> Piano Pony
>  by PurpleRibbon
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> Intro
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My hoof gently fell down on the notes, creating a lovely sound, a familiar sound, a sound that everypony knew but only a select few appreciated fully. I was one of them. The microphone sat next to me, but I rarely sung into it. Ponies would look occasionally ask me about it, but for the most part, they tried not to reach the subject. It was just as well. It wasn't something I wanted to talk about, anyway. If anypony ever asked me, I'd respond with either silence or a complete lie. I just liked to play the piano. I remember playing the piano once or twice as a filly, but for the most part, I stuck to my singing. Those days were over.

"Hey, Sweetie Belle!"

I turned to the sound of the voice, recognising it. He was a local, waving at me. He sat there with a huge grin on her face, as per usual. It made me smile whenever I saw him. Together, we could light up the whole bar. Him with his positive attitude, and me with my music. He was Waldo Whistle, and I saw him as my soulmate. He had the most ridiculous name I'd ever heard, though. He was often teased about it, but it never bothered him. Not like Diamond Tiara's teasing had bothered me. He was much stronger than me. I guess that's what attracted me to him. His strength. His singing. His smile. Everything.

We had met at this very bar, where I had been playing for about a year now, on every night. It was a Wednesday night, so the pub was filled with the old and the sad, the ones who wanted nothing more but to drown themselves in alcohol to stop drowning in their own sorrow. I had come across that kind of folk a lot in my work. I liked to think I did what I did to help them lose themselves in music, but I knew I was only doing this for myself. Firstly, I needed the money. Secondly, I didn't mind playing the piano. In fact, after a while, I came to enjoy it. It wasn't singing, but it wasn't a bad instrument at all. Waldo sat down at a table all by himself. He had just moved into the town, and this was the first place he had been to yet. He looked around at the dark bar, then at the ponies that all sat by themselves. Then he stared up at the cigarette smoke above him. He didn't take his eyes away from it for the next minute or so, so I just ignored him, shaking my head and assuming he was on some type of drug. I continued to set up the notes for the next song I'd play, and soon I was done. I stretched my front hooves and reached towards the piano, playing the first notes of 'Mona Lisa' by the great Nat King Colt. I was sucked into the jazz, smiling as I played, forgetting the depressing surroundings, breathing the cigarette smoke in subconsciously, a smell that would always remind me of romance. However, what I didn't notice in my own fantasy world was that Waldo was staring at me with fixated eyes. After the song was finished, I heard hooves gently walking across the wooden floor towards me. I glanced up from my music sheets, curious. Then I remembered that strange pony who was staring at the cigarette smoke as he walked towards me, looking so determined it was a tad intimidating. 

"Do you know 'LOVE' by Nat King Colt?"

I glanced up at him, shocked, as nopony ever requested anything, but also irritated by the painfully obvious question. Just because I happened to be working at this bar doesn't mean I'm a fool, I thought to myself. However, I kept a positive look, as not to insult the customer and get myself fired.

"Sure. I'll play it."

I set up my music sheets, even though I didn't really need them. I knew this song by heart. However, to my shock, he grabbed for the microphone and stood by the piano, waiting for me to begin. I raised an eyebrow at him, but decided I'd let him have his fifteen minutes of fame, if fame can be found in a place like this. The song began. As time went on through the song, my beat became sharper, merrier. He was a great singer. Everypony seemed to turn towards him and smile when he sung. That very night, he was offered a job by the manager. However, he declined. He wanted to be a free pony; he said he sung because he wanted to, not because he had to, and that's the way he wanted it to stay. I admired that about him. Soon enough, after many duets, we started going out and here we are.

His coat was white, pale as anything, while his eyes were bright blue, shining out of his face, especially when he smiled, as it lit up his features. His mane, however, was a long streak of red, causing other ponies to glance at him now and again. However, he didn't mind, so neither did I. He jumped off the long row of seats where he was surrounded by three other ponies, who were all laughing and drinking at the crowded bar, and galloped towards me, his grin never fading.

"Sweetie Beeeeelle!"

He pounced on me and began to poke my face as I continued to play.

"Sweetie Beeeeelle! I have a request!"

I finished off my song, laughing and turning towards him.

"Alright, what is it?"

He handed me a piece of paper which had his trademark large, messy handwriting covering the page. Two simple words were on it.

'Piano Pony.'

I looked up at Waldo, who was still terribly overexcited.

"You've heard of it, right?"

I scoffed, reminding myself of my older sister.

"Of course I've heard of it."

His face brightened, as if it wasn't bright enough. I just wish he could be bright in more than one way...

"Great! I think this song is reaaaally good. I'll sing along while you play, okay?"

I sighed, though I wasn't sure why.

"Oka-"

He jumped on to the piano, standing up on it, and grabbed for the microphone.

"Attention, everypony!"

Everypony looked up at him. Those who had come for the first time waited in anticipation while the regulars simply looked amused, knowing him well.

"Me and my sweetie pie are gonna play you all a song! Hope you like it!"

Applause ran through the crowd, along with cheering and whooping from his friends. He turned to me and winked, a signal to start. My hooves pushed against the keys, beginning the intro, as he waited for his cue, and the entire room became silent, listening in entertainment and cheerfulness.
> Chapter Two
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“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday,
Regular crowd shuffles in.”
The ironic thing about this line was that ponies who usually would have walked past were peering in at the sound of the music through a gap through the busted door that we had never got around to fixing. Waldo’s voice wasn’t like Filly Joel’s, though. Filly’s voice was light, even though the words he usually spoke were heavy, his tone low and passionate. He knew what he was singing about. However, Waldo also knew what he was singing about, after many a night out with many a pretty mare, sometimes more than one a night. He swore that he was faithful to me now, and I believed him. Or at least, I was too busy to ever question him about it. He always had mares coming in with him, giggling at his drunken jokes. Still, I wouldn’t think of him as the cheating type. He’s charming when he wants to be, but he looks a bit too strange for some mares, and is far too happy-go-lucky and annoying to win over a heart. However, he had won over mine, so perhaps I was wrong about that.
“There’s an old man sitting next to me,
Making love to his tonic and gin.”
With that line, he gestured to an elderly drunken colt. His name was Albert, and every regular at the bar was bound to know him well. Like all old ponies, when you ask him about his past, he goes off into long, detailed stories that most would forget the moment he said them. Not Waldo, though. Waldo loved hearing stories. He would often ignore his group of popular friends so he could chat with Albert, sharing memories and drinks. However, Albert didn’t drink gin and tonic. He was always more of a Guinness pony. His mane was once a dark brown, he tells us, though now it has gone grey from age, as happens to most elderly ponies. His eyes, however, were also grey, and his coat was greying as well, making for a very depressing image. However, whenever a pony came to speak to the grey, glum colt, he would always look up at them, smile and tell them whatever they wanted to know. In the end, he was a rather friendly pony. I suppose he was just lonely.
“He says ‘Son, can you play me a memory? I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger colt’s clothes!’”
Albert lifted his usual pint of Guinness at him, smiling as he toasted the young colt, and then proceeded to stare into the depths of it, deep into his thoughts. He took a large gulp, and then continued to sit in the sorrows only the old and wise know.
“La la la, de de da...la la, de de daaaa da da.”
Though Filly Joel often spoke with the tone of some pony deep in thought, Waldo couldn’t fake that, and therefore used the pure simplicity and skill of his voice to get by through that part. No pony was bothered by his lack of emotion except me. But, then again, who was I to criticise him? I knew nothing of singing. Not really...He moved onto the chorus, also singing that without half the emotion that Filly possessed, which snapped me from my critical thoughts. I loved Waldo, I truly did. I was just hard on him because I cared about him. I won’t have any slackers in this pub. Still, you can’t force some pony to convey and feel emotions that they just don’t.
“Now John at the bar is a friend of mine...he gets me my drinks for free. And he’s quick with a joke, or to light up your smoke, but there’s some place that he’d rather be.”
This part was always my favourite, as it was fairly accurate. There was a pony at the bar; however, ‘John’ was a mare in this case, who went by the name of Starshine, with beautiful, blonde, glistening locks for a mane. She didn’t have to use any special expensive shampoo; it just came naturally to her. Many a mare envied her for that, and many a colt tried to win her over. However, she was never interested in them...well; she wasn’t interested in any colt, that is. However, she wasn’t ashamed of it, and openly told every colt who flirted with her about her true preferences. More than often, they didn’t come back, having had their hopes dashed. Some others did come back, though, attracted to the quiet atmosphere. Starshine always tells me that they come back to listen to me play, and I don’t doubt that. I am a rather good player.
“He says ‘Bill, I believe this is killing me’, as the smile ran away from his face, ‘Well, I’m sure that I could be a movie star, if I could get out of this place.’”
That part, however, brought my thoughts from me and towards Starshine, who was chatting happily with a group of Waldo’s friends and taking their orders. Starshine had always seemed a charming and brilliantly happy soul but, in all truthfulness, she had once spoken to me about her discontent. It was a quiet night, seeing as it was a Monday night, and the only ponies that were here were old colts here to drown out their sorrows. Starshine was lightly cleaning the bar with an old rag, and we had just finished up for the night. We had become good friends over a few months, and soon we became like two young school fillies, telling each other about our crushes and our dreams. On that night, she decided to tell me her biggest dream when I asked.
“Well, as you can see, I’m no regular bar mare. Just look at my Cutie Mark.”
I had never wondered about her Cutie Mark before. I glanced at it, not sure what to expect, when I saw the usual symbol of acting; a happy mask and a sad mask.
“That’s why my momma named me Starshine. I was meant to be a star! Still, poor momma keeled over soon enough, and I was an orphan. Well, back in those days, kid, they didn’t have any of these nice homes for orphans, oh, no. If you had no relations, bam, straight out into the world! I was only about your age, sixteen, I think, when she died, and we were a poor enough family then, just momma and me; my dad had left years ago. I had to do a lot of things I aint proud of just to survive, and, before I knew it, I was thirty-six, pourin’ drinks at a bar in the middle of nowhere, living in a small, dirty apartment room. Damn, I used to have so much spirit. But life does that to the unlucky, kiddo. Guess, sometimes, you just gotta give up and move on to somethin’ reachable.’
With those words, she looked down at a puddle of beer on the bar, seeing her sad expression in it. She sighed and wiped it away with a move of her hoof. Soon, we were back to happy conversation, though I never forgot those words. Her story was touching, and I understood it well. Waldo probably didn’t know that story, but his words still struck deep with me, and they probably did with Starshine, who pretended not to be listening and carried on with her work, as always.
“Now Paul is a real estate novelist who never had time for a wife. And he’s talking with Davy, who’s still in the Navy, and probably will be for life.”
Two colts were sitting at a table on their own, in deep debate about the Navy. One defended it, while the other spoke against it. They seemed to be good friends, however, as they both loved to argue and sit down with a beer. I had never had the chance to speak to them but, according to Waldo, who seemed to know everypony, the one arguing against the Navy was Nimble Bolt, who had a bright blue mane and seemed to be an intelligent pacifist, while the one arguing for the Navy was Sparky Snap, who had a bright yellow mane, who was more the type to speak before thinking, and often enjoyed a good brawl. They were brothers; both were pegasus ponies and, though they took different paths in life, they still laughed at their same old jokes and took pleasure in their same old arguments, usually leaving the bar stinking drunk and singing their favourite songs.
“And the waitress is practising politics, as the business colt slowly gets stoned. Yes, they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone!”
There was, in fact, a very intelligent looking colt on a table at the back, in the darkest corner of the bar, taking drugs. Starshine turned a blind eye for enough Bits, so he was never an issue. He just kept to himself mostly, occasionally listening to Starshine ramble, as he never spoke himself. However, the pub couldn’t afford a waitress, so Starshine acted as both bartender and a waitress, occasionally stopping to speak to other ponies, but not as often as she’d like, as she was so busy. So, the strange business man was often left alone. I thought it was a shame. He looked like he could use a friendly waitress. Filly Joel was right. Anything’s better than drinking alone.
“It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday, and the manager gives me a smile. ‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see to forget about life for a while.”
The manager didn’t, in fact, give either of us a smile, as he was always too busy in his dusty old room that gave off the scent of strong whiskey, doing calculations. He was a smart pony and, with a bit more luck in business, he really could have made something of himself. He did, for a while. He was a famous business colt for a while, making loads of Bits in all kinds of deals. However, he made one big mistake, and it all vanished. His fame, his money, his wife. Soon enough, he dragged himself to this town, opened a bar and drowned his thoughts in alcohol. It sometimes seemed like all the unlucky ponies came here to die, or because there was nowhere else to go.
“And the piano, it sounds like a carnival! And the microphone smells like a beer! And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar and say ‘Man, what are you doing here?’”
At this point in a song, Waldo would always get over excited and start yelling the lyrics, while his friends cheered for him from their chairs, beer spilling on the floor in their enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes and tried to play over them. Soon, he had finished the last chorus, and my piano was the last thing to play for about ten seconds. Then, all of his friends came rushing up to Waldo, congratulating him on his singing. One of them pointed out that he could ‘pick his mares right, as well’, with a drunken slap to my flank. I ignored it, as that had happened many times before in this bar, but Waldo laughed along with his friends, succumbing to peer pressure. I wasn’t disappointed; he did this often. Dear Celestia, had I really sunk this far? To think that such a childish colt could be the one for me? Was I really that desperate? I stood from the piano as other ponies started to leave, the bar closing up for the night; Waldo always came late, then wondered why everypony was leaving so early. I said my farewells to Starshine, Albert, Waldo and all the others and made my way home. ‘Home’ was, of course, a mouldy one-room apartment, with cigarette marks on the toilet seat made by previous owners. I had gotten used to the disgusting conditions, however, and soon made my way to bed. I lay in bed on top of the covers, as it was a warm night, and tried to get some sleep. However, after an hour or so of restless struggling, I sighed and stood up, going to the fridge for a snack. On my way, something on the table caught my eye. My hairbrush. I moved towards it, and looked myself in the cracked and stained mirror above the table. I started brushing through my frizzy hair. But, then I stopped, looking down at the hairbrush. Then I started to sing into it. ‘Piano Pony’ was the first song to come to mind, and I sang the whole thing by heart, not realising beforehand how well I knew the lyrics. After it was done, I was panting with adrenaline. Then I caught myself in the mirror, and realised how ridiculous and childish I looked. I shook my head, put the hairbrush on the ground, and made my way to bed. This time, I fell asleep more easily, smiling as I was whisked off to my dreams, where everypony at the bar had no worries and was happy all the time, and so was I.

> Chapter Three
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When I woke, Waldo was lying by my side in our small bed, snoring softly. I glared at him, envying how easy it was for him to sleep, and rolled to my side, gazing out of the curtain less window at the heavy fog that always follows after the falling leaves of autumn had already dried up on the ground and frost had begun to settle in, causing the less careful of ponies to slip in embarrassing manners. The small section between the end of autumn and the start of winter had always reminded me of Ponyville. At this point, Rarity would be making new cosy clothes for all the ponies, including herself, and probably admiring her new boots. A smile had slipped onto my face at the old memories, and I tried to stop thinking about them, but once they were set off, I couldn’t stop them. I remembered Scootaloo, riding skilfully on her skateboard and talking of her idol Rainbow Dash. I remembered Applebloom with Cutie Pox. I remembered trying to make Miss Cheerilee fall in love with Big Mac on Hearts and Hooves Day. But what I remember most is Winter Wrap Up. Oh, what an event that was. It was always my favourite event. I wasn’t old enough to actually help out, of course, but I knew that, when I was older, I would want to be part of the Animal Team to help Rarity design nests. I had already tried practising at home, making small nests out of twigs (when Rarity wasn’t around, of course; she would have hated the mess of them, and always had to scrub her twigs before using them). I wasn’t great, but I wasn’t bad, either. I had always meant to ask Applebloom about that. She seemed really talented at things like construction...Stuck into my memories, I didn’t notice Waldo stirring until he yawned loudly and turned towards me, eyes wide open.
“Hey, Sweetie Beeeelle! How were you last night? I was great! We all went out for a drink, me and my mates, and we all got completely wasted and we danced so much my hooves still hurt!”
I sighed, ignoring his incorrect use of ‘me’ in the sentence ‘me and my mates’. Usually, a little thing like that wouldn’t have annoyed me, but it did this morning. I have no idea why. Perhaps it was because I haven’t had any breakfast yet. I was always grumpier when I was hungry. I slowly got up out of bed, Waldo still chattering like an excited teenager, and made my way to the fridge. There wasn’t much in there: a half-frozen apple (I don’t even remember how that got there), an unopened bag of cabbage, a six pack of energy drinks (obviously Waldo’s, like he needed any more energy), a carton of apple juice and seven microwave meals, one for every day of the week (Waldo would often go out for his meals, so I didn’t have to worry about buying anything for him). I took the apple juice from the fridge and closed it, sighing. Opening a cupboard above it absentmindedly, I reached for a packet of Belvita Biscuits in there, took out two, and ate them slowly, leaning on the counter and continuing to listen to Waldo’s tale, even though he seems to tell me the same story every night; ponies get drunk, dance and sing, stumble back home and continue the same cycle.
About half an hour later, we were both leaving for the pub, having cleaned up from the night before, Waldo trotting happily beside me while I walked a bit slower than usual through the almost icy streets, not wanting to fall over and have Waldo laugh at me. Waldo burst through the door with the same cheerfulness and merriment as always, a grin on his face.
“Hey, ponies!”
Everypony turned towards the regular, lifting a glass, the sad silence broken, if only for a moment. But it wasn’t for a moment, as it should have been. Things were never the way they should be with Waldo around. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, I may never know. I sat down at the piano as Waldo had light conversation with the few ponies that ended up here so early on a Sunday morning. Soon, he was singing and I was playing, and the dark, dank depression of the pub was slowly dissolving. Starshine was cleaning the floor with a mop, a spring in her step when I played ‘Those were the days’ by Mare Hopkins, a favourite of hers. Many hours later, I made my way to the apartment and lay on my bed, not feeling up to singing as I had the night before. When I woke up, Waldo was lying next to me, snoring as usual. This cycle continued for days, for weeks and for months. Until, one day, neither Waldo nor I could take it anymore.
A few months after that particular Sunday, in the morning, I got up to go to the pub, as usual. However, it was slightly surprised when Waldo turned towards me. His smile was gone, and his eyes were large and staring, looking at me with both concern and seriousness.
“Sweetie Belle, can we be a few minutes late today? I think we need to talk.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away, expecting he was still a bit drunk from the night before.
“Waldo, I would love to talk to you right now, but we have bills to pay, remember? We’ve got to go to work.”
He sat up, boring his eyes into the back of my head.
“That’s just the thing. We’re either working, or I’m out getting drunk. We never have time to actually talk about things.”
“It’s not my fault you’d rather go out and get drunk than stay here.”
I couldn’t stop that silent thought coming out, but I couldn’t stand to turn around and apologise to Waldo, to see the pain in his face. So we just sat there, my back to him, engrossed in the silence, until Waldo spoke up for himself, rising from the bed.
“The only reason I go out is because I can’t stand to stay here with you. I love you, Sweetie Belle. I’ve been offered so many places at so many better pubs, but do you know why I stay in this filthy, drunken excuse for a town? For you. Because I want to be able to look at you with love in my eyes, as I always do, and see you looking back with the same expression, instead of just your typical emotionless face!”
At this point, he was yelling, and a stray tear fell from his eye and onto the floor, mixing in with the other, unfamiliar stains in the carpet.
“But that’s never going to happen, is it?”
I wanted to lie to him. I wanted to turn towards him, put on a fake smile and fill his head the sweet, sweet lies I knew that he would believe. But I couldn’t do that to him. I was scarred with the memories of my past. He wasn’t. He was friendly, optimistic, talented and so much more. He had his whole future in front of him. It wasn’t fair for me to take that away from him out of my own selfish loneliness. I turned towards him, looking right at his tear-filled eyes, his innocent and youthful expression.
“No.”
Pain seemed to bring every feature in his face to an extreme, tears falling from his eyes like little silver droplets from the legendary Fountain of Youth itself. He flung his face forwards, his eyes full of the fury only betrayal came bring as he assaulted me with his words.
“Fine! Like it matters to me! I know many a mare prettier than you, anyway! I’m going to make it as a rock star! Then you’ll see! Then you’ll regret this!”
With that, he sprinted out of the apartment. I listened to his hooves quickly make their way down the stairs. A few minutes after he left, I made my way to the bathroom to freshen up. Only when I looked in the mirror did I realise I was crying. I ignored the tears.
When I went to the pub, Waldo wasn’t there, as expected. Everypony looked up at me expectantly, waiting for Waldo to pop out of nowhere and greet them all happily. When he didn’t, they became confused. Starshine, however, was the only one to ask.
“Hey, kiddo. Where’s your honey?”
“He left.”
There were no other words for it. Everypony looked up at me in shock, including Starshine. I made my way to the piano and played without a singer for the first time since I can remember; even though I knew I had played without Waldo before I met him, it seemed strange. I suppose I had just gotten used to his company.
With Waldo gone, fewer ponies visited the pub, and nopony ever saw a pegasus or a unicorn there again. They probably had better places to be. Occasionally, I heard of Waldo, though. I seemed that he was pretty famous in the rock genre. In the outfits he wore, it covered his ‘whistling’ Cutie Mark. Only when I saw him in that outfit did I realise I had never asked him about it, and he had never brought it up. It didn’t really matter now, though. Nothing really mattered. One day, the manager of the pub died. We discovered his body on his desk, where he had always been in life. According to the doctors, he died of a heart attack, which didn’t really surprise anyone. Only Starshine and I went to the cheap funeral. He had no family, so Starshine took over as owner of the pub, but continued to work at the bar and as a waitress. It seemed as if she was never tired. Cancer took her in the end, and owner after owner bought out the old place then abandoned it for the next business pony who thought he could change the place and bring it into the present. Whoever the owner was, I always played at that pub. I always lived in the same apartment, and I always thought about Waldo and Ponyville.
> Chapter Four
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Sweetie Belle was an old pony before she thought to visit whatever remained of Ponyville. However, when she did visit, it wasn’t a fraction as bad as she thought it would be. Nopony she knew was alive; whether they all died because of the attack or from old age, she couldn’t be sure. Ponyville was in good shape, however, though most of the ponies and buildings there were new; not a lot could be saved after what had happened there. She still remembered it clearly.
Creatures were always attacking Ponyville, but nothing like this. The creature had no form, to speak of. It was only a large black mass...from a distance. But if you were to go anywhere near it, it would show you your deepest, darkest fears. It would chase you through the streets at a speed nopony could ever master and then block your way. The moment you looked at it, you were doomed; it would look into your soul, and drive you insane with your own fear. Sweetie Belle should know; she had seen it for herself.
When it attacked, she was with her sister in the boutique, helping her gather tools and materials all around the place for her latest creations. They were disturbed from their work by the sound of screaming. Rarity told her to stay inside, so she could check what it was. Sweetie Belle peeped through the window to see the mass of blackness moving towards her sister.
“Look out!”
Rarity turned towards it as it advanced.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, you bi-“
But she stopped in her tracks, hypnotised by the creature’s power. Soon, a pony stood in front of Rarity. The pony was hideous; it was bloated, its face and belly so fat it looked painful. There were large boils all over her face, her coat was greying with age and filth and her mane was messy, matching the colour of her old coat. But then she looked into Rarity’s eyes, which went from disgust to horror. The pony she saw was herself. Either the beast’s power or the agony of seeing her own worst fear brought to life in front of her caused Rarity to go insane. She laughed hysterically, then, before Sweetie Belle could stop her, she was killing everything around her with whatever she could find. Pieces of sharp ribbon that would have been used as an accessory were now used to slit frantic ponies’ throats as they fled from their houses. Beautiful scented candles which would have been set around Rarity’s daily bath were used to set houses on fire, causing many to die from either suffocation or burns.  Scissors that would have been used to cut strands from a pony’s mane elegantly and expertly were used to stab what were once her friends. The same happened to many other ponies, causing Ponyville to destroy itself. The now insane Rarity also came for her as well, baying for her blood. Sweetie Belle fled for her life, running as fast as she had ever ran. On the way, she saw two familiar corpses. It was Applebloom and Scootaloo, having cuddled together in their final moments, full of fear. It struck Sweetie Belle in the core of her heart, but she had no choice but to carry on running, as her sister was still chasing her. Another insane pony distracted Rarity, and they started fighting, so Sweetie Belle was only able to escape from luck. Though she was saved, her mind was in ruins, and she was condemned to carry the guilt of those pony’s deaths for the rest of her life.
She walked past where her sister’s boutique was, only to find another boutique. She decided against entering, and walked on, until she was at the graveyard. She walked past Applebloom’s grave and past Scootaloo’s grave. She only stopped when she came to Rarity’s grave. Inscribed into it were the words ‘A beautiful pony and a devoted sister’. She couldn’t have thought of anything better herself. She took a rose from her bag and lay it on the grave; her sister’s favourite flower. She wanted to speak to her sister, but no words that came to mind seemed good enough, so she was just content with lying there, next to the flower. She closed her eyes.
Officials found Sweetie Belle’s body a few hours later. Frost covered her body, so they assumed she had died of hypothermia, but after the autopsy, they found that it was old age that had taken her. Nopony knew what relation she had to Rarity, as there was nopony to identify her as Sweetie Belle; however, they buried her next to Rarity anyway. Only the rose, that had been left by the mysterious and old pony, was undisturbed by the frost, having been protected by her body. Other ponies knew of the horror that had occurred there, and put up their own theories about what relation she was to the once lovely Rarity. Though none of the ponies could agree on one theory, they all found the fact that the old pony had died by her grave as a heartbreakingly bittersweet tale, and it became a tradition to leave a rose at both Rarity and the ‘Mysterious Old Pony’, as she was known as, graves. Some even say that, on the anniversary of the night that the Mysterious Old Pony’s death, you can see her as a filly, with two other unknown fillies, singing a song about the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’, another unknown group, though nopony can confirm these legends as true, and it is unlikely that anypony will ever know the truth.

The End.

Well, I hope you're not all sobbing too badly, because there's more stories to come! The next story I will write slightly links to this one, as it's about Pinkie Pie's experience with the attack by this fear-bringing creature, so do look out for that one if you're interested. But, don't worry, not all my stories are this depressing! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! ^_^