//------------------------------//
// I 
// Story: Fifteen Pages 
// by NaiadSagaIotaOar 
//------------------------------//

In the corner of Rarity’s bedroom, there was a diary, hidden away in a drawer. It was a small book, violet in color—though splashed with floral gold on the edges. It had a little lock, meant more for ornamentation than security.

This book was not the first of its kind to reside in that room. Rarity had been keeping one diary after another for as long as she could remember. Ladies carried themselves with decorum, and sometimes that meant tactful, measured silence. But Rarity still had thoughts, and when there was no proper way to speak them aloud, she wrote them down, collected and articulated. 

But this diary, this most recent one, was of particular importance. Within it, there resided thirteen pages. That is not to say there were only those thirteen, but those thirteen were the interesting ones.

Interesting enough, in fact, to warrant description.





The first of these pages was distinct only for its contents, which at the time had felt quite peculiar indeed compared to those of its predecessors—but time and life have their ways, and work wonders at dulling peculiarities.

Like most of its kindred, the first page was covered in flowing script, swooping curls of glistening black ink penned by a precise, caring hand that prized beauty over function. These letters were not meant to be seen by those unaccustomed to their eccentricities.

It has been a most unusual evening, the script said. I met a girl earlier. She… oh, it feels so strange even just writing it. But I know what I saw: she tumbled right out of the statue in front of the school. As if the wall was water! I’d never seen anything quite like it, but my eyes did not deceive me.
 
As for the girl, “eccentric” is a dangerous word, but I can’t think of a more fitting one. She’s lucid, as far as I can tell, but she acted like she had no idea where she was. And her mannerisms were odd, too; she twitched and lurched like she didn’t know how to stand. 
 
And, well, I couldn’t let someone so confused go off on her own, could I? She said she’ll tell me more when she’s feeling better. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow, I suppose.
 
I’m not sure what to think of her.
 
She’s quite pretty, though. Scandalous, I know. Maybe I can talk her into letting me brush her hair in the morning…