Octavia x SonAnon [Incest]

>Meanwhile, in Octavia's house

>Must sit with full, uncomfortable erect posture at all times
>Despite being earth ponies, must struggle to eat with silverware at every meal
>Mother does not tolerate speaking during meals, practice, recitals, or near bedtime
>I have peers and rivals, no time for friends
>Practice and perform every mundane action as though it were an art
>Mother instilled a perfect sense of discipline in me
>She's one of the few pony graceful enough to walk on the hindlegs
>It always captivates me
>Mother is so long and beautiful
>None of my contemporary classmates could ever match her in beauty, skill, or grace
>Mother has all the grace of the pegasus, and the elegance of the unicorn
>Above all else, l was to always strive for excellent, this is how l was raised
>Until l could chance upon one as perfect as mother, l could have eyes for no other mare
>Became lost in thought during my usual three hour evening practice
>Indulged myself, abandoned the mock concert schedule and played what came to heart
>Our home resonated with one of mother's favorite deep, melancholy melodies
>I had been thinking about her so deeply l scarcely realized she'd actually appeared in my room
>She asked me if l remembered how she'd taught me to play that song
>I wore the same mask she always bore, cold and aloof, despite the fire in my heart
>I've been listening to mother play this somber tune since l was a foal in the crib, making an error was inconceivable
>Mother drew near, and nearly startled me off my balance
>She reared up behind me, gently leaning against my back, forelimbs wrapped around me to grasp instrument and bow
>She hasn't held me like this since she first taught me to play, my young self perched atop a stool
>Yet today her head resting on my shoulder gave me a profane reminder of my own age

--

>Mother's beautiful raven mane intertwined with my own
>Our light grey coats seamlessly blending into eachother
>There is no doubt her and l are the same flesh and blood
>Yet there is contrast
>No amount of clean living or discipline can mitigate the effects of age
>She is still beautiful of course, appearing wise and refined beyond any of the empty headed children my own age l must deal with
>Of course, the most obvious difference between mother and son lay between us, our genders
>Mare and stallion
>Mother and son
>Her warm, nourishing body pressed against my own
>Her heart and soul making such beautiful music before me
>I love her
>It defies me, no amount of haughty discipline can prevent this from happening
>Due to mother's rigorous scheduling, l've never been this close to another living pony
>Nature brings out the beast in us all
>Shame sickens me to my core as l prove what little self control l have
>Standing tall, unable to back down with her behind me, l have no way to conceal my growing shame
>Her forelimb brushes my primal shame, and the music halts

--

>Accusing silence blankets the room
>There's no mistaking this, it's nearly the size of the bow in her hoof
>I had expected a sharp slap, a stern admonishment, any of the heavy discipline I'd been so carefully molded with
>I had not expected her to play one disconnected, tortuously long open note
>Delicately dragging one of her carefully trimmed fetlocks down the length of my offending protrusion
>Then, more silence
>Five empty measures of my racing heart doing backflips trying to understand what had happened
>Mother delicately sets the cello and bow on their stand, her gaze cast down to avoid my own
>With her back to me she sits at my window to stare at the Canterlot skyline
>She asks, "What do you know of culture?"
>For eighteen years this has meant, 'You are ignorant and blessed that I am here to enlighten you'
>I reply, "Nothing, Mother."
>"Are you familiar with the tragic play that accompanies that piece?"
>"No, mother."
>I had never seen it written down, after all.
>As often as she'd played for herself in our home, I hadn't had to, it was deeply ingrained
>"The play is about a son, and his mother."
>Then, she turns to face me
>Her face is almost as flushed as my own
>Despite this, she struts back to my side missing none of her usual elegance
>She prowls circles around me, as she had so many times when I was in trouble as a child
>Looking through me, judging me, appraising me
>This time was different
>She couldn't hide being nearly as nervous as I was
>Which emboldened me to speak out of turn

--

>"Why was it a tragedy, mother?"
>She pauses in her stride behind me, again unable to look at me while speaking
>Mother usually dictates with the proud overtones of a commanding officer
>Now she carefully whispers, as though we were conspirators lurking in shadow
>"A woman raises and delicately grooms her only son to be the perfect suitor for his prearranged betrothal. She does this too well, and falls in love with him herself."
>My heart misses a note
>I do know this play, I'd found it in a collection several years ago
>I'd worn the binding out on those chapters rereading them so often, the book simply opens to them when dropped
>At my younger age perhaps I hadn't realized exactly why the ending moved me so dearly
>"How does the son feel about this, mother?"
>I had expected more well timed dramatic pauses, thoughtful silences, and the usual careful delivery of mother's tutoring
>I had not expected her to nearly cut me off before I could finish speaking myself.
>"How -does- the son feel about this?"
>Nothing is more nerve wracking than getting exactly what you've wished for
>This opportunity to rewrite that tragedy will not be wasted
>"I think the son would appreciate everything that his mother had ever done for him. Especially if that nurturing woman had always been a shining beacon of refined grace and elegance in his life. I think that as the son himself matured with age, he would be able to understand just how rare and unique that woman really was. I think that love, the truest sort of love, can happen between any two perfectly matched souls."
>One deep breath, and then into the breach
>I turn to face her, emboldened by her crimson blush
>"I think I love you, mother."
>Leaning forward I kiss her cheek for the first time as a man.