The story of no names.

The End

Alone stood a single pony in the midst of the melancholy night. They stood above a single gravestone, listening to the slight pitter-patter of light rain as it struck that lone, worn, and solemn stone. Inscribed on the gravestone was... well nothing. Nothing was known about the pony buried there. Yet, this pony, this single pony who visited when the clock struck none, placed a small bouquet of flowers in front of the empty stone.