//------------------------------// // The Refrigerator Light // Story: The Refrigerator Light // by Petrichord //------------------------------// Ember stirred. Something was wrong. It was completely dark, for one thing. There was no way that she hadn’t woken up too early; it was dark enough that it was impossible to see what time it was on the little mechanical clock she had remembered seeing on a nightstand, and she remembered it being light enough to walk around when she had woken up yesterday. She wasn’t warm enough, for another thing. She should have been curled around… No. She shouldn’t have. She’d looked at Applejack’s bedroom door, froze, then went to the guest bedroom instead. Of course she’d chickened out. Of course she didn’t have the guts to wake her up. No wonder things felt wrong. That, and the…faint sounds coming from outside? Ember sat up in bed a little. It was definitely a voice. Soft and far enough away that she couldn’t make out the precise words, but it wasn’t Applejack’s voice, and if nocreature else was supposed to know about this place… Trouble. It had to be trouble. Silently, Ember slipped out of bed and crept over to the door. This time, she’d take care of the problem herself. This time, nocreature would have to get hurt. Willing herself into near-stillness and silence, Ember quietly opened the door to the guest bedroom and slid like a shadow down the hall, following the unfamiliar voice until she peeked her head inside the main room. Applejack was sitting by the counter corner, hunched over a tiny radio, illuminated only by a tiny desk lamp. The voice was coming from the radio: whether it was an advertisement or a channel bumper, Ember couldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell if Applejack was really listening to it, either. Maybe she was just trying to fill the white space between being tired enough to sleep and being awake enough to be productive? Or maybe she was just trying to erode the little voice in the back of her head. Ember could sympathize. Instead of continuing to sneak, Ember walked towards Applejack, being careful to maneuver around where she remembered the table had been. Her footsteps were audible, but not loud enough to drown out the radio. That way, if Applejack wanted to act like she didn’t hear her, she’d have an excuse. And if she did… Applejack didn’t turn towards Ember until the dragon was right next to her shoulder. The talking switched over to a different voice: The radio bumper, this time. Statements and questions filled Ember’s head You’ve been crying. No, she couldn’t say that. Do you want me to come to bed with you? No, that wasn’t appropriate either. You’re gonna strain your eyes that way, you know. No, too casual. But what was there to say— “Ah.” Applejack cut in, but her gaze had slid back to the radio. The bumper had finished, and the notes from an acoustic guitar had started to waft into the air. “Mmm?” Ember replied, voice low. “Nothin’, just…” Applejack turned back to Ember. “I like this song, that’s all. One of my favorites.” A mare’s voice joined in with the guitar; one of those singers that Ember didn’t know the name of, but seemed to be all over the radio. At least, she’d heard her voice eight times in four months, and that was close enough to get the hint. After a few seconds, Applejack started humming in tune with the guitar; a second later, Ember realized it was the same song she’d heard Applejack humming the day before. Ember paused for a couple seconds, then abruptly turned and walked toward the table. After feeling around for a bit, her claw eventually latched onto the back of a chair; gripping it a bit tighter than was necessary, Ember lifted it off the floor, carried it over towards the two of them, then dropped it right next to the refrigerator. Applejack looked up at her, but said nothing. “We never did try to dance.” Ember extended her claw. “Maybe it won’t work for any other couple, but…favorite song, right?” Applejack nodded. “Can you think of a better time to try?” Applejack hesitated. Then, cautiously, she extended her hoof. Ember took it in her claw, holding it for a couple seconds before letting Applejack step down again. Ember watched Applejack’s movements, trying to match hers as best she could. Four-legged dancing, it seemed, was a largely positional affair; stepping backward or forward in time to the beat at first, then side to side, then around; crossing over, then back again, then stepping closer until their legs almost touched. For all the bulky frames of quadrupeds belied, there was a surprising smoothness to the steps, interconnectivity that made grandiose movements seem like a well-oiled wheel, and Ember found her legs straining to keep pace with a bob and weave as fluid as the rising tide. Bridge, chorus, verse; time, and even the music, seemed to fade, and it wasn’t until the bridge came around again that Applejack stopped, raising her forehoof, waiting. Ember hopped back, lightly, and nimbly hooked her foot around the refrigerator door. The bridge buoyed her through an effortless twirl that kicked the door open, let her claws slide around the chair’s sides and forced it in front of the door, propping it open. The refrigerator light bathed both of them in its pallid glow as Ember nearly floated back to Applejack, grabbed her forehoof and lifted her up into the air, pressing chest to chest, cradling hoof to claw. Then the chorus struck again, and time melted. Limbs crossed and recrossed, bodies bobbed and wove, steps hooking around and around each other until they became a blur. Form ceased to follow function, form ceased to exist in the conventional sense in the refrigerator light; there was simply orange and teal, twisted around each other, twirling and twisting in a formless, impossible tango, bodies melted and mingled like twin raindrops trickling down a window. The song ended. Another began, then another, until the pair didn’t finish their dance so much as stop, chest pressed against chest, abruptly silent and still, illuminated against the unceasing and apathetic darkness.