You.
You asshole.
You utter monster.
I have a lot to say to you.
Meadow Breeze is dead. Meadow Breeze did not die of cancer. She did not get run over by a cart, nor eaten by a manticore. Meadow Breeze killed herself because of you. Yes you. Diamond Tiara. There is no pony to blame for her death but yourself. You killed her.
Oh no, of course not directly. You're too nice, uptight, clever, whatever for that. You killed her with your words. You killed her with your bitter poison, you bitch. You wove a web of angry taunts and malicious teasing, and now Meadow Breeze will never breath again, because she is dead.
Do you know now how she died? Do you even care? Were you too busy trying to distance yourself from the whole thing; too busy begging Daddy dearest to hire good expensive lawyers? You were. You could care less about her. But I DO care about her, so let me tell you.
Meadow Breeze tried to kill herself in the most agonizing way possible. She went out into the Everfree forest and ate castor plant seeds. Why she chose those, one can only guess. Perhaps she simply had read that they were poisonous, but didn't read about how they were poisonous? She did a lot of that, reading. The library was one of her few sanctuaries from you. But I digress. Castor seeds. They burn you from the inside out as they kill you. It takes days to die. I know this because I've decided to use this time to educate myself. Botany is surprisingly interesting. Might as well do something positive with this crappy situation.
I'm sorry, I'm getting off topic. I have a lot on my mind I need to get out.
Meadow did not want to wait days to die. The next day she was found hanging by a piano wire in her bathroom. We only know her original choice from the autopsy. Not that you care. You never care.
Meadow Breeze loved music. She loved playing the piano. She wanted to play it professionally some day. From what I understand, that probably was never going to happen. But she would have made a wonderful music teacher. But now she will never teach music, because she is dead. You killed her with your words.
Diamond, I have so much to say, and I don't even know where to begin. I'm just going to ramble, I guess. Celestia knows you'll have plenty of time to read this.
I don't know why, looking back, I was under your spell for so long. You have proven yourself to be nothing but a monster. A horrible monster. Why you choose me to be your wingmare, instead of another victim, I'll never know, but I wish I had been another victim. I can never, ever get rid of the stain on my conscience the activities I have partaken with you have caused. I will never live down the fact that I am partially to blame for a suicide.
You have no good reason to be a bully. You had a perfect childhood. Okay, maybe not perfect, but pretty damn close. So your mother left the family. You still get to see her. Your dad's the richest stallion in Ponyville. A pretty decent guy, too. Not perfect, but a tart' of a lot better than you. Where did it come from, Diamond? Where did your shittyness come from?
You had all you could ever want. You're rich. Heck, your dad is named Filthy Rich. If that's not prophetic, I don't know what is. You've had the world handed to you on a golden platter. You wear a diamond tiara on your head. But there is one thing that money could not buy you: Friends.
Sure you're popular. Nopony doubts that. You were the prom queen several years in a row in high school, I recall. But you never had real friends. You had ponies who'd rather not be your enemy. You didn't have real friends. I was your only real friend.
WAS. But we'll get there. As I said, I have a lot of thoughts for you.
Diamond Tiara, you have mastered the classic roll of the alpha bitch, with apologies to Diamond Dogs, who honestly are probably nicer than you. You know how to be manipulative. You know how to be sweet and sanguine on the outside, and how to be the Nightmare inside.
Maybe you are possessed by the Nightmare. I wouldn't put it past you.
But as I was saying, You led a reign of terror in middle school, then in high school. Ponies feared you, and you loved that. You never did stuff directly. You just dropped little hints here and there, and your royal and loyal followers did the rest. You used ponies to do your dirty work. Sometimes, you even used me. But you mostly liked to keep me clean. You fancied me a pet, and you kept me on a tight leash. Well, I'm done with that bullshit. You used me, you used so many ponies to keep your empire from falling. Well, it's over. The jig is up. Your empire, like every great empire that choked on its own hubris, has fallen.
Let me jump around. I'm in a very verbal mood, and this dictation spell the counselor has going is quite nifty. She wants me to edit this first, but I prefer it to be raw. I'm angry. I should be. I'm angry at you, and I'm going to keep going until I let it all out.
Remember when? Do you remember when we met? We were barely more than toddlers. You had just moved from Trottingham, and were the new kid on the block, looking for friends. You found me. I should have known from the start something was wrong with you, when the first words out of your mouth were, "Hey, poop head!" That should have been my first clue to gallop away as fast as possible. But I didn't. Because your next words were, "Are you really (and even then you had mastered the flippant tone) playing with a "Lovingcup Game Inspector Doll?"
Because, you know, back then I was actually interested in things outside of me. I wasn't a self-absorbed twat. That, you turned me into. Thanks; no thanks. Instead of running away, I told you what the Equestria Games were. You told me your daddy owned the event. Liar.
Have I mentioned you're a liar? Have I mentioned you suck? No? You suck. Have I mentioned how you went out of your way to verbally abuse me all throughout grade school? I was too pusillanimous to do anything about it. Pusillanimous is a word you know. I've been using my time here to do something useful, like read. 'Cause I'm going to be here a bit. And unlike you, I actually feel bad. Again, I'm not a monster. Anymore at least.
You barely had to even ply me with gifts, because I was the perfect pet, the perfect "friend", the perfect wingmare. I stuck by your side out of fear and out of loneliness. I thought our crappy friendship was better than no friendship at all. Goddess was I wrong.
Speaking of friendship, you know who I've started corresponding with? Applebloom. You know, now an adult officer for the CMCA? You know, actually doing something with her life? She says she's sorry about the restraining order. To me. She's glad she'll never see you again. That's how bad you've bucked up: the sister of one of the Sisters of Friendship won't be your friend. Let that sink in. But she's willing to give me a shot. After the shit we put them through, that's impressive. I dig it.
But not you. Because, ugh, I am so sick of you. Sick sick sick sick SICK! I tried so long to help you. I think I did. I don't even know anymore. But I'm tired. Tired of your stuck up, messed up attitude. You still refuse to see the errors of your ways. That's sad. That's tragic.
So, Diamond Tiara, I give up. I've been trying to reach the good in you for two months now, but you know what I realize, the scariest truth of all? Maybe there is no good in you. I know our society believes there is goodness in us all. I don't. You've jaded me too much.
I'm sure there are other things I wanted to say, but I'm too exhausted to think of anything else right now. Which is too bad, because I'm afraid we won't be talking anymore. You're a toxic influence, Diamond. You poisoned me for nineteen years. I'm not letting you poison me any longer.
So, I guess this is goodbye. Goodbye to the worst friend I ever had. Good luck, I guess? You're going to need it.
Goodbye Diamond Tiara. Please don't write back.
~Your Ex Friend, Silver Spoon.
You put the letter down and you cry, now truly alone in your cell.