Her Last Bow

Prelude in B Minor

***

For more than ten years, day by day, I'd visited that place. It was the most secluded place in Canterlot I could find, and it served its purpose well - to conceal me from unnecessary glances. To hide me from unnecessary ponies. To cover me from the unnecessary world.

That destroyed conservatoire was probably the only building I hadn't invested into. Ponies said it was the most ancient temple of Music in all of Equestria. I would've raised many a bit on this one. Still, I didn't have a care in the world. I never did.

My father passed away when I was a colt. A most unpleasant experience for most, it was a blessing for me. We never got along quite well. He left family when I was a foal so I had no pity for him when I saw the wooden coffin with a bit sign on it - my father's cutie mark.

He was an investor. He invested in almost everything. It was his calling in life and that's what he was supposed to do. I remember him telling Mother that he had always wanted to play the cello instead. Mother laughed. She thought it was a joke. I still remember her laughter: it was a sweet, shining kind of laughter, like a thousand bells were ringing at once in the depths of her voice.

No, she is not dead. She is quite alive, with her private mansion in Fillydelphia and a yearly income of twenty million bits. I, by contrast, live in Canterlot. That's my city. That's the place I was born in, that's the place where I'll die. If death is ever an option for me.

For Father, it was. I didn't attend the funeral. I stood behind the tall steel fence, hidden by the shade of a large tree. I watched the coffin make its way through the cemetery and give my father his last abode in the fertile soil. I'd never paid a visit there since then. I hear a cherry tree grows there and blossoms. Maybe somepony would make a cello of it eventually.

One way or another, I inherited Father's money, shares, realty - just not his reputation. He was known as a rather kind pony, a supporter of fine arts, the kind of stallion who always spends a little money on charity now and then.

I begged to differ. I sold most of his business to gain an unbelievable amount of bits - one trillion. One trillion bits. One trillion bits could buy most anything back then. So it can now, as I sit in my room, writing all of this for no exact purpose. One trillion bits could buy the whole city. One trillion bits could buy allegiances and souls. One trillion bits could buy power and fame. One trillion bits could buy mares and slaves. One trillion bits was more than enough to rule over Equestria behind Celestia's back. One trillion bits could buy me anything. Except for happiness.

And so I came to the ruined conservatoire to sit before the empty stage, closing my eyes. The remaining pieces of the walls hadn't resonated music for very long; the only thing they resonated was my sorrow.

Sometimes I wished I could cry. Unfortunately, I could not.

Every night, I sat before the stage for hours in silence, trying to hear something - maybe an echo of ancient songs played by the bards; maybe a reverberation of the ill wind blowing from the North, bringing coldness, chilling me to the bone. Still, the walls were silent, and so were I.

No music for the soulless ones, eh?

On my brown flank there was a clock with a bit sign on it - the symbol of rationalism, the strange union of my father's cutie mark and the cutie mark of my great-grandfather. He was a watchmaker. Once he told me that there were things money couldn't buy. He told me about friendship and love, tolerance and the common goal of all ponies - to make the world a better place to live in. Then my father came in and told him not to spoil me.

I still remain unspoilt. I know what exactly money can buy. I am money.

I ought to be happy. I was obliged to be happy.

I was not.

I was sick of the world around me because I knew it from the inside. I couldn't change anything, even with all my money - and, what was more important, I didn't want to. I had no desire to change anything. I had no desire to do anything - I left the world of big business long ago, remaining a honourable chairman of the board: I had enough money to feed ten generations of my theoretical descendants. I had no desire to live; yet, I still didn't have a slightest desire to die.

I lived my life the only was that I had known: I waited until the city fell asleep and crawled into the night, in the direction of the destroyed conservatoire.

So I did that fateful night.

***

I left my flat when the Sun had already set. I didn't want to be seen. I passed down the stairs and opened the door to let the fresh air into my lungs. I went outdoors. I dematerialised in the night - a skill I'd learned rather well. My brown coat felt black - no, it turned black under the cover of darkness. My mane was black already - both in the daylight and the nighttime.

I walked along the empty streets, deeply inhaling. The cigarettes I'd been smoking for a long time were killing me - swiftly and softly. Yet, I didn't hesitate and immediately lit one. I felt the tickling in my nose and throat that made me sneeze. The lampposts were old and grey - symbols of the ancient times when ponies still needed light not to be afraid of darkness. Now they are not. They have no fear to keep them in place.

I know better - I was the one who provided the city with those lampposts. And benches. And mostly anything. Among my most prized possessions is a shiny golden medal pinned to one of my numerous tuxedos - "The Honourable Architect of Canterlot".

I am no architect. Sure, I hired many architects to design the modern look of the city, but I am not one. I only paid bits. But that's life - the one who pays gets all the attention. Like my father.

Like me.

Thick smoke trickled down my throat, making me shiver and drop the cigarette. I levitated it with an unnoticeable movement of my horn and threw it into the bin. I struggled to keep the city clean, for some reason. For a reason that remained unbeknownst even to me.

I reached the first temple of Music - my temple. It was glorious. Truly glorious. Its dead body captured the soul of the night and held it hostage. I've always loved the night. It is probably the only thing that I can truly say I love. My mother would tell me to go to bed once it got dark but then Father took my side and told her not to circumscribe me. He said I needed to feel the night. Now I feel it.

Thank you, Father.

The moonlight fell upon the ruins and poured down the cracked stone, forming puddles on the solid ground beneath the building. Mother Night was enveloping the whole city with darkness; yet, this little conservatoire shone with light, as if the souls of ancients bards and dancers lit it from the inside.

I sighed in relief. Everything was just the same. It had always been like this - for as long as I could remember. Nothing had changed.

However, something was wrong. Something was amiss. No, something was present - and that ruined my perception of reality completely. This was my place. Not that I owned it, but everypony knew that the Chairman wanted the place to be his, that is, mine, and nopony ever dared to take it away from me.

Yet, now I heard music. Music coming from the inside. Music so divine that I couldn't believe at first that it was of mortal origin.

The cello cried and whispered, as it seemed to me, right into my ear. It asked questions that needed no answer, and answered them successfully. It danced on the edge of transcendence, not afraid of falling, yet not stepping back.

I took a few steps forth and entered the Temple. I closed my eyes and saw a hoof sliding down the neck of the otherworldly instrument - no, I felt that hoof. I hesitantly approached the stage and took a sit in the back row.

I saw a grey mare standing on the stage. Her head was hung low, her eyes closed, her body frozen in place. Only her hoof - her beautiful, regal hoof - slid up and down the neck of her instrument. It was a simple cello - not an expensive one, I concluded, being an art connoisseur. I sold cellos, among my other business - call it a tribute to my father, if you wish.

She played gently, yet firmly. Her music was the thing that brought light into this eternally dark place. She was the light. In this world of darkness and contempt, she was the shining sun, the fresh air and the young grass beneath one's hooves. Beneath my hooves.

I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the music.

"Sir, are you okay?" a voice came to me from a short distance.

I opened my eyes. I couldn't have fallen asleep, could I? I'd never fell asleep at night before: it was a strange kind of insomnia, the one that never gave me any unpleasant feelings.

I turned my head to the left to see the magnificent cellist. I blinked. She was an earth pony, her black mane fell down on her body, but there was no horn on the forehead.

She raised a brow but then, upon seeing me, jumped back in surprise.

"The Chairman!" she whispered, with an unreadable look of displeasure on her face. Maybe... disgust? It was all very strange.

I immediately stood up and proceeded to approach the mare. I tried to shake her hoof but she quickly retreated a little, leaving my attempt in vain.

"Miss," I said, reminiscing my good manners. "I find your music the greatest treat on this planet a pony could ever receive." I bowed in genuine respect and admiration. "I've been coming to this place for many years, alone, lonely, if you wish. And tonight, Miss, you have changed my life. I heard your music and now I know there is still a meaning in my life. While there is your music, there is hope. I owe you my deepest gratitude, Miss," I concluded with a bow.

The mare didn't show a single sign of approval - not a glance, not a smile, not a nod. Nothing at all.

I tried to proceed.

"May I ask you your name, Miss?" I wondered gently.

The mare squinted her eyes.

"Octavia. Octavia Philarmonica, if that name means anything to you... sir," she replied, almost hissing the last word.

I could hear disdain and contempt in her voice but I couldn't understand the possible reason for that. Her name seemed new to me; I'd surely never heard of her before.

"I am sorry, Miss Philarmonica, your name doesn't mean anything to me... yet," I emphasised the last word. "Your music does, on the other hoof. I am sure that we can make necessary... arrangements so that your name will mean to me as much as your divine talent," I finished with a polite smile.

But instead of seeing interest or embarrassment upon her face, I saw blind anger take its place in her eyes.

"How... dare... you?!" she hissed. "How dare you suggest something like that?! You - of all ponies!" she shouted, losing her composure. "You!" she yelled and ran away, grabbing her cello.

I watched her leave. I couldn't comprehend my possible fault in all of this. What was I to take the blame for? I didn't understand.

I saw an object on the ground - the ground that was her ground some half a minute ago. It was her bow.

I lifted it and held tight in my magical grip.

It seemed as if I couldn't be sure of anything - anymore.

But I was sure only of one thing:

To make her happy, I would gladly give my own life.