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Description
PLEASE READ DESCRIPTION FIRST

Octavia. One of the most talented musicians in all of Equestria. Her unmatched skill as a non-unicorn cellist was known throughout the kingdom. Needless to say, something as silly as a change of management shouldn't halter that; nor should the inevitable end of her days. Her skills were inherited by her children, as were their children, and theirs. & so it continued down the line, especially to the many in the family who shared their ancestor's name.

1000 years of darkness finally brought the first Octavia in the family who, try as she might, could simply not improve. She wanted nothing more than to hold up her proud family's name. An only child, the burden fell on her shoulders. The one thing she wanted, more than anything in the world, was to make her ancestors proud. & so Octavia the Tenth practised, staying awake longer than many ponies could think possible, fueled on nothing more than pride, stubbornness, & the occasional Kaf-Pow. No matter her efforts, she couldn't do a thing, as evidenced by her blank flank. Her mind was clouded & plagued with memories of her childhood. It had been like this her entire life.

"Pick it up. Pick up the bow. Why can't you pick it up? What would your mother say? Do you want to disappoint her, my daughter? No? Then pick up the fucking bow. Play the note. Stand up straight! You can't play it sitting down! You'll need longer arms! I don't understand it. All of your ancestors played it just fine." A lie, of course. Sometimes a grandchild would be taught to make up for the subsequently.... "removed" parent. "You are worthless and weak. Look at you! You do nothing, you ARE nothing... You can't even do something as simple as hold a fucking instrument! It's simple. Stand up straight, pick up the bow with your hoof, just like you've always been taught. Hold the cello with your other hoof. Play the note.... NO!" A hoof to her face threw her on the ground again to pick up the bow.

"If you can't do it now, you never will. You will never be anything worth anything in this world."

"This world"? As if that was "anything worth anything" in itself anymore.

Despite this, she knew she had to do it. She couldn't let her mother down. She had everything she needed: Allegretto VI, the sixth cello to be owned by her family, each built mostly from the remains of the previous one; its bow, the handle crafted from alicorn & the hairs from a pentacorn's mane; Her music book on a stand, open on the pages for the anthem of Princess Celestia's Army, a piece written to rally the ponies who still had hope, & comfort them in times of need, hoping that one day, the Princess would return to save them; & finally, some free time she didn't have to spend whoring herself out at that snobby, so-called "high-class" Gentlecolt's club, surrounded by the eyes of filthy, disease-ridden sleazebags who saw her as nothing more than what she was paid to do.

Nothing more.

She was starting to believe it. It had just about become all she could accomplish at this point: Paying the bills.

But there was something. Something in the back of her mind. It never left. It never moved.

But it certainly wouldn't stop gnawing at her.

Determination.

It was this that had attracted to her the Dust.

She hadn't enjoyed the feeling at first; The way it stuck to her fur, not wanting to move. The occasional shower had helped get rid of the worst of it, but as the years passed, it overcame her. Thankfully it didn't seem to deter anypony when she was working; No-one seemed to notice. But she did. She felt the Dust slowly chewing her up each & every day of her life, feeling absolutely horrible. It gripped her body, seeping through her skin, rising & bubbling through her blood, her mind, her bones. Particularly the latter two. But then, on this night just a few short years later, the feeling subsided, & she found herself surprisingly feeling far more clear-headed than she had in a while.

Not just clear-headed. Switched on.

She slowly looked up at her only friend, her dear inherited cello. She reached out & picked up the bow with surprising ease.

Yet, all four legs rested on the floor of her bedroom, empty hooved.

You'll need longer arms...

She examined the ghastly, tentacle-like limb sprouting from her back, black as the night & tipped with a series of vicious, yet delicate claws. She concentrated on the Something in her mind. She focused. Another tentacle sprouted from her back & picked up the viol as if it were nothing more than a feather. A third tentacle soon joined it, placing its slender claws over the strings in seemingly random places; places spaced too far apart for any natural being to hold, with or without fingers of their own. The first limb very slowly ran the bow across the strings.

For the first time in her life, Octavia the Tenth was playing the cello.

& not just playing it. Each & every note was played with such accuracy, such splendour... As if she had always known how to use her new appendages. All she could feel at this moment was pure & utter jubilant relief. The burden finally felt lifted as she stole a glance behind her to see her flank adorned with a slightly jagged-looking treble clef.

She finished the piece. She hadn't even registered that she had been following along the sheet music. She had been too entranced by her newfound inequine skill.

Octavia glanced around the room, & her eyes fell upon the mishappen violin she had found a few years ago, & had brought home in an attempt to repair it. She mentally focused in on the Something, as two more tentacles sprouted & rushed over to pick it up. The other three had put the cello down & were busily rushing through drawers, gathering up various viol maintenance tools. What should have been at least an hour long job took a matter of minutes; The claws worked with such speed & power, yet such precision & elegance, that in a very short time, two of them were holding it & its bow, the other three having resumed their places on Allegretto VI.

Octavia knew, from this point, her problems would be gone.

But she couldn't stop there. Oh, no.

She wanted more.

After all, she had a tradition to uphold.

But first....

She brought a tentacle up to her face, closely examining the long, thin, efficient, razor sharp claws at its tip.

....I ought to pay Father a visit.

Description
PLEASE READ DESCRIPTION FIRST

Octavia. One of the most talented musicians in all of Equestria. Her unmatched skill as a non-unicorn cellist was known throughout the kingdom. Needless to say, something as silly as a change of management shouldn't halter that; nor should the inevitable end of her days. Her skills were inherited by her children, as were their children, and theirs. & so it continued down the line, especially to the many in the family who shared their ancestor's name.

1000 years of darkness finally brought the first Octavia in the family who, try as she might, could simply not improve. She wanted nothing more than to hold up her proud family's name. An only child, the burden fell on her shoulders. The one thing she wanted, more than anything in the world, was to make her ancestors proud. & so Octavia the Tenth practised, staying awake longer than many ponies could think possible, fueled on nothing more than pride, stubbornness, & the occasional Kaf-Pow. No matter her efforts, she couldn't do a thing, as evidenced by her blank flank. Her mind was clouded & plagued with memories of her childhood. It had been like this her entire life.

"Pick it up. Pick up the bow. Why can't you pick it up? What would your mother say? Do you want to disappoint her, my daughter? No? Then pick up the fucking bow. Play the note. Stand up straight! You can't play it sitting down! You'll need longer arms! I don't understand it. All of your ancestors played it just fine." A lie, of course. Sometimes a grandchild would be taught to make up for the subsequently.... "removed" parent. "You are worthless and weak. Look at you! You do nothing, you ARE nothing... You can't even do something as simple as hold a fucking instrument! It's simple. Stand up straight, pick up the bow with your hoof, just like you've always been taught. Hold the cello with your other hoof. Play the note.... NO!" A hoof to her face threw her on the ground again to pick up the bow.

"If you can't do it now, you never will. You will never be anything worth anything in this world."

"This world"? As if that was "anything worth anything" in itself anymore.

Despite this, she knew she had to do it. She couldn't let her mother down. She had everything she needed: Allegretto VI, the sixth cello to be owned by her family, each built mostly from the remains of the previous one; its bow, the handle crafted from alicorn & the hairs from a pentacorn's mane; Her music book on a stand, open on the pages for the anthem of Princess Celestia's Army, a piece written to rally the ponies who still had hope, & comfort them in times of need, hoping that one day, the Princess would return to save them; & finally, some free time she didn't have to spend whoring herself out at that snobby, so-called "high-class" Gentlecolt's club, surrounded by the eyes of filthy, disease-ridden sleazebags who saw her as nothing more than what she was paid to do.

Nothing more.

She was starting to believe it. It had just about become all she could accomplish at this point: Paying the bills.

But there was something. Something in the back of her mind. It never left. It never moved.

But it certainly wouldn't stop gnawing at her.

Determination.

It was this that had attracted to her the Dust.

She hadn't enjoyed the feeling at first; The way it stuck to her fur, not wanting to move. The occasional shower had helped get rid of the worst of it, but as the years passed, it overcame her. Thankfully it didn't seem to deter anypony when she was working; No-one seemed to notice. But she did. She felt the Dust slowly chewing her up each & every day of her life, feeling absolutely horrible. It gripped her body, seeping through her skin, rising & bubbling through her blood, her mind, her bones. Particularly the latter two. But then, on this night just a few short years later, the feeling subsided, & she found herself surprisingly feeling far more clear-headed than she had in a while.

Not just clear-headed. Switched on.

She slowly looked up at her only friend, her dear inherited cello. She reached out & picked up the bow with surprising ease.

Yet, all four legs rested on the floor of her bedroom, empty hooved.

You'll need longer arms...

She examined the ghastly, tentacle-like limb sprouting from her back, black as the night & tipped with a series of vicious, yet delicate claws. She concentrated on the Something in her mind. She focused. Another tentacle sprouted from her back & picked up the viol as if it were nothing more than a feather. A third tentacle soon joined it, placing its slender claws over the strings in seemingly random places; places spaced too far apart for any natural being to hold, with or without fingers of their own. The first limb very slowly ran the bow across the strings.

For the first time in her life, Octavia the Tenth was playing the cello.

& not just playing it. Each & every note was played with such accuracy, such splendour... As if she had always known how to use her new appendages. All she could feel at this moment was pure & utter jubilant relief. The burden finally felt lifted as she stole a glance behind her to see her flank adorned with a slightly jagged-looking treble clef.

She finished the piece. She hadn't even registered that she had been following along the sheet music. She had been too entranced by her newfound inequine skill.

Octavia glanced around the room, & her eyes fell upon the mishappen violin she had found a few years ago, & had brought home in an attempt to repair it. She mentally focused in on the Something, as two more tentacles sprouted & rushed over to pick it up. The other three had put the cello down & were busily rushing through drawers, gathering up various viol maintenance tools. What should have been at least an hour long job took a matter of minutes; The claws worked with such speed & power, yet such precision & elegance, that in a very short time, two of them were holding it & its bow, the other three having resumed their places on Allegretto VI.

Octavia knew, from this point, her problems would be gone.

But she couldn't stop there. Oh, no.

She wanted more.

After all, she had a tradition to uphold.

But first....

She brought a tentacle up to her face, closely examining the long, thin, efficient, razor sharp claws at its tip.

....I ought to pay Father a visit.