The building means well.
It’s always trying. It wants to help, in a strange, misunderstood sort of way. That’s how I ended up here in the first place. That’s how everypony ends up here.
Sometimes, when a pony is at their lowest, when they need a helping hoof, when they’re scared or lonely or desperate - the building will reach out and find them.
But ponies are not inanimate statues, to be patched together, cracks filled with gold, and sent out again good as new. Sometimes, there is no easy fix. Sometimes, the building tries and tries and tries, and still gets it wrong.
Today the building is a Dollhouse. Another pony has been pulled in, placed under the microscope to be poked and prodded and sewn back together.
I can already tell this will be no simple fix.