Author's POV
Equestria—often spoken of in hushed tones across the neighboring lands—was a country clinging to the frayed edges of forgotten greatness. Once the refuge of outcasts, fallen nobles, and those who had slipped between society's golden cracks, it had now become a place for those looking to disappear. Not the romantic kind of escape, but the gritty kind, where survival was measured in single meals and dry roofs.
Among Equestria's many broken places, there was one township that seemed particularly cursed—a pocket of poverty so severe, it could be mistaken for a relic of a post-war disaster. It housed barely ten homes, scattered like crooked teeth across a barren patch of land. Each building leaned precariously, held up by stubbornness and whatever hope hadn't yet been crushed under the weight of abandonment.
One such house stood atop a candy shop that had long ceased to attract children, its windows fogged with dust and its sign faded by relentless sun. The structure itself was a strange marriage of brick and decaying timber, painted in a pale yellow that peeled like old skin. Plants dangled from mismatched pots, the only vibrant life in the building, stubbornly clinging to the walls like they, too, refused to leave. A weathered staircase on the side offered access to the house above—narrow, rickety steps that groaned with every movement, like an old man cursing under his breath.
Inside, the house was a study in scarcity. A single bedroom. A cramped bathroom that could barely hold a standing adult. A living space that bled directly into a tiny kitchen, where the only form of cooking came from a battered wood-burning stove. There was no microwave, no refrigerator, no fancy tech. Just firewood, stacked in a corner, and an iron pot that had served generations.
Furniture was a luxury the family couldn't afford. In the living room, a piece of cloth served as a rug. The bedroom held nothing more than a thin mattress pressed against the floorboards—no frame, no headboard, not even curtains on the windows to block the nosy sun. It was a house that made do, and so did its inhabitants.
In the dim bedroom, a girl of seventeen moved with a grace that clashed with her surroundings. Her black hair flowed freely behind her like silk in a breeze, and her gray eyes—bright, clear, and filled with fire—glimmered with defiant determination. She wore old, worn ballet shoes, their satin frayed and dulled from years of secret practice.
Each movement was deliberate, precise, light as if gravity had chosen to ignore her. Her pirouette ended in a delicate arabesque, and for a moment, she looked like a spirit dancing in a dream.
But then—she froze.
Evie Nese's POV
Those footsteps—ugh. I knew that rhythm like a heartbeat. Mum.
I ripped off my ballet shoes like they were evidence in a crime scene and crammed them into the side pocket of my school bag. Zipped it up, flung myself onto the mattress, and yanked the blanket over my head. If I could just pull off this fake nap for a few more minutes…
The door creaked open. My breath stilled.
Soft taps on my head.
"Eve, dear," my mother's voice came, sweet but with that undercurrent of Don't try me today, "please go buy fish from the market."
I groaned quietly under the blanket, already scowling. "Mum, nooo. It's Saturday. Everyone and their cats will be at that market. I'll get squashed in the crowd!"
I peeked from under the covers, just enough to see her. Astrid Nese—my mother, my eternal opponent and partner in crime. Her brunette hair was tied in a loose bun, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. She wore her floral apron, wielding a spatula like a knight with a sword.
"Oh, well," she said, pretending to sigh dramatically. "Guess I'll just stop cooking. Walk through the heat to get fish. Then I'll come back, tired and sweating, and maybe we'll just have bread and water for lunch. What do you think?"
I stared at her, deadpan. She was blackmailing me emotionally, and we both knew it.
"Okay, okay, I'm going! No need to weaponize your guilt-trip powers, Mommy," I muttered, flopping out of bed like a squashed pancake.
She gave me a victorious smile and tapped my shoulder. "And please use your GPS this time. I don't have the energy to call the town patrol again because my daughter lost her way on a straight path."
I blushed. Not my proudest legacy.
She left with a chuckle, and I dragged myself into the "bathroom," which really shouldn't be allowed to call itself that. The dim yellow bulb buzzed above, flickering like it was deciding whether or not it wanted to live another day. The sink had a permanent crack running through it, and the bathtub looked like it had been through a war. The stains were so stubborn, I had named one of them George. George and I had a history.
I splashed some cold water on my face—relieved that for once the faucet didn't rebel. Then I grabbed my toothbrush and started brushing, trying to mentally prepare for the outside world.
Rinse time.
I turned the tap. Nothing. Not a drop.
My eyes twitched.
"OH COME ON! DAMN YOU, EQUESTRIA WATER SUPPLY!"
The echo rang out like a fire alarm.
"EVIE NESE!!" My mother's voice shot through the kitchen wall like a bullet.
"SORRY!" I yelled, the toothbrush still in my hand.
Muttering under my breath, I trudged back into the bedroom and got dressed in one of my usual outfits—because let's face it, I didn't have many options. A slightly faded green dress shirt, blue jeans with rips from actual wear (not the fashionable kind), my favorite white scarf, and a silver bangle that was more sentimental than stylish.
I reached for my phone watch. It tracked my heart rate—vital, considering my condition—and had GPS, which my mom insisted on like a lifeline. But when I tapped the screen, my heart dropped.
15% battery.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, staring at it like it had personally betrayed me. "You were charging all night!"
Then realization dawned.
"Damn you, Equestria Electricity Supply Company! You shut off the power again, didn't you?!"
Strapping the watch on with a prayer, I whispered to it like a desperate lover, "Please don't die on me, not today."
I grabbed the five peos—our miserable currency—that Mum had left on the chipped kitchen table. The coins jingled pitifully in my palm, barely enough to buy the fish, let alone anything extra.
With one last dramatic sigh, I stepped out into the sunlight of Equestria.
The heat hit me like a slap, the air thick with dust and the scent of distant fried onions from the market. And I already knew—
This day was going to be one long headache.
[**Author's Note**: PEO is the currency in Equestria.]