A moment forever.

My story begins where it ended, in the mountains above Canterlot. My world was plain and insignificant. Cut short in a moment of blinding madness and mistaken beliefs. Before the megaspells that once saved life; destroyed all that could be seen.

I died alone, never knowing the true magic of friendship.

My dream to fly above the clouds, to leave the isolation of my life for a place I could be free. Floating far from my home, consumed in necromantic cloud and balefire. I paid the price for my dream. A heartbeat of terror and pain as clouds of green and pink fire engulfed my mortal body. My flesh boiling away as my soul departed my fading vessel.

I was here for a moment and then, I was lost.

My death was short and painful. An experience that would wrap and twist my soul for eternity. Entombed upon the very mountain where Canterlot once stood. A once beautiful city, ruined in war, became my home in the unknown.

Yet, even after death, my soul was touched by another. A tiny mare who ventured forth from an underground stable - built to protect life some two hundred years ago. Her actions unknowingly freed my tortured, corrupted soul from its eternal sorrow. She brought hope and friendship to many in life: many more would benefit in death.

Language was all that remained of my experience. Strange symbols scrawled upon a book that speak of me as though my presence was felt in some ethereal place. A record of dark magic that defiled my soul the moment it was stolen.

My name is - or was - Honey. A talentless blank flank from generations of earthen ponies who roamed Equestria. I was the mare who dared to believe, dared to dream she might fly amongst the clouds and stars. A silly nothing many pegasi never spared a second thought. An idea that would reveal my cutie mark, and my demise.

In life, my gift was unknown. I was a mare born of Ponyville who never received her cutie mark. Enduring the never ceasing taunts and jibes of my peers, with only a dream of a better life in the sky to keep me sane. Mediocrity and half-job became my epithets.

Despite my disadvantage, I learned a great many skills that led to my dream's fruition. Many older folk spared me the comments, offering what jobs they could in pity toward my plight - secretly glad for the extra helping hoof. You might surmise I became a jack of all trades. In a world where specialisation is everything, it didn't matter how much I knew, helpful or otherwise; other folk could (and would) do far better than my meagre efforts.

In death, my soul was stolen from within the ruins of the castle. Corrupted by magic used only to destroy life. Scattered and lost, forced to witness the horrors of the wasteland and the very desecration my soul committed at the hands of another.