>"Brandywine, I've put up with your fanciful notions for long enough."
>You are Brandywine Bordeaux, and your secret has been found out.
>Your mother, Burgundy Bordeaux, tosses your medical textbooks onto the dinner table with an angry and sloppy hoof.
>"You want to become a nurse?  Why in the world would you want that when you have our wonderful winery?"
>She gestures out the open window at the Itailian hills your family owns, all smattered with green and purple grapes from your vineyard.
>You can see ponies wandering the vineyard - some of them are local ponies employed by your family to gather grapes, and others are a few cousins who stubbornly do it themselves to "pick them properly", whatever THAT means.
>"We've lived in these parts for hundreds of years.  My mother made wine.  My grandmother made wine.  My great-grandmother made wine as well."
>Your mother sits on her rump and taps her forehooves together with each listing of relatives.
>"And my great-great-grandmother as well.  It goes back more than ten generations, a noble line uninterrupted in the art of winery."
>She peers at you, eyes darting all over your body.
>It's as though she's seeing you for the first time.
>"And you're going to throw all that away?"
>She somehow manages to mix 'pleading', 'disdain', and 'disbelief' all into one disapproving hiss.
>Your mother gets back to her hooves and marches over to you, a deep frown on her wrinkled face.
>"Wine is in your blood, filly.  Get rid of those damn books and go find your papa - he'll be out mashing grapes.  Maybe a few hours of that will remind you of where you came from."
>Your mother turns her back and begins to walk away, having decided that the discussion was over and that her meek daughter would fall in line again.
>Just like she's been doing her entire life.
>Until now.
"No."
>The word came out more quiet than you had intended, and it sounded quite breathy.
>But it carried weight with it, and your utterance filled the corners of the room.
>Your mother freezes in her tracks.
>She stops walking so quickly and so suddenly that you hear her hooves clack on the stone floor of your dining room.
>The room is silent, save for the pounding of your heart in your ears.
>"...what did you say to me?"
>You're surprised your mother can't hear your heart beating against your ribs as she slowly turns around to face you.
>It's all you can hear; surely the sound is deafening to her as well.
>She looks surprised as she turns around - you think you BOTH are.
>You hadn't planned to say 'no'.
>You hadn't planned to stand up to her.
>You had hoped that your mother would somehow not discover your textbooks, and that you could slip away some vague and undetermined times in the future without confrontation.
>You'd never verbalized your desire to do something other than wine-making, before.
>You wanted more in life than some shack on a hill in Itaily.
>You wanted to help ponies.
>You wanted to make a difference!
>You love your family and you love your rich history, but...
>...you love your passion even more.
"I said," you utter after you take a deep breath, voice cracking only a little bit, "No.  I'm not going to work in the winery, mama.  That's not what I want to do with my life."
>Your mother stands there, unmoving.
>Glaring.
>Her face scrunching up into an unrecognizable monster's face as she grows angrier than you've ever seen her.
>You're about to have a long discussion, and you get the feeling it's not going to end well for either of you.
---
>You are Brandywine Bordeaux, and things could have gone better.
>You have only a few things with you: a saddlebag, the bits you've saved up over the years, and your medical textbooks; all tucked away in the saddlebag pockets.
>It's now the evening, and you're wandering the streets of your former home.
>Your mother made it clear to you: either you continued your family's work, or you...
>Your eyes sting and your breath hitches at the remembrance.
>The hurt still feels so fresh; despite all this, she was still your mama.
>She gave you an ultimatum: stay with them, or leave and never darken their doorstep again.
>You stood up to yourself for what felt like the first time ever, and you didn't give in.
>If your younger brother were still alive, you think he'd be proud of you.
>But he's not.
>He got sick, and he passed away with his hooves cupped in your own.
>You had never felt more powerless in your entire life, and you had desperately wanted to do something - ANYTHING - to help make him better.
>But you couldn't.
>You could only sit there and watch.
>But maybe, now you can.
>You know you want to help ponies, and you can't do that when you're stomping on grapes and taste-testing wine.
>To make a long story short, she disowned you.
>You're not a Bordeaux anymore, and the name "Brandywine" leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
>Like a bad batch of wine that a street-peddler is trying to pass off as top-shelf.
>You need a new name.
>A name to match your new destiny.
>The name of a pony who's going to learn how to help other ponies.
>A nurse, or maybe a doctor.
>You don't care, as long as you're doing something to make the world a better place; even if it's just for one pony.
>This is your passion.
>Your fire.
>Your heart's desire!
>They may have your blood and your name, but you'll always have your heart.
>And you'll be damned if you're going to stop being brave just because you finished standing up to your old mare.
>You need a new name.
>Something that's you.
>Something...
"Hmmm..."
>Heart...
>Bravery...
>Confidence...
>Passion...
"Braveheart," you announce, a powerful feeling blooming in your chest like an inflating balloon, "I am Braveheart!"
>Your rump warms and glows, lighting up the dark alcove you're standing in.
>You adjust the medical textbooks in your saddlebag so that you can crane your neck around easier.
"O-Oh, my Celestia!"
>Staining the cream-coloured fur of your rump like spilled red wine, a cutie mark.
>It's a dark red cross-sign; burgundy in colour, if you had to place the shade of red.
>A medical cross, specifically.
>You feel any fleeting nervousness and uncertainty become smothered by your new confidence.
>You're meant to be a nurse; destiny has decided your new identity.
"Nurse Braveheart, huh?"
>You like the sound of that.