Despite what you think, my people do not speak in rhyme. Some may, because they have been cursed as I was, or because they simply choose to, but it is not something that is a common occurrence.
The curse that was cast upon me was done so by an angry shaman. He was angry because a certain curious filly had wandered into his home without his permission.
I was quite the adventurer in my youth. I had a thirst for knowledge that could not be quenched. Every day I would wander off in a new direction and not return until I had found something new and exciting with the world. My mother would often scold me for going off alone and so far from our village.
On one such adventuring day I found myself in a forest, not unlike the forest outside my own home. As I wandered through the forest I kept my eyes wide open and stayed alert. Not because I feared the animals but because I did not want to miss anything the earth chose to bless my presence with.
Only after wandering into a clearing that contained a small shack did I stop. I recognized this home. The adults in our village had often told the tale of the miserly old warlock that lived in a cottage deep within the forest. One of the elders who often spoke of the warlock had found his home on accident and drawn a picture of it for everyone to know and avoid.
I remember staring at that shack for several long minutes. I was frozen with indecision. I had one part of my body telling me to continue with my adventure. I had not come this far only to turn home without a new experience.
But my fear kept me rooted in place. It's hard to think your parents would lie to protect you, as a child. You take their word as gospel because they have the wisdom of age, and you simply know no better. And my parents had always told me that if I ever encountered this warlock to turn and run and never look back.
As I stood in place, my mind whirling with what I should do, I had an epiphany. If the eldest man in the village had seen this warlock at a young age and the warlock and been an adult then, surely by now he must be either very, very old or have passed on from this world. Logically, that made quite a bit of sense. Even now, years later, I cannot find fault in my decision to press on.
So, I moved forward, the hair on my neck stood on end as some of my fears could not be quelled. I had been told a great many things about this pony, most of which were tales of just how evil he was. I know today they were not exaggerating.
As I reached to door, I knocked. I did not know what that would accomplish. If he was alive I merely alerted him to my presence. If he was dead I would simply feel foolish. When no answer came, nor sound from inside, I pushed the door open slowly, not crossing the threshold. As if staying just inches from the inside would save me if some magical attack or demon came charging at me.
When nothing came and the inside of the home was revealed I finally stepped inside. It looked like a normal home. It looked like the home I lived in. I began to relax and explore the dark interior.
I remember seeing a great many small idols scattered around, some hanging from the ceiling, some sitting on tables, others scattered on the floor. There were lots of books as well. The titles varied from the mundane to the extraordinary. Some were written in languages I could not comprehend.
As I slowly wandered through the home, I came upon a great black pot with a bubbling green liquid inside it. This was the first sign that the warlock was still alive. I sniffed the concoction and recoiled as the stench burned the inside of my nose. I was becoming greatly uncomfortable and simply leaving this home felt like a great idea.
As I turned to leave though, the doorway through which I had come was blocked by a great black figure. He was taller and wider than any pony I had ever seen or have seen since. His eyes glowed an eerie orange color, and they stared directly at me. Not knowing what to do, I backed up, out of fear; when I hit the great black pot behind me it tipped and spilled onto the floor and the figure rushed forward, trying to save the concoction as it poured onto the ground. Seeing my opportunity before me, I rushed out of the home.
As I passed him and ran outside I heard his yell at me to stop. I had no intention of obeying but my own body betrayed me as my hooves began to slow and eventually stop all together. Despite my mind screaming for my legs to move, they remained stationary. I knew this had to be part of the warlock's magic.
I heard him walking from behind me, his hooves were heavy upon the ground. I felt certain I could feel the earth beneath me shake with every step he took. When finally he reached me, he walked in front of me and just stared. His eyes were mere slits, but I could sense a rage seething just below the surface.
I cowered as low as I could. Wanting to be anywhere in the world except where I was at that moment. I prayed that I would wake up in my bed and that this would only be a nightmare that I could forget. But nothing like that happened. His presence was real and I was in great danger.
I'll never forget the words he spoke to me. Simple rhymes that, at the time, I thought harmless. He said, "From this day forth, to pay for your crime, your gift, and curse, will be of rhyme. For every word not set in measure or meter, your life in the balance, your health it will teeter. The words you speak will never be terse, or else you will die, from the curse of the verse."
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Zecora shuddered and paused in her story. Remembering that fateful day was clearly taking a toll on her but Shadow waited patiently, unspeaking. He wished to comfort her but also knew she was a very independent mare that, while appreciative of the compassion, would not like having him, or anyone, that close.
When finally she appeared to recover and poured them both another cup of tea, Shadow quietly asked, "So what happened next?"
"I awoke in my bed at my home," she said.
"Wait, so it had all been a dream?"
Zecora shook her head. "Not by a long shot, my detective friend. I had been found unconscious and was now on the mend," she smiled in spite of herself, the rhymes came so naturally she had trouble not speaking with them.