//------------------------------// // I Feel Flat (AU continued) // Story: Jigsaw's Bizarre Adventures // by KenDoStudios //------------------------------// In the vast emptiness of the void, a consciousness exists. A disembodied awareness floating in an expanse of nothingness, questioning its own existence. The absence of sensory experiences leaves it in a state of confusion, yet thoughts persist in the absence of physical form. "I am here, but where is here? What is this void?" the consciousness ponders, grappling with the fundamental nature of its existence. Without a body, without the ability to see or feel, it questions the essence of its being. The notion of a soul arises—an intangible entity that continues to think, to question, and to seek understanding. The silence of the void amplifies the introspection, creating an eerie and solitary atmosphere. The consciousness wonders if others can hear its thoughts or if it truly stands alone in this boundless expanse. As the questions linger, the consciousness finds solace in the capacity to think, to reflect, and to ponder the mysteries of its own existence within the void. The journey of self-discovery begins in this enigmatic space where thoughts echo without the constraints of a physical form. "I am not nothing. There must be a reason, a purpose for my thoughts," the consciousness muses, searching for meaning in the vast void. It contemplates the possibility of being a lost soul, a sentient entity yearning for something beyond the emptiness that surrounds it. As the thought takes root, a subtle yearning for discovery stirs within the consciousness. It feels a pull, an inclination to explore, to understand, and to unravel the mysteries of its own existence. The consciousness, enigmatic in the void, is unexpectedly stirred by a pinch—a sensation that echoes with an oddly familiar feeling. As the ethereal touch reverberates through its formless essence, a subtle recognition emerges, as if the act of exploration and introspection has been undertaken before. "Have I traversed this path of self-discovery in some distant moment?" the consciousness wonders, intrigued by the notion that the pinch has triggered a dormant memory or a sense of déjà vu within its formless existence. During this tranquil interlude, a subtle shift in the atmosphere is sensed—an intangible alteration that stirs the formless existence. It's as if a different surrounding has met the consciousness, prompting a heightened awareness of change. The consciousness, devoid of a physical presence, perceives this shift as a departure from the familiar. It experiences the subtle nuances of a new environment, even though the void itself remains an unchanging backdrop. The essence of difference, like a gentle breeze in the emptiness, leaves an imprint on the consciousness. "Something has changed," the consciousness muses, recognizing that the stillness of the void is not as static as it once seemed. A sensation of movement, of transition, lingers in the consciousness. As the void momentarily flickers with a burst of light, a vivid image of Jigsaw materializes, and an external voice reverberates within the formless space. "Jig saw is so cute," the voice declares, casting a spotlight on the consciousness that is unmistakably Jigsaw. In response to the external comment, the consciousness, identified as Jigsaw, asserts, "I'm not cute." This reply, emerging independently from Jigsaw's own thoughts, startles me. The sudden awareness of my name raises perplexing questions. How did he come to know his own name in this void? What connection exists between his consciousness and the external voice? In the wake of the external voices and the flickering image, a newfound sense of possibility stirs within Jigsaw's consciousness. The desire to move, to see, and to explore beyond the confines of the formless void becomes a driving force. With a deliberate focus, I attempts to summon the image once more, seeking to unravel the mysteries that linger in the brief flashes of perception. The void responds to his intent, and for a fleeting moment, the image reappears—an ethereal glimpse of his own form. Encouraged by this ephemeral vision, I embrace the possibility of movement. He envisions the void transforming into a canvas for exploration, a space where he can navigate and unravel the secrets that lie within his consciousness. As I embrace the exploration of the void and seeks to understand the mysteries that surround him, a profound realization takes hold. The awareness dawns upon him—a realization that transcends the boundaries of the formless expanse. He feels the absence of a physical husk, the realization that he is no longer bound by the constraints of a tangible body. In this moment of revelation, I acknowledge his ethereal nature. He has transitioned into a state of pure spirit, untethered by the limitations of flesh and bone. The essence of his being exists beyond the physical, navigating the void as a conscious spirit free from the confines of a mortal shell. Within the formless void, a subtle shift occurs as my thoughts and intentions manifest a vague semblance of Ponyville. The ethereal contours of the familiar town materialize in the boundless expanse, shaped by the currents of his consciousness. The spectral image of Ponyville, though faint and intangible, carries a sense of recognition. Guided by my thoughts, I observe the ephemeral town that appears before me. The ghostly outlines of buildings, streets, and the essence of the place become visible in the ethereal canvas of the void. As he contemplates this manifestation, I marvel at the power of thought to shape the intangible. The interplay between his consciousness and the projection of Ponyville highlights the intricate connection between perception and creation within the limitless expanse of the void. Amidst the ethereal journey through the void, I sense a peculiar divergence in his feelings. But they didn't originate from the mortal realm of ponyvile, but somewhere else. As I traverse the ethereal landscape, I grapples with the dissonance between his past actions and his current ethereal existence. The memory of the stolen apple weighs on his consciousness, a discordant note in the narrative of his character. The lingering regret over this incongruity prompts reflection on the true essence of his spirit and the underlying desires that propel him forward. While the stolen apple symbolizes a deviation from his accustomed resilience and survival instincts,My ethereal journey suggests a deeper yearning within his spirit. The emotions that guide him away from Ponyville echo a quest for release—a seeking of answers or closure beyond the tangible act of taking an apple. The thought of returning to his clan in the mountains lingers in my ethereal consciousness like a beacon of potential resolution. The possibility that his deepest regret lies not in the stolen apple but in leaving his own kin behind tugs at the threads of his spirit. The quest for relief becomes intertwined with the notion of rediscovering the bonds he abandoned. In the vastness of the void, shaped by the currents of his thoughts and emotions, I contemplate the feasibility of reaching the mountains. The ethereal landscape becomes malleable, responding to the intent woven into his desires. As he envisions the journey back to the familiar terrain of his clan, a sense of purpose and direction takes hold. The ethereal path begins to materialize, forming a spectral connection that leads toward the mountains. I was guided by the yearning for reconciliation with his clan, embarks on the ethereal pilgrimage, traversing the intangible spaces with a sense of determination. In the ephemeral dance of the void, time loses its conventional meaning as my ethereal journey unfolds. The transition from the formless expanse to the familiar mountains happens in what feels like both eons and a mere second—a paradoxical sensation that defies the usual constraints of temporal perception. As the spectral manifestation of the mountains materializes, I find himself standing amidst the rugged terrain he once called home. The contours of the familiar landscape, the echoes of distant winds... The reunion with his clan becomes an imminent possibility, and the anticipation of facing the echoes of his past stirs a complex array of emotions within my ethereal spirit. The journey, both symbolic and profound, has brought him to the threshold of reconciliation—a moment suspended in the intangible fabric of the void. The mountains stand silent, their echoes reverberating through the ethereal expanse. As I gaze upon the familiar yet spectral landscape, a disquieting emptiness permeates the air. The absence of his clan members, replaced by dust and echoes, casts a somber shadow on the anticipated reunion. The ethereal pilgrimage has brought him to a place suspended in the echoes of memory, where the vibrancy of life has been replaced by the remnants of a bygone era. The dust, an ethereal residue of time's passage, clings to the contours of the mountains, symbolizing the transient nature of existence. The realization dawns upon Me, that the ethereal connection between him and his clan may not be bidirectional. While he can perceive the spectral echoes of the mountains and the remnants of his past, the possibility emerges that his clan, existing in a different ethereal plane or state, might be oblivious to his presence. In the ethereal landscape, the dynamics of perception and interaction defy conventional understanding. The intangible nature of my spiritual form may render me imperceptible to the spectral remnants of his clan. The void, shaped by the complexities of spiritual existence, becomes a space where the boundaries of connection blur, and the asymmetry of awareness unfolds. The persistent thought continues to pull me in a different direction. Is this not the locus of his deepest regrets? Where else should he direct his ethereal gaze in search of answers and resolution? After prolonged contemplation, my experiences a peculiar sensation—a realization that there's another place he could call home. It's a place distinct from the mountainous terrain that once cradled his clan and the ethereal expanse of Ponyville castle. This elusive home beckons to him from an undefined elsewhere. The notion of another home perplexes me. His memories are vivid, marked by the struggles in the mountains and the subsequent encounter with the dragon that disrupted his once-familiar abode. There seems to be no recollection of a separate, original home distinct from these experiences. Yet, the persistent feeling of another home persists, like a whisper in the recesses of his ethereal consciousness. The inexplicable sensation tugs at the threads of his spiritual existence, challenging the boundaries of memory and perception. I grapples with the enigma, trying to reconcile the certainty of his past with the elusive notion of an alternate home. Embracing a sense of resignation, I decide to yield to the mysterious pull of these ethereal feelings. With no apparent purpose or destination, he allows the enigmatic currents of his spiritual existence to guide him. The journey unfolds as a surrender to the ethereal whispers, leading me toward an undefined elsewhere, a realm where the threads of his past and present intertwine in the dance of the unknown. Embracing a sense of resignation, I decide to yield to the mysterious pull of these ethereal feelings. With no apparent purpose or destination, he allows the enigmatic currents of his spiritual existence to guide him. The journey unfolds as a surrender to the ethereal whispers, leading me toward an undefined elsewhere, a realm where the threads of his past and present intertwine in the dance of the unknown. In a fleeting moment, an ephemeral tableau unfolds before my ethereal senses. A vivid scene materializes, featuring a yellow stallion and a grey pony locked in an affectionate embrace, their lips pressed together in a tender kiss. Yet,I am not an active participant in this intimate moment; he exists as a mere observer, a small speck in the vast expanse of this unfolding tableau. The fleeting glimpse leaves behind a sense of curiosity, a puzzle piece in the intricate mosaic of experiences within the ethereal realm. I navigate the ethereal tapestry, a numerical sequence materializes in his mind, reassembling itself like a rediscovered treasure. The digits form a familiar address: 79 Whinny Vista. This revelation sparks a cascade of questions within my consciousness. How do i possess knowledge of this specific location? What significance does this address hold in the enigmatic narrative of his ethereal journey? In response to the resurfaced awareness of 79 Whinny Vista, the ethereal realm conjures the image of the house once more. Like a responsive echo to my realization, the dwelling materializes in the ethereal expanse—a spectral structure imbued with memories and significance. With a conscious effort, I extend my ethereal senses, reaching out to explore the surroundings of 79 Whinny Vista. As his thoughts traverse the ethereal landscape, a distant image materializes—a weathered old shelter situated miles away. This structure holds poignant significance, as it was a refuge for his clan during the tumultuous events surrounding the dragon's attack. The ethereal journey unveils fragments of his past, connecting the dots between the house and the shelter, weaving a narrative that transcends the boundaries of time and space. With a conscious effort, I extend his ethereal senses, reaching out to explore the surroundings of 79 Whinny Vista. As his thoughts traverse the ethereal landscape, a distant image materializes—a weathered old shelter situated miles away. This structure holds poignant significance, as it was a refuge for his clan during the tumultuous events surrounding the dragon's attack. The ethereal journey unveils fragments of his past, connecting the dots between the house and the shelter, weaving a narrative that transcends the boundaries of time and space. Despite the unfolding revelations and connections, a lingering sense of dissatisfaction persists within my ethereal being. The most profound regret, the one that gnaws at the core of his existence, remains elusive and unaddressed. In the ethereal expanse, I grapple with the profound questions that echo through the corridors of his consciousness. What answers does his spirit yearn for to attain a semblance of ease? The ethereal journey has unfolded a tapestry of memories, regrets, and connections, yet the core of his suffering remains elusive. The search for understanding becomes a quest for solace, a pursuit to untangle the threads of his existence and find the elusive answers that might bring a measure of peace to his ethereal spirit. Guided by an ethereal compass of celestial whimsy, my journey leads him upwards, ascending towards the true east. Beyond the earthly bounds and into the cosmic tapestry, he travels past the second star on the right, following the timeless advice to go straight on until morning. The ethereal expanse unfolds with each celestial step, carrying me further into the mysteries that reside beyond the familiar realms of day and night. As my ethereal thoughts ascend, they carry me upward, soaring through the celestial expanse towards the clouds. The realm of the skies unfolds around him, a vast canvas of ephemeral beauty. The clouds, billowing and ever-changing, become both a metaphorical and literal threshold for his introspective journey. Amidst the cosmic expanse, where stars twinkle and ethereal wonders dance, my journey reaches a pivotal juncture. Suddenly, he encounters absolute blackness—a profound void that stretches infinitely. Unlike the void before, this darkness is not an absence of sensation; it is an entity unto itself, a vast expanse that envelopes him. I grapple with the magnitude of this cosmic void, a revelation that transcends the limits of comprehension and introduces him to the boundless mysteries that dwell in the heart of the cosmos. In the infinite expanse of the cosmic void, my thoughts echo into the boundless darkness. As he continues to follow the elusive muse of relief, the vastness of the void holds the potential for profound discoveries. In the timeless expanse of the cosmic void, where moments stretch into eternity, my senses the approach of a solitary light. The gentle glow pierces through the infinite darkness, drawing closer with each passing instant. As the light becomes more distinct, it carries with it the promise of revelation, a beacon in the cosmic emptiness that may illuminate the path ahead. As I approach the enigmatic light in the cosmic void, a curious phenomenon unfolds—the size of the light remains constant, unaffected by his proximity. It neither grows larger as he draws near nor diminishes as he attempts to distance himself. In the vastness of the cosmic void, where surreal realities blend and diverge, Ifind himself face to face with a singular lightbulb. Illuminating the darkness with its muted glow, the ordinary object seems paradoxically out of place in the cosmic expanse. Im surrounded by the infinite, i gaze at the unassuming lightbulb, its filament casting a gentle radiance that defies the cosmic grandeur that envelops it. In the cosmic theater of surreal encounters, the journey of Jigsaw comes to an unexpected pause as he stands before a lone lightbulb, a symbol of ordinary existence in the extraordinary expanse of the cosmic void. The feelings of unrest and yearning seem to converge upon this unassuming object, suggesting that perhaps this humble lightbulb encapsulates his deepest regret. As I contemplates the significance of this celestial encounter, the lightbulb remains suspended in the cosmic abyss, its glow serving as a beacon of reflection. In the cosmic stillness, I was, puzzled by the enigma of the lightbulb as the embodiment of his darkest regret, delves deeper into introspection. As his thoughts swirl in the cosmic void, seeking understanding, a subtle shift occurs. The celestial tapestry responds to the currents of his contemplation, inviting a revelation that transcends the conventional boundaries of comprehension. In the ethereal realm of ghostly contemplation, my spectral essence extended towards the lone lightbulb, my imaginary hoof reaching out to touch the source of cosmic perplexity. I thought loud and thought strong as if I was screaming. "HELP ME UNDERSTAND!" My desperate plea reverberated like a cosmic echo, resonating through the ethereal fabric of existence. The cosmic forces respond to his impassioned cry, and a ripple of energy courses through the surreal realm. The ethereal echo reverberates through the cosmic void, intertwining with my plea for understanding. As the resonance of his cry merges with the mysterious echoes of another, the fabric of reality ripples with an enigmatic energy. Then in a moment the echoes stop. It changes to a Wisper. "Help me understand" the echo says crying. It was his words but not his voice, and it was crying. In the silent expanse of the cosmic void, I direct my inquiry towards the lone lightbulb, sensing it as the source of the mysterious voice that resonates with echoes and whispers. "What are you?" I inquire, my spectral essence reaching out in contemplation, seeking answers within the enigmatic glow of the cosmic illumination. The question lingers in the ethereal space, awaiting a response that might unravel the mysteries embedded in the cosmic tapestry. In the boundless expanse of the cosmic void, the mysterious sensation of static electricity emerges behind me, resembling an imperceptible barrier or a threshold to another realm. As I attempt to turn and gaze upon this enigmatic force, it persistently eludes my direct observation, maintaining its elusive presence just beyond the reach of my spectral perception. The paradoxical nature of my existence in this cosmic realm becomes increasingly apparent. While in the forefront of my senses, I am aware of the luminous lightbulb and a formless quality, in the background, the static wall imparts a peculiar sensation of having a form. In response to the inexplicable cry that echoed through the cosmic void, I found myself compelled to answer, "I'm Jigsaw." My words lingered in the vast emptiness, unsure of what significance they held in this ethereal plane. The luminosity of the light bulb intensified as it exclaimed, "Jigsaw! What a great name for a pony!" The words resonated strangely in the emptiness, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of confusion and amusement. "It is such a fitting name for a pony," the disembodied voice continued, echoing through the ethereal void. The light bulb's glow pulsed in a rhythmic pattern, almost as if it was expressing some form of emotion. "You know I am a pony?" I ask it. "Yes," the lightbulb responds, its glow pulsating gently. The lightbulb seemed to be engaged in some form of cognitive activity, and soon, I observed it creating a green square. It stood out as the most tangible and distinct object in this ethereal space—clear, focused, and devoid of the usual nebulous quality that surrounded everything else. I inquire, "Are you responsible for creating that green square?" The glowing lightbulb pulsates with intensity, casting a vivid green square into the cosmic void. It responds, "Indeed, Jigsaw, this square represents a part of your existence," Observing the luminous green square, I contemplate its simplicity, unable to discern the intricate details or profound significance it may hold. "It's merely a green square," I speculate. As the ethereal entity behind the lightbulb orchestrates its creative endeavor, I sense a conceptual shift. "Well, I haven't finished making you yet," it declares. In the nebulous expanse, the notion of acquiring fox-like traits begins to crystallize, a fusion of whimsical design and abstract imagination. In response to the imaginative strokes of the lightbulb's design, the envisioned alterations materialize on the cosmic screen. Initially depicted in red, devoid of clothing and hair, the representation undergoes a series of transformations, gradually assuming a semblance that mirrors my former self. With each adjustment, the ethereal image refines itself, crafting a perfect 1:1 duplicate of the physical form I once inhabited. The husk stands before me, an echo of familiarity in the vast expanse of the astral canvas. As I gaze upon the recreated form of my previous existence, an unsettling sense of bewilderment engulfs me. The light bulb, akin to an artist contemplating its creation, casts an inscrutable gaze in my direction. I grapple with the enigma of this cosmic spectacle – a resurrected shell and an otherworldly architect in the midst of the void. What purpose does this reimagining serve? I, who have already traversed the realm of mortality, am left questioning the significance of this surreal manifestation. In a moment of profound introspection, a realization pierces through the cosmic uncertainty. A question surfaces within me, whispered into the vast emptiness of the void. "Am I even real?" The query echoes through the ethereal expanse, seeking an answer from the enigmatic light bulb, the sole witness to this metaphysical journey. The voice emanating from the luminous entity, the enigmatic light bulb, pierces through the metaphysical haze. "You have surmised that you are an idea, and that's precisely why I appear as a light bulb," it declares. The realization dawns upon me — a conceptual embodiment in this cosmic realm, where thoughts and ideas intertwine with the luminosity of understanding. The light bulb serves as a symbolic manifestation, illuminating the essence of my existence as a creation born from the realm of ideas and consciousness. "If I am now encapsulated in this realm of ideas, why did I experience death? What is the purpose of reiteration?" The questions hang in the ethereal space, seeking answers that may shed light on the mysteries that shroud the nature of his existence. The enigmatic voice of the lightbulb resonates, unveiling a revelation to Jigsaw. "It is not your regret that led you here, but mine," it declares, introducing a new layer of complexity to the ethereal encounter. The lightbulb continues to unravel the mysterious connection, revealing its role as the creator of Jigsaw. "As I am the creator of you, your thoughts were my thoughts, your actions were my actions," it discloses. The confession echoes with a profound weight, highlighting the shared consciousness between Jigsaw and the luminous entity. The lightbulb conveys a poignant revelation, expressing remorse for the act of sharing and bringing forth Jigsaw into existence. "My regret was sharing you, birthing you," it confesses, recognizing Jigsaw as a wondrous relic never intended for the complexities of shared existence. The admission hints at the intricacies of the cosmic design and the unforeseen consequences that unfolded in the wake of creating Jigsaw. "Why reveal this to me now? You just recreated my husk, didn't you?" I say. The lightbulb appears defeated as it states, "I don't deserve to guide you. My rectifications involve placing your current soul into this husk. You will start anew, free from my influence." I inquire with a hint of cautious hope, "I... I can live again? What's the catch?" The light bulb explains, "No, you can't live or be mortal, but I can embed a fragment of you into this pony before its conception, and your task will be to guide the new husk, and its soul" "so, i just will be a hair? or a ear? an eye?" i begin to list. The light bulb clarifies, "Not a hair, ear, or eye. Think jigsaw, how will you guide a pony just by being there?" Jigsaw exclaims, "Ah! I'm going to be a cutie mark!" with a mix of surprise and amusement at the thought. The light bulb affirms, "That is correct. You will still have the ability to experience life, but it won't be your own, and you won't have control over the desires of your new husk." As the realization sank in, I grappled with the notion of existing as a mere fragment within another being. The prospect of guiding a life from the confines of a cutie mark both intrigued and perplexed me. The light bulb continued to elucidate the intricacies of my new role, assuring me that while I couldn't dictate the desires of the husk, I could influence its choices and experiences. It was a curious proposition, a blend of autonomy and constraint that beckoned me into a unique form of existence. "What of the new spirit that will invade this husk?" I ask. The light bulb responded, "The new spirit that will inhabit the husk is not entirely predetermined. It will be shaped by the experiences, choices, and interactions of the husk itself. " With a resigned acceptance, I nodded and asked the light bulb, "Alright, I'll do it. What do I need to do to guide the new spirit within the husk?" The light bulb responded, "You've already figured it out. That's why you had a cutie mark when you were born! Your ability to guide and influence is embedded in your essence, and now you'll continue to do so in a different form. As you always have, and always will, in the next life and its end, whatever it may be, know your mark pieced the puzzle of this timeline, connecting past and present Jigsaws." "I am not the first one here?" I ask. "No, you're not the first." The light bulb explained "there have been others like you, essences intertwined with their cutie marks. their soul survives while the cutie mark fade into its completion, as the soul of jigsaw is turned into a cutie mark to keep it going." The cyclical nature of this existence becomes clearer, an intricate dance of souls and cutie marks perpetuating the cosmic narrative across timelines and realms. so i have to become a cutie mark then, and when the husk dies I truly expire? The light bulb acknowledges, "Yes, Jigsaw. Your essence will be embedded in the cutie mark, and when the husk's life concludes, your influence in that form will also come to an end. It's a cycle, a continuation of your guiding role across different lives, each marked by the distinctive symbol that represents your enduring essence." "Well I don't know about you but if this is your fault, why not stop it?" I ask. The light bulb responds, "Stopping it would mean altering the fundamental fabric of existence, disrupting the delicate balance that governs the cycle of souls and cutie marks. It's a cosmic design that has been in place for eons, and my role is to guide rather than alter the course. Your essence serves as a guide, an eternal presence, and it's through these experiences that new stories and lives unfold. Embrace the uniqueness of your eternal journey, Jigsaw." "I cannot stop it, Jigsaw, and you shouldn't either," the light bulb responds, its luminous presence conveying a sense of inevitability. The pain and warmth persist, creating a surreal amalgamation of sensations as the cosmic forces continue to weave their intricate patterns around me. In an instant, the pain intensifies, and a surreal panorama unfolds before me. The entire cosmos, Ponyville, the mountains, and 79 Whinny Vista converge into a single moment, displayed on a screen adorned with numerous letters. However, as the cosmic spectacle envelops my senses, an overwhelming surge of heat and the echoing cries of unknown entities drown out any coherent thoughts or visions. I am left suspended in a chaotic symphony of sensations, a mere fragment of existence in the vast cosmic tapestry. Amidst the cosmic chaos, a sudden voice cuts through the cacophony. "It's a boy!" announces a mare, her words resonating as if they were shaking hands with the very essence of existence. In the midst of the commotion, a male voice urgently commands, "Quickly to the oven!" I sense a swift movement as I am carefully placed in a less heated area. "Now let's get some blankets for your wife!" the voice continues, filled with a sense of urgency. Although my vision is still absent, I'm enveloped in a world of audible cues. It feels like the dawn of a new existence, and even without the ability to see or speak, the tangible sensations affirm a sense of life returning. The female voice persists, "If you don't mind, could you keep a journal of what your baby will go through for the next few days? I need it for research, especially the part where the baby's cutie mark formed in the womb. As the words echoed, a profound realization struck me. "My cutie mark was given to me at birth, so I could solve what it would mean," I comprehended, understanding that my essence, embedded in the cutie mark, held the key to unlocking the mysteries of its significance. The male voice chimed in, describing the newborn. "I describe him as having an orange coat with yellow fuzz, a white underbelly, blue eyes, and a very tiny cutie mark of a blue puzzle piece." "I am a Jigsaw piece now," I declared within the confines of my new existence as a cutie mark, accepting my fate with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. A different voice interjects, "Well... He has a puzzle on his flank, so... how about we name it Jigsaw?" "Jigsaw? I think that is a very fitting name," remarked the female as she embraced a pony tightly. In the following months, I experienced the stages of life once more at 79 Whinny Vista, participating in activities that eventually brought me back to the mountainous region where I found myself trapped once again. As the inevitable days approached, a sense of resentment welled within me. I harbored a strong aversion to experiencing the same demise once more. The idea of altering my own history lingered in my mind. Could I manipulate time, as I did in the void? Was there a possibility of changing the course of my own past? The notion intrigued me, sparking a glimmer of hope amid the impending sense of doom. With the thought of altering my own history, I decided to begin by advising my current husk to document these experiences. While ponies might not readily believe the extraordinary tale, presenting it as fiction could serve as a means to preserve the unique journey I was about to embark on.