The Writer and Their Quill
Chapter 5: Ashes to Ashes
The procession was small. Only friends and family were attending. Luna and I gave a few words, but we weren’t to stand out above the rest. This was Twilight’s day.
It was a day that I had wrote, and despite what Luna has said to console me, I knew that it was I that put my friend into that box. They don’t know it was me, they don’t know what we can see, but they may as well know.
I might actually prefer it that way. Then they would have something to blame, so that this tragic ‘accident’ was real to them; so that they didn’t feel as helpless. A face to a murder is kindness. A death by accident is tragic.
Instead, I shall live with my burden. I’ll let it eat away at me. I’ll let my psyche slowly crack and collapse. It should have been me in that box.
I can’t do anything. I’m powerless. Helpless. Weak.
The service finished, and they left. I nodded solemnly to each as they passed. They wore expressions of sadness as expected. Some of them even seemed angry, although they will never know what at.
Her mother and father were the last to leave. They still stood over the grave. The fresh loamy soil was still upturned. I stood beside them. Her mother was crying.
She looked to me through cloudy eyes.
“Is there anything anypony could have done to stop this?” she asked, though tears.
I just stared. Nothing I could say could put this right.
“No,” I said gravely.
She nodded. “Thank you, Princess. You meant so much to our Twilight.”
Her husband placed a hoof over her shoulder and they walked out.
I approached the premature grave which I put had put her in.
I wrote this world into existence; I am the writer of her death. My interference killed her.
Let no others fall at my selfishness. I am only a statue. Only a figure. I am not immortal; I am a writer, and this forsaken world is my bloodied quill.