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She has wandered, alone. All the quiet decades since the fall of Equestria and the whole world along with it. A hot fire so intense the all was left as ashen grey. All. The sum total of life made as a terrible joke. Whole countries turned a barren collection recalling memories of bright times and good lives for near all, or so it was imagined. This decline was precipitated by the most kind and considerate of acts: good intentions. With too much optimism behind the decision, wheels were set to turn and make a kind of blindness mandatory. It hurts so much.
A distressing silence fell even before bombs full of malignant fire and ancient forbidden magics rained from on high. No trial by fire, but an almost absolute end to descend upon all. No matter how good the intention, this..is where it lead. Empty life and hopelessness. In the endless dark, this apparition keeps to herself as if issuing a damning refusal to accept circumstances this unappealing to sight and hopeless feelings. A flitting figure at the edge of it all, a mere story passed between suffering victims. Faltering, dying and miserable for endless eternities of unconscionable pain.
Just another sad outpouring of the welling pain rising from within with nothing to hold it in check. Those sorts of things fell out of vogue long ago. Holding back did little good, it may actually have hastened the war to reach a head. Long as it was, some conflicts are much longer. The eternal tug between day and night is a far longer conflict. This one is as a haunt still roaming a near-dead world, seeking something only dimly remembered. Something old. Important. Special. Something she is not. Everything she does not possess. Terrifying in emptiness.
It burns inside like an upwelling font of desperation. It must be found or all is lost. All which remains. All that may yet be. Gone. To allow an all-encompassing silence take away the last vestiges of hope and determination. It has to be stopped. This much she knows, but that is all. There is nothing else. No kinship, no friendly faces. Nothing but the still wastes as her domain. An empire of dust and ruin left in the wake of sadness and unhindered pain given over as if a pleasant gift for everyone. Every rock, every tree, and plant. All those good things lost forever.
Every pebble and stone is imbued with that sadness as if the land just one gargantuan mausoleum left to no memory. She wanders this. Her eyes deadened and dull. Where is it? How do I get there? What can I do to stop it? Whatever it is. Some cataclysmic thing continues to burn within her mind. I must reach it. I must put an end to this. I cannot go on. Everything I do gets me nowhere, but nowhere is all that's left? How can I go somewhere when there is nowhere to go? Am I not already here? This is the full extent of all she thinks. There is nothing more and nothing else.
Given to wandering this landscape of torment and torture. Sometimes ponies think they saw something ahead. A griffon gave chase once only to find the same, nothing there. Who was she? Was that nothing more than an apparition? A hallucination perhaps. The wastes tease and taunt everyone sometimes. Seen and gone once again, or not. What is her purpose? A story to frighten the living out of their wits and little else? None can answer. Once a whole cadre of raiders sought her among the ruins in fever pitch. Much to their sorrow and further agony. Payment, perhaps.
They say you should not go chasing ghosts nor shadows. They are not wrong. It may lead you astray and into anguished peril. How many were lost this way who can say? More than enough. Following dreams is a deadly pursuit now as the world stands. She should not exist. Perhaps she doesn't. Just another crazy thing in a crazed place. Yet there she stands once more and again. It is just a mirage. A falsehood. It has to be. It must. No such pony roams the wastes. Time and again a story surfaces of a lone mare in the wastes. Nearing her is unnatural. Fearful. Lamentable.
These ponies carrying their tails between their legs in flight are laughed at for running from a mere shadow. What cowards they must be to gallop away from a potential treasure as her. Ponies brimming with beauty like that are not seen often and found even less. Encounters with her come and go in passing stories. Just something in the background. What else could it be? Probably just weary eyes and tired bodies making for belief in a non-reality. These are the wastes, they test everypony and everything else. Who can really say for certain? Some would love to meet her.
Most want to run and never stop or look back for fear. Fear she will actually be there when they look. Fear she is one of those things that will end you in an instant if so inclined. Fear she just might be real when they look again. Such is the nature of fear. It drives wild speculation and dangerous action. It is not meant to. Fear is to keep you wary. Keep you safe from harm and from making that one terrible mistake that will cost you it all. That one slip which can take your life from you and make the end of it little more than a caution for others. No way is she really there.
Why would there be such a thing? Pointless, everyone says. They jumped at shadows and bad feelings then ran for it. Hilarious. A joke for all others, but those who saw. They know the truth. Fear her, she is death crawling forth to swallow you in one fell swoop. Don't mess with her. Whatever she wants, leave her to it or face the consequences of your ill-considered actions. If you want terror, it is there with her. Some irresistible horror follows along with that one. Leave her be. That is not the kind of thing you want to wind up paying for yourself, and it demands a heavy price.
Let not this wandering sorrow to gaze upon you or come to know the true depth that pain and regret can attain. An abyssal chasm with no bottom in sight looming before you. That is what all the ponies who claim she exists say follows along with her. They are probably just insane like most others that wandered too far. Stay very far away. What can promote this tense feeling of misadjustment and malignancy in her wake? She is just a story like so many others. A fallen pony from the old days who can't let go. A ghostly vision, naught else. No such pony exists.
A hundred thousand more important problems exist to harm life without her added to the mix. This story persists throughout the years. Always she is looking for something. Someone. No one knows. Most run the other way, just in case. Some don't, only to be found missing or dead later. It probably wasn't her. An accident. A marauder. A monster. These things make sense. She does not. Why haunt an already dead world? Perhaps she could tell you if she was real. A ghost? No way is she there. Never. They were just all demented. Seeing things. Has to be.
With so many ways to die in a lingering world, there is little time to tarry and wonder over some story given by a passing stranger. A stranger that may very well mean to take your life at any moment. This is a meager existence punctuated only by pain and little pleasure to counteract it. The exaltation that was once morning passes and days still move on. A sluggish ticking of clocks that refuse to pass the hours. These pained moments seem to follow her story. Wherever she roams anguish flows past those unlucky enough to imagine they caught a glimpse of this endlessly sorrowful mare.
Never enough to prove she is there. Not really. Just misfortune. Nothing new in the wastes and deadlands. Hers suggests a hopeless journey. Following some given unwavering path. A circuit all round Equestria and back once more. Her story as one other comes and goes. There and not again, but the story keeps returning. A playful mare but don't you dare. Looking her way is fraught with death and danger. Trying to catch her an exercise in delusion and frustration, maybe even inviting death. What does this wanderer desire? Does she want anything? Can a ghost desire?
Is it her lot solely to invite those who seek her to their doom? Many sad ends have been had and many more await in the ruined recesses of Equestria. Life is harsh and hard, and death much too easy. Is she just a symptom of pained imaginations? A ghost story to caution those few willing to listen? If there is any aim it is lost on those who say she was right over that hill. Behind that rock over there. On top of that crumbling building. Take your pick, someone has seen her there. Maybe not. It was just yet more shadows. These ponies, however, felt it and shuddered.
The misery of this drudgery and endless fight for survival makes such things a rare luxury to dwell on. So they saw a mare that wasn't there, who really cares? We have to find food. Water. A place to hide. To live. Important things. Much more than a slightly creepy story concerning a mare of old. What would a ghost want anyway? Their problems were over a long time ago. Everyone that yet lives has far more important things to worry about. Large swathes of Equestria lay as mostly inaccessible. Maybe not for ghosts. Even near these, she was there. How can it be?
A lone wandering soul is one thing. A true haunt? Unimaginable. Unbelievable. There is no such thing. Just pained memories longing for something more perhaps than this endless mire of misery and regret the ancient ones left behind. Their only legacy one of such sorrow no one comprehends the scope. This was not over a mere country, but everything. Ideology, culture. Over these things the ponies of old did wage an increasingly violent and bitter war, becoming very good at it along the way. Some might say too good. So good they all managed to kill each other.
To a point of losing themselves and what made them who they were. Compared to this what is one wandering spirit? Not even a drop in the bucket. Who was she? Who is she? Time and again she returns to trouble and disturb the natural in an already disturbed existence. Years pass, ponies come and go and so does this story. Some come to find comfort in the idea of her, this story that returns. A pony that managed to break death? Good for her. Somepony you could actually take pride in? Who would have imagined that? You could be much worse off. Most are. Far more.
Come get me, please. Some come to say they would join her. Just to end this loneliness. The story of this sad mare inspires to fruition cultish behavior giving rise to menace and madness. Just a story? Maybe, but it is enough. A seed is given just enough nourishment to grow into its own insanity. Who would have thought? No matter. It is still nothing but a rumor of a phantasm. Something incorporeal and unreal wandering? What a joke. That one was pretty funny, friend. Her supposed presence even leads to fighting and death. If she really was there, what would she care?
You have likely just done that guy a favor. Maybe you even saved them from greater pain further on down the road. Who can say? From time to time the story gets something added to it. A minor detail here. Some embellishment to some tiny point or other. In the end, what does it matter? She would as likely be coming to destroy as help you. Like everything and everyone else. Such visions are not all that uncommon are they really? Not with the world stuck as it is and still. So quiet. Years go on and on. So does she. Once more this story reasserts itself. Again. Again.
Who could fathom this? Why this one? Out of all others, why her? Why this particular story? There are dangers and immediate threats of far more importance in the wastes than something one tells around a campfire. If you are daring enough to make a fire that is. Quite often attention is the last thing you want to garner from who or what is out and about today. Especially things like her, they would say. Give her a wide berth and get gone before it is too late. Getting caught up in her story is apt to make you into nothing more than a story yourself. A fate no one is seeking.
Not like that. Not that way. Nobody wants this to be their end. On it goes, and her. Why does she trouble the wastes? Is there not enough injury to the living already? More than enough, certainly. On and on. Do her wanderings have meaning? Do any? Rarely, one might wonder for a brief moment before getting on with the business of not being just one more such figure added to an increasing pile of nonsense claims. The mare walked through an old minefield and not one single scratch on her? Impossible. You were seeing things you dolt. We have to go. Now.
You saw one of those crazy ancient machines hit her right in the chest with some kind of missile and she lived? What wild claims. Who would ever believe it? Nopony walks out of an explosion like that. No one. Never. There is no armor in the world that thick they say in retort. Maybe they just don't want to believe such a thing may be among them at this very instant. Choosing some strange moment to show herself and vanish once more. This must be an untruth. Someone just spreading rumors. What else could it be? Rumors make sense. She does not.
There is little enough hope without some menacing mystery mare out of sight always trodding about the world wreaking havoc in her wake like everyone was a plaything for her own personal amusement. What possible bewildering array of circumstance could possibly have lead to her existence? Just a rumor somepony accidentally started one day? Maybe. Who can say? What can be said is some believe she roams the wastes. An enigma of the dead world. Sometimes the poor mare is used as an excuse for further bloodshed. It's all her fault they claim. It was her!
No one really thinks it was her. Such a mare doesn't exist. How funny. They still say it was. A scary story that refuses to die off, much like her. Nothing but a shadowy figure in the dark. Nothing else. She cannot be there. They still run from her. It's not worth the risk. It was probably something else anyway. We can all have a good laugh later, but where did that other guy go? No one ever finds him. It's alright, he likely just made a mistake and went where he shouldn't have. It happens. Silly guy, cheers. Maybe he found a better life out there. He probably just lost his.
He actually lived long enough for someone else to remember him in passing at least. It definitely was not her fault. She's not real. Throughout all the silence she remains. Once more a passing story. Who could she be that brings with her such cold and sad feelings? A crazy traveler mistook for her perhaps. There are more than enough of those. Nobody could possibly think such a mare truly exists. They would have to be even crazier themselves. Such a conundrum. Then a wandering caravan conveys a most chilling experience. It was her. We swear it was!
Taking on a glowing creature hoof to hoof. Wearing clothes only the ancients could have had. She tore it apart without so much as a care in the world and not a single injury. Impossible. Nopony can do that. What if? No way. No ghosts fight ghouls. What would that even mean? So silly. You all must have drank too much of that old stuff. Haha. Strong isn't it. There she goes again. This time a patrol of rangers see her gallop past as if they weren't yelling at her to stop and open fire to find they hit nothing. Their report cannot explain anything. Not one single thing.
After searching for two full hours they were forced to give up and run for it themselves. No blood, no nothing. What is wrong with you two? Waste precious ammunition again and you will really get it. She was right in our sights, we swear. Up and gone again. A lengthy period passes and yet her story remains. Continual, ever-present. Something amiss amongst the whole. What is her purpose? Somehow this apparition persists across it all. Everywhere, nowhere. Is she a warrior? A ghost? A god of old? A legend? Whatever she is, the mare does not leave a hint in passing.
If she ever really passed at all. This way. That way. The old signpost says this was a train station. Whatever that was. Lookout. She's gone and another mare dead along with her. A companion lost to myth and misery once more. Is she a portent of death? An announcement the hammer is about to fall on those unfortunate enough to notice her presence? Perhaps nothing at all. It was just an accident. Old places are dangerous after all. We lost another one, best move on. Before we see her again. A host of real enemies lie in wait. Ignore her reality at your own peril.
Some take this advice to heart, and live. Pay no attention to her insubstantial hoofsteps and you will fall hard. A lesson learned in the most difficult way. Leave her alone, and live. Fail in that and fail completely. Whatever event brings her along to spread such despair must have been terrible indeed. Something awful, almost certainly. What horror and dismay could possibly have been horrific enough to cause a ghostly mare to rush about the wastes on some endless journey? Does she cause death or forewarn of it? None know. None among the living anyway. Poor souls.
Only one single thing coming from her is certain, sadness. The kind of despairing sorrow that drains wills and makes hearts shiver in the dark and gloom. Desperate to hide. Evade her wrath. Please go away. Too late. Is she unforgiving? Simply inconsiderate? You idiot, she was never there at all. Just another mistake and now they're dead. Get on with it. Gone again. Run. Run away from her and do not look back. Leave her be and we might survive this. That proved to be the right decision. Some still make the wrong one and pay for it dearly. Is she an angry vengeful spirit?
Getting in her way is akin to asking for it to be over in a flash, and it most certainly will be. Daring to tackle this one is not a choice. Leave and survive or stay and die. There is no other option with her. At least enough have heard about it now to avoid that inevitable destruction she carries with her. Such a meandering path is strange amongst the strange. What is her destination? Is there a purpose? Crossing paths with this mare of deathly stories leads to quaking hooves and shivering bodies. It seems only ice and death linger in her wake. So cold. Freezing and fiery at once.
Sowing sorrow and pain as if in some vile reverence of her. On she wanders between destroyed village and ancient town ruins. Vexing the still living with her potential. Who is she? Some manner of devilish horror come calling or just another story? Whatever gave rise to her must be one of those things so terrifying it is nameless. An unknown amidst the smothered world. A misery so deep it gouges the very reality around her wanderings. Silly they say. Such a mare was never there. That time it was just being in the right place at the wrong time, or maybe she was.
They all come to quiver. Such a divide in truth is a deep unknown never heard of before. The world is mostly gone. It has no need of ghosts and specters to run amok through the remainder. An infinity of more important issues stands before those who yet live. A new piece added once more. This wild mare mutters and mumbles, crying as she passes. Does she embody the sadness of the very soul itself? A mare that passes only in such apparent sorrow and dismay. Some few have dared seek her out. None have returned from this self-appointed task. Gone. Vanished.
Whoever she is the sadness in her eyes is the most drawing thing. Does she hate all who live? But once more she is just a passing story. No truth to be had there most say. They still give any report of her a wide berth if she is noted to be near. Time and once again this unknown pulls those around her into some untold vortex of suffering as though a walking fountain of misery given over to actual form. Those that do not deem to run from her are taken to some unknown fate. No clue as to her having so much as padded by in silence is left. Only the damage and incredibly deep pain.
Like a festering wound inflicted on the already suffering landscape. The scope of her presence can only be guessed at. Is she real? Some ponies that believe whisper about her in hushed dread, afraid of attracting her attention. I want none of that they say. Let somepony else face her, if they're skilled or just plain stupid enough to try. Why take that risk? The wastes can kill you just by being the wastes on a daily basis. Wandering to live is one thing. Taking a path almost certainly involving death is quite another. You can only die if you try it. Do something else with your time.
There is enough pain without throwing yourself to such misery willingly. For all you know she might be pain incarnate. Maybe she was never there at all. Taking something like her on is a deathwish of the most absolute sort. Just fire your old gun at yourself for that kind of foalishness. It will probably be faster than whatever she brings with her. Submitting yourself to be crushed in an instant by something like that, utter folly. Whatever that supposed mare really is, she's stronger than you no doubt. Death might as well be her name. Wanna risk it? You go right ahead.
I'm leaving. The more intelligent say. The others do not fare so well. Whatever her purview is, best avoid her path. Such a mare will only gift to you her own sorrow and tears the story says. It is told endlessly. Tuck tail and get thee gone. It is the only way. So huge an amount of destruction can surely only follow some hideous thing. Who would want anything to do with that? Is there some pattern? Any semblance of reason in this purported souls wanderings? An end goal? Might she be present only to inflict damage and nothing more? That would seem a rather shallow goal.
What sense would that make? Whatever it may be, she still roams the empty roads and byways. So they say. Only doubt can flow forth over such a story. Why would anypony need a story of more misery here? There is plenty enough to go around without it. Next time it was just a couple of poor wanderers huddling in the dark, starving. Afraid of and hiding, from her. The oddest thing though. She ignored them entirely, running past mumbling while dropping ration packs every which way. A veritable mountain of food. They weren't starving anymore. Good food, not rations!
Somehow both horrified and grateful, they lived to tell about it. Yeah, right. Sure she did. You two must have been even more out of it than you say, of course no one believes it. Those two know better than to question and just accept it. Time to move on. Maybe she's not so bad? Silent years continue to come and go, slowly as ever. As does the pain. Do haunts have ambitions? Desires? Is she just an indignant pony upset with the state of things? Few dare openly speak of her. More disaster is not something to invite so readily. Somewhere out there, roaming. Perhaps.
It's still only a little spark of a story. Nothing more. What else could it be? Most of the living know little more than desperate survival. She must just be another. That has to be it. Right? It happens again. A slightly better group who struggle has survived a relatively long time. Their luck nearly ended. Cornered by a group of monstrous things they cannot begin to describe, but then.. she was there. A destroyer they all say. This harrowing mare plowed through them like she was completely insane. Not a care given for slicing claws, terrifying magic or anything else. Anything.
None of them stood a chance. The monsters that is. Muttering and crying the whole time. The stunned group could only look on in shocked silence. Realizing they best leave right now or waste such a boon of opportunity to continue living. She left them alone as well, but why? Everyone says you die around her. What did we do to deserve her indifference? As they should, it isn't questioned too hard. Allowed to live, why ask and risk it being taken away? Does she ever cease her seemingly aimless travels and travails? If any purpose is behind it, it is beyond mere comprehension.
The one thing they are is thankful. They're alive and unhurt. A true bonus. Who cares if anybody else believes them or not? Purported incidents of the like pile up but so few and far between a connection is impossible to make. Just enough time winds up passing between to make connecting the dots unlikely. Who is she? What is she? Perhaps most important of all, why is she? Save your tail and run they say. Ignore this simple warning at your peril. Does death and doom actually trail along behind her? Who could warrant that? Calamity and nonsense. Falsehoods.
Disbelief goes a long way towards suppressing this type of thing. Again however, it happens. Some get it into their deluded minds to take her on once again. It goes exactly as expected, badly. They haughtily boasted and claimed they would be the ones to put an end to her. The four had this backwards. Well-prepared. Ready for a real fight and they apparently got it. It is said the fight lasted for half an hour, followed by absolute silence. Lots of bullet holes, shell and energy casings. Damaged chunks and pieces of serious armor and one formerly standing buildings remains.
What happened? They were never found. At least they went out doing what they wanted to do. Much more than many can say. If those many were able to say anything at all that is. Some like to go out with a bang. Going down with an epic fight to some is the absolute best way to go out. They got it. Everyone says so anyway. The reality? Nobody knows with certainty, but disappearing into thin air is not a nice thing to consider. Everything hurting so horribly can only leave desperate desire in its wake. For relief, succor, happiness. Freedom from this madness and pain.
Countless endless horrors and miseries already freely traverse these once gloried lands. Bringing terror and misfortune. There is no need for more travesties and abominable sicknesses of sight and spirit. Sometimes even the very sounds around are haunting, frightening even the most stalwart hero. Those playing at it anyhow. Would-be heroes fall and fail very often. Perhaps this shadow is something more. Out of time and place maybe. Whoever should come upon this mystery best be wary. Hear of it, tuck tail and gallop as fast as legs will carry. Might as well be racing the wind.
This cyclic drumbeat of time supposedly passing is unnoticed by most. It is too far apart, so slow the beat is missed. What a beat it is. There she is again. Somepony else actually saw her and lived. Why? Because he didn't dare act against her. Maybe. He just wanted to live. Maybe she let him. In rushing past he says she tripped and a huge bag of caps landed before his hooves. Ghosts can trip now? Swearing up and down the deadly ghost mare did it. No one believes that. What use has a ghost for caps? They need not eat, drink, care or just about anything else. It must have been someone else.
Some kind of accident or incident. Never her. If it really was you would surely have died. No one escapes her so easily, or do they? If she does roam this horrid land, she is as unconcerned about you as can be. For a time the poor stallion spent many of his days hiding away, scared stiff of insulting the spirit that gave such bounty so freely. Granting a boon like that doesn't happen every day. Finally, in reverence he spent his wealth just as freely it was given. Going so far as to try and make the world a better place to live. In some ways he succeeded. Creating a reasonably safe place to live in the process.
Unlike so very many, he died of old age. Happy. Beloved by those around him, a smile gracing his muzzle. Very few get to finish that way. Fewer still ever get the chance. Was this his reward for humbly accepting her presence? Bah. He just got lucky they all say, naturally. Ghosts do not go around throwing piles of caps at strangers to improve their lives. If that was the case why is everything so bad? Yet, no one killed him to take his treasure. Maybe they were scared it was her after all. After he died it was found he'd just spent the very last cap. Helping others. What a crazy thing to do.
Oh, he was just so crazy no one wanted to tangle with him, that's all. Not getting caught up in that. This is their excuse. He was crazy on such a level nobody dare touch him. That has to be it. The one thing they don't say is where it all came from. No one just comes by that many caps. There was even a little mound of old equestrian bits in amongst it all. A small fortune back then they think. Nopony is quite assured of that. There is no old mare giving out vast wealth. There just isn't. You'd have to be crazy yourself to believe there is. Some start to believe anyway. So it goes.
Somewhere in one of those inhospitable patches of land cut off from the world where monsters seek and kill for their own survival a pony and their unfortunate companions found themselves trapped. Surrounded by a haze of death and razor sharp teeth flashing in the fog. Accepting death was about to take them, the most ludicrous thing happened. A glinting little light in the swirling dark. Another monster, even worse? A gorgeous mare walked by them, paying no need. They tried to stop her, but she was already stepping into the infested miasma around them.
Stop! They cried. Then the slaughter began. What a horrifying experience, to see a foalish pony ripped apart. Wait, that's not what happened at all. There was a slaughter indeed, but it was not her. The party dare not take one single hoofstep until suddenly the fog cleared in an oddly straight line following her path. The true horror was then exposed. The flattened, crushed, ripped bodies of monsters hacked and slashed to pieces as if an even greater beast destroyed them all without a seconds hesitation. They were saved and rushed down the path. The mare was gone. Not one drop of her blood to be seen.
What a battle it must have been. No. Not a battle. This was outright destruction. Savaged, mutilated corpses of the things they'd been so very afraid of. Gone in an instant. She must be a goddess. A pony of old. Only legend and fire and righteous fury could possibly have done this much damage. It has to be her. That mare no one thinks is real. It was! We are still here. Run for it. These ruins can stay untouched. We want nothing to do with that kind of unstoppable power. We must be like tiny annoyances to one like that. Stay out of her reach whatever you do.
Who was that? What was she? You cannot argue with this one. We all saw it. She saved our lives. Don't be silly. So some fog cleared up, not a big deal. Of course the monsters stayed hidden in it. Just what they do. But..No buts. There are no such things going around saving ponies lives. Most do not listen. So many titles for her. Working their way up. Ghost, haunt, mystery mare, warrior of old, goddess. What else can she be? To stride untouched through that. Who else could possibly have managed? Their whole group was going to die alone. Did she really save them?
Ancient highways and byways sit idle, falling apart from age and seeping decay. Could such a mare actually set hoof upon these mysterious construction of ancient ponies so long dead no one really remembers the how or why of it all? They must have been gods. Look at all they built somehow. You're wrong. If they were gods why are they all dead? Can gods die? How about ghosts? Why don't you try killing one and find out? No? Not so brave now are you? The best choice you could ever have made. You can't kill ghosts or memories of them. You sure about that?
High on a decrepit tower built in ancient times she was seen standing atop. Nobody could possibly get up there without being bewinged or otherwise able to fly. Utter nonsense. So much as setting hoof in that place would be just asking to die. No really, she was right there. Get real. We have better things to do right now. Once more she goes unheard and unheralded. If there is such a wanderer she is either mad or far more powerful than appearances suggest. Let's not and allow someone else to take the fall. They both survived that day, minorly injured. Not bad at all.
The old world still asserts itself here and there. Dangerous old things still work sometimes. Who saved you? We have no idea. This makes no sense. Don't question, just worship her for saving your miserable lives. Worship? Just do it and be grateful she didn't do the same thing to us. Okay. Let's get away from here. That is a very good suggestion. I want no part of that. No one really does. Why does this keep happening? Sighted, saved, helped, killed. No she did not. They just went the wrong way and never came back. It happens a little too often. Of course it does. Why wouldn't it?
Unending miles of dead terrain and tormented lands still find themselves trespassed by a host of discomfiting encounters serve only to grow the myth, the legend. Why does anypony still try to bring her down? A feeling so chill as she passes it is as deathly simmering cold to flood the senses and leave one quaking on their hooves or whatever they possess. Going after her is akin to fighting the air around you. An impossible task, don't do it. One fires accidentally in her direction. A screech is heard. What was that? Cautiously they push forward to find a dead bloodwing lying there.
A perfect headshot without ever seeing it. Was this her doing? It was my bullet. Dead on. If that hadn't happened we would've walked right into it. She saved more lives again. I'm the one who shot it. Go. Now. Before she comes back. In galloping away was heard thumps and buildings crashing to the ground. If we hadn't left that would have been us. Good call. Leave her be or pay too heavy a price for your grievously bad judgment. More worship for her. Does she even want to be worshiped? Does a mare like that want anything at all? Nobody understands this one.
You do not go seeking the thrill of crossing her path. That is always a poor decision. Likely the worst possible one. Let us go die some other way. I would rather be seen. Trying to put an end to a meandering herald of misfortune is only for the obsessive and the insane. Trotting off to that end can only lead to the throes of anguish for the misguided. Woe take you if you make the attempt. Glory is worth exceptionally little with a price that weighty. She may not be there, but other horrific things certainly are more than willing to put your mettle to the test. Better them than her.
Run with us, or die broken beneath the cast of that mare's shadow. Wherever it lands only stinging wounds can come from it. She is said to be a most beautiful lady. Looks can be deceiving. Your eyes may fall to deceptions. Do not trust what truth they perceive. This chilled procession of unnecessary affliction conveys only a single thing in the passing. Harm. An abusive service in search of an unknown end. Mischief and mayhem abound wherever she is concerned. Marring the very world around her further than the suffering it has already endured for all this time.
Is she an outrage? Or an outrageous thing herself? There is no accounting for this one. Far across the distant lands this mare is said to wander. Everywhere. You cannot escape her presence. Letting her gaze fall dead upon you is the greatest risk. Possibly a risk with great reward some say. Some also say if you want to play that game go elsewhere. You have a better chance of living through it. There may be no reward without risk, but the price of her game might well be your life itself in the playing. Much better bets exist to tackle. One's that possibly won't result in killing you.
Equestria is a haunted enough place without an actual ghost stepping hoof upon it. Maybe she is relentless. Perhaps it really is nothing more than mere stories passed around to ease the hurt. Is this mare a transgression against nature as so many other things now? It is a possibility, but does it fit? She saves ponies lives. No, she kills them to be dragged off to some unknown fate. The depth of this confliction would be legendary if anypony realized it was even happening, but none see the whole puzzle here. The overall picture of the world as it lay. What wanders the passes and hills.
It is too small for noticing that way. The right size to be misunderstood, misjudged, forgotten about. Dismissed as naught but dire untrue imaginings to make sense of things. Is this what they call a bane of existence? A conundrum so foul that squaring off against it may well be impossible? This time it was just a bunch of slavers. Good riddance, but what happened to them? That mare did it! Yeah, sure she did. No really, she did! Bah. No way did a single mare take all of them down at once. What are you, out of your mind? They don't believe it. One does, and even she is unsure.
Unsure of the meaning behind what was witnessed by sad tired eyes barely clinging to existing. Then the mare was there. A frightening apparition that fell upon them out of nowhere in the dark. A slashing rending distribution of sufferance equal to all they had inflicted on others. She watched in wide-eyed amazement and one after another was brutally extinguished in front of her in detachment and wonder. Watching her tormentors meet their demise in utter shock. Expecting any moment to be torn from life herself only for the mare to walk off into the dark without so much as a second look.
The slavers were all dead. So fast and absolute in totality were they extinguished the enslaved themselves did not realize it until the next morning. They were free to do as they pleased. We better go now. Offers like that are not extended very often. The mare who saw them all fall said nothing and set out on her own lonely journey that would become legend in its own right. Shaken to the core in the witnessing, her resolve to do something worthwhile was strengthened and out she set. Fully prepared to accept whatever else might be thrown at her. It was a long hard path.
Some say she died a true hero herself. Maybe it's just a joke. That never happened. No one mare could have possibly meted out that kind of destruction against so many at one time. You must be mistaken. It is just a story. Why would anyone ask to die that way? Were she real it would be a laugh for her. What an absolute pity anyone decided that was a good path to take. This is unreality. A pining for better things that will never receive a response. If there is anything above the world they are not listening to us little ones. There is no such thing. Not possible.
This lonely wandering mare that brings great goodness or evil or whatever it is wherever she may deem to appear. How can one carry that much misery and joy around the entirety of the wastes? There seem no bounds to her. You cannot travel that distance so quickly by any means. Not a chance. What remains of old papers here and there verify this is the case. The old ones themselves could not travel that quickly. What makes her so special as to be better than them? Hold her up as something to bow before or tremble in fear. It does not matter which one.
She is or she isn't. Both are possible. One or the other. Could it be both? Is she there and not? A dire conflict of reasoning sits behind that one. There is no stopping her. This story is without limitation or imitators. Nopony with the slightest amount of reason wishes to be the object of her ire. Some tell that mare is the best thing that ever crossed their path. Many say the exact opposite. None now know why they were spared this mares anger, given a boon instead of more pain. Why does she do these things? Does she exist or just another delusional imagination brought forth from misery?
The world is dead, or so close to it the end is practically in sight for all to see. They still do not see it. Somehow, the living struggle onward. Devoid of true hope or any real reason to press forth. Some do anyway. Looking for some retribution from the world for their suffering, hoping against hope the dark mires and empty valleys will offer up something in return for their steadfast adherence to existence. There is little chance of this. Not when things like her spring up and kill what hope remains. That's not what she does at all, she brings hope and salvation! Which is it?
A mare like that? She is the greatest of all monsters. A beast herself of untold power, enough to reckon and let fall judgments hammer directly on those unfortunate enough to displease her. That must be what she is. No, she is an angel sent from the very heavens themselves to help us. Why would either of these things be? Her hoofsteps bring only destruction and death I tell you. That is wrong. The reason behind her an enduring mystery with little clue. She is either true or untrue. she cannot be both of these things. That wouldn't make any sense at all.
Years still manage to tick by in silence, slow. A grinding gear that never turns, stuck in one position where no moments pass by. To let dread and the deepening silence become ever worse until only the slightest glimmering flicker of a candle remains. In this kind of darkness that little spark becomes its own sun. A sphere of such fragile hope it could be extinguished by the slightest misstep. One minor misguided effort and all is to be undone for all time. Light thrown off by this singular flame drawing far too much unwanted attention to itself. Given no choice in the matter.
Where did they go, those ponies of old that built all we see and know? Who left us this country of dirt and grime and creeping decay soon to engulf all? Is this mare one of them? One of those ponies who gave us nothing but empty horrors? There she is again. Doing whatever she does. There must be some purpose to her. There is no reason for her otherwise. Always there and gone again. The next group to encounter her says she walked straight through an old poisonous lake pouring out magical radiation so extreme no one could so much as approach it. Straight through.
No one would try that. Not us nor anyone else. Armored or not it is impassable. The completely suicidal dare not approach it either. It is that bad there. Forget about it and move on. The remainder do their best not to consider what that sight was or meant. If it meant anything whatsoever is lost upon.
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Seems they all left in quite a hurry.