The case sat in front of her, silent for now, though she could practically feel the possibility emanating from the seams. Octavia let out the breath she’d been holding as she reached out, hooking a foreleg around the case’s neck. She frowned as she rubbed her hoof over the canvas covering, the worn patches catching against her coat. It’d need to be replaced soon, even though she knew she’d use this one as long as possible. It was special, after all.

The first latch popped free with a quiet click, the lid straining against the rest. She gently pressed down to keep it in place, and carefully undid the other two. The lid lifted with a creak, the cello inside gleaming softly from the stage lights. The strings quivered slightly, and she stilled them with a smile. “Relax, we’re almost there. No need to be impatient.”

“Miss Octavia?” A voice intruded on her privacy, and she turned her head toward the stage manager. He was a skinny thing, legs wiry from years of running to and fro from the stage floor to the catwalks. “We’re five minutes to curtain.”

She nodded quietly, and he trotted away, checking the clipboard floating alongside him. Sparing the rest of the stage a glance, she watched the last few stageponies double checking the rest of the equipment. The stage was almost clear, and she turned her attention back to the case in front of her.

First, she reached for a polish cloth, wrapping it around a hoof as she inspected the face of the cello. Despite the best felt she could find, there were still a few scuff marks here and there. They stood out like bald spots to her, and she gently rubbed the cloth against the first, near the base of the neck. “Nice and easy…”

”...just like it’s your foal,” her father finished, leaning back from his double bass. “The worst thing a musician can do is to mistreat their instrument, even if they mean the best.”

Octavia nodded, eyes wide as she stared up at the towering edifice of wood and string. Her hooves itched, eager to try to play it, though she knew at her age she couldn’t even reach halfway up.

Bass Clef grinned as he watched his filly bounce on her hooves, remembering when he’d sat at his mother’s side with the same expression on his face. “Now now, Octavia, just be patient. You’ll have your own instrument some day, after all.”

Octavia pouted, glancing back at her flank. “Just wish I knew what instrument I’d be good at.”

Bass chuckled. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” He glanced back to the double bass, ears perking up. “Tell you what, how about we give the old girl a polish, hmm?”

Octavia froze, eyes wide. “You mean it? But you just polished her…”

“Well, and this is an old secret I learned, but an instrument never got hurt by having a second coat put on.” Bass hefted the double bass with ease, carefully laying it down on its pad. “Grab an extra cloth, okay?”

Octavia beamed and bounded over, snatching one of the polish rags from the hook. “Ready!”

Bass chuckled again. “Are you sure? Just going to dive right in, with no polish or anything, hmm?” He smiled as her ears drooped and patted her consolingly. “Don’t feel too bad, my mother would always chide me for being too eager when I was a colt.” He adjusted the rag so it covered her hoof and indicated the jar of polish. “Do you know why I always polish my instrument on stage before a show?”

“To make sure it’s as clean as possible?” Octavia replied as she rubbed the cloth into the polish.

“No, actually. It’s to help keep myself calm.” He readied his own cloth, and started to rub along the top of the face.

“To keep calm?” Octavia gently got to work on the side, glancing at Bass’ hoof every few seconds to mimic his technique.

He nodded. “If I’m ever feeling nervous about the show, I always make some time to just sit and polish. It’s all about letting go of the things you can’t control, Octavia.”

She frowned. “I think I get it…”

“Well, like I said, you’ve got plenty of time to learn,” Bass said with another chuckle as the two continued to work.

“Three minutes to curtain, Miss Melody.”

She blinked, not even aware that the stagepony had walked up. With a nod she resumed her polishing, working her way down the face until the cello shone like new. Satisfied, she carefully lifted it by the neck until it stood upright. “Think I could ask for a favor?” She indicated the case, and he nodded. With a grunt, she hefted the cello up and he pulled the case to the side. Octavia lowered the end peg into the slot for it with a sigh. “Bring me the stand, please.”

The stagepony nodded again, dragging the tripod stand over. She adjusted her grip as he positioned it, then leaned it back into the padded neckrest. “Okay, just give me a moment.” She took a few deep breaths, relaxing her legs in preparation for the next part. “Here we go.” She put a hoof on the stand, took one more breath, and heaved herself upright…

...only to fall back to her hooves with a snort of frustration. “I’m never going to get the hang of this, it’s stupid!” she shouted, giving the cello a glare.

“Octavia Philharmonic Melody, that’s no way to behave!” her mother said firmly as she fell onto her hooves. Taking a breath, she continued in a softer tone, “I know it’s tough, sweetheart. But trust me, you’re already doing better than I was at your age.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I get the cello to lean on, you don’t have anything.”

Lira blinked. “Don’t have anything? Is that what you think?” She shook her head. “That’s not true at all, my little note.”

“Mom, I’m not a filly anymore, don’t call me that,” Octavia said with a groan, though her anger had started to fade.

“You’ll always be my little filly, and it’s a parents job to embarrass their children. Now, we’re going to try this again, this time watch me carefully.” Lira closed her eyes, legs flexing as Octavia stared. Then, on some signal only she could hear, Lira’s front legs pushed while her back legs buckled, almost half squatting as she started to stand. As she continued up, her back legs extended, forelegs half-out for balance, until she stood fully upright. She wavered for a second, but shifted a hoof and became perfectly still. “There we go. My legs never did like that last bit.”

Octavia stared, awestruck. “How do you even do that?”

Lira grinned as she dropped back to all fours. “Well, lots of practice.” She laughed as Octavia scowled. “Oh, relax. There’s a little trick your father taught me, works like a charm.”

“What was it?” Octavia asked, frustration gone.

“To never try to stand alone,” Lira said, her smile softer as she shook out her foreleg. “You hear all the time about famous ponies. But what they don’t talk about is how many ponies helped get them there.” She stood up again with only a slight grunt, not wavering this time. “For instance, I know that I have my family’s support, “she ruffled Octavia’s mane, “and the support of my audience. Not to mention my violin, and anypony playing with me.”

Octavia half-scowled at the touch, but laughed anyway. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Good! Now, let’s try again. Before long, you’ll be standing on your own two hooves like a pro!” Lira said, laughing as Octavia’s scowl deepened. “Oh come now, you’re never going to get it right with that face!”

Octavia couldn’t help the chuckle as she felt her legs settle into the standing position, only lightly holding the cello. “I’m okay, you can remove the stand now.”

The stagepony nodded again, and removed the stand. Octavia took an awkward step, letting the cello support her. She leaned down, reaching toward the case for the bow, still set into its slot. Before she got there, the stagepony delicately lifted it and held it out for her. “Oh, thank you.”

“Not a problem, Ma’am. Is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all. I hope you enjoy the show,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, Ma’am. Good luck out there.” He bowed slightly and slung the stand across his back, hurrying offstage.

“One minute to curtain!” the stage manager called, and a fresh round of activity began. The stageponies left on stage redoubled their efforts, rapidly clearing away anything left. Atop the scaffolding, several unicorns took their place by the curtain ropes, ready to begin on their cue.

Another stagepony trotted up to her, his horn glowing. “Miss Melody, I’ll be applying the sound enhancement spell now.”

She glanced down at her cello, eyes half-closed in thought. “No.”

“Ma’am?” the stagepony asked, head cocked to the side.

“Not this time, if you please.” The tone of her voice made it clear she wasn’t asking. “Tell the stage manager I’ll be going with a natural sound this time.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, before he lowered his head at her insistent nod. “As you wish.” He trotted off stage and spoke briefly to the stage manager, who scowled at Octavia, though made no further comment. The time was up, after all.

It was always a little flutter that signified it, the start of the curtain’s rise. No matter how skilled the unicorns raising it, the curtain always teased those behind it, reminding them that their skills were about to be tested.

Octavia closed her eyes, shifting her grip on the bow as the curtain began to creep its way ceilingward. She felt her heart begin to beat a little harder, her breathing quickening as her nerves began to fray…

”I don’t want to do this,” Octavia whispered, the filly shaking like a leaf backstage. Her cello case leaned against the wall. “I’m not ready, I could have practiced more…”

Bass nuzzled her gently. “I know you’re nervous, sweetheart. But you’re going to do fine. Just remember what we taught you.”

“Everypony out in the audience knows this is your class’ first concert. All they expect is for you to try your best and have fun,” Lira added as she adjusted Octavia’s bow. “Don’t forget, we’re going to be out there too, cheering you on.” She paused, then added with a laugh, “Well, listening quietly first, then we’ll cheer.”

Octavia fidgeted. “But what if I don’t do well? What if they don’t like it?”

Bass sat up, his expression calm. “Then you’ll have tried anyway. That counts for more than anypony can say.” He wrapped a foreleg around her, drawing her into a crushing hug. “Just remember, my little song, life is full of moments like these. Learn to appreciate them.”

Lira nudged her mate. “Don’t squish her, dear. Let’s find our seats before it’s too late.”

Bass released Octavia after a second, lighter squeeze. “Play your heart out, Octavia.”

Octavia couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips, or the moisture that tickled her eyes as she felt the air of the rising curtain brush her face. The nervousness was gone, but her entire body shivered with the anticipation of what was coming. She could hear the audience murmuring in front of her, though she didn’t dare open an eye to see them. Her ear flicked as the ropes creaked, drawing the curtain up until it was secured.

Once the sound of the stage faded, leaving only the audience as the source of noise, Octavia raised her bow leg slightly, resting the hair of the bow against the strings. Almost on cue, the audience fell silent, eagerly awaiting her first stroke.

And in that brief, infinite pause, Octavia ruled the world.