Artifex Frost was what one would call a “latchkey kid.” It was something he had been taught, living in Manehattan, back when his family only had a simple apartment. Even after that apartment became a medium-sized, suburban house out on the western side, the term and the concept and method stuck.

It was something Ruby had encouraged him, but also reminded him of its importance. “With this key,” she would say, “you have access to our home whenever you need it. But be careful not to lose it. If some shady figure finds that you dropped it on the way to school, there’s not much stopping them beyond moral reasons from coming to our home and robbing us—or worse.”

It was one of her more graver lessons, but it made sense. Even in a city that was as splendid as Manehattan, the threat of break-ins loomed overhead, like a shadowy veil. Suspicion was low, but not nonexistent. Each kid in that suburban neighborhood knew the risks, and understood the responsibility. Don’t let the strange in, or strange things will happen, was the common saying.

The city suburbs of Canterlot was different in that regard. It wasn’t under such a shadowy veil, and Artifex felt he could at least afford to let up for a bit. Just walking home from school showed the differences. Houses were brighter and livelier; streets were relatively empty; trash and litter was virtually impossible to find. The gutters, to his pleasant surprise, were clean and simple; not filled with whatever passed for liquid nowadays.

“Safer” was the prime word that came to mind, but not exactly “secure.” As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a nearby police department or neighborhood watch. From what he had heard from the others, as well as from initially moving in, the police headquarters lay in the larger section of the city.

While that didn’t quite make him feel insecure or at risk, he noted it with some amount of cynicism. How exactly had nothing criminal occurred? He supposed these questions would either be answered later, or not at all; truth be told, he didn’t care much for them.

Artifex fished around his pocket, taking out the key. It was a simple, bronze device; the key ring had several ornaments on it, among which was a mini quill, and a lovely, red gemstone. He stared at the latter object for a moment, before shaking his head and palming the key.

He then made his way up the steps to his house, a two-story building with light-blue outer walls and a shingled roof. While it was much bigger than their first apartment, he reflected, it was also somewhat smaller than their previous residency, at least by an entire floor. Glancing around, he noted how it was similar in size to the rest of the houses down and up the block. The only difference, really, was the color.

It gave him a sense of hesitant anonymity.

He approached the door, intending to unlock it, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He swiftly turned, eyes darting all around, before they landed on a small, feline form peeking out from the corner of the house. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Francis,” he called, crouching down, “I can see you.”

The form blinked its chocolate-cherry eyes, before mewling softly, as if saying, “No, you can’t.”

Artifex stood and walked over, pocketing the key for now. “Francis. You’re literally next to the house. You don’t even blend in with that apricot coat of yours.”

Francis mewled a little louder in protest.

“Oh, come here,” Artifex said, crouching down and holding out a hand.

Francis hesitated, before letting out a resigned growl. He walked out from behind the corner, fur coat bristling and tail raised. He cocked his head, almost challenging Artifex with his eyes.

Artifex rolled his own. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. God, you’re such a silly kitty.”

Francis hissed at him, and Artifex chuckled. “What? I thought you liked that name! Besides, Ruby used to call you it all the time…”

Both of them calmed down, looking away. Francis meowed softly, before moving forward and placing a paw on Frost’s foot. He looked down at the cat, thinking deeply.

Francis meowed again, and Artifex smiled a small smile. “Yeah. You never liked it either way, did you? Well, I’m still going to call you that from time to time.”

The cat hissed again, but shorter this time, and then batted his foot. “Alright, let’s go in,” said Artifex.

He walked back over to the door, with Francis following. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the key. He inserted it into the keyhole, then turned it, hearing the familiar “click” sound, then pushed on the door, allowing the both of them entrance.

“You first,” he said as he moved to the side. Francis nodded haughtily, then stepped inside. Artifex followed after, closing the door and locking it.

A short, narrow hallway greeted them openly. To the immediate right of the hallway was the living room, filled with two medium-sized sofas and a simple, circular rug. The fireplace lay at the end; it had not been used in a while. A floor lamp stood in the corner, darkened, while windows stared out from behind the first couch. Artifex saw that one of the pillows had been thrown to the floor, presumably by accident. Looking down, he saw Francis look suspiciously away.

“Really? You made a mess while I was gone?” He chuckled, then walked over and placed the pillow back on top of the first couch, straightening it. He looked back at Francis, who meowed innocently. Artifex narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t fooling anyone with that act.”

Francis meowed again. Artifex nodded. “Right, upstairs. Hopefully you haven’t thrown around my bed’s pillows.”

The cat gave him an incredulous look, and Artifex rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, maybe that might have been me. But we won’t know until we check, so let’s go.”

The two of them—boy and feline—traveled up the steps. Light as they were, the wood beneath them did not creak nor whisper. The first door at the top was the entrance to the bathroom. Next to that was Artifex’s room, which was opposite of the supply closet. Down the rest of the hall was his parents’ room.

They entered his room, feet stepping on soft carpet. Artifex looked around. His desk and, consequently, desktop, was as it was that morning: clean and straightened in orderly fashion. The bookcase was somewhat dusty; he would have to fix that later. His eyes traveled to his bed, and he frowned. The covers were thrown all over the place, and the pillows were flattened.

Ruby taught me better than this.

He looked back down at Francis, who meowed at him with a sly look. “Okay, you win this time.”

Artifex slid his backpack off of his shoulder, letting it rest beside his desk. He then turned to the bed, grabbing the blankets and swooping them back over. Hands reaching out for the pillows, he fluffed them quickly, letting them settle on top of the blankets. He stood back, admiring his efficient work.

Turning back to his desk and backpack, he unzipped the latter, taking out all of his binders and folders. Inwardly, he groaned. Do they really assign this much on the second day of school?

His eyes gleamed over his notebook, and he took that out, too, placing it to the end of his desk. He then took out his phone and charger and plugged them into the wall socket. He stared at the screen. Towards the end of the school day, a number of his friends had offered him their phone numbers. He wondered if he should text them, if only to say a late hello.

It’d be awkward, he reasoned, pushing the phone away. He looked back at the pile of work. Besides… I’ve got things to do.

Suddenly, he coughed, and a cloud of dust blew out of his mouth. He grimaced. “Right. Dust first, work second.” He looked at Francis. “And you’re helping, since you made a mess downstairs.”

Francis bared his teeth, but otherwise didn’t protest. The two of them walked out of Artifex’s room and opened the supply closet, intent on getting to work.

With the bookshelf fully dusted and his homework completed (hindered only slightly by Francis who insisted on pawing at his leg continuously), Artifex allowed himself a moment of rest as he sat on his desk’s chair. He stood corrected to his initial conclusion; the workload was not as hard as he had expected. Given that it was only the second day of school, that was something he should have figured.

His right hand rested on his desk’s edge, drumming a beat against it with his fingers. Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap. His thoughts followed the beat, even though they were mostly fragmented in his mind.

Times like these, when he had the company of himself and a non-speaking individual, gave me a sense of peace. Even after the accident and the attempts, when he was alone with himself, he could find a place of solitude. Perhaps that was one of the things that kept him going for so long. Sometimes he had thought he had heard Ruby speaking to him, though usually it was an old adage being repeated in his mind over and over. And even though it was his mind speaking, he found it comforting to know that, in that way, at least, Ruby lived on and never died.

His mood turned melancholy, and his fingers ceased beating. His right hand drifted over to the notebook which rested, closed, at the end of the desk. Those same fingers tapped twice on the notebook, as if checking to make sure it was completely shut. They then slid back a little, landing on the blue pen. He tapped its end, and then its point, but didn’t take it.

Should I write now… or later?

Ruby’s encouragement came to him. When he was little and anxious of the world, she would say to him, “Write your fears down.” Then the fears became thoughts, thoughts became ideas, ideas became paragraphs of little things—the little things that mattered. Writing, Ruby had correctly guessed, had brought him a solace he desperately needed back then.

Even more so did it bring peace of mind after she had gone.

His hand slid back down to rest by his side. Suddenly he was aware of a frown on his face. His other hand, the left one, came up, pausing in the air. Then, it came down, and paused just above the glass screen of his phone, not yet touching it. He glanced at both the hand and the phone. His hand moved away, placing itself next to the phone.

He craned his neck over his shoulder, checking his clock. 5:45. I should eat soon.

He looked back at the objects that were on his desk. His phone to his left, his notebook to his right. He raised both of his hands up, as if to slam them down; and paused.

If I write now, it’ll be fine.

But if I open up my phone, it’ll also be fine, I think.

Would not both bring me something I needed a long time ago?

His hands came back down to his sides, and he exhaled slowly. He breathed in through his nose, then out of his mouth, and closed his eyes.

He imagined Ruby on his right; the person who had guided him for the best half of his life; the person who had taught him the most; the person he loved the most. She seemed to smile at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. In his mind, her red hair was splayed all around her, like she was floating. A glow was behind her. She looked absolutely divine, angelic, like a symbol from the heavens.

To his left, he imagined the students of Canterlot High who had opened their arms to welcome him. He imagined Soul, Sunset, Swift, Pinkie, Clyde, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Sonata, and now No Clue. He even saw Aria and Adagio there, standing behind them, but still somehow giving off the same feeling of openness. He imagined that they each held their hand out, smiles welcoming and bright.

Artifex opened his eyes, and he was back in his room. Francis had found it entertaining to lick his paws clean. His room, other than the cat, was empty.

His right hand rose, then fell, falling next to the notebook. He moved it closer, closer, closer… and then took his hand back, letting it rest, once again, by his side.

His left hand then rose up and shifted over to his phone. It, too, grew nearer, nearer, nearer… and then it skirted away, falling back to his side.

His stomach rumbled lowly. Time to eat, I suppose. He got up, and looked at the two objects for a little while. He scanned each feature, each bump, each ridge, cementing them within his mind for the future. He didn’t realize that his brow had settled into a worried position.

Then, he looked away. After beckoning Francis along, he walked out of his room, and shut the door behind him, hearing it close with a resounding click.

Dinner consisted of a quick pasta dish, with just cheese on top. Artifex finished quickly, then cleaned his dishes and put them inside the dishwasher. He then walked back to his seat and sat down.

The dining room was seemingly darker than the rest of the house, even with the light on. It was like any light that came from or entered it was absorbed the countless decor that sat in a bureau behind him. The rest of the table was empty. No plates, no sounds of laughter as the day’s stories were shared. The chairs were bare; the tablemats, oddly clean; the napkin holder, barely touched. Even though Francis was snoozing next to him, Artifex still felt that the place was sparse.

In front of him was a large vase, filled with dirt. The plant it housed was a tall galanthus, taller than wild ones. He wasn’t sure if that was the doing of his parents, or just that it was a unique flower all by itself. It’s petals were drooping downward, and the plant itself faced away from him. He looked at it, then followed where to where it faced.

Through the windows at the end of the dining room, he peered out. He saw the night sky, a jeweled canvas that stretched across the world. It wasn’t his first Canterlot night he had seen, but it felt more meaningful than that. He didn’t get up, choosing to imagine himself outside, reaching up with his hands to touch whatever lay beyond. His mind turned artistically thoughtful. Would the sky be as cold as snow, or as warm as a loving heart? Would the stars be solid and strong, or formless and easy to pass through?

He looked back at the flower, face concealed behind mixed emotion. Finally, he stood up, but instead of immediately leaving the room, he reached out and placed his hand on the vase. It was cool to the touch.

He grabbed it, and pushed it until it rested on the side opposite of him. Now the vase felt a little warmer.

His troubled expression didn’t quite vanish, but he did feel a little better.

It would have to be enough.

Artifex moved his seat back in, and Francis woke up. The cat looked at him and meowed. Artifex nodded. “Yeah. I’m alright,” he said. The cat stretched him, before leaping down and nuzzling the boy’s leg.

“Okay, let’s go.” Together, they walked away.