You are Calligraphy, a homeless unicorn stallion with a troubled past. Despite your originally white coat, it has taken on a messy, grayish tone; your mane fares no better, a dark brown, long and untamed from the years you've spent without a home. One may have once imagined you’d be of the upper class; your flank is adorned with a fine cutie mark, a yellowish quill, writing some of the most fine, delicate letters even the most talented of your unicorn kin would have trouble to imitate with their horn writing.

Alas, life has never been kind; perhaps one day, you would've been destined to bask in the ease of fine dining, culture and music, composing poetry worthy of Celestia herself. That was, of course, assuming that your life was anything but agonizing torture on a daily basis. Such illusions as a utopia were foolhardy, since you had learned long ago that such happy dreams would never come to be; perhaps you were one of the few who did, one of the few who dared to question the political and economic systems, and perhaps that was the reason for your current situation...

Do note that this is my first piece of fanfiction, and more importantly, my first attempt at writing clop; my apologies if I'm not aware of proper anatomy or fill this with a surprising amount of head-canon, but I hope you'll enjoy it. Feel free to tear me apart with critique on everything but writing style, which is something that I won't change; hopefully, it will be appropriate or enjoyable for you.!