The page is blank except for two sentences.
There used to be more. I had more. Then I sold them. For…
For…
I don’t remember.
But those two sentences are always there.
It’s my fault she’s missing.
It’s my fault she’s dead.
Other words float around. Redemption. Restitution. Forgiveness. But for a long time, only those two sentences were on the page.
How long?
Minutes, maybe. Or longer? I don’t know. I can’t remember. I sold that for…
…something.
But now there’s more words on the page. I didn’t put them there. Names. She is Rarity. I used to know that. Now I know it again.
I know my name, too. It’s…
I'm sure it was...
I remember Sunburst. The little foal isn’t Sunburst. But he is? I don’t know.
Not-Sunburst’s father tells me we’re going to see Rarity.
I see the pain in his eyes of every pony he’s had to hurt. Ponies shouldn’t kill ponies.
We’re on a boat. Sometimes I forget why. I’m filling the page with more sentences, but sometimes they disappear. Not those two, though.
It’s my fault she’s missing.
It’s my fault she’s dead.
I talk to Sunburst every day. Wait, no. Not-Sunburst. When he speaks, it stays on the page longer. He doesn’t say much, he’s just a foal. He’s so sweet and curious, though. He thinks I’ve been hurt, and he wants to find out how, so he can fix it.
How do I remember that?
We’re going to see her. Rarity. She’s alive. Not-Sunburst’s father says so. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her. I found her place. Stayed there for a few days. Years? I don’t know. I kept something for her, but now it belongs to…
Lofty Tale. I remember that sometimes, before it leaves the page too. Lofty Tale, his marefriend Topaz, and his son True. Not-Sunburst.
Remembering hurts. Sometimes it’s better to have nothing on the page. Sometimes I wish I could erase everything. Even those two sentences.
But I can. I know I can. Once I meet Rarity. Once I know she’s safe, that sentence can go away. It can be erased.
That just leaves her.
It’s my fault she’s dead. But I can erase her sentence too. Somepony was working on it. There’s a book.
It’s in my hoofwriting. I don’t remember.
But in the book there are spells. Looking at the spells hurts. I can’t remember why, but I can feel it. It hurts me. Shames me. I used one of them to…
…it broke me once.
But if I give the spells to them, they can undo things. Maybe. Erase the sentence.
Only, one of them is going to have to die if I do.
I don’t care. I’m tired.