Pinkie Pie was the first to go. It came as such a shock to everyone when it happened. The old mare had been as energetic and lively as when she was half her age. It was like they said: the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.
She had just finished throwing her youngest great-great-grandchild a party for their seventh birthday. The cake was chocolate. The clown was hilarious. The gift of a pink pogo stick put a smile on the filly’s face.
Later that night, the filly lay in bed. She planted a kiss on the filly’s forehead. She told the filly that she loved her more than all the cupcakes in the world, even the sprinkley ones. She watched the smiling filly drift off to sleep.
She hugged the filly’s parents goodnight. She told them she was proud of them for raising such a wonderful daughter. Then, she walked home.
They found her there the next day. She had fallen asleep at her desk. There was a weary smile on her face. The half-finished plans for her great-great-granddaughter’s eighth birthday party were laid out before her.
The funeral was held a week later. She had planned the ceremony herself, of course. There was cheerful, upbeat music. There were colorful balloons. There was a twenty-one-gun salute of party cannons. There were jokes that made ponies laugh, even as their eyes filled with tears. Her five closest friends did their best to sing her favorite songs. And at her request, no one in attendance wore black.
She was buried in the cemetery of Ponyville, next to her husband. Ponies visited her often, leaving big, beautiful balloons at her headstone.
Years later, it was Rainbow Dash. Her doctor had told her she was too old to fly like she used to. She disagreed.
She loved to take her morning flights. She loved to feel the wind on her wings. She loved to feel the breeze blowing through her hair. She loved to meet the day head-on, whatever it might bring with it. And by the time she got home, her husband would have breakfast waiting for her.
She woke that morning. She got out of bed. Her husband stirred. She whispered to him to get some more sleep. She gave him a kiss. Then, she left.
He got up later. He made their breakfasts. He set the table. He waited. He waited some more. Her breakfast grew cold.
They found her a few miles away from home. She was resting on a small cloud, drifting peacefully. She was looking up at the big, blue sky above her. She was smiling.
She was buried with full military honors, as befitting of a Wonderbolt. As per tradition, the princesses presided. A rainbow was placed in the sky of every city in Equestria that day. Her grandson performed a sonic rainboom as the ceremony concluded.
She was buried in the royal cemetery in Canterlot. She lay beside Equestria’s greatest heroes, as well as her fellow Wonderbolts.
Rarity was next. She could feel it coming, but she could not go yet. She still had work to do.
She had already entrusted her boutiques to her trustworthy friends and family members. She had already finished training her final apprentice. She had already completed her great-great-granddaughter’s wedding dress. There was just one more thing she needed to do.
Her final gown was unfinished. She had been working on it for weeks. Everyone told her it looked amazing as-is. She thought it still needed something. She spent many late nights in her workroom working on it.
Her husband brought her a cup of tea before bed. He told her it was late, and that she should get some rest. She told him fashion never rests. She told him she was close to figuring out what her dress needed. She kissed him, then sent him to bed. She told him she would join him soon.
He woke the next morning. He found her lying beside him. Her hair was messy. There were bags under her eyes. There was a satisfied smile on her face.
They found the dress in her workroom. It was beautiful. It amazed her friends and family. It amazed the fashion world even more. She became the first pony to win Saddle Row’s “Designer of the Year” award posthumously.
Her funeral was a grand affair. Every boutique in the country remained closed that day. Every designer, model, and fan who could manage it attended. There had never been a more fashionable group of mourners. She would have been proud.
She was buried in Canterlot. Her grave was white marble, decorated with gemstones. Her oldest apprentice designed her burial gown. It was as beautiful as she was.
Then, it was Applejack. She never stopped working. She never left the orchard. She never stopped loving those big, beautiful apples.
Her family told her she should take it easy. They told her she should relax, get some rest. She told them she could rest when she was dead.
It was springtime. The orchard was in bloom. Her family was out planting new saplings. Even her littlest great-great-grandchildren helped as best they could. She told them how the big, tall trees had all grown from tiny seeds. She chuckled at the wonder in their eyes.
She went off on her own to inspect the new blossoms. She wanted to make sure her trees were healthy. She left her family to continue the work. She told them not to slack off just because she wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on them.
Hours passed. They went looking for her. They found her resting beneath a tree. Petals slowly fell through the air around her. She was smiling.
Her funeral was a modest affair, just friends and family. She had many family members though, and even more friends. Her coffin was made of apple wood. Her oldest daughter strummed her mother’s guitar and sang of days gone by.
She was buried in the orchard, in her family’s cemetery. She lay beside her husband, and nearby her parents.
It was Fluttershy’s turn next. She fell ill one day. The doctors said there was nothing they could do. It was just her time.
She accepted it. Her friend did not. Her friend had already lost four; she didn’t want to lose another.
Her friend, ever the tenacious unicorn, sought a cure. Her friend pored through whole libraries of books. Her friend studied every spell ever written. Her friend refused to rest until she found what she wanted.
Meanwhile, she said her goodbyes. She said goodbye to her friends. She said goodbye to her family. She said goodbye to her animals, every single one.
When her friend finally returned, lamenting her failure, she said goodbye to her too. She told her friend she was grateful for her. She told her she had always been grateful for her. She told her she would always be grateful for her.
She asked her friend to open her bedroom window. Her friend did so. They heard the gentle sounds of twittering birds and buzzing bees. They sat together until the end, listening with smiles on their faces.
Many ponies came to her funeral. Many more who were not ponies came as well. Every animal within a hundred miles came to pay their respects. There were ones that flew. There were ones that walked. There were even some that swam. All made the journey, from the gentlest lamb to the most ferocious manticore. How ironic that the ceremony for the shy little pegasus would be the highest-attended in living memory.
She was buried in the meadow behind her cottage, next to her husband. Flowers grew there, and butterflies filled the air.
Twilight remained. She didn’t remain for long. She didn’t want to keep her friends waiting.
She made the arrangements. She got her affairs in order. She organized her books. She visited her children, and her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren, and all the rest. She visited her friends, as many as she could. She visited her old mentor, one last time. Neither of them said it, but the princess knew it was a goodbye.
Finally, she visited me, her number one assistant. I made us tea and cookies, just like I used to. We talked. We talked about our lives. We talked about our families. We talked about our friends. We talked about Canterlot, and about Ponyville, and about everywhere else our journeys had taken us.
She told me how incredibly grateful she was that my little egg had found its way to her all those years ago. She told me how happy I had made her. She told me she hoped that every day of the rest of my centuries-long life would be just as happy.
Just before she left, she told me something else. She asked me to stop by the library the next day. There was something she wanted to give me. I said I would. She smiled, then left.
I did as I was asked. I went to the library the next morning. The old tree was just as I remembered it.
I found her lying on her bed. She was the picture of serenity. She was smiling.
Two letters sat beside her. One letter bore my name. I read it. I cried, but did not stop reading. At the very end, it asked me for a favor. It asked me to deliver one last letter to the princess for her.
The princess received her letter. She read it. She read what it said. She read what it asked her to do. She read the six names signed at the end in decades-old ink. She smiled, and cried.
The preparations were made. Families were spoken to, and approvals received. Five coffins were reverently exhumed. They made their way to Ponyville, to join the sixth.
The spot was chosen with care. It sat just outside the town. It was peaceful there, just the place for a long rest.
Thousands attended the ceremony. They came from near, and they came from far. They came by train, by wing, by balloon, or just by their own hooves. There came the rich, and there came the poor. There came the mighty, and there came the meek. There came the young, and there came the old. There came unicorns, and pegasi, and Earth ponies alike. All came to pay their respects to Equestria’s greatest heroes, and its greatest friends.
Princess Celestia gave the eulogy. She started it, and when she could not finish it, her sister did.
The six of them were buried side-by-side. They were never parted again.
I visit their resting place often. It’s a nice place today. They would have liked it.
A park grew up around it. Tall apple trees stand there. Houses for birds and squirrels hang from their branches. Flowers abound, their petals frequented by bees and butterflies.
Many ponies come to visit them. Children come to laugh and play together. Artists and designers come seeking inspiration. Athletes come seeking luck before their big games. Others come just to sit in the shade and read a good book.
The place is watched over by a statue. The statue depicts six mares: two unicorns, two pegasi, and two Earth ponies. Six friends standing together, smiling together, forever.
At the base of that statue is a plaque. It reads:
MAY ALL WHO COME TO
THIS PLACE AS STRANGERS
LEAVE AS FRIENDS
