"My father's stories were, at times, so vivacious, but at others, solemn, as if they were frozen to the touch. He acted as if he owned them. He tucked them neatly away in his mind, capturing every last detail, until he could release them. Always unto me. It was though he lived through her life stories. Through his memories of her. Through his love, which seemed to never die, for a pony who had died long ago."

Grief strangled Fluttershy from birth, as death tackled her loved ones violently. Her mother had died, and her father had forgotten how to live.