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Mirrors -Epilogue- (finally...)
"Your Highness, it's here. Just like you wanted."
It was finally nightfall in Canterlot. The funeral had ended hours ago.
"Well done," said Celestia on her throne, "Bring it in."
Her guard saluted and gave a sharp whistle. At once, a platoon of muddy royal guards trooped into the throne room. With them however, was a dirty, pink casket. Celestia got up and smiled.
"Leave us," she commanded. The guards obeyed at once.
Celestia circled the casket. So this was the pony who caused so much trouble. This was the pony who came back to haunt her friends. Celestia grinned. That was the whole reason she wanted the casket here. She came back.
Celestia used her magic to lift open the casket's cover. Inside laid a bright pink pony. Her front hooves were placed above her chest. She wore a content look of peace of her face. If it weren't for the fact that the pony was missing everything from the chest down, She would've looked like she was sleeping and e
NOTE: This short story is written around a song by Makkon06, please read the description to listen to the song before or during the story, as it was written with that song as the focus.
"Trixie, you are a talent." The Great and Powerful Trixie closed the door to her trailer behind her. She had just finished another show in Trottingham, and it had gone over spectacularly. She sat down in front of her mirror and removed her hat and cloak.
Those were her most prized and most beloved treasures, under them she was somepony great, somepony that everyone wanted to see and laugh with and be amazed by. She felt invincible under that hat, like she could take on the world, but more importantly, she felt something else under that hat and cloak.
She felt loved.
Trixie went over to her gramophone, another of her prized possessions. It was one of the few things she always took with her on her travels as she roamed Equestria, a restless soul looking for a place to find love.
Slow music started
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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