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// prologue//epilogue 
// Story: falling//in reverse 
// by The Red Parade 
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Mounted on the far side of the room was a painting, wrapped up in a golden frame and hanging stoically from the wall. The canvas was buried beneath layers and layers of paint, applied in sweeping strokes and dabs. The left side of the painting was dark and purple, with blended shades of inky midnight and mountain purple. The right side was bright and orange, with lighter tones dancing atop of each other.

And on the right was a strange shape, one that vaguely resembled an upside-down pony.

From behind the door came muffled voices, leaking through the cracks beneath. For a scarce second the room fell still, turning its eyes to the door and waiting, anticipating any sign of movement that would dare intrude upon the silence.

The voices drew closer, coupled with the sound of hooves clopping against the floor. The door creaked open and the words rushed in. “... acquired it quite recently, in fact. From, believe it or not, a flea market in the center of Manehattan.”

The first pony led the way, pausing in front of the painting and adjusting their glasses. “Now personally I don’t think it’s a hidden gem from a famous artist or anything along those lines, but I did find it quite intriguing.”

The second pony let out a low hum as they considered the artwork in their gaze. “Do tell? Yes, this is quite the piece.” She approached it, giving a satisfied nod. “Perhaps not done by a professional, but the passion is present nonetheless. The color choices are intriguing as well, and the implications of this upside down character…” they trailed off for a second before continuing. “And there is no signature or mark of the artist?”

“The only thing was an inscription on the back,” confirmed the first pony. “From S.W. to B.A. Love you, forever and always,” he recited. “Do you think there’s some story behind this work?”

The second pony smiled. “Oh, there’s a story behind everything, my friend.” She leaned in closer, peering down at the painting with a curious gaze. “Tell me, my friend… what stories are you hiding?”