Pinkamena's End

Stitches rocked softly with the breeze, sitting in her creaky old rocking chair, taut with the flayed flanks of various ponies, creating a collage of skin colours, tones, and cutiemarks. Adorned with the skulls of ponies as corners, the wing bones of pegasi as the backing and seat, and femurs or other thick bones shaping the frame of the chair, giving it the look of a many-headed skeletal pony, creeping back and forth, observing its prey. Which these days was the regular look of décor around this disturbing plot of land. The day was gloomy and mysterious, as was the norm around Stitches‘ cabin, deep within the Everfree Forest.

Once a heavenly glen, teeming with such life and beauty, not Celestia herself could compare, warding off all manner of evil, sinister creature that may lurk about in the dense, shadowy wood. Glistening waterfalls flow, and streams resulting from them, shone like polished diamond at high noon, many peaceful aquatic creatures darted about within. Bordering the glen were once the tallest spruce in the Everfree Forest, leaves golden as the sun, bark tough as iron. Centering the Glen were beautiful pink cherry blossoms, which seemed to be in bloom all year-round. Grass, the lightest shade of green, filled corner to corner with delicate wildflowers and rose bushes.

Now free of all life that once thrived here. The trees grow old, and crooked, white as ghosts, and with nothing to cover their branches but thorny vines intertwining throughout them, and drooping to the ground. No grass remains upon the scorched, unholy earth, only bones of those so unlucky as to wander into this desolate land. Not a flower has bloomed in years; all remaining of their once beautiful glory are bushes of razor sharp thorns ensnaring any life to waltz near them. The once majestic waterfalls and streams, naught but barren stone, dry as the bones that fill them. Larger than ever was the land though, for its cursed ground spread outside of its borders, carrying its sickly aura, and bringing no less than death or disease to ever form of life, each and every blade of grass, or crawling ant that now inhabited it’s new border.

I still remember being a filly. Trotting through my glen with my head held high, like a princess. I do not wish my fate to differ, though I’m not sure this was the path intended for me. Stitches thought to herself nearly every day. She’d take a seat on her chair, at what apparently only she could notice through the constant fog as to be the crack of dawn, and waste away in it, just thinking, constantly thinking. I don’t recall the sound of my voice, the tune of my childish laughter, the sorrow of my tears, the look of my smile. I have been deprived of nearly all emotion since her passing. Since being a filly she was all I had in life. And he took her from me, just as she took my last caretaker. I still remember that day, back when I was just a small filly, playing in the glen with my caretaker, for I never knew my parents, and she was all I had.