Celestia must have her proper signature for legal purposes.” I lied. Vinyl gingerly took the paper in her hoof and slipped it into her saddlebag. But she remained frozen.

“But, what if this doesn’t work out still?”

In the name of Justice, it had better. I thought to myself. I will always regret the words I uttered next, but I still had to have some way of knowing if Octavia refused. I needed a way to convince Vinyl to come back. Though, believe me, I never wanted to hurt the poor girl. It was the only way.

“Then come back again tonight.” I said quietly. She looked puzzled.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Come again tonight.” I repeated. “If she refused to sign the application, then I’m sure I can get around the rules. For a price…” I cooed while stroking her shoulder.  “Come tonight. Alone.” She looked very uncomfortable as she understood what I was asking her.

“I-I’m faithful to Octavia, sir!”

“I know. You obviously care for her well-being very much. If you do so, and if she has not signed the document, then come again tonight.” I said growing stern. “And to be blunt, that is the price for a job in Canterlot.” I left her on the floor of my living room as I walked back into my chamber and shut the door. I glared at the bust of the sun goddess on my piano resting on its pedestal in the afternoon sunshine, though many thick, grey, menacingly dark clouds were moving across the horizon. A storm was brewing.

“Your choice.” I said to the wooden goddess menacingly.


***


Vinyl found the door to their apartment slightly ajar. From the crack she could see Octavia perched at her desk continuing to scribble away at a score of music with her cello propped up awkwardly against her chest. Every few seconds she would put down the quill to take up her bow and play through a progression of notes before switching utensils once more to record what she had played. Outside the windows came a pitter patter of rain pouring forth from the evening sky. Small flashes of light in the distance with faint intermittent booms indicated that the storm was quickly approaching. Vinyl opened the door more to take in the full view, which wasn’t a pretty one. Collections of sheet music littered the floor of a room that had started to become bare and stripped of its furniture to pay the bills. Where their two couches sat was now the floor bare of all but a mixed multitude of symphonic scores in A minor. Where their table stood was now the space littered with empty bottles of hard liquor and more sheet music. The discolored wall that once held Octavia’s pictures that had been passed down for generations was now riddled with unsightly cracks revealing drywall and plaster. The bookcase that once contained Octavia’s books and Vinyl’s favorite records now only held a misplaced mass of more bottles of cheap gin and collection notices that were months overdue. Such a sight saddened Vinyl once more who still couldn’t believe that this ended up happening, for she noticed the most heart-wrenching absence of all.

At Octavia’s desk used to sit the happy, charming mare who would scold her, flirt with her, fight with her, and love her. Now sitting there was an empty shell with Octavia’s charcoal hair disheveled, and Octavia’s cello madly scratching out a descending harmonic minor scale. That thing sitting in Octavia’s chair reeked of whisky and frequently cursed under her breath. She had been pale as a ghost for the past few months, coming down with some sort of sickness due to fatigue and no doubt, the amount of alcohol she consumed on a daily basis that couldn’t have been helping matters. Vinyl almost sobbed again as she stared at what she was convinced was her lover possessed by some demon that shut her off. However, she stifled her fear and tried to remain firm as she cleared her throat.

“Tavi?” she said rather meekly. Octavia grunted and turned around, not letting go of her quill.

“Yes?” she inquired, rather annoyed at the interruption.

“I assume you’ve heard that their offering a job at the castle to teach the prince music.”

“I’ve heard.” she said, clearly uninterested in what Vinyl was saying. She turned back to scribbling on the sheet of paper resting on the desk before her. 

“Well, I think that you would be very good for the job, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure. Not that I really give a buck, that is.” Vinyl despaired, but tried to press further.

“And why not?” she snapped, trying her best to put on a confident air. “What do you want us to do about money, hmm? 
How are we supposed to live? Why are you so resistant about having students? That’s all I want to know!” Octavia wheeled around, growing more impatient with each passing second.

“I told you, pupils get in the way. I won’t have enough time for composing my music.”

“But how do you expect to make money off of those if you never publish them?!” Octavia rolled her eyes in disgust.

“I can’t find a decent publisher in this bucking town who appreciates good music!”

“What are you talking about?” cried Vinyl, “They all wanted to publish your beautiful work!”

“But none of them would cut me any more than 5 percent of the profits! That’s highway robbery! I expect no less than 15 percent.” Vinyl tried not to scream in frustration over Octavia’s ridiculous arrogance and self-appraisal. Indeed, she was right. The fame that had gone to Tavi’s head gave her a silly notion that she could get away with a ludicrous cut of the profits of published music at the mercy of the publishing companies. How ironic it was that Octavia was now famous with thousands willing to purchase her music, but she refused to let anypony publish it. Vinyl tried in vain to drill the idea into Octavia’s skull.

“What good is your music to anypony if you won’t publish them? How can you expect patrons to come eating out of the flat of your hoof if you don’t give them a taste first?” Octavia chuckled like she thought her lover to be charmingly naïve.

“They love me here. They’ll come anyway.” Vinyl only scowled still at her foolishness.

A clap of thunder sent a rattling tremor through the room.

“No they won’t. I thought you of all ponies knew how things work here in this town.” Octavia grew increasingly incensed.

“And what are you, a bucking talent agent?” She snapped. Vinyl drew back a few steps, visibly hurt. After a brief moment of defeated silence she tried stepping back in and putting a comforting shoulder on her lover who ignored her, constantly scribbling a measure of eighth notes for every bar of a syncopated rising scale.

“I just want things to be the way they were.” She pleaded softly. Octavia only stared at her composition in frustration over a miscalculation in the beat. “Can’t you see that you’re not the same mare I fell in love with?” Vinyl begged further. Octavia only snorted in apathy. It became too much for Vinyl who snatched the application out of her saddlebag and slammed it down on the desk.

“Look.” she stated firmly. “Here is the application I turned in for you. Mr. Horseshoepin -you still have some respect for him don’t you? -is willing to let you have this well-paying job that other musicians would kill for, Tavi. Do you understand? Kill for! Please tell me that you’ll sign it and put your life back in order!” Vinyl pleaded on the verge of tears. 

“Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, NAG!” yelled Octavia. “I don’t need your advice on how to live my life, thank you very much! I think I know what I’m doing. I’m composing the greatest music ever to exist in Equestria. My fame will know no bounds and we’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams! I don’t need to waste my time trying to teach a spoiled prince my art form! Now leave me to my work! I don’t need him, I don’t need Horseshoepin, and I don’t need you! I DON’T NEED ANYPONY!” A clap of thunder shook the shutters, breaking a moment of deadly silence.

“I can’t believe I thought you were made of better stuff than that, Octavia! I thought you were modest! I thought you cared about us!” Octavia slammed her hoof down on the desk, upsetting the inkwell which spilled its contents on her chest.

“Go to bed!” bellowed the cellist who ignored the dark stain running across her heart. Vinyl only became indignant.

“Not until you sign it!”

“No!”

“Sign it!”

“No!” exclaimed Octavia in a perfect scream. Vinyl paused, and then gathered her voice once more as she prepared to deliver the coup de grâce.

“Either you sign it, Tavi, or I’m leaving you, plain and simple.” Her lover rose in a fit of anger and stared her down with a fire of rage burning in her deep, purple eyes enveloped in an inferno.

“How dare you talk to me like that.” She said quietly, her voice simmering through gritted teeth. An instant later, she reared onto her hind legs and bellowed for all she was worth.

“You don’t talk to me like that, you slut!” she yelled as she brought her cello bow down across Vinyl’s face with a mighty Thwack! Snap! As the bow connected with Vinyl’s cheek, sending her now broken purple shades flying across the room with the shattered lenses falling to the floor in a space of time that appeared to be in slow motion, the wood of the bow broke. Vinyl stumbled backwards and nearly fell over. She reached her hoof up to her face and felt the splinters lodged in her wounds that drew blood running down across her left eye mixed with tears. All that followed was a moment frozen in time where the bleeding Vinyl could only stare up at her infuriated roommate who continued to seethe. But gradually, Octavia’s shock and guilt over what she had done began to sober her up as she came to realize what had come over her. She glanced at the two pieces of wood in her hoof that dangled together by the strings of horsehair, then at her bleeding lover in horror. Octavia opened her mouth weakly to try and apologize, but words failed her as Vinyl slowly managed to stand up and make her way to the door with Octavia’s application replaced in the saddlebag. Octavia stuttered.

“I…”

“No.” interrupted Vinyl. “Don’t say anything. This isn’t you. I know this isn’t you.” She swiftly turned to head out the door. Octavia quickly held up a hoof in protest.

“Wait!” she cried. “You’re not… leaving me are you? Please don’t leave me alone.” Vinyl stood taller and tried to maintain her composure.

“Of course I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be here for you. I’m just going to make things right, that’s all. I wish you would do the same.” And without another word, she left for Frederic’s apartment. Octavia felt herself go cold; looking at the state her life had come to with an empty flat, and a broken bow. She had all but collapsed to her knees, growing faint and wincing as she felt a lump in her throat that soon manifested itself as a stream of tears.

“I’m so sorry Vinyl.” 


***


For the longest time in my life that night did I sit in my music room and not play even one note. I sat there at my piano for an eternity wondering whether or not she would return. I only stared out my window and tried to stare beyond the blackness of the storm. The only sound to be heard was the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof accompanied by the occasional earthshattering thunderclap that made the whole building tremor, it must have been the center of the storm. Try as I might, I hadn’t the heart nor the patience to try and practice any piece, whether it had been a Scherzo, Mazurka, Sonata, or Ballade. I was far too anxious with the sight of the wooden bust of Celestia staring down at me. I could have sworn that piece of wood even developed a sick, twisted smile aimed my way as it smirked sinisterly. I became utterly frightened and desperately tried to convince myself in all righteous fidelity that this was simply my imagination, and that I must not lose faith yet in the Princess. I decided to pray once more:

Celestia, I whispered, I’ve done all I can now. I have dedicated my life to music in your cause. Now, I have shown my humility. Please let that DJ pony walk into my apartment with a signed application. I swear on all I hold dear that I will give Octavia the royal position. Just please let my name live on in fame as you promised. Don’t let my service to you be all for naught. Let me still know that you love me and cherish my work. Give Octavia the strength to overcome her pride for the sake of those who love her, and give me the strength to forgive her. Please, so that I know you are good, O goddess. Please.

Silence: The sound that drives a musician mad was all I heard. The bust never responded.

Please…

Then, so suddenly, there came a sharp knocking at my chamber door that startled me into a cold sweat. Just then, my servant again timidly poked his head through the crack.

“Umm… Monsieur? The lady from this afternoon is here again.” After hearing those words I could practically hear my heart pounding out of my chest as I felt my stomach twist into a vile knot. I cleared my throat and tried to regain my composure.

“Thank you, my boy. That will be all.” I said straightening my bow-tie. As he closed the door again I felt stuck in that moment of dread and angst in time like a Precambrian mosquito trapped in a bulbous conglomeration of tree sap for all eternity. I edged toward the door to the living room hoping and praying to the gods for all I was worth that Vinyl had returned with the signed document. While creeping over to the entranceway, I swear that I seemed to be moving slower than molasses in January, perhaps because I almost couldn’t bear to take another step, or because time had lost its meaning and flow in that instant. Finally though, I managed to ease the door open to find Vinyl standing across the room without those trademark shades she must have been known for. She looked up with a deep smile and a soothing look about her face that made my heart leap for joy.

Could it have meant that Octavia had signed it?

“Hello, Mr. Horseshoepin.” She said in a tone as smooth as silk, which unnerved me a bit. I could understand if she was happy, but why was she talking like that? She edged closer while peering into my eyes, and I couldn’t help but gaze back at those fiery disks of startling red that seemed to call me lovingly.

“You know, it didn’t occur to me that trying to get that silly filly friend of mine to sign a piece of paper was going to be so hard.” She dropped her saddlebag on the floor and edged closer. “But like you said, there are other ways of doing things around here.” My heart sank once more as I caught on to what was happening and why she greeted me like a sophisticated prostitute for “gentlecolt” callers. “So why don’t you say we… make a little arrangement between us?” She had me pressed against the side of the coffee table and leaned in ever closer to try and kiss me. I could feel the unbearable heat of anxiety that brought out beads of nervous sweat pouring down across my temple. She leaned in yet closer still to try and get on top of me to force my body onto the coffee table. She closed her eyes and brought her lips to mine that were trembling with shock mixed with a lingering feeling of lowly lust that only appreciated what a beauty Vinyl was. I had the feeling of arousal but I was soon disgusted at myself under the circumstances of why she wanted to give herself over to me.

So that was it. My goddess was dead. 
I reached frantically behind me for the bell to call in my servant and rang it violently. He came in promptly and recoiled in shock at what he was witnessing as Vinyl drew back in surprise. I remained calm as ever.

“Show this lady out, if you please.” And without another word, I returned to my chamber and shut the door. Not long after, I heard some heavy object strike the door behind me and a muffled shout from the infuriated mare that I left standing there without a friend in the world.

“You Bastard!” I heard her scream.

Indeed. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I knew it was all true. But like her, I had no one now. And what was that lesson that we all learned from the adventures of those famous six mares of Ponyville? That Friendship is one of the most priceless treasures one can have in this world?

What was life without friends? I turned a hateful glare toward the bust of Princess Celestia resting on my piano who still seemed to smirk at me.

“Why don’t you tell me, Princess?” I growled, and still the monster was silent. I eyed the fire hatchet that rested on a hook by the reinforced window in case of an emergency. I hefted it and let it swing menacingly as I approached the wooden statue again, slowly letting the axe fall back and forth like a pendulum. As I caught it in both hooves, I stared her down like the jury and the judge stare down the convicted when they hand him over to the executioner, except I found myself to be acting as all three. Was it just? It mattered little to me, seeing as Justice is dead in this world.

“Merci Votre Majesté.” I muttered darkly.

I brought down the hatchet with a mighty Thwack! The blade first connected with her flank sending the statue toppling off the piano onto the floor with a resounding crack that split a fissure in the bust going up from the impact sight all the way down across her tail. For a while I only continued to glower at the image that seemed far less imposing and grand as it rested on the floor wounded and still like a defenseless animal. Looking back, I admit it is a bit frightening to recall that bitter, sinister chuckle I cackled while I lifted the axe and brought it down again into her mane, her head, her neck, and then her smooth figure that now lay exposed and worried into a sickening pile of ugly scrapings. It became hard to believe that a sight so evil as that wicked jagged mass of wood was once something so beautiful and so admired by me, I hardly recognized it at all. Then again, I hardly recognized anypony in this world to be my friend anymore. Soon I could feel beads of sweat starting to gather on my back from the exertion of hacking at Celestia again, and again, and again, and again, for a satisfying time that only went too quickly. Splinters went flying across the room as the bust began to disintegrate into a wicked crag of the raw wood that lay underneath the finish. By the time I was running out of steam and frustration to continue destroying the image, it was simply a pathetic pile of organic debris that littered my music room floor under a cloud of harsh saw dust and miniscule splinters that hung in the air and occasionally stung my eyes. I felt a lump in my throat.

All my life I had loved Celestia as mother and as a friend. She was my idol, my goddess! I looked upon her with such respect as the ruler that made me great only to tear me down now! All this time, I viewed her as I did that accursed statue she so pretentiously gave me long ago with such admiration for what I saw on the outside. I was her adversary on earth now. I would never again love a goddess so cruel, unkind, and unfair. But now I see the funny side of it all. I was cutting her up and turning her to sawdust as I truly saw her for what she was on the inside. It drove me mad that I had been fooled into believing in the mare behind statue with its smooth, elegant figure and craftsmanship and its delightful glossy finish. I chopped it to pieces.

And on the inside it was only wood. 


***


Months passed.

From that point on, things only got worse for Octavia and me.

Ever since that fateful night, I began to watch my name disappear from the streets and mouths of Canterlot. No longer did music stores rush to put out my latest compositions out on the front shelf that would sell like hot-cakes. I frequently passed by my favorite music outlet and looked in the window to see what used to be where my formerly famous collections of waltzes and scherzi were proudly displayed, now replaced with cello bows and strings. Above them hung a copy on display of the only Symphony that Octavia had ever agreed to publish at the time. Even so, I kept hearing rumors that whatever money Octavia had made from the commission was spent on her insatiable and reckless penchant for whisky and cider. I walked in to see two conductors of some of Canterlot’s minor orchestras practically trading blows over who got the last copy. I left them to it, noticing that a stack of my compositions resting on the shelf under them. The black, embossed lettering of HORSESHOEPIN’S GREATEST on the front cover had become grey with a layer of dust. For the rest of my life, I lived in tortured obscurity compared to what I had been! Though, I don’t complain that I became impoverished. I suppose I should be thankful that money was one concern that never plagued me. Even after I stopped raking piles of bits from ponies playing my pieces I was fortunate enough to still be a useful musician to play at many high society, high paying occasions in the city. But what joy could come of just being another dime-a-dozen pianist who wound up playing the Pony Pokey at the Grand Galloping Gala?

I lamented the outlook of the remainder of my days and cursed Celestia. But one night at the theater, fate dealt the final blow.


***


I will admit that I loved nothing more than to hear the wonderful music of Octavia. Though I still resented what she had done to me years ago, I held no grudge against whatever she put on paper. Perhaps I shut my ears to her violin when she rendered my heart asunder only because I was in a state of total shock and horror. And believe me, my memories of her are nothing but a bitter reminiscence of love and loss. Though I didn’t consider either of our musical abilities to be superior to one or the other, the roaring applause of audiences lauding her tunes while mine fell silent made me tear out my mane in points of madness and rage against Celestia for breaking her sacred promise with me that I upheld with my whole heart.
I only wanted happiness for the both of us, Octavia and me. And yet I still hated her, or at least I thought I did.
At the theater, the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra was giving a well-received performance of Octavia’s sole published orchestration of her glorious “Ode to the Heavenly Sisters.” As I sat up in my opera box loving the melody (and begrudgingly acknowledging that Octavia was a very talented musician and composer) I noticed that the cellist herself was conducting the orchestra. I felt like folding my arms and pouting about it until I took a closer look at her. 

She looked like somepony lying on their deathbed. 

Her hair was a disheveled mess and her eyes were glazed and bloodshot. Her face was deathly white as chalk and matted with sweat as she appeared to be dizzy trying to sway her arms back and forth trying to keep the time. Every few seconds she would stumble clumsily and have to support herself before trying in vain to stand up tall again. I watched with a mix of vengeful satisfaction uncomfortably mixed with sincere pity, for it was only a matter of time, it seemed, before she would pass out.  When the movement ended, Octavia couldn’t hold out any longer as she simply collapsed to the floor resulting in a ubiquitous gasp uttered by everypony in the audience in response. I decided to take action and head downstairs where a few bystanders were already uselessly crowding around her trying to figure out what the problem was. I shoved past them and lifted her frail form onto my shoulders, calling for a taxi to take us to her apartment. As I stumbled down he theater steps with Octavia on my back, I couldn’t help but wonder out of concern what would happen to her as I climbed into the stagecoach waiting for us that sped off to the address I gave the runners. When the carriage stopped in front of the apartment, I took Octavia out again on my shoulders to the sight of Cliffside Boulevard at a dreary time of night. 

The air was humid and heavy with the moisture from a day’s rainfall that obscured visibility and shortened it to no more than one hundred feet. The heavy fog gave the illusion of the city being suspended within one huge foreboding cloud that shrouded the citadel. Looking off the railing that stopped before the steep drop down the mountainside that only pegasi dared venture near, the fog turned an otherwise glorious view of Equestria into an evil, black abyss that terrified one at the thought of a powerful wind coming along and sweeping him off into the darkness and down the cliff. I frightfully turned away and brought the unconscious mare upstairs to her flat. I was greeted with the rather saddening confirmation that she and Vinyl had been living in near poverty as I saw that most of their material belongings had either been sold or repossessed. The walls were discolored and bare with wicked, taunting smear lines outlining where bookshelves, desks, a coal fireplace, and other furniture had once been. On top of that, I had guessed that any money made recently had been squandered on all the empty bottles of gin I was constantly tripping over. It didn’t take long to figure out why she was so sick. However, what astounded me was her huge collection of original music resting by her cello that, somehow, she still managed to keep pristine and in good shape.

The only decent piece of furniture that Octavia and Vinyl seemed to own was their bed. Octavia awoke with a start as soon as I placed her down and turned on the lights.

“Is it over?” she asked, breathing heavily.

“Yes.” I assured. She still seemed to be in a confused haze.

“Where am I?” she said with darting, nervous glances.

“You’re home!” I said quickly trying to calm her down. It seemed to work as Octavia reluctantly lowered her head to the pillow.

“Why’d you bring me home? What happened?”

“You fell unconscious at the end, so I decided to take you home where you could get some rest. You seem to be quite ill.” Octavia let out a dry snicker.

“Yes, doctors told me something’s wrong with my liver. All that liquor probably didn’t help much, did it?” she said with a bashful smile. I only stared blankly in an awkward moment with the mare I hated, yet for some reason I found the virtue within my empty self to help her.

“But where’s Vinyl? I would think that she would at least have been there to carry you home. Where is she?” Octavia’s expression turned dark as her face fell toward her lap with a frown.

“She… She left me, Frederic.”

“Goodness, why? What happened?”

“One night a while ago, she tried to get me to apply for some job that I didn’t have the time or the patience for. I snapped, hit her, and then she left. I haven’t seen her since.”

“I see.” I said quietly. Her eyes turned glassy with a buildup of tears as the cellist sat there feeling sorry for herself.

“I would give everything I once had just for a chance to say I’m sorry.” She sighed and sat there dejectedly in deep contemplation until she looked up again. “Haven’t you ever loved somepony, Mr. Horseshoepin?” I froze.

“Excuse me?”

“I lost Vinyl because I lost sight of myself. I thought I was on top of the world and now look at me. She won’t even come back when she said she would never leave me. I suppose it’s really all my fault for losing her. Have you ever had the torture of losing somepony you love, Frederic?” I nodded slowly.

“Oh yes…” I affirmed somberly. 

“What happened?”

“I like to think she left me, but I was a fool. Since then, I… haven’t really given love another chance.”

“But why? Love is something we all have to fight for Frederic.”

“Trust me, It would only pain me more to keep chasing her. Besides, I’ve only been hurt trying to love somepony. Tell me… What good comes of love that only hurts?” I asked not daring to look her in the face.

“Oh Frederic…” she sighed with her voice full of pity. “You really mustn’t feel that way. You can always hope for another to come along. I’m sure there has to be some mare out there that’s right for you.”

“I know there is.” I said quietly.

“You see? That’s a better way of looking at things already. We can only hope for the best at times like these. I truly hope that Vinyl can forgive me for what I’ve done, and I know she will. She’s that good hearted, I suppose.”

“She is?”

“I know it!” She restated with a strong conviction. “We all have the power to forgive, don’t we? Despite some of the things that happen in this world, call me crazy for saying this, but I do still believe that ponies are really good at heart. I just… hope that Vinyl can once again see the goodness that I blocked out.” 

“Don’t worry,” I said putting a hoof on her shoulder, “I’m sure she’ll come back sooner or later. She must be worried sick.”

“I hope she does.” She whispered. I smiled and tried to cheer up the poor soul.

“And when she does, maybe things will get better! At least you should get some more money now. That performance was spectacular! Just don’t go spending it on any more gin.” She smiled back with a scowl the way ponies do when they sense an innocent white lie being told.

“You mean you actually went to my performance?”

“Of course!” I said like reassuring an old friend. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” Octavia gave a small laugh in response as she was too weak to do otherwise. She lay there in bed for a long moment of silence.

“I’m so ashamed.” She finally said with a smile still plastered onto her countenance. “I thought for a while that you never cared much for my music or me. But you made me the pony I am today…” I grimaced without her noticing. She continued, 
“…you come to my performances, you carry me home when I fall ill!” She let out a sad, small laugh. “I had such potential that you cultivated it, and I threw it all away. I really never deserved you, did I?” I stood up and backed away with a frown.

“No… You didn’t. Trust me, you deserve better. If you really knew who I was, you would think twice about that.” Octavia glanced up and scowled at me.

“We all make mistakes, Frederic. That’s why it’s important that we all forgive each other. Though I’m afraid I’m being rather selfish. Looking at all I’ve done, it appears I’M the one who needs forgiveness more than anypony.” At this point, I all but forgot the pain she had caused me before. Even if it were still fresh in my mind it would matter little. Seeing the piteous, cathartic situation that Octavia was in, it would be truly evil to wish more ill will on her. I no longer saw the hateful angel of heartbreak. That image long since disintegrated when I learned of her true character. It only pained me now to see a lonely young mare lamenting over the life she could have lived, had it not been shortened by her realized shortcomings, that now hung by a thread.

“In that case,” I said with a smile, finally breaking the silence, “I forgive you for whatever you may have done. I haven’t met anypony like you with the honest strength to say, ‘I did wrong.’ And I haven’t been honest myself.” I confessed slowly while taking her hoof in mine. “I was always very fond of you, Octavia. If you can still say that you have faith in the ones you love, you're a better pony than I am.” Octavia returned the smile.

“Then I must say that I really admired you more than I let on, Frederic. Do you think you could find the pity to stay with me while I rest until morning when I can go see a doctor?” I tightened the grip I had on her hoof with the both of mine sandwiching hers protectively.

“I’m not leaving you.” I said firmly. 

“You’re too good to forgive a mare like me. Celestia bless you, Frederic, for everything.” Without another word, Octavia all but instantly fell asleep. True to my word, I stayed by a window on the far side of the room sleeping on the floor. I occasionally woke to make sure she was alright. However, one thing bothered me like a steadfast whim of guilt that latches into one’s stomach and weighs it down uncomfortably. It kept me awake to think that I had forgiven Octavia, but she hadn’t an inkling of what I had done. Hell, if it weren’t for me, she probably wouldn’t have her life ruined now the way it was. 

I was unforgiven.

Dawn soon approached as a few rays of sunlight shone from the window across the hardwood floor. I was just about to wake the sleeping mare up to take her to the hospital when all of a sudden came a noise like somepony entered the apartment. I tensed as the sound of hoofsteps approaching the bedroom door became closer.
The door opened to reveal none other than a distressed Vinyl Scratch, who took one look at me and froze with a deadly glare.

“What are you doing here?” she glowered quietly. As embarrassed and mortified as I felt, I managed to stand up and stammer a response.

“I... Well… You see… Octavia was giving a performance and she… fainted. So I brought her home.” She only stared angrily at me for a time until she stepped aside from the door and motioned me toward it.

“Then thank you, Mr. Horseshoepin, you can leave now.”

“No.” I said. “I need her.”

“Excuse me?” she inquired, baring her teeth. She approached me menacingly, her temper boiling into a rage as I had no choice but to take it all in shame. “I think you’ve ruined our lives quite enough! We don’t need you to speed up the process. Now leave!”

“Then where were you when Octavia collapsed?” I asked sharply. Vinyl took it to heart and retreated to the bedside and whispered in a sleeping Octavia’s ear.

“I’m so sorry, Octavia.” She sobbed aloud. “I knew I said that I wouldn’t leave, but I couldn’t come back knowing I’d failed. I couldn’t take it anymore to see you like this. I was selfish, but now we can make it better right? Please just tell me you’ll try to help me, Tavi. I still love you.” Octavia only responded with continuous heavy breathing as she slept. I couldn’t stand there in the corner feeling helpless anymore. I spoke up nervously.

“Allow me to assist. She told me that there are complications with her liver. I know some very good doctors who can help her. Let me take her to the hospital.” Vinyl only gave me a tired stare.

“Just leave us be, Mr. Horseshoepin. If you would write down the names of the doctors for us to contact them ourselves, it would be much appreciated. It’s the least you could do. But just let us be.”

“Please.” I begged. “I only need to ask her one thing. Then I’ll be gone, and you shall never have to lay eyes upon me again.” 

Vinyl gave me an annoyed, hateful glance that could sour milk, but then consented and tried to wake Octavia up.

“Tavi?” She said. No response. Octavia’s eyes hung open and glazed over, showing no signs of life. Her breathing had also ceased.

“Tavi?” She said again, her voice tinged with fear and disbelief. I stood there, feeling as helpless as a wounded animal.

“Tavi!” She exclaimed in pure terror. She had begun to violently shake Octavia’s corpse, refusing to believe what had now come to pass as the poison that had destroyed her friend’s liver had passed to her heart.

Octavia was gone.

“TAVI!”


***



I never cried once about her since then.

I stood in the back row of the huge church of Canterlot that was now almost completely empty except for a priest conducting the funeral service, the pallbearers, and Vinyl dressed in black who hunched quietly over Octavia’s coffin. They crowded around the simple Maplewood casket that stood under the sunlight that shone through the stained glass windows of the church that depicted the saintly Celestia raising the sun and smiling gently down. The priest recited hymns while the choir in the upper tiers of the cathedral accompanied him. The somber choir all stood around the rounded balcony that rested under the circumference of the gilded cupola that stood in the center of the church ceiling. The ponies of the choir ceremoniously stood upright with their songbooks poised in their hooves. The pegasi in front resembled angels with their outstretched wings protruding from their pure, snow white robes. It all seemed so funny to me at the time as the words of, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” echoed throughout the cavernous sanctuary. 

This was her ultimate fate then? To be cut down so tragically in her prime? And most importantly, why wasn’t it me in that casket? I certainly deserved it more, did I not? I am the one who destroyed the life of a mare who certainly deserved to live and be happy more than me! I am the one who blasphemed the name of Equestria’s fair goddess. But so it was, I stood there with the brim of my hat shamefully tucked over my eyes watching the consequences of what I had done. I deserved to die sooner than Octavia, but why didn’t I? I resolved, all along that the gods were seeing to it that I was being punished, and I took it all in stride on the outside in this grim finale. But on the inside, I questioned whether I dare think to call myself a stallion anymore. To this day, I still wish it had been me that perished while Octavia went to live a happy life with the mare she loved while I just die in shame and leave the life I destroyed behind. But no, my heart beat with all health as I was forced to watch a life that I had destroyed be left behind.

It was Celestia’s last stab at me. She made me see just how empty I really have become after so full a life. Now two ponies were dead, but only one had the mercy of being buried.
Before I knew it, Octavia’s casket was being carted out to the hearse for the small procession toward the graveyard.  However, only the priest and the stallions pulling the hearse continued past the city walls as Octavia was not to receive a private plot of land for her final resting place. I could only watch in silence as the cart carrying its macabre cargo trailed off, disappearing into the fog past the city limits of Canterlot. When those attending the funeral were sure they had seen her for truly the last time, it was Vinyl who finally broke down completely and leaned on a fellow musician’s shoulder who knew her before finally trudging back home. I however, decided to clandestinely follow the hearse to witness where Octavia would be buried.

After a while, the cart had come to a stop as I watched the priest dismount the cart and call the gravediggers for yet another burial today. They took the coffin off the hearse and dragged it to the edge of a mass grave already filled with the bodies of dozens of ponies who couldn’t afford their own plot of land to rest for all eternity. I watched in disgust as the gravediggers removed Octavia’s shrouded corpse from the casket and simply flung it into the grave as the priest routinely recited the prayers:

“Requiem æternam dona eis, Celestiae,
Absolve, Celestiae
animas omnium fidelium defunctorum
ab omni vinculo delictorum
et gratia tua illis succurente
mereantur evadere iudicium ultionis,
et lucis æternae beatitudine perfrui. 
Requiem æternam dona eis, Celestiae.”

“Amen.” Said the gravediggers in response. They then each took up a shovel and proceeded to cover the newly added body with a generous helping of powered lye to aid in the decomposition in the interest of sanitation. Before I knew it, they had gone back to the mortuary, leaving me alone by the graveside peering down into the pit of dead ponies, young and old. However well I knew her, I still couldn’t tell which body was which. After a few minutes of helplessly guessing, I turned and left the graveyard.

And so, under the rain and dirt and cleaning lye rotted the shrouded corpse of Heaven's Angel on Earth for all eternity dead:

My dearest Octavia.



The End