To Whom It May Concern

by Kurrus

First published March 9th, 2012 02:04

To whom it may concern,

Hello. My name is Rarity, and I believe we have a problem.

So begins a letter: by far the most special letter that's been brought by land, sea and air to Ponyville, or any other town this side of Canterlot. A letter that tells an unnverving story you'd be sure you knew would end badly if there ever was any doubt, if anything because all has already been lost.

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To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern
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To Whom It May Concern

To whom it may concern,

My name is Rarity, and I believe we have a problem.

Before I continue, I want to say I'm sorry. I beg you to forgive me - you know who you are. I'm sorry for all these times I was inconsiderate or selfish to you. I'm sorry for being unnecessarily hostile. I'm sorry for not being there when I was needed, and being there when I wasn't. And I'm really, really sorry for hurting you. I will never forgive myself, but I hope you will.

At the same time - and I hope I'm not being too cheesy - I want to thank you. For everything. You kept me afloat; you helped me up when I fell; you fought tooth and nails for me even when I probably didn't deserve it. You made my life make sense and were the reason I ever kept going through the effort of waking up every morning. Just... thank you. For everything. You made my life wonderful.

Alas, as I wrote, we have a problem. This will not be easy to understand. It will most likely be extremely shocking; but know that I mean absolutely no harm to you. I wish with all my heart there was a way to avoid this, but there isn't. Everything must be explained.

I sincerely regret to let you know that I have no idea who 'you' are.

Believe me: I am as utterly confused, puzzled and broken as you are. And, again, please believe me: I don't want to make you suffer, but it's necessary. This is the truth, and it's certainly most awful, but you must know it.

I do not know who I am, either.

To be precise, I don't remember who I am.

[A long line of small, dry droplets extends from this point to the very bottom edge of the parchment.]

I don't remember who you are, either. I virtually don't remember anything apart from my own name, and "Ponyville", which I suppose is some kind of town or city.

This is utterly devastating for me. It makes me so frustrated, so angry at the world, words can't really express a fraction of it. I am wrecked and destroyed.

Yet not absolutely everything is gone - I do remember a few things. As you've read above, I remember sorrow and regret; I remember fear, dread and anxiety. All in spurs... I also remember happiness. True, pure, unadulterated joy.

Most importantly I am also vaguely aware of the existence of 'you', but I don't know who you are. I don't know if you're a stallion, my sibling(s), my child or children, a mare or group of mares, a dragon, my "special somepony", or maybe even the legendary Bearers of the Elements. But I know 'you', whatever you are, exist or existed. I know you're the most important thing I remember. You're connected to the vague, distant memories of happiness I keep, and you're the reason I'm writing this.

I remember I have some sort of connection to Ponyville, although I don't know. Sounds like a lovely place to live, maybe even start a boutique (I've always wanted to own one of those).

I don't remember anything else... as to right now, I'm lost. I don't know where I am, how I got here, or why I'm here. I haven't got anything on me except a blank scroll that, oddly, smells like wood. Everypony here speaks a very strange language I've never heard. The place I'm staying at appears to be a hospital for all intents and purposes, but I'm not really sure if it really is - Celestia knows where I am...

Contrary to every single one of my expectations I found a very friendly nurse who I could clumsily communicate with. She explained everything surprisingly fluidly, but when I started asking her more questions about myself she simply told me to enjoy the day, hurried away and disappeared. I've been looking for her all day, but the sun's already going down and I'm exhausted, so I decided to recollect everything I could and write it all here.

It was rather difficult to make something out of what she said, but I -somehow- succeeded. And what I learnt is extremely unsettling - especially because it makes sense to me. It all adds up. Here goes.

I appear to have something called "magic poisoning". It is a rare illness that can appear after overexposure to magic, formed by excessive residual magic energy building up inside us. I don't really understand medicine, but it seems it corrupts us and makes our bodies slowly destroy themselves. They had to surgically remove my horn to prevent the problem from growing. They also had to shave my mane in order to do that... fortunately, I don't remember what my mane used to look like. Knowing how ugly I look right now is the last thing I need.

But that isn't the problem we have. Me and you, whoever you are. Part of the reason I'm writing this is that the symptoms of this illness are clear: random bursts of physical and magical energy, obsessive-compulsive disorder, erratic and sudden changes in personality, paranoia, temporal loss of emotion, general apathy. Then, progressive loss of memory.

And, very soon after that, death.

I'm sorry for not explaining it earlier, but writing the rest of this letter made me determined. I know my time has come. And, before I go, I have to share this knowledge, even if it's the last thing I do - for this wicked illness is not exclusive to magic users themselves.

[A few large droplets of dry blood obscure the following paragraphs, going vertically until the bottom edge.]

I sincerely hope you - again, whoever 'you' are - can make a better use of this knowledge than me. I don't know how many lives I might've endangered, but the possibility of helping you do something about that has kept me alive so far. As a last favor I ask you: do everything you can to not let anypony else go through this. I will make sure this arrives to Ponyville. The rest is up to you.

With my memories lost, and nothing to actually tribute or fondly look back to, this is the only way to make my death have a purpose.

Please make good use of it.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Rarity, and I believe we have a problem.

[The parchment lies, spread open, inside a reinforced glass cage suspended below the statue of an unicorn. A commemorative plaque, modelled in gold and surrounded by precious gems, stands on a pillar supporting the statue of an unicorn. The plaque reads:

Giving Until The End

RARITY

Tragically Passed Away Aged 41

Statues of two pegasi, two earth ponies, another unicorn and a small dragon surround the monument, all barely attached to the same floating chunk of land in the middle of a colorful, chaotic void.]