It took many hours of searching, even a good deal of deductive reasoning on Dr. Assurance’s part, but he did have a very good educated guess as to where Tchaicoltsky had fled off to. Although his mind was swarming with a hive of questions, the test he conducted proved to him that somehow, in some way, the patient he was caring for had the old composer’s mind, memories, and personality. And if that were the case, he feared that unless he doesn’t find him soon, history might repeat itself.

The sun had long set and the therapist had picked up a tip from the homeless shelter that the last time his client was seen was that he was heading towards a construction site for a skyscraper. Despite having to trespass and galloping up the stairs towards one of the upper floors, he hoped desperately that he would find him.

Fortunately, the sounds of sobbing lead him to him. Almost towards the newly built top floor, to a view of the sparkling cityscape of twinkling lights, he found the Changeling, his disguise completely dropped and, concern, he was sitting on the edge of a twenty-four-story drop.

‘Oh Goddesses!’ was the very first thought that the therapist had when he saw him, ‘He’s going to do it! History is going to repeat itself!’ He rushed and yelled out. “MR. TCHAICOLTSKY! STOP!”

The Changeling flung his head around, tears still streaming down yelled back. “D-Don’t come any closer! I-I’ll jump!” Assurance did, but still too far away. “Just… Just go away…” He turned his attention back to the ground. “Leave me alone…”

But with a newfound determination, Assurance stomped his hoof. “No. I’m not leaving. Not when you need it most.”

Tchaicoltsky folded his ears back flat against his head.

“I know you don’t want to listen to me, and seeing how much in pain you’re in, I want to at least listen to you before you do anything rash.” There was a pause. “This past couple of days you’ve trusted me enough to hear what you have to say without judgment. What I saw and heard in your mind; I know that you were telling the truth about yourself.”

“I…” Tchaicoltsky sniffed. “I didn’t want you to see me like this…”

“Why not?”

“Look at me,” he returned his teary gaze at the therapist. “I’ve turned into a monster. I’m no longer a pony anymore, turned into this… thing. Then, to add more salt on the wound…” The changeling closed his eyes, in which more tears flowed. “I-I betrayed you.”

Assurance tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Y-You never will…” he sobbed.

“Then make me. Try to explain it to me, like how a foal would.”

Several moments later, the Changeling said: “You… You’re the only friend I have in this world… Who’s ever been this kind to me… Offered friendship so willingly, and trusted in my secrets that…” He sniffed, “I know we’ve met. And I know you’re married. But… When you’ve gone through your whole life pretending as something you’re not. When you wrote music that brought audiences to tears and ruptures of joy in the same evening, only to be left forgotten. When you… lost your youth and even your Equinity to be reborn into a monstrosity. When you lost your wealth and end up homeless in a distant land and time… When you showed me kindness beyond description I… I want you. Goddess help me, I want you! I know it’s wrong. Especially when you have a wife that does love you as you do for her. I know I can’t have you, but…” He hunched over; hooves buried into his face. “It’s… It’s not fair!”

As Tchaicoltsky cried, Dr. Assurance as quietly as he could, walked over to him. Then, as carefully as he could, he sat next to him on the ledge. “Mr. Tchaicoltsky,” he said as gently and quietly as he could, “before you do anything. I was hoping that maybe I could at least thank you.”

He sniffed. “F-For what?”

“Saving my life.”

The Changeling looked up at him, “What?”

“Once upon a time, in a small town far up north, I was genuinely depressed.” Assurance began. “When I reached my teens, it was clear that I have a talent in listening to others and their problems as well as giving them the advice they needed. But even so, I didn’t have much of a voice at all. Most of my life was spent being told what to do and running errands for ponies. As reliable as I was, nopony wanted to hear what I thought about certain things. If anything, I was discouraged from showing or expressing anything that didn’t equal calm, happy, or thoughtful. My parents especially scolded me if I showed any signs of sadness, anger, or being irrational. As a result, I had no opinions on anything, for if I did, I’d lose friends and the respect of my family. Despite being good at listening, nopony it seems would want to listen to me. And why would they, I thought, compare to what others have told, mine are nothing serious.

“Before I graduated high school… I seriously considered suicide. Because at the time, I honestly thought that if I just left this world forever, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Even if ponies did grieve over me, they’ll just get over it eventually and then forgot that I existed. However, my grandparents dragged me to a classical concert, on the same day that I planned to end it all. As it so happened, what the orchestra was playing that night, was something of yours. Your sixth symphony.”

Tchaicoltsky whipped the tears away. “The Pathetique? How in the world did that prevent you from ending yourself? That piece was the most miserable thing I’ve ever written! Even the orchestra that first performed it hated it, I should know, I was there.”

“Because, before then, I didn’t think too highly of classical music as nothing more than music for ponies who were out of touch. However, as soon as it started… something about it, clicked in me. Even now it’s still hard to describe it, but it’s as if… somehow you knew what I was going through. If that makes sense. The sound I heard wasn’t what I call comforting, rather, it was like a friend that sat you down to say that, ‘Hey, I know what it’s like to be ignored and not being able to be yourself. Trust me, I’ve been there.’ I remember that in the final movement, while the orchestra was getting evermore quiet, I was crying. Not out of pure sadness but finding catharsis. Truthfully, apart of the Nutcracker and a few other pieces, I didn’t know you wrote something so… personal.”

“I still don’t understand what the motivation to not commit suicide was.”

“I’m getting to that. You see, after the performance, I honestly wanted to know what you wrote after that. I was truly blown away by it. However, when I was told that a few days after you premiered that symphony you… you know… It hit me with an epiphany. I spent days reflecting on what I’ve heard and my life. Just because I’ve been ignored, doesn’t mean that I can’t contribute something. I wanted to do essentially what your music did. So, I trained years to become a psychological therapist to become that voice what others need to hear and an ear to listen to. In a way, without you ever knowing, you saved me. Your art held me back and let me focus on what’s really important.”

“Alright, that is all fine and good. But what about things? Like… oh, I don’t know,” he waved a hoof at himself.

“Okay, I admit that I was taken aback and was confused. I mean, it wasn’t too long-ago Changelings had invaded Canterlot. For a while, I was wondering if you’re just a spy. However, that test we did disprove that. You showed me the truth in what your mind has to say. That spell I used is sometimes, under most extreme of circumstance, is used as the ultimate lie detector in which one could step inside somepony’s mind and they’d know the truth about them. Now, why you’re a Changeling and came back after centuries? I don’t know. However, to the form you give yourself, I take it that was how you used to look?”

Tchaicoltsky nodded. A flash of green fire circled him and out came the Pegasus. “I used to look like this in my youth. Long before I turned into an old stallion.”

“I see.” Assurance nodded. “You know, given the climate of things, while it’s not safe to be a Changeling in front of most, I think you can still drop the disguise around me.”

The Changeling looked at him. “Doctor, why are you still here? I… I thought that after you know what I… think about you… you wouldn’t-”

“Pyotr, it’s fine, and I get it. Truthfully, while this isn’t the first time this has happened, I don’t consider it the last given the profession I’m in. If anything, when I was being taught how to do this, I was told that more than likely ponies will develop feelings for me because I’d listen more than their partners would. It’s pretty much expected to happen at least one point. But in your case, given the circumstance… I would be lying to say that I’m not a little bit flattered.”

This surprised Tchaicoltsky, “But you’re not… are you?”

The therapist shook his head. “No. Personally I don’t swing that way, but it is something to find out that a historical figure happens to have a crush on you.”

“Even so, as much as I want to… maybe… hold your hoof at least, I still can’t.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Where I come from, such an open display of affection is considered not just taboo, but against nature itself. I had known stallions who were publicly shamed, their property snatched up and being banished to Saddleberia, never be seen again. If the public knew then… I was finished. There were a few close encounters but if I was caught, I’d be forever shamed as a pervert.”

“But didn’t I tell you that Equestria-”

“I’ve already heard of the praises of your tolerant nation!” Tchaicoltsky snapped at him, “But it still doesn’t help that I can’t help but see ghosts everywhere. What if I spoke my secret aloud to the wrong pony and be killed for it? That alone is the price of my safety.”

Dr. Assurance tapped his chin. “You know, I can’t pretend to know what it must have been like given the time and place you were from. Even now, not every place in the world has learned what most of us have, in that when you boil it all down, love is still love, as cliché as that sounds. The ghosts, those influences that drove you into the closet, they’re not here. Nopony can hurt you now. Nor are they ever going to on the basis of who you happen to feel an attraction towards.”

“That still doesn’t help when I’m still alone. Nevermind you never return such feelings back. But since I’ve realized that I have been gone for so many years, all the fame I built up in a lifetime is gone. I doubt that anyone, especially in Equestria, would even know who Tchaicoltsky was or the music that I have worked so hard on.”

“But I do.”

“Oh sure,” he rolled his eyes, “you do but what about everypony else? Do any of them know of the symphonies? The concertos? Ballets? Piano pieces, or anything for that matter? I couldn’t help but notice how much music has changed just by walking down a street. And I must tell you, nothing out there bares anything that I recognize as music. If at all! So what fleeting chance that I still would be remembered?” The therapist didn’t respond, but instead, he lit up his horn and pulled out a pair of tickets and hovered over to him. “What’s this?”

“Proof. Given that I know exactly who you are, I thought you might take an interest in this.”

The Changeling took hold of the tickets, and raised an eyebrow, “They’re still performing Sawn Lake?”

“This one has a twist. It had caused a controversy year ago, but now it’s considered just one of many acceptable adaptations to the ballet. If you’re not interested in flinging yourself off, I was hoping that maybe we could go see it.” He offered his hoof, “Consider this, Mr. Tchaicoltsky, as a date of sorts.”

He blinked. “But I thought you just said-”

“I’m not, but at the same time, I don’t want you to be miserable either. I am concerned about your well-being, I meant it. Not because you’re a historical figure, and not because out of pity. But as a way of thanking you for what your art has done for me. And I want to give that back that same compassion, that understanding, that reassurance that I’m not alone.” After a pause, he added, “Your story may not have been happy from the start. If you let me, I could give you the direction so that you can have that happily ever after. And I genuinely want to help you with whatever means possible. You could sense that from me, can’t you?”

Tchaicoltsky could. There wasn’t a word of what he said that gave him the impression that he was lying. There wasn’t an emotion that he felt during this conversation that felt fake to him. And above all, there was love coming from the doctor, maybe not the romantic love that he’d hoped for, but a charitable sort of love. He looked at the outstretched hoof. “Uh… m-may I?”

Nodding, Assurance held his hoof out further. For a long moment, Tchaicoltsky hesitated, as part of him still thinks that maybe this is all a trick. However, with the feelings being given off from his friend, there wasn’t a thing he should be afraid about. Not to mention that warm smile, like a flame among a bitter blizzard, was offered up to him. So, he raised a shaken hoof, even inches away, he nearly came close to withdrawing it for good. But even on the edge of the black abyss, he reached out and took hold of that hoof.

The Doctor sighed in relief. “Good… Good… Now come on, let’s get away from the edge. Okay?”

Nodding, the Changeling nodded, and inside him, as he was gently being pulled back, he felt something overwhelming. Not crippling depression, nor the joy of love being recuperated, but something more profound. It crept out from him and magic reverberated on the sketchy floor of the building. The two of them stopped as music that poured out from the Changeling in which the empty floor of plywood and steel beams were changed before their eyes.

At the sound of a slow violin, the floor was replaced by a title marble of black and white. It then stretched to where the walls were built up of amber wood, tall windows with moonlight and gentle lit candles that reflected from mirrors. Even above them, among the ornate gold leaf and paintings of Pegasi was a crystal chandelier that flickered in candlelight.

Assurance looked at him, astonished. “Is this your doing?”

“Oddly… I think it might be.” He said, “I’ve noticed if I feel something strongly enough, this happens.”

“Oh?” The therapist tilted his head, “And what do you feel now?”

A blush came across the Changeling’s face. “If it doesn’t seem improper, and not that you have to, but…” He held out a hoof, “Could I dance with you, sir?”

The unicorn therapist blinked, “I… I haven’t danced in years.”

“I won’t make it complicated just… please… may I have this moment, with you?”

He took in a deep breath, “We’ll talk about this magic thing later. But for now,” he stood on his hind legs, and Tchaicoltsky taking ahold of his forelegs in taking the lead. The two waltzed as a violin counted the steps, letting the illusion take hold of the waltz as the Changeling cried happily, even after the music and the exitance of the ballroom, ended.