I've spent the majority of my life tilling the desolate land in which I live. Every day, I wake up to move useless rocks from one location to another. This is an archaic line of work that my family has clung to for generations. It is a dull, grey existence.

Today, I have woken up in a strange room, lying in a bed that isn't mine. I'm surrounded by five mares whom I've never seen in my life. They claim to be my friends, and expect me to bring joy to the hearts of everypony.

Joy? I don't think I've ever experienced this for myself, so how am I supposed to thrust it upon others?

My name is Pinkamena Diane Pie, and I'm not sure what to make of this situation.

"YOU ARE NOT THE REAL PINKIE PIE!"
"You probably shouldn't even exist."
"You're only a clone, you don't HAVE any feelings!"

Who was she to believe? She was barely a day old, and already she'd seen the disappearance of her mirror images, all but her. Was she just a clone? A disposable unfeeling analog?
What would happen if she became her own pony? If she became real?

Is it possible for one of the Pinkie's, the only copy left behind, to develop? To become an entirely different pony to the one that she was modelled after?

Oh, and before I forget, thanks to the amazing WerewolfNobody for the (At one point) cover art!
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Cotton Weaver has led a long life, filled with both sadness and joy. Now it is time for him to give his son the full story of his life, and the choices he made along the way that made it all worthwhile.