"My name is Winter. Equestria has fallen to a cold plague. I can't write any longer. I need to move on..."

The hoofwriting is shaky, the ink is cracked, and the paper is riddled with wet marks long dried, forever wrinkled. It is the first page to a journal that has seen better days - pages are ripped out here and there, stains of many colors ridge the outside, and the binding creaks whenever it is opened.

The cover is a bare black besides one word - "Winter".

Editing planned.