Wishes and Music

Chapter 1

Octavia sat in her dressing room, staring at herself in the mirror. Her glossy black mane flowed down her back in straight, beautiful locks. Her bowtie was exactly level on her neck and she had brushed her beautiful grey coat until it almost gleamed in the light. Physically, she was perfect. So… absolutely… perfect.

Octavia picked up the half-full bottle of whiskey sitting on the vanity in front of the mirror and downed it in a single gulp, relishing the burn as it rushed down her throat. She had become extremely familiar with this burn over the past few months; it was her only constant companion other than her cello.

She smacked her lips, looking down at the bottle thoughtfully. “Damn,” she muttered, gripping the bottle tightly. “Barely a buzz. I’ll have to pick up something stronger on the way home. Maybe it’s time to try that 100 proof.” The idea made her laugh. Just two months ago a glass of wine would make her sit down, complaining of wooziness. Now that same wine might as well have been water.

Octavia froze, her gaze becoming unfocused and distant. Two months ago…

Memories that had been deeply repressed rose to the surface, shattering any semblance of composure that Octavia had. The bruising grip... the rope burns... the cold laughter... it felt like a hot coal had been thrust into her mental scars.

Octavia shook her head violently, messing up the perfection of her flowing mane, and threw the whiskey bottle as hard as she could. It hit the mirror with a resounding smash, and both shattered into pieces. A small shard flew outward from the mirror and nicked her cheek, causing her to flinch. The pain, however, was a blessing; it caused her to forget those terrible memories and focus, instead, on the present.

The door to her dressing room slammed open and a high-pitched, female voice screamed out. “Miss Octavia! Are you alright!? What happened!?” Octavia scowled over her shoulder. Of course she would have heard that.

She was none other than Octavia’s newest “assistant” Velvet Blossom. Velvet’s job was to “help Octavia stay on schedule and organize all of the details so that she could put on the best show ever!” As far as Octavia was concerned, Velvet was less of an assistant and more of a pest who never left her alone.

“Oh my gosh! What happened!?” Velvet exclaimed, noticing the broken mirror. “Did a fan sneak in again?”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Does it look like there’s anypony else in here, Velvet?”

“Well, no…” Velvet began, unsure of herself, “...but then… who broke the mirror?”

Octavia whirled around, exasperation and anger in her eyes. She just wanted to be left alone. “Who do you think it was, you stupid foal!? It was me! I broke the damn mirror!”

Velvet flinched back, visibly frightened. Her voice shook as she said the next thing that came to her mind. “O… oh. W… well, why… why did you do that?”

Octavia fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. “Maybe I was just tired of looking at myself,” she said through clenched teeth.

Velvet was genuinely confused by this. “But Miss Octavia… you’re so beautiful! Why wouldn’t you want to look at yourself?”

Octavia closed her eyes and exhaled through her clenched teeth. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She wanted to hit Velvet in the mouth as hard as she could, just to see if it was actually possible to knock sense into a pony. Something stopped her though. A small voice in the back of her head, one that she hadn’t heard in months, whispered soothingly. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t know. It isn’t her fault.’  Octavia hesitated.

Velvet spoke again. “Oh… Miss Octavia… you… you’re bleeding. Here, let me get that.”

Octavia felt a soft cloth touch her face where the glass had cut her. She opened her eyes slowly. “Get away from me.” She whispered quietly.

Velvet stopped wiping but didn’t remove the cloth from Octavia’s face. “What was that, Miss Octavia?”

Octavia stared at Velvet until the young assistant was forced to look away. “I said: Get. Away. From. Me.” Her voice was clear, cold, and menacing.

Velvet began to tremble. She hadn’t been Octavia’s assistant for very long, but in the short time that she had been, Octavia had never acted like this. “B… but… but… your… your face,” she squeaked, fear causing her to stutter.

Octavia finally lost her composure. “Get away from me!” she screamed as loudly as she could, tears of anger running down her face. “Just go away and don’t come back!” She stormed out of the room, leaving Velvet there still holding the cloth in midair, quietly crying.

The halls outside Octavia’s dressing room were crowded with the backstage ponies that made it possible for Octavia to play her music, and they were all silently staring at her. She didn’t care. As long as they stayed out of her way, they could stare and laugh and call her names. She was going home. She couldn’t deal with all of this tonight.

As she reached the doors that would lead her out into the cold night and towards her home, a deep, commanding voice stopped her. “Octavia! Where in Equestria do you think you’re going?”

Octavia cursed under her breath. Of all the ponies that could have stopped her, it just had to be him. She whirled around, meeting the hard, emerald eyes of her manager, Vincent Showstar. “I’m going home, Vincent!” she said, scowling. “I can’t deal with this tonight. Find somepony else to play.”

Vincent’s voice was full of cold steel and fury as he cantered towards Octavia. He wasn’t about to let this drama-queen of a cellist ruin the most important show of the year. “Octavia, I didn’t spend a fortune on you just so you could go home because you can’t ‘deal with this.’ You will get your flank on stage and you will play!”

Octavia ignored him. She didn’t feel like arguing with him, not tonight. He, however, refused to give up. “If you walk out that door,” he began coldly, “then you will never play the cello professionally again as long as I draw breath! You know I can do it!”

That stopped Octavia. She did know he could do it. He had done it with a lyre player a few years back. She had refused to play because her marefriend was about to have a child. Last Octavia had heard that pony was living with that same marefriend in some obscure town. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, fighting back more tears. Playing the cello was her life… if she lost that… she might as well kill herself.

Octavia turned slowly, defeated. “Fine, Vincent. I’ll go out there and play your stupid little show.” Her voice was emotionless and distant.

Vincent smirked, the thrill of victory pumping through his veins. “I knew you would see reason. Go and get yourself cleaned up. Curtain’s in five and you look like crap.” He turned, searching the crowd of ponies that had stopped to watch the exchange. “Autumn!” He exclaimed, indicating her with a hoof. “Get Octavia cleaned up! She has to look presentable!” Autumn nodded and hurried to do as he had ordered. She didn’t want to end up in the same position as Octavia. As she led Octavia away from the heartless manager, Vincent called out loudly. “And somepony get me a bucking cup of coffee! It’s freezing in here!”

Autumn led the now complacent Octavia into her own personal dressing room and sat her down in front of the vanity. As she straightened Octavia’s mane and made the cut invisible, she attempted to soothe her, “Everything will be alright honey. All you have to do is go out there and do what you love. All you have to do is play. You don’t even have to play what Vincent wants you to, just play what you feel.”

Octavia stared at Autumn’s reflection. Autumn Styles had been her manedresser and make-up artist for years. She had always liked Autumn. She was down-to-Equestria and usually had sound advice. Unfortunately, not all of the sound advice in the world could help Octavia right now. “I feel dead inside Autumn,” She whispered. She wanted to cry some more but her body was out of tears.

Autumn finished making Octavia “presentable” and stepped in front of her, pulling her into an embrace. Octavia felt limp in her hooves. “Just go out there and play, Octavia,” Autumn whispered. “Just go out there and play.”

Two minutes later Octavia was standing next to the one thing in the world she treasured: her cello. The thick red curtain swayed gently in front of her, and she could hear the soft mumble of the crowd behind it. She stared at the curtain blankly, trying to feel anything.

A baritone voice sounded over the loudspeakers. “Fillies and gentlecolts! Good evening! I hope that each and every one of you is having a wonderful Hearth’s Warming Eve! For your entertainment tonight we are proud to present the one, the only, the greatest cellist in all of Equestria: Octavia!” As the announcer said her name the curtain rose, revealing her to the crowd of thousands.

It was show time.

For a long, silent moment Octavia stared out into the crowd blankly. She barely even noticed that her view had changed. She still couldn’t feel anything and if she couldn’t feel anything then she couldn’t play anything; emotions were what made her music so amazing.

Another silent minute passed and the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. What was Octavia doing? They had come here to listen to beautiful music, not to be stared at! As the whispering turned into grumbling, a harsh, angry whisper sounded out from the side of the stage. “Octavia! What the buck do you think you’re doing! Play!”

Octavia glanced over. Vincent was staring her, his face red with anger. He looked as if he wanted to come onto the stage and beat Octavia until she played. He wouldn’t, of course… not in front of the fans, at least.

Seeing Vincent’s anger sparked Octavia’s own. What right did he have to order her around like a dog? She wasn’t his slave! The spark turned into a wildfire. What right did he have to demand that she play music!? She was the one who had paid in blood, sweat and tears to be able to play the way she did! She was the one who had spent her foalhood practicing and practicing until her hooves ached and her head spun! She was the one who had forsaken her friends to focus on her passion!

A change occurred in Octavia. The wildfire of anger burning through her was quenched by a flood of other emotions. The dam that she had so carefully constructed had finally broken and months’ worth of despair, hatred, longing, fury, sorrow and loneliness rushed through her relentlessly. She felt herself withdraw from the world around her. The sounds of the world faded into the background and the colors of the world faded into shades of grey.

Octavia began to breathe heavily. She felt light-headed and her heart was thudding in her chest. She couldn’t handle this… it was too much. She felt like she was going to collapse. Her mind realized something was terribly wrong and shut down its higher faculties, giving itself over to primal instinct. Octavia suddenly felt as if a cocoon of apathy had wrapped around her. She could still ‘see’ the emotions and know why they were there, but she could no longer feel them. Octavia knew that if this… cocoon fell apart, then she would go insane from the sheer strength of her emotions. So she did the one thing that she had done all of her life whenever her emotions were starting to overwhelm her.

Octavia began to play.

Her emotions rushed from her heart into her bow and from her bow into the strings of her cello. From those strings the music of her emotions played out, giving everypony in the building a taste of the true Octavia. Fury came first. Octavia’s bow flew across the strings, transforming her silent, inner anger into a fast-paced wail of passion. Fear came next. Her bow danced across the strings, alternating pitches and tempo, telling the story of Octavia’s inner demons. Loneliness came next. Here her bow glided across the strings slowly, producing a mournful sound that resonated with Octavia’s shattered dreams of friendship… of love.

Octavia played and played, using her music as a medium to expose the very essence of her soul. She was oblivious to everything around her; the only things that existed were her, her cello, and her emotions. She didn’t notice when she began to cry. She didn’t notice when she clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. She didn’t feel the heat of the spotlights on her flank or the pressure to play well for the crowd. She didn’t even feel the cold, consuming grip of her resurfaced memories. She simply played.

When she was finished and her final note resonated, lingering in the air, she breathed a sigh of relief. Again, she felt nothing, but this was… different from the feeling before; now she felt… peaceful. Before, her heart had been filled to bursting with her bottled up emotions; it couldn’t hold any more and when she had tried to force more in it couldn’t handle the stress. Now, it was as if her heart was an empty glass, ready to be filled again.

A roaring noise brought Octavia’s focus back into the moment. The crowd was going insane. Most, if not all of the ponies were crying, allowing the tears to flow down their faces freely. Whistles sounded from the masses and chants of “Encore! Encore!” rang out. Octavia gazed out into the adoring crowd with a blank expression. She may have felt at peace but that didn’t mean she could bring herself to care. Octavia turned slowly and walked towards the side of the stage, carrying her cello. She was going home.