Asteria Bleu

it was raining. drip, drip, drip. how long had it been raining? she couldn’t tell. how long had she been here? where was she? a million questions she couldn’t be bothered to think of, nevertheless ones she could remember. something was wrong, then nothing. nothing was wrong. she was a good soldier. partaking in their glorious new Empire’s change of government. His prized asset. . .whatever her name was. none of that mattered anymore. a good soldier. a good girl. nothing of this doing was her own. she was , and only made into something by His glorious and clever, all-knowing divinity. he was a God, and she was the lucky of his chosen few, the lucky ones filled with glorious, divine purpose. thankful. helpful. everything he needed and more -- anything to please him. right? that’s what the whispering told her. the whispering were right -- everything beforehand, before her rescued sanction, was . she couldn’t remember who her family was, but He had told them they left her in the wastes. the voices told her. they were the only thing she could hear through the static of her head. a tiny voice, drifting in throughout the days which blurred into weeks and so forth, telling her to . . but wasn’t it? . . . — — — the King originally left her alone, unaware of the child’s presence within her kingdom. aphrodite had shushed, urged her youngest sister to stay inside. “it’s too cold outside,” she’d said. “your scales will freeze up.”a blatant lie to tell to the young child, who couldn’t have been past the age of fifteen, growth spurt accelerating the dragon’s height, right past her older sister’s. a looming threat to anypony who hadn’t known her, but yet somepony with no spine, too straightened by her own posture. he had eventually come for them, as they’d all known. it had only been a matter of time. of course he’d seen her right away. she was giant, height just past her own mother’s, scales glistening against the harsh winter sun. it had been too quick. there were firsts for everypony. talking back, fighting back, all firsts she’d never get to use again. fighting, fang, horn claws, hooves. nothing had worked, she had been fifteen, unable to use her own abilities to her advantage. she’d been too unstable, a loose cannon her mother hadn’t bothered to teach. why would she? asteria needed to be a doll, not useful. he’d taken her , her , her as his own in the blink of his own magic. her family hadn’t said goodbye. nothing from her mother, yet aphrodite had called, pleaded, cried for her sister. she could remember her face, even in the haze. asteria had not cried. she was a big kid now, a whole fifteen years old. a cutie mark earned too late, a week prior. a “late bloomer”, full of spirit. spirit could be broken in enough time, he’d purred. he would make sure of it. — — — . . . glorious, glorious purpose. growl at dissenters, protect Him with her life. that was her job. that was all she’d been recruited for. what a divine, holy, useful purpose. that had always been her desire, she could remember that much. to be , to be . her King had let her fulfill that purpose through his pet, his tool, his soldier. his good, good soldier. he said her sister was a nuisance in passing to her, almost as if he hadn’t cared. a sister she didn’t remember anymore, somepony who had been nothing but a haze in the crowds of his new subjects, a target she had to watch. the woman next to her, somepony who looked too perfect, almost fake, had apparently been her mother. she didn’t know who they were, nor had she cared. all the drone knew was Him, and that was all she needed. that’s what He’d said. they’d been rowdy again. however long had passed, the soldier hadn’t known. she hadn’t cared. all she needed was her purpose, her acceptance, and she would be fine. memories went as fast as they came, not a luxury he had blessed her with. she hadn’t earned it yet. the ponies were gathered during the rain again. her current memory, the rain she’d never been bothered with. not important. nothing had been important. a good soldier she’d been, marching forward once she’d been called. shapes were moving quickly, too quickly. she didn’t care. He told her to put her hoof , and to apply pressure. don’t stop until she was told to. be a good soldier. the nuisance, the bother, her sister front and center. watching. an example for her. to watch her baby sister. it was warm, round, moving. . none of that had mattered. she kept putting her hoof down and down and down, never relenting. strong, she was, with her other half’s, her foreign part of herself, the side of her that stuck out, that got her into this glorious position in the first place. ! screaming. something wet -- she couldn’t tell what. she couldn’t comprehend it, nor could she care about what had just happened. it was done, and she’d served her purpose once again. the thing in front of her had been taken care of, the liquid on her hooves slowly wiped on the crystalline pavement. mindless. always mindless, the perfect soldier for Him to use as he pleased. it didn’t matter that he’d had a fifteen year old step down on that head until it popped. it didn’t matter if she remembered or not. he had done what he needed, and soon would have no more usage for her. he had set his example, and everything would fall into place after his demonstration of his brutality. celestia and luna were on their way, anyway. to save the day. the little soldier doll had already sealed the fate He had wanted the ponies to have; pain. the little soldier doll, a killer.

It was late. The observatory she now resided in, Canterlot central out of the side of a mountain, was dusty and unpacked. It had been a while since Asteria had moved in, yet the majority of the old items that came with the abandoned Observatory she’d gained custody of. The aura of her horn lit the singular, circular room up. Her eyes rested upon the glint of a reflection. . Asteria’s eyes widened, a step backwards, one forwards. Her eyes closed, counting to ten, before she pulled the dust-infected tarp off the mirror. Her eyes trained on her mane, her ...lost in what they’d hold for her… . . . -- -- -- Head up straight, mane placed in the most delicate of curls. . Asteria was itchy. She’d stepped on her tail twice already, the appendage growing at a faster rate than the rest of her body. Nobody knew how to deal with dragons here — but hopefully, Asteria would grow into her tail. Who knew what would happen to the youngest sister’s ‘perfect’ appearance if it were all for naught — for growing pains she didn’t ask for. Her back as straight as it could be, her leathery wings tucked tightly against the white drapes she so wore — Mother said she was doing this for her. For her sake, so nobody saw her as the ferocity of a dragon, the danger of a half of her she did not wish to have. Oh, how she wished — . Snap out of it. She had to be perfect, or else who knew what could happen to her? She needed to match her sister, do everything she could to be like her. She had to. Perfect, perfect, . Nothing more, nothing less. She looked towards her mother from beside her sister Aphrodite, tuning in from her previous zoning. She needed to get it under control. She needed to move, needed to do something to get this itch out of her system. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Jeweled Harp’s eyes — her mother’s eyes, beauty in something sinister, focused on her adoptive mother’s voice, a harmonic, beautiful melody. Not as beautiful as her sister’s. Their mother definitely had favorites. Asteria didn’t resent that. She knew her place, Aphrodite knew her’s. At the end of the day, the daughters were nothing more than a means to keep the perfect family Jeweled Harp had worked so hard to craft. “Asteria darling, your mane,” she boomed. Turning towards the youngest daughter, hooves ‘’ towards the hybrid, reaching up and pulling out a twig from the curly mane. “How can you be so certain you will meet the expectations of the Crystalline Empire, when you cannot even pick out a twig the size of your tail?” “I—“ A protest. The young one looked away, before her eyes closed again. “It won’t happen again, Mother,” she finally said, a long beat after her protest. “I swear on it.” Approval, she’d always sought approval. “With the appearance of new ponies outside our walls, it is you look good for me so our strength in the Crystalline Empire is noticed! We cannot have some pony mistaken you for your ! I need this to be perfect, you understand me, child? Your imperfections will not bring me shame! I will not !” She shouted, stomping a delicate hoof against the equally delicate floor. Asteria bowed her head in acceptance. Jeweled Harp’s eyes softened after her momentary lapse, the cracks in her porcelain being sealed with gold. “Asteria,” she paused, placing one hoof under her chin, tilting the young hybrid’s head up. “I don’t want ponies to hurt you, that’s why I push you so hard. We must convince them that you’re a pony, not someone who could be a threat to our Kingdom. You’re my daughter, but only that can do so much.” Jeweled Harp ran the softest, tenderest of hoof down the side of her face. “You know I just want to look out for you.” Asteria knew. Seafoam-colored eyes, one natural and one manicured, looked back at her mother, yearning and caution hidden within them. “Oh, sweetheart, Aphrodite and yourself look so pretty. Your eyes look so much better when they’re the same hue. I’m proud of you both,” she had her tender, beautifully crafted smile back on her face. “I love my perfect little dolls so much.” -- -- -- . . . She reeled back, shrieking in agony. Her head , her heart . was in pain and agony, any and all the words which could describe this feeling were reasonable answers for her. Her hooves reeled back, stomping down on the mirror, shattering it. Stepping and stomping and stepping, until there was nothing left except little fragments of mirror. There would be no mirrors in this house. .