The Life And Times of a Terrible Pony

My chef is named Pumpkin Pastry. She works at my estate and cooks for me and any I keep there, and she is well aware of my atrocities, though she never participates on anything while the victim is alive. She came under my service in a fantastic stroke of luck, right after I had to kill my previous two chefs for seeing things they shouldn’t have seen.

She was adopted by the family of a griffon she met at the friendship school, while she was a filly. She immigrated back when she grew up, but had received her cutie mark in butchering, and found she is quite addicted to the tastes and textures of properly cooked meat. Which was fine in griffonstone, but as I’m sure you know, rather illegal here in Equestria. She happened to end up in the same place as me, asking the same awful questions in a dark alley to a very well connected underworld mare. Pumpkin was there to ask about where black market meat could be obtained - I was asking where an asks-no-questions butcher could be found. The mare laughed and gestured at each of us, and I swept Pumpkin away back to my manor, where I showed her my...meat.

She had been expecting dogs, or bears, or even cows - she balked a little when she saw the two Pegasi on the floor, throats slit. But the promise of joining me in eating them - and many more meats should she stay - quickly got her moving, and she butchered them with a finesse I still quite admire. I think of her as something of an equal, though she’s obviously a little bit scared of me. I would never dream of harming her. She’s earned her place in my world - by showing that she’s willing to put what she wants above everything else, even the lives of other ponies. She’s beautiful, graceful and soft in all the right ways but just rough enough around the edges to be interesting. The claw mark scars she bears from wrestling with griffons in her youth are my favorite parts about her.

We’ve never fucked, and I doubt we ever will. We have shared but one sexual encounter, which I recall rather fondly. I procured a Yak Calf during my travels a while back, a runaway far from home. I snuck him into Equestria and killed him quickly from behind, leaving us a perfect specimen.

Fear makes meat gamey, you know.

She butchered and cooked him, and we shared a private meal of the most delicious steak known to ponykind. The meat was absolutely perfect. We ate it with mashed red potato and sautéed Bella mushrooms, and it was simply divine. We both moaned when we ate our first bite of him - and I made neither sure of us could forget what we where eating, as I put his head as a display on the table. I later had it worked on by a deeply in-debt taxidermist, but that’s hardly related. It was delicious to the point of pure pleasure, and neither if us was shy about saying so. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped in her chair, hooves reaching under the table as she slowly chewed on the soft, delicious meat. Blood ran from her lips as she open-mouth moaned, staining her perfect peachy fur a pink-red. She continued hoofing herself under the table, and it dawned on me she couldn’t see the room anymore. She was completely enraptured by the flavor, and lost in her own pleasure. I was also quite excited from the taste, and the sight of her certainly helped me along - so I started rubbing myself off as well, eating all the while. She shoved her face into her steak, and I did the same - forgoing silverware and tearing into it like some kind of wolf. She looked divine, and I remember wishing that I could’ve left the curtains open, to see her in a halo of sunlight.

But of course there’s hardly any need for me to tell you why my curtains are not, where not, and never will be open. Such a shame. Anyway...

Pumpkin Pastry is like a sister to me. I actually asked her permission to place her name in this book - she nodded, saying she feels she’ll be ready to die should our mutual arrangement ever cease to be. She asked me to tell nothing but the truth about her, and as much of it as I wanted to write. And to add that she truly recommends griffon cuisine.

At time of writing this she is currently cooking up a no doubt delicious meal for me, herself, and of course my daughter, Ruby. Ruby Velvet doesn’t know that ponies aren’t meant to eat meat. There’s a lot of things she doesn’t know, of course. She’s much better at digesting it than I or even Pumpkin are - due to consuming from just about day 1, I suppose.

I still hold out hope for Ruby, that she’ll see things my way. I made her to be above everypony and second only to me - she struggled with that notion. She doesn’t see herself as above her mother, and doesn’t see herself as beneath me, no matter how many times I tell her so while holding her to the floor, full of my cock. I feel like she’s...a time bomb. What happens when she goes off I’m not sure, but likely it’ll be my destruction. I’m not sure what to do though. If I stop the conditioning I’ve been subjecting her to since birth, will that help? Will it dig her further into hating me? I know this diary cannot answer me but, I will grant you this moment of weakness, Princess Twilight. Or, whoever it is that’s reading this.

I’m terrified of her. I’m terrified that I do love her in some capacity, and I haven’t been able to kill her. I don’t know if it’s pride or foolishness. I hope it’s pride - being unwilling to abandon any project no matter how dangerous - but I believe I may be kidding myself. I can only hope that she starts to listen to me when I offer victims to her. She could be so good at torture if she’d just put her whole self into it.

So many questions. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.

Signed, Velour.
End Entry the Fifth.