What Makes You A Pony?

Dear Mother.

I do hope you are well and fair in this weather. I place my hope upon the stars in the night sky that you may get better soon.

I know that my actions taken recently, have placed you in a downward spiral of low spirits. I can never atone them with my apology, I find that it will never be able to crater you to higher spirits. Yet, I must admit the guilt I feel for taking my absence without a note to your hooves.
Let this very note or letter reach your hooves in kind, as recompense for my replacement going on with a deathly silence that now roams the halls of the castle. I find I am no longer fit to be held within those same walls.

I must confide to you, here in this very scroll, my woes of how I have felt living with you and Father…

It has been oh, so long mother. Oh, so long, to have your sky blue eyes look at me when you were out and about during the morning hours. You would fetch me from the garden and head off to the markets in town, with me on your back all the while smiling and gleeful at the fact of having each other's company.
What changed? Was it the illness? Was it me? Was it father? What caused your eyes to dull and turn to a muddied stone colour? What slowly chipped away at your radiant smile?
I wanted to help alleviate your suffering and help shoulder the brunt of the monsoon that whipped you with its winds. I could see the marks it left on your soul, your body. I saw deep gashes tearing through your snout as if it were struck by chain and iron.

I saw the craters that held your eyes. They were carved out by the whirlwinds of the rechid winds of that storm. I wished it hell, I wished that storm to be torn asunder, away from your radiance. Yet, it did not come to pass. What was I to do? I was only a tender age of four when I saw your life being washed out to sea, adrift on a wooden beam that held the bastion of health your body had. I wanted to give you my soul, my health, my warmth. Yet, I could not give it. It was not fully mine to give.
So, I set out to find magics that could. I galloped down to your secret library, to find a tome that could help my desperate plea. Alas, there was no help. I scoured and scoured for a tome to help my plea. I searched from the dusty floor to the cobweb ceiling, but still nothing. That was until I heard a faint, yet firm voice call my name from underneath your enclosed ruby necklace.

Mother, the voice cooed, coddled, and entrenched me. It helped my raging mind ease with its betwixt tone. It guided me and showed me how to lift it free from the tomb you gave it. It gave me strength to move ever so slightly, the glassed case that housed your necklace.
When I had made enough room, I reached down to the silver box and opened it. What was housed in it was a normal-looking leather-bound tome. I looked around the front cover to find any markings on it. “Xentriama” was the title it held.

I find it funny Mother. How you can think you were ever destitute enough to try to save a pony you love? Could that mindset ever lead to the end of one's self? I finally figured out why you sealed Xentriama away. She has taken my soul hostage, taken my body’s strength, and the clarity from my mind…

I will always love you, no matter where you rest Mother.

~ Starburst.