Happy New Year: It's Fucking Nothing Edition

>The flickering glow of waning embers softly crackle in the pitted and charred stone fireplace.
>Gently and lazily rocking, you try to soak up the warmth from your seat, wondering when you'll have the strength to throw another log into the coals.
>You don't really want to move, it was not long ago that you found a way to quell your aches.
>The Library Tree shudders and groans in a dull, slow response. It's limbs are swaying, almost in a rhythm, against the muffled sweeping winds outside.
>A bitter, dry, and cold draft snakes through the cracks in the door and windows, ensnaring your tried feet in their chilled touch.
>Over the sleepy, nearly empty old library, you decide to finally awaken the dying fire. Twilight and Spike will not catch cold on your watch.
>Hunching forward, you struggle to stand as the floor planks crack ever-so-slightly, the rocking chair creaking gently. Your joints join the wood's protest, grinding in their sockets.
>You reach out into the dim, almost empty corner for a fresh log, grasp a sizable chunk of knotty dry wood, and unceremoniously plunge it into the fireplace.
>Slowly, it ignites as you watch. It burns well and the flames dance happily, washing your face in an orange glow. Fresh wisps of smoke escape the stony opening, carrying a burning fleck or two, their smell making you breathe deep and slow.
>Your wrinkled cheeks stretch into a smile that creeps on your face as you hear the faint uninterrupted snoring of the purple pony and her dragon upstairs.
>Your left hand reaches behind you for your chair as your right is wiping wood fibers on your threadbare pants.
>Rarity, as wonderful as she is, could eat her perfectly curly mane before you'd accept a new pair. These are still perfectly functional pants, and no hoity-toity fashion would rid you of them.

>Slowly, you begin your shaky descent into your seat once more, wondering if there was a spare blanket around.
Toc toc toc!
>You damn near jump out of your skin. The unexpected hoof-on-wood knocking at the Library's door nearly has you yelping in surprise.
>You manage to stifle the reflex, but the jump has pushed you into a coughing fit as you try to head for the door.
>Ignoring the discomforts in your limbs, you hurry to answer the knock's call and do your best to quiet the coughs with your sweater-covered arm.
>Who could be out there at this hour, in this weather?
>Twisting the handle, you stiffen up to hold the door's opening as the wind rushes in, it's uncaring flood threatening to flap the door wide open like a loose sail in a storm.
"Hi Mr. Anon!" exclaims a bright, high-pitched voice
>Sweetie Belle?
>Even in this moonless night, you could make out her clear pastel-colored puffs of fuzzy fur.
"Not so loud," you grunt out, worried about waking the others, "Sweetie Belle, what's wrong? What in the Heavens are you doing out?"
>She tries to muffle her squeak with a hoof
"Mr. Anon, I was just, well, it's that... My sister, she, um..."
>The door shakes and you feel that you may have pulled something. Your spine spasms with a shudder as the cold now soaks through your sore and irate body.
"Just come in, come in, you'll catch your death out there," you say, cutting her off.
>You shoo her inside and try your best to close the door quickly, suppressing a grunt of struggle against the wind's resolve. To think you've become this frail, what a toll time takes.
>In the glow of the fire, you notice Sweetie's mottled coat is splashed with all manner of art supplies, and you forget your self-pity.
"Pray tell now, what happened to you? Are you all right?"
>She looks down, guilty and embarrassed. She sniffles, but you're not sure if it's from the cold or whatever event has driven her to your door.

>As Sweetie starts to mumble, you notice with small comfort that Twilight and Spike haven't awoken.
"Well Mr. Anon, I was trying to help my sister decorate the boutique for Hearth's Warming Eve tomorrow and... Ummm..."
"You can tell me, just don't speak too loud, Twilight and Spike are sleeping, you know,"
>Words started pouring out of her little body like an avalanche.
"I may have tried levitating a paint bucket back to the shelf and it knocked over the confetti box so I tried levitating both before they hit the ground but then the broom got caught in the spell and it pushed over all the ribbon rolls and they started falling off the counter so when I tried to catch those I lost my hold on everything else and the paint splashed everywhere and I slipped in the paint and fell and knocked over the table with all the candy canes and-
"I think I get the idea Swe-
"then the candy canes scattered all over the ground and my sister slipped on them and knocked her outfit stands over and those fell in the paint-
"Sweetie it's okay, so you had a little accident. I bet Rarity is mad and yelled at yo-
"so then the outfit stands slid around and bumped into the ice sculptures and those fell down and-
"Sweetie!"
>You may have exclaimed slightly louder than you had intended. She is frozen by the outburst, and you also dare not breathe, fearing you may have awoken the two sleeping above.
>Seconds pass and you hear a snore. Your shoulders slouch in relief. Quietly, you motion her to the fire, grabbing a fluffy towel from the table nearby before carefully sitting back down in your rocking chair close to the now shivering little foal.
>You put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gently help her closer to the warmth.
>Rubbing her forehead and cheeks with the towel, you regain your composure and attempt to remove what you can of this mess.

"Now just tell me why you ran out into the storm. I can imagine Rarity being a little cross with you after this little incident, but I'm sure she wouldn't throw you into the streets,"
>Sweetie's snout droops once more to the floorboards. You use this opportunity to wipe some paint out of her mane but you sigh at her pitiful state.
"She didn't exactly throw me out but she was really mad and yelled at me to go to my room and said she didn't want to see me again but it was dark and cold in my room and... I got a little scared,"
>She sits on her haunches, deflating, defeated, and continues her story with a squeaky sniffle.
>You hunch forward to keep rubbing her with the towel, paying no heed your spine's many cracks.
"but I didn't want to ask Rarity anything because she was mad at me and I tried hiding under my covers but I kept hearing howling and scary noises so I ran away, it was really cold and dark and I saw the light from your windows so I ran here,"
>You take a long, deep breath as you listen to her tale and try to get the paint out of her fur. The fire's bright flames bathe the room in a comforting warmth that dispels any remaining shivers.
>Poor kid. You drape her in the towel like a little blanket, sitting back into your chair, feeling it rock and creak as your weight shifts.
>Images of your old home flood your mind. There's something, somewhere in your mind, behind the fuzzy jumble of old memories that you seem to be missing.
"Don't you worry about any of that, Sweetie, I'll talk to Rarity tomorrow. For now let's just warm up, I'll see about making you something hot to drink,"
"Th-thanks Mr. Anon," she replies
>With another sigh, you push yourself off the rocking chair, your limbs feeling heavier than ever. Just getting up is a struggle, more than usual.
>Almost winded by the effort, you force your leaden legs towards the kitchen.

>Looking down once more, your tattered old pants softly sway as you walk to the kitchen. The Library is warm, and you feel like making Sweetie and yourself some hot chocolate.
>Finding the pot of chocolate powder, you grasp it with one hand, and find the pint of milk with the other.
>Setting both containers on the counter, you open the cupboard and fetch two mugs. The clinking of glassware spurs you to continue fixing the beverages quietly.
>Glancing back at Sweetie, you see she's nestled close to the fire, her head ever so slightly bobbing as she starts to softly hum a tune, barely perceptible in volume.
>The milk and chocolate powder mix slowly cold, so you return to the fireplace to set the two cups over the top of the mantel, where the heat-soaked stone top would warm them before too long.
>Sitting once again in your chair with a long and tired sigh, you see Sweetie's large light emerald eyes looking up at you.
"Say Sweetie, what's that tune you're singing?"
>She stops her humming and recoils ever so slightly.
"Was I being too loud?" she whispers
>You shake your head
"No, no, I'm starting to learn that Twilight and Spike can sleep through quite a bit,"
>Smiling, she nods and replies
"It's the Heart Carol, it's been stuck in my head all day,"
>Recognizing the song immediately, you nod and remember the years past Hearth's Warming Eves.
"Ahhh, yes, that catchy tune. It reminds me a bit of the Christmas Carols. We would listen to carolers and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows, just like we're doing now,"
>Except you've forgotten the marshmallows, and the realization squeezes a small "oops" from you.
>Without hesitation you get up and head for the kitchen again, feeling a little reinvigorated by the fond memories.
>Quickly, you find the treats and throw them into the warming drinks. The smell of hot cocoa and fire mix, the fragrance making you forget your aches and pains.

"Thanks for doing all this Mr. Anon,"
>The winds outside appear to quell their rage, the library stills with nothing but the quiet whispers of a young foal humming that cheery carol.
"Mr. Anon?" she asks after her last notes
"What is it?"
"Thanks for doing all of this,"
>You smile and nod
"You're welcome. Thank you for the company,"
>As you settle back into your rocking chair, Sweetie Belle's head slowly drifts down as she begins to nod off.
>The fire's orange tongues of flame serpentine over the burning log, you notice that the whole room has warmed considerably, to the point where you no longer wish for a blanket.
>Rocking forward, you grab the hot cups, placing one in front of the now sleepy-looking pony, and hold the other in your hands.

The End.