As ponies bedecked in black suits and mourning dresses shuffled about the abnormally quiet homestead, she stared at the worn leather-bound diary on her bed, and finally decided to read the letter addressed to her sitting atop it.
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. Maybe there was a memorial service already. Maybe it’s going on around you right now. You may be feeling alone, pondering your own life and mortality. That’s something I’ve done many times over my long, long existence.
Things are not always how they appear at first look. Or even sixth.
You deserve to know the truth about me, and by extension this town, as well as a few little voids in our official history. Only you. If I told anyone else in this family, they’d never believe it.
I have no idea if this information will ease your mind or break it. Hopefully my gut feeling about you was right. I bet so.
To set my story up properly, we need to go back a-ways, to Celestial Year 750…