The fireplace embers crackled, and the moonlight poured in. Octavia stood in the center of the room, her cells right by her side, ready to create music. A night by herself, without any appointments or dates or annoying friends to pull her away, left her with a golden opportunity. She had a whole night all to herself and her cello, to explore her inner music.

Her music sheets were carefully put away. Her books on composers were shelved. This journey wouldn’t be focused on any outside influence. The music would completely come from within her. 

She could only imagine what she’d find. Adventures into the dreamscape? Patriotism? Appreciation for nature? She couldn’t wait to get start.

With a deep breath, she raised the bow, set it on the second string, and strummed the first note slowly. The lingering note made the world dissolve around her. She felt her senses fade, and then return in the blackness.

The next strum brought feelings to life. It was a simple, pleasant note, and it set her on the cobblestone street of Canterlot—the theater district, specifically. There was just a timber to it that evoked the old wood and curtains of the theater.

More notes followed. The world manifested a few blank-faced ponies in the audience, a few more around her. There was one pony on stage, a stallion with a harp. All the faceless ponies watched awestruck—she just knew it—as he plucked silent notes with the skill of an elite.

Her music took on deeper tones, and her strumming became quicker. The stallion’s strumming ceased, and he rose to take a bow. The other ponies stomped in applause. As the stallion bowed, he looked at Octavia and winked.

She knew him.

Her bowing became staccato, and she found herself charging straight at him. The faceless ponies watched in horror, to stricken with terror to stop her. Her bow pulled back as she leapt onto the stage. With a massive thrust of the bow, she threw something—the bow, her hoof, a knife, she didn’t know—at him.

Each strum of the bow was stronger and powerful, the notes rising as she attacked him again and again. The crowd shrieked and booed without sound. At one instant, he looked up, his face bloody, pleading for mercy.

The moment their eyes met, Octavia’s sprang open. Her bow fell to the floor, and the cello followed. Finally, she herself flopped down onto her rump. As the night slowly wore on, she sat there, paralyzed.

Her heart was racing, her breathing was rough, and her coat was covered in sweat. She knew that for certain. What wasn’t clear was how her brain felt. It was dizzy, that much she could tell. There was something else there. Disgust, maybe?

She scoffed. Not at why she was disgusted, but why it wasn’t certain that she was disgusted.

The stallion was a smug prodigy that lorded it over Octavia whenever he had the chance. “What would a musician from [i]Ponyville[/i] know of true music?” he would ask her on multiple occasions. Often times, she had shrugged it off; once or twice she had told him to bugger off. He wouldn’t pester her any more that day.

He was far more successful than her, and she had always thought that unfair. She mused. She thought that jealousy could’ve been the explanation, but that would’ve been ludicrous. Octavia Philharmonica, cellist extraordinaire, jealous over a hothead that was more successful than her?

Her heart dropped. The music had shown her beating him, maybe even murdering him. She had loomed over him.

She had been the one to make him fall.

His smugness fell with him.

He had begged her for mercy.

But she had stopped. What would she have done, had she continued? She wondered how she would’ve made his suffering worse—no, she would’ve asked for help.

She would’ve denounced the town as tone-deaf, and played them real music.

She would’ve beseeched them the get the royal guard.

She would’ve continued whatever she’d been doing.

She would’ve ran for her life.

The possibilities made her feel sick. She thought about putting away her instrument and going to bed; she was obviously in over her head at this point. It would’ve been the best option.

And yet… the stallion’s cheeky smile, and his begging eyes, coaxed her back. The music had shown her something within her, and she needed to know more.

With a deep breath, she righted herself again and began playing the first note.