We're all much like the ore beneath our hooves. Cold, ridged, filled with secrets and unfounded potential. The potential to create or the potential to destroy. To build or to deconstruct. To forge or to melt away. No single ore shaped the same; each one holding many different minerals and cuts to it. Both flawless and damaged even at first glance. What may come from it not a pony could say for certain, no?
But, all the same in that each and every ore--pony--was at one point brought into the world by another's work. Everything has a start... Everything has a story... And sometimes, that story is only there for the build up for an even greater tale...