You stir my muse...



It's a cold day. The kind of cold that chills you to your bones with icy fingers that take hold of your mane and tail, pulling them this way and that. Those same fingers are shaking the trees and tearing their leaves from their limbs to toss them carelessly to the ground. A lone mare wanders across an open field on top of a plateau, aimless and aloof. Her green-blue coat does little to protect her from the fierce wind whipping her mane about, but she appears to not notice. The cold just blends into her bleak thoughts seamlessly, the grey day an apt match to the feelings she is experiencing. She walks with her head hung low, without care for her surroundings.



Alone. Cold. Tired. Hopeless. All she has felt for some months, and the weather on this day seems merely to be the mirror to her mind, reflecting how she feels, even amplifying her emotions. And then there she is. Standing at the edge of the cliff of the plateau, her hooves having carried her this way as if by fate. She stares down... down... down at the cliff before her, a gaping maw whispering promises of solace and peace into the icy wind that rushes about her. She grinds a hoof into the soft green grass atop the cliff, crushing it as she considers the offers of the grinning abyss before her. It would be so easy. All it would take is a simple "yes" to the temptations offered her now, and step out into the open air to accept the embrace. So easy...



Yet why is the decision so hard? Why can't she make that final leap to finish all her struggles and pain? She releases a deep breath full of frustration and shame, her eyes fixed on what lays before her.



And then the wind shifts. For a brief moment, it switches directions entirely, just long enough for her to smell the sweet aroma of candy on the air and to hear a voice as sweet as the smell calling to her, carried aloft on the wind. She lifts her head and turns it in the direction of the calls as the wind shifts once more, now warm and laden with dandelion seeds that swirl and flow as if to point to the owner of that voice and the smell of colorful candies... Lyra's heart jumps in her chest, and vibrates as the strings of a freshly plucked Lyre, warm and bright with new melodies to be wrought and shared with this strange little mare approaching her, smelling of candies and all things sweet and good. Her hooves step away from the cliff and carry her towards the bouncing mane of purple and pink and cream colors.