Crystal Pony Angst Garbage pt 1

While the vast majority of Marina’s memories detailing her life before King Sombra’s reign had returned to her over the time she’d spent recovering, there were still bits and pieces that had yet to reemerge; such crucial and vital memories that would bring the mare at least some mitigation regarding, quite literally, who she was as a pony. It was... exhausting, to say the least, and did little to quell the feeling of discontent she held solely towards herself. In fact, Marina despised herself sometimes. Seemingly unable to grasp onto the fact that, no, ponies certainly do not enjoy being insulted, Marina struggled in both her relationships with friends (what very few friends she had, at least), and those she loved so dearly. It was becoming more and more evident to her that external beauty was less important than she so thought it to be... It was moments of deep deliberation such as this that would these unlock hidden, ancient memories. Growing up in the Crystal Empire during a period of constant discovery and many unknowns (that would soon be revealed in the years to come) made for a very sheltered life, for all crystal ponies. The very idea of leaving the Empire was simply ridiculous-- there wasn’t a train that could take you anywhere, after all, so why on earth would you want to trek through the cold and unforgiving Frozen North? But being stuck in the same place had its charms, such as knowing everypony painfully well… for most ponies. But not Marina. The last thing Marina had wished to do was be thrust into the many, many social gatherings crystal ponies oh-so-loved to host. She was anything but loquacious in situations where you had to actually hold a normal, full conversation with somepony, and much preferred being on her own, or within the comfort of a dark, empty theatre. Such behaviour greatly distressed Jewelled Harp, her mother. “Chin up, Marina, don’t you know you’re twice as likely to die an early, excruciating death if you hold bad posture? Honestly...” The earth pony sighed, stalking around the younger mare slowly, judgingly. Marina straightened her back, tightening the cithara she balanced on her lap closer to her chest. She continued to pluck the strings, following along the music sheet in front of her with an air of complete and obvious indignation. Harp continued to circle, eyes shut as she listened closely to the gentle aria in which she’d so masterfully crafted for this particular instrument… that is, until a very obvious mistake was made. Harp spun around to scowl down at her daughter, “Again?! Must I really correct you for a third time? Selfish little girl, you truly love imposing unto me such… such defiance, such… mutiny! Your consistent... recidivism b-breaks my heart!” All of a sudden, Harp’s expression melted into one of clear desperation, eyes glassy as she collapsed to the ground. Marina simply sat still in her seat, so used to her mother's dramatics. “You don’t love me! You never did! How could you treat me, your own mother this way?! I produce such beautiful, heart-wrenching pieces of music and you… you defile them! Do you truly hate me so? After I’ve done so much for you?!” Harp sobbed, dabbing at the black lines of mascara that now dripped down her cheeks with the hem of her peplos. When Marina did not reply, Harp sobbed out once more. “Am I not perfect?!” She cried. “You are,” Marina whispered. “And do I not provide this Empire with the most perfectly composed arrangements it has ever seen?!” “You do.” Harp let out a breath and smiled gratefully, gently stroking a hoof against Marina’s cheek. This fleeting moment of what must have been love quickly vanished as the mare stood up, her expression swiftly changing into something more austere. “Then do it again, correctly this time.” While Harp’s sapience was quite frequently proven to be rather lacking, Marina knew better than to talk back. If somepony were to put in so much effort into something they were good at, it was completely understandable for them to get angry if someone didn’t particularly… care about it, right? This brief scene was whisked away in an instant by cold, icy winds, replacing it with something that felt somewhat less painful. The dramatic arts was a fiercely popular pastime in the Empire, housing a beautifully constructed theatre just near the palace. Marina was lucky enough to be a frequent thespian in its performances; and while Harp supported this, believing that any fame was good fame, there was one thing she wouldn’t let pass. “Your wings,” Harp huffed, tugging the gauze tighter around Marina’s torso. “Keep your wings tucked in closer!” The bandage certainly felt uncomfortable each and every time it was worn, but it was better to simply acquiesce-- the sooner this was done with, the sooner Marina could get to the theatre. It was an unfortunate fact that Marina was the only pegasus within the Crystal Empire, at the time. And this was such a threat to Harp, apparently, that the only solution was to bind the pegasi’s wings and pretend they simply didn’t exist. Being different is only good when other ponies like it, after all, Marina thought to herself, squirming in place as she wanted so desperately to leave as quickly as possible. Harp let out a satisfied hum, moving to grab Marina’s chiton and carefully wrapping the fabric around her body, securing it with an ornamental clasp. She then held onto Marina’s shoulders and gently guided her to a standing mirror. “So beautiful… Oh, darling Marina, I only wish for you to see things the way I do.” Marina simply stared at her reflection. She hated how heavy her eyelashes felt, how vibrant her eyeshadow and cheeks were, how tightly her mane had been molded and shaped into perfect curls. These things were fun when you were acting as a character on a stage, but that was just it-- you were playing a character. But she was not a character, she was herself. And this never felt like herself… whoever ‘herself’ was. “I know, mother. May I leave? I do not wish to be late, and I’m sure lateness is another cause of premature deaths much like bad posture.” she eventually said, pulling firmly out of the mares grasp. Harp relented, ignoring Marina’s obvious sarcasm. Nothing more could be remembered beyond these brief glimpses into her old life. But the more these instances occurred, the more Marina was starting to see where, perhaps, her issues stemmed from.