(Moth) A Moth's Song - 1

>Tink.
>Tink tink.
>Tinktinktinktinktinktink.
>The sound of a hard, velvety structure tapping against a thin glass pane echoes through a small, brightly lit room.
"What do you want?"
>"Let me in, I want to get a closer look at your lights!"
>Tink tink tink.
"Aren't there other lights for you to see? You know, street lights, porch lights, flood-lights?"
>"I've already seen all of those in this town."
"Go to another town."
>"No!"
>A very heavy sigh finds its way out of your mouth.
"If I let you in, will you go away as soon as you're done?"
>The odd terror gives a soft nod as she bumps her head into your window.
>Tink.
>She darts into the room almost as soon as the window slides up.
>Her hooves and antennae start tapping against your desk lamp as this curious pony invades your home.
>"What kind of light is this?"
>You shrug and give her an aggravated look.
>"I like it. Can I keep it?"
"Will it make you go away faster?"
>"Yes!"
"Then take it."
>She starts to giggle as she carefully unscrews the light-bulb from your lamp.
>Even as it loses its glow, the mothpony continues tapping on the bulb's glass.
"Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?"
>A bright smile forms across her lips as she nods enthusiastically.
>"I always learned to take it as a compliment! After all, why let someone keep you down when you're enjoying the little things in life?"
>That is oddly... profound.
>Maybe these mothponies aren't only about tapping on glass, admiring lights, and eating cloth.
>Yet, as you contemplate the intelligence of her statement, you hear the soft ripping of fabric behind you.

>"These are gross!"
>She's eating your sheets and blankets.
>Or, less eating, more ripping them apart, chewing on the strands of fabric, and then spitting them out on the floor in disgust.
>"Do you have anything fresher? Maybe a freshly cleaned silk sheet?"
"No."
>Rip.
>Chew.
>Spit.
"Please stop that. I sleep on those, and need them for warmth."
>"Oh, sorry."
>She hops off of your bed and starts scooping the discarded strands of fabric up.
>In a desperate attempt to appease your well-masked anger, she starts wringing the spit from the discarded fabric and lays them upon your bed.
>"I-I'm sorry. I'll be leaving now."
>With the light-bulb shoved into her mouth, she leaps out of your window.
>Once more, you sigh.
>She'll be back tomorrow night.
>And the night after that.
>With this same scenario playing out.
>It's like Hell, except the demon that tortures you is an adorable mothpony.
>But you've gotten used to it, even after the few days that it's occurred.
>Maybe she'll stay a little longer tomorrow night.

>"Get down from there."
"But you'll grab me and throw me out!"
>"And for good reason."
>He's being mean again.
>He tries so hard to hide his resentment for you.
>It isn't your fault he coaxed you into his living room.
>It isn't your fault he has a lot of really nice lights.
>Ok, so he only has two or three incredibly droll looking lamps with plain, dusty lampshades on them.
>But still, they're lights.
>Well, they used to be.
>You kind of shattered them in your excitement.
>"I'm not going to tell you again. Get down."
>He's pointing that portable light at you.
"But I'm sorry!"
>"I don't care."
>You really are sorry.
>He has the best lights in town.
>Lights on windows that show moving pictures.
>Lights on little screens that also make sounds and music.
>Lights that glow different colors and flash in patterns and sequences.
>His house is so magical!
>"Look, you can either get down off of my ceiling right now, or I can get a broom and start hitting you with it."
>You look up, or down depending on who's looking where.
"I just wanted to be friends with you."
>"I don't need friends. And besides, what do I have to offer you by way of friendship? And don't say lights or cloth."
>You scrunch your face up in thought, that bright portable light shining on your face.
>"That's what I thought. Please leave."
>Defeated, you drop from the ceiling and stand in front of your host.
>As you slowly walk past him, toward the door, you sigh.
"I'm sorry."
>He opens it for you, but just as you take off, you hear his voice.
>"It's okay."
>No animosity, no anger.
>Just a hint of sincerity and loneliness.
>The door closes, leaving you in the dark of the night.
>Alone, with no company but the stars and the moon, and the occasional hoot of an owl.
>You flutter back down to stand on his porch, a small whisper escaping your lips.

"Please, open the door and let me stay the night."
>But as hopeful as you are, the knob does not twist.
>The door does not open.
>And that strange, hairless creature does not welcome you back into his warm home.

>It really was okay.
>You didn't even like those lamps.
>She did, you didn't.
>The first day you met her, she tapped on that window for hours.
>You didn't let her in.
>The second day, you just closed the curtains and ignored her.
>The third day, she spoke.
>Her soft voice felt like velvet being rubbed in your ears.
>Even then, you ignored her.
>Last night, you let her into your home through your bedroom window.
>Tonight you let her into more of the house.
>A person can change, given enough incentive.
>That mothpony might have found her way into more than just your home.
"Open the door, August. She didn't leave, she's out there waiting."
>The door acts as a brace for your head as you lean upon it.
>Looking back into your living room, the now dark interior seems cold and uninviting.
>A stark contrast to when that little mothpony was in here just a few seconds ago.
>She adds a little bit of excitement to your life, and it's only been five days.
"Just open the door."
>Your hand fondles the doorknob, its cold metal warming to your touch.
>It twists with little resistance.
>The door swings open, revealing the night, as you step back.
"Gone."
>You don't even know her name.
"She'll be back tomorrow. Just like every night."
>The door closes once more as you return to your lonely life in your dark house.

>Tink.
>She's late.
>Tink tink.
>But she's back.
>Tinktinktinktinktinktink.
>You rush to the window and open it just before she can tap her head against it again.
>"O-oh! Hello!"
"Hey."
>"Why are you smiling?"
"No reason. Come in."
>She hesitates before fluttering inside.
>"You're kind of scaring me."
"Why?"
>"Well... You've been kind of mean."
>She stays close to the window, obviously wary that you might try something.
>You look away from her, shaking your head softly.
"I'm sorry."
>"What?"
"I'm sorry, for how I've treated you. All you wanted was to see the lights, and I did more damage by trying to keep you away."
>Her antennae droop a little bit, her eyes locking onto you.
>"What are you saying?"
>A hand rubs over your face as you let out an exasperated groan.
"Do you want to go see the lights?"
>She shifts uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, unsure of what your intentions are.
>After a few moments of silent contemplation, she perks up and nods.
>"Yes!"
"Well then, let's go."
>She closes the window before following you out of your bedroom.
>The lights in the hall turn on with a flick of the switch.
>They grab the little mothpony's attention.
>"I like these."
"There are more lights in the room on the left."
>"Can I look at these some more?"
"You'll have plenty of time to look at those later."
>"Later?"
>Without answering her, you walk into the room on the left.
>She bumps into the wall as she follows, her eyes still locked to the hallway lights.
"What's up with you and lights anyway?"
>A shrug is offered.
>"As far as I know, all mothponies are attracted to lights."
"Weird."
>"Can I see the new lights now?"
"Of course."

>With a flick of yet another switch, the entire room lights up.
>Lights of all colors, bulbs of all shapes, and flashing LEDs with an assortment of patterns litter the walls and floor.
>Definitely an epileptic's nightmare.
>"Wow!"
"Do you like it?"
>"I love it!"
>Her soft wings flare out in excitement as she starts cantering all around the room, from the floor to the ceiling, tapping on all of the lights.
>"Have you always had all of these?"
"Some are from the holidays, others I went out and bought."
>"Bought? Why?"
"For you."
>She stares at you from the ceiling, a quizzical look distorting her normally cheery expression.
>"For me?"
"To say I was really sorry about making you leave."
>"You didn't have to."
>You chuckle as you sit down in front of a lava lamp.
"I wanted to."
>"Why?"
"People change, given enough incentive."
>She climbs down from the ceiling and sits beside you, her eyes gluing to the lamp.
>"Do you mind?"
>She points to your lap.
>As you pat your leg, she makes herself comfortable against you.
>Reflexively, be it from crippling loneliness or a sense of security, you hug the mothpony from behind.
"I never got your name."
>"It's Actias."
"I'm August. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."