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Duty.

It was such a funny thing, wasn’t it? A sense of obligation that could save lives, be the passion behind heroes of stories, drive entire kingdoms to war, and be the cause of so-called miracles.

And for others, some could argue it was the thing that would ruin their lives.

Duty. Honor. Sacrifice. It was the stuff of legend. People said that you were meant to feel fantastic for making this kind of sacrifice.

So why did she feel like this? Why did she regret her actions? She did good, she saved so many young ones and her own siblings from the flames. But at the cost of her own body and ability to live a normal life.

She had used her body as a shield when the fires raged across the forest, huddling a group of foals - including her siblings - under her as they made their escape through the fires. Even as the fire lapped at her skin, burning her ankles deeply and back, causing irreparable damage in the future that Unicorn healers would say later would never be able to fully heal. She pressed on until they finally reached the safety of the river. Adrenaline, fear, and most of all that damned word duty driving her forward.

She was a hero in everyone’s eyes except her own.

As the rest of the herd began to heal and rebuild, she was stuck in those same fiery moments, both mentally and physically. She endured months of agonizing healings of her burns that she suffered, even after the Unicorns had done all they could; she was left permanently disabled and disfigured.
The children that she had once sacrificed herself to save, now shyed away from her when she approached. Her grotesque appearance scared them as she looked more like a monster from fairytales than their heroic savior. It didn’t help that she walked with a limp, one of her back legs that had suffered the most nerve damage from the flames dragged limply behind her.

Duty allowed her to be a hero. But duty ends once the danger is over. Duty doesn’t help one rebuild; duty doesn’t mean that everyone will appreciate your actions.

She was left angry. Hurt. Confused. Unable to move forward from that day. The fire had taken everything except her life, and in many ways, she wished that it had finished its job. Death would have been better than this. What kind of life was she left with as thanks for her actions? Pain every single day. Being ostracized from her herd. No peace even in her dreams, where she was plagued with nightmares night after night of the fire chasing her endlessly with no escape.

The only thing that kept her living was her siblings. The few people who saw her as the hero that she was and treated her with tender care and respect. They took care of her, bathed her, brought her food when she was too weak to be able to graze for herself, and comforted her throughout her nightmares. They reminded her that they were so thankful to her, and would be here for her.

Duty, pah. That word had become tainted and useless to her. Love though? For her dearest siblings who loved her even in her worst? Yes, she would redo her actions over again a thousand times over.

For them, she would do an even harder task; She would live.