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a collection of smaller greens written for /moon/
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A Voice in the Gardens
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>Navigating these hallways never gets any easier.
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>You pause in the middle of an empty intersection, mentally double checking that you’ve made the correct turns up until this point.
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>From the bedroom suites, to the upper viewing deck, to the upper halls, down to the lower courtyard, through the cafeteria, and now in the labyrinth that is the lower halls.
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>Damn these pony architects and their sick sense of humor.
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>You abandon hope when you can’t figure out whether or not you passed a marble pot with gilded trim three turns ago, electing to leave your time of arrival to the whims of fate.
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>Twisting corridors eventually give way to interconnected paths, one of which is adorned with marbled crown molding resembling vines growing from the walls, indicating you’re mercifully on the right track.
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>All those trips out here with Luna are paying off, you presume.
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>Which is surprising to you, given the fact that you’re usually so enthralled with the conversation that the setting blends into itself as you follow her around.
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>As you traipse into the vine-adorned hallway, you chalk your luck up to all of the memory games that Twilight has been insisting that you play as of late.
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>When you draw nearer to the final corner leading into the gardens, a peculiar melody catches your ear, spiraling into existence from around the bend.
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>A lilting mezzo croon slows your gait as you cross the threshold into the gardens, a much appreciated voice that you’d recognize anywhere.
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>The origin of the sweet sound sits regally ahead of you on a wooden bench, appearing as a centerpiece to the carefully sculpted greenery and flora around you.
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>You elect to not interrupt her seemingly intimate song. From the distance you’re at, you’re able to judge that she’s quite into this particular number.
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>Gently treading upon freshly trimmed grass to a polite distance, you lend both ears fully to her mesmerizing performance.
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>The language she sings in is unknown to you; it’s a safe bet to assume it’s likely ancient to those with a mortal disposition.
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>Whatever dialect it may be, the song progresses slowly, bringing you to a state of heightened comfort within just a minute of listening in.
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>You haven’t the faintest clue of what the song is actually about, but you don’t mind keeping it that way for the time being.
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>Really, though, it doesn’t matter… Her voice is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard.
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>Eventually, the final note draws to a close, bringing her lone performance to an end.
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>Her gaze rests on the stars, planted somewhere in the spaces between; no smile to speak of, only wistful reflection.
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>And so, the silent audience makes itself known.
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“May I ask for an encore?”
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>She jumps slightly as she whirls around in her seat to face you, her teal eyes scanning you in the relative darkness of the torch-lit center of the gardens.
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>“Tartarus, Anonymous,” she exclaims, a smile breaking out upon her features as she lets her guard down, punctuated with a dainty giggle. “When did you arrive?”
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>You walk over to the bench, electing to take a seat next to her as opposed to just standing there awkwardly.
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“Only a few minutes. I got here in the middle of your song, and I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you.”
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>She seems outwardly pleased at this, subtly confirming your suspicion of the number’s importance.
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>“I’m glad it wasn’t too long,” she replies, shimmying closer to you once you’re fully seated. “I suppose time slipped away from me when I started singing.”
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>You sink into the bench, letting your back hit the rest as you bring your hands to rest on your legs.
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“About that - what were you singing? I tried to, but I couldn’t recognize the language.”
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>“Ah,” she begins, her gaze turning to the shrubbery ahead. “‘Twas an old lullaby from my youth, when Celestia and I were fillies. Mother would sing to us when we were restless at night, and her voice never failed to put us to sleep.”
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>She shuffles a bit, a wistful grin tugging at the corners of her lips as the memories play out in her head.
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>“I’m unsurprised that you don’t recognize the language, since the written records were lost long ago.”
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“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that long. What are you, twenty three?”
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>A hearty guffaw escapes from the depths of her throat, wracking her with subdued laughter as she brings a hoof up to staunch it.
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>“Oh, hush, you flatterer,” she responds, leaning over to nuzzle you, a gesture you return in kind.
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>Leaning into each other, your gaze finds the night sky alongside hers.
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>“I’m glad you’re here, love,” she hums gently, heavenly voice supported by the gentle thrum of the surrounding crickets.
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>Snaking an arm around her, you pull her close, mingling your warmth with hers as she spreads a wing over you in kind.
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“Right back at you, Lulu.”
by PKAnon
by PKAnon
by PKAnon
by PKAnon
by PKAnon