C̸̡̯͎̳͚̩̮͕͊̓̎͛́̈́͐̈́́̀͐̒͑̓͝ḣ̶̨̧͇̤̹̺͇̙͙̫̲̹̫͓͙̗͓̻̼̤͎̀̿͗͆̿̓̇̊́̀̇̋̅̅̓̈́̂̍͌͌̀̋͛̐̚͜͠a̴͎̠͇̟͇̤͎̟͚̜̯͚͑͊̀̓̃̊̋͑̀̄̅̋̃͊́́́̂͂̇̉͑̓̏͘͘͝p̷̢̬̙̣͔̓̅̿̉̐̍̀̐͊͒͑̃̅̊̀͊͌̃̃̌̄͑̀̏͘t̵̢͚͍͉͚̖̱̜̹̰̜̮̰͚̞̲͓̯͔̭̘̹̦̱͂̎͋̓̎̈́͋̀̍͒̈̾̃̋̆̽͑̂͐̇̚͜͝͠͝e̵̡̨̧̨̢̯̥͙͇̮̗̙̞̬͈͕͓̞͖̯̜̩̬̤͍͓͕̮̅́͌͒͛̀͊̈́̔͊͒́͒̊̄̀̐̌͝͝r̴̡̨̢̧̨̳͚͙̘̲͇̯̹̘̺͇͖̒̈́̉͗̀̍̈́̈́͛͋͒̐͛̍̽͒̓͂̅̚͜ ̸̨̢̛̘̠͈͇̼̹̥̝͇͓̲͙̗͎̺̬̺͖̹̭̉̆̒̒́̊͊̉͑̑̾̎͜͝͠͝ͅS̷̱̼̥̠̗̖͚͎̱̜͍̺̻̖̫͙̙̣͔͍͈̼̙̼͙̳̲͖̈́̚͜͝ȩ̵͈̳̰̘̼̝̣͋͌́̒͋̇͌̌̍̿̊̏̾̽͊͊̾̐͠v̴̢̨̗̻̫̘̩̼̝̙͔̼̭̠̫̙͉̻̳͔̻̟̪̖̻̗̾̉̈̌̅̄̐́̉̎̇͌̍́̈́͑̿͘͜͜é̴̢̛̯̳̺̣̫̓̂̍̀̕͝͝ņ̴̡̡̡̞̦̲̠͔͕̘͎͐̊̅̀̐
The Final ‘Follower’
On approach, I felt the air around me turn hate-filled with the also heavy feeling of sad Dispair hidden beneath. This one gave a hate-filled glare when they spotted me. With a low voice it asked me what I did to ~~~~~~~~~~~~. And like anypony else, I denied everything and anything. ‘Th’-”it” doesn’t pull any punches. Maybe quite literally as well. Now that I’m in ‘horn-ripping-off’ distance from her, I take the time to actually look at her, I won’t describe her, for fear of her, but I can say this, she is—
That didn’t even give me a name and just threw me into the flowing stream nearby. At least she had the mercy of managing my throw into the path of a smal rock to hang on to.