PasteJam 2023 Entry


                                            >She set it ablaze.

                                            >Prepared enough to bring matches, unprepared for the storm.

                                            >The mare is audibly chattering as she scoots as close as possible to the warmest source of heat in the room.

                                            >She'll be fine.

                                            >Her eyes dart around the place, in search of something to block out the wind.

                                            >The windows of your abode are long gone.

                                            >You move to uncover a bit of the snow that has piled in a corner of the house.

                                            >Underneath it are the "curtains" she wants.

                                            >It's really the remains of what was once your blankets.

                                            >Since you lived out in the freezing forest, you had plenty of them, and they were thick, thick enough to block out the wind.

                                            >The cold made it so that they were barely deteriorated.

                                            >In fact, they were almost in perfect condition.

                                            >Satisfied that you cleared enough snow, you manage to pull a corner of the blanket out.

                                            >It's hard to manipulate things in this body.

                                            >Another blast of cold wind pierces through the home, the mare curling up even more to keep the warmth.

                                            >She'll be okay.

                                            >Once again she look around the home for anything - anything.

                                            >Then she spots your handiwork, her eyes lightening up at the sight of salvation.

                                            >As quickly as she can, she darts to the pile and yanks out a blanket from beneath.

                                            >She goes to try to put it up on the windows, but realizes that there is really no way to do so.

                                            >For her, at least.

                                            >The bottom of the window is higher than her head while on fours, and the curtain rod is much too high for her to reach.

                                            >No wings, either.

                                            >Her ears droop at the realization.

                                            >Defeated and cold, she scurries back to the fire with the blanket in tow.

                                            >There's more in the snow pile, but she doesn't go for them.

                                            >Not yet, at least.

                                            >The brown mare wraps herself with the blanket, then realizing that it was beneath freezing snow, takes it off in a hurry to hold it next to the fire.

                                            >You quietly work to remove the melted snow that is absorbed into the blanket, redirecting the water down and flowing away from the mare.

                                            >In about a minute, the blanket is back to its glorious self: fluffy and warm.

                                            >Except for the fact that it's only a quarter of the size of its previous self.

                                            >And that there are slits running down the side of it.

                                            >You'll remember her.

                                            >The First.

                                            >You always will.

                                            >Seeing it in its new state, she eagerly wraps the blanket around herself and melts into its warm embrace.

                                            >She lets out a little happy sigh that makes you smile, until a blade of wind interrupts the moment.

                                            >Again she is looking around, trying to figure out how to stop the wind.

                                            >This time, it isn't as urgent, your old blanket faithfully doing its duty.

                                            >You like to give each piece a chance to be in the spotlight.

                                            >Her eyes dance around, finally taking in your home.

                                            >She sees the overturned furniture, the scattered silverware, the overgrown roots, the complete mess that is your home.

                                            >Or once was.

                                            >You're not sure if it's still yours, considering this little critter.

                                            >You don't even remember what it looked like before it became all this.

                                            >It's barely audible, only a breathless whisper, but you can hear it, as clear as day:

                                            >"Why's everything so big?"

                                            >There it is.

                                            >You didn't get many visitors, so everything was sized for you, and only you.

                                            >You did most of the visiting to the local village to exchange your pony sized carpentry for meager wares and supplies.

                                            >You doubt that village remains.

                                            >Never did you fit in.

                                            >It was a lonely life, untroubled, but lonely.

                                            >To make a small semblance of your life before this, and then before that, too, you made a few extra chairs.

                                            >Four chairs around a circular table.

                                            >Just like old times.

                                            >It was nice.

                                            >Surprisingly, only two chairs survive.

                                            >The others were, apparently, different in their construction, even though you made all four from the same tree and in the same style.

                                            >After mulling over the size of your furniture in the kitchen, she turns her eyes into the room she sat in.

                                            >The couch is in a terrible state, almost completely covered by snow and frozen at parts.

                                            >A large square hole in the wall adjacent to the couch lets in the majority of the wind.

                                            >Said wind escapes through the other two smaller holes on the opposing wall.

                                            >The coffee table is split down the middle.

                                            >Bits of pottery are washed away to the walls.

                                            >She sees the doorway into your room.

                                            >You know from her angle that she can spot a corner of your bed.

                                            >You don't have to look to know her eyes are alight with curiosity, eager to explore this mysterious house and learn about its previous inhabitant.

                                            >The feeling is cut short by harsh wind.

                                            >The storm is picking up now, the wind whipping the house furiously.

                                            >It doesn't take a genius to figure out what is going on, the mare is already concerned.

                                            >Her ears are back down, pressing against her skull, as she weighs her options.

                                            >For now, she cannot leave the warmth of the fire, but if she doesn't do anything, then the house will fill with snow.

                                            >Hypothermia.

                                            >You nudge one of the chairs.

                                            >She's still thinking, staring, fearing.

                                            >Again you push the chair, ever so slightly with your weak strength.

                                            >It creaks.

                                            >You can see one of her ears lift.

                                            >Push.

                                            >Creak.

                                            >Her head turns towards the chair.

                                            >"H-hello?"

                                            >A blast of wind tears through the house, spotting her mane with white specks.

                                            >Once it passes, she opens her eyes to look at the chair.

                                            >Then towards the window.

                                            >The chair again.

                                            >The window.

                                            >You know the gears are turning in her little head.

                                            >It comes to fruition when her other ear pops up, her eyes widening in realization.

                                            >She gets up, still wrapped in the blanket, and beelines straight towards the chair.

                                            >You keep the blanket raised above her hooves so she doesn't trip in her haste.

                                            >The chair makes its complaints clear through the howling wind as it is pushed to the window.

                                            >At its location, she tries to push it upright to no avail.

                                            >You can't blame her.

                                            >She's freezing from being out of the heat for such a short time.

                                            >The cold can really sap out one's strength.

                                            >You forgo holding her blanket up to instead add your meager leverage.

                                            >It's barely enough, like always.

                                            >She expresses surprise with her cute little squeak.

                                            >She would question how she did it if she weren't pressed with urgency.

                                            >With a final push to press the chair against the wall, the mare moves back to the fire to regain some warmth before she grabs a different blanket.

                                            >You don't blame her for staying there longer than needed.

                                            >But she can't stay there forever.

                                            >She clambers up the chair, spurred on by the burning desire for comfort.

                                            >It's a little awkward, with her holding onto the blanket in her mouth and whatnot.

                                            >Once perched on the seat, she rears up towards the curtain rod.

                                            >Already there's a problem.

                                            >One, she can't quite reach the curtain rod.

                                            >Two, she has no way to secure the blanket.

                                            >She growls in frustration, being so close, yet so far away.

                                            >The little pony rises to the tips of her hooves, which is still not enough.

                                            >She takes a moment to take in her situation before trying to climb up the backrest, neck still outstretched towards the rod.

                                            >Bad idea.

                                            >She's prone to fall off if you don't act.

                                            >Good thing she's gotten close enough for you to lift the blanket and slide the slits through the rod.

                                            >She makes a little noise when she sees the blanket moving on her own, almost dropping it from her mouth.

                                            >You feel a little better as you manage to slide almost the entire thing through.

                                            >She doesn't let go of the end, however, still staring at the miracle before her.

                                            >You gently tug on it a little, which gets her to let go of the blanket.

                                            >Free from any restrictions, you completely cover the window, the effect almost immediate — the noise dies down from a roar to a commotion.

                                            >The mare is still staring at the curtain rod, mouth agape.

                                            >There's still other windows to cover.

                                            >You pull on her blanket.

                                            >"O-oh, t-thank-k y-you."

                                            >Poor thing, always cold.

                                            >You tug her towards to the fire, to get warm.

                                            >Once seated, she looks around, trying to see your non-existent form.

                                            >She won't find anything.

                                            >She never does.

                                            >You blow the heat towards her.

                                            >It's not much, but it's better than before.

                                            >She scoots a little closer, head sinking into the depths of the blanket until all that's left is two large eyes, a pair of ears, and a tuft of hair sticking out.

                                            >"I-I'm Searchlight," she says into the fire, "What are you?"

                                            >You demonstrate by playing with the crackling hearth.

                                            >The fire dances to and fro in a structured display of acknowledgment as you wiggle around in it.

                                            >"Oooooo, so you're some kind of spirit? Can you tell me your name?"

                                            >She'll never know.

                                            >You can't speak.

                                            >You can't write.

                                            >You can only give her a sorrowful smile and shrug.

                                            >Well, it feels like that, anyways.

                                            >No body, remember?

                                            >And like always, she picks up on it.

                                            >You don't know how she does it.

                                            >"Uh, you don't know? Or you can't tell me?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"Oh."

                                            >Her ears are folded back, eyes staring into the fire.

                                            >You watch as snow starts to creep in from the other windows.

                                            >A gentle tug reminds her that she can't keep pondering.

                                            >"Huh?"

                                            >You wave an edge of one of the several blankets in the snow pile at her.

                                            >"Oh!"

                                            >With your help, she manages to cover the rest of the windows.

                                            >There are no open windows left, nor blankets, save for the one she is currently wrapped in.

                                            >She plops herself down by the fire after finishing the last window.

                                            >A sigh of relief is sounded.

                                            >And she smiles that beautiful smile of hers.

                                            >You love that smile.

                                            >It fills you with such joy; you can never get tired of it.

                                            >Her ears perk up.

                                            >"Thank you so much, again, spirit." She covers her mouth."Oop, do you mind me calling you that?"

                                            >You shake your head.

                                            >Again that radiant smile.

                                            >Enough to melt the snow if it could.

                                            >"Okay, then! I'm so glad you were here, because if you weren't, then, then..."

                                            >Her ears droop.

                                            >Her smile fades.

                                            >You immediately wish you can hold her tight, tell her everything is alright.

                                            >Whisper sweet nothings to her.

                                            >"...then I wouldn't be here to say this, huh?"

                                            >She smiles again.

                                            >"But that didn't happen! I'm here, and so are you!"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >A small quiet settles in the room, punctuated by the crackling and popping of the fire.

                                            >"So, uh, quite a storm, huh?"

                                            >Nod.

                                            >"Soooo, when do you think it'll pass? I was trying to get through this forest when it came out of nowhere. Luckily this house- or your house, actually, was here."

                                            >You can only shrug.

                                            >It has a mind of its own.

                                            >Sometimes it lasts days.

                                            >Other times it lasts hours, even mere minutes.

                                            >Deep down, you hate whenever it lasts minutes.

                                            >"Oh. Guess I'm stuck here until it passes, then. And since you can't speak..."

                                            >She groans, slouching deeper into the blanket.

                                            >"You know why I was coming through here?"

                                            >You shake your head.

                                            >You want to listen to her voice.

                                            >"Well, you would probably want some context before I tell you the whole story, huh?"

                                            >"So you see, I'm a pony, so I've got this thing called a cutie mark."

                                            >She wiggles her rump a bit, pulling up the blanket, to slide out her flank.

                                            >On it is a black blob with a triangular whiteness pushing out towards her chest.

                                            >Specks of blue, of all hues, sparkle around in the murky darkness.

                                            >Her adorable smile is back.

                                            >"This means my special skill is looking for things!"

                                            >She lets the blanket drape over her exposed coat.

                                            >"Soooo, I've been using my skill to help look for things ponies can't find. I've found things like missing watches, missing bits, and even missing ponies!"

                                            >The smile gets wider.

                                            >"I remember this time when a foal went missing. Her parents went wild with panic, they tore up their entire home looking for her! Then they went out to the town and continued their search there. They went to house to house, asking their neighbors. They all said 'no, I didn't see her,' and joined the parents in their search. Soon enough, they had the whole town searching!"

                                            >She pauses, nose scrunching up.

                                            >"Why, they didn't even think to ask me first! Maybe they were overthinking things, I guess, but I lived off on the other side of town, and when word reached me I stopped my current investigation at that time and took off. Didn't even take me an hour to fine her. You know why?"

                                            >A giggle fills the void.

                                            >"Because she was at my home! That little filly had gotten her cutie mark and went to me to ask about what it was, because she thought that I would be able to solve it for her! Oh, but the look her parents gave me and then her, oh that was priceless!"

                                            >You can't help but smile, too.

                                            >"Moral of the day was that if anypony goes missing, I'm the one to find!"

                                            >You wish she can hear you laugh.

                                            >See you smile.

                                            >But hers is enough.

                                            >"Ohhh, hehe, that was a great time... Oh! So, on the topic of why I'm here..."

                                            >She trails off.

                                            >Her eyes look towards the ground, away from the fire, but you can still clearly see her face.

                                            >Her smile is gone.

                                            >"Well, my parents one day decided to take a little cruise, when I was little, for their honeymoon. They left me with my grandma. They told us that it was going to be three days."

                                            >But it wasn't three days.

                                            >"But it wasn't three days. I don't know what happened, but they didn't come back. The ship did, but not them."

                                            >Again you want to comfort her.

                                            >You always do.

                                            >You hate it whenever she's like this.

                                            >"I always wondered where they went, I wanted to go find them, but my grandma told me not to. Said it was too dangerous for me."

                                            >"She taught me how to be safe, so I stayed around my home town and the nearby settlements for my job. It brought in bits, I guess."

                                            >"Still, I wanted to find my parents. Somehow, I knew, and still do, that they were out there, waiting for me to find them. I always talked to grandma about that."

                                            >"Only recently did she cave in, and let me go after my constant nagging. I think she knew more than she let on, though I'm still glad about everything she's done for me."

                                            >She gives a weary smile.

                                            >"Her cookies were the best. And I guess she was right, considering where I am right now. Didn't expect to be trapped in a storm all the way out here."

                                            >"So yeah, that's me, looking for my parents and ending up in a cabin, with a spirit, in the middle of the biggest storm I've ever seen."

                                            >You aren't offended.

                                            >"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that. I'm glad I met you! I just want to find my parents..."

                                            >You give her a small smile.

                                            >Of course it's fine.

                                            >Her goals are noble, after all.

                                            >Sensing your smile, she throws one back.

                                            >"Oh, thank you! I won't put it like that again, I promise!"

                                            >She'll break it, unintentionally.

                                            >"So that's my story. Can you tell me yours?"

                                            >You shrug.

                                            >"Right, you can't speak."

                                            >Well, you can do one thing.

                                            >You give her a small tug, directed towards your bedroom.

                                            >"Hm? Oh, no I can't, that's your room!"

                                            >You tug again.

                                            >"Well, if you insist."

                                            >You know that she wanted to explore your room the moment she saw it.

                                            >That is confirmed by the smile on her face.

                                            >By now, the house is warmed enough where she won't be chattering her teeth if she were to leave the fire's safety.

                                            >The blankets do a great job of blocking out the wind.

                                            >She tentatively takes a few steps towards your room before pausing.

                                            >"Oh, uh, it's a bit dark in there."

                                            >She has a solution.

                                            >"Butttt, I've got something, just for that!"

                                            >Out of her bags, with a little difficulty due to the blanket, she brings out a candlestick.

                                            >Carefully, she lights it using the fire.

                                            >"There we go."

                                            >She wanders into your room with the candle lighting the way.

                                            >There are no windows in here.

                                            >You never did like waking up to the sunlight.

                                            >She look around, awing at the size of everything.

                                            >"You were big, spirit. I guess you weren't a pony, then?"

                                            >Bingo.

                                            >"So what were you? A griffon?"

                                            >Nope.

                                            >"A minotaur?"

                                            >Wrong.

                                            >"Hmmmm. I can't really think of any other creature that can live in a house this big."

                                            >You rap your knuckles on the table tucked in the corner.

                                            >She hears it, and trots towards the sound.

                                            >Then she spots it.

                                            >The candlestick is placed onto the table as she stares at it.

                                            >A small portrait of you.

                                            >A smiling you.

                                            >Of only you.

                                            >The only image of you in this whole world.

                                            >You, a one of a kind thing.

                                            >Lost.

                                            >Alien.

                                            >"So this is you? I've never seen any creature like this."

                                            >Of course she hasn't.

                                            >She scrutinizes the image further.

                                            >"Hehe, I like your smile."

                                            >You know.

                                            >A few miles away, a certain brown mare treks through a snowy forest.

                                            >The clouds above her are growing, choking out the light of the sun.

                                            >You can hear the wind outside dying down.

                                            >Not even an hour with her.

                                            >"You looked like a nice creature, spirit. Maybe we could have been friends."

                                            >She pauses, then giggles.

                                            >"Or, we're already friends, me and you!"

                                            >You always were.

                                            >Her ears take notice of the lack of noise outside.

                                            >"Oh, looks like the storm is gone!"

                                            >She quickly exits the room, carrying her candlestick.

                                            >Passing by the hearth, she presses herself as close as possible for a few more moments before extinguishing it.

                                            >"Ohhh, that always feels so good."

                                            >Her eyes look around the room, and senses something.

                                            >You can feel yourself slouching as you watch her for the last few minutes.

                                            >"I'm sorry spirit, but I must get going. My parents are probably waiting for me. Thank you for everything!"

                                            >You give her a smile.

                                            >She'll be back.

                                            >She always is.

                                            >She drapes the blanket on the couch, keen to make sure its tidy.

                                            >She doesn't need to do that.

                                            >It'll be washed away, like the rest of them, into the wall.

                                            >Twenty four more hours of being alone.

                                            >Again.

                                            >Until next time.

                                            >She stands at the door, candlestick burning in her hoof.

                                            >You'll make sure she's happy.

                                            >She gives you one last smile.

                                            >Every time.

                                            >Then, she blew out the candle.