Poor state of best things considered, probably

Still yet to be ended, so with Rarity again. So a day with sun clouded out. If there is a sun. She keeps her doubts close. If not worse, then for better. This is something that is seen from the window. Her place. It’s nothing much at all. But hers when the light is out or in. When any light must be dealt with. Though still there are doubts. Rarity does not leave the window. Home is empty. One can’t be sure.

There are a few things that can be seen from her view. These won’t be listed. Likely forgot or just not significant to begin with. Nothing of much effect. Charred husks or withered ambitions or else worse. She has her contingencies. For instance, if an other were in her view she would remove it. What a proud unicorn. What else to be.

In between the walls. Long out with the clutter, then Rarity’s gaze is still confined to the walls. Dim walls, peeling paint, and a roach carcass. Some insects reside with her, source of company. And so friendship has some use. What a way to facilitate harmony. That hasn’t been so honest. There is no company. Rarity has stomped the bugs. And so hooves have some use.

On a forgotten occasion, Rarity exited the house. To the market for sustenance or the fair for leisure or perhaps nothing equally likely. If there was a clerk, then poor company. It wasn’t understood. Roaches cannot understand english. She brought home an apricot and things were a bit worse.

First to start the killing. It is a little less. Her legs go numb, this is frequent. The window is where things may die. Away from the window is also where things may die. And some others are left in a ditch. Soon for her. Unless a mistake there too. No more fate anyhow, killed that long ago, when not at the house. When radiating ruin and decline. Now Rarity is at the window with numb legs. Every skill she never had in question. Every ill brought on by herself.

One thing that follows her. Not the regrets, but some kind of observer. At a distance. Poorly seen, some aura of benevolence. Nothing that would die for her, nothing would die for her. Nor for anyone. It is her and she cannot drown out the existence. So goes to the cats once more, and she died alive.

Dead twenty years, thoroughly decayed. So Rarity persists with nothing in the stomach, or other notable organs. Always was without substance. Even when at the peak, if there were the good times, it all poured out. Likely for the marginally better. No one minds. A unicorn has no need to fly anyhow. So it goes on.

As she proceeds, Rarity gives no effort to leave her space. Never try again. Likely wouldn’t know how or what to do in any case. And if was a case, that would be tossed out the window. Now she recalls an other said, In heaven everything is fine. They were tossed out the window. Back when the height was greater. If there were other windows, with differing or same views. Few things of value if any. She has discovered her hooves aren’t edible and that is valuable. Next attempt the soul. Such to be done away with.

When the view must be observed, she looks to the sky. She looks down up at the sky. Such being preferable to what isn’t listed. And when eyes not shut Rarity observes the light dwindling. When there is light to dwindle. Such as now by mistake she observes. Recently there was light and it has faded. It has been another day. Nothing significant.