I've grown sick of this land. Maybe someday it can be the utopia of peace and love she wanted it to be, but I'll have nothing to do with it when it happens. At least not the real me. But I've already gone over that plan enough. I'm tired of writing about it. I'm tired of writing. . . .I'm tired. So very tired. But I refuse to allow my self rest, want as I might to let the warm, dark embrace of sleep take me. For I know every dream I have will be a nightmare, a retelling of all that's transpired. . . . Why am I rambling? I have preparations to complete.
Damn that spirit. Damn him, and damn his chaos. Damn those blasted acolytes of his, those children of Ragnarok as they were called.
Damn that alchemist, who as I heard, died working on yet another one of his families patented plagues. Serves him and his bloodline right.
Damn that damned "Lord of Nothing." Why couldn't he just listen? Why couldn't he have waited for the Elements of Harmony? Why did he start this war? Why did he destroy everything I held dear. . . ?
I'm taking the dracony child with me. It's funny really. Before this all happened, he wanted nothing to do with me. Now Celestia wants him dead, I hate Equestria, and we've only got each other for company on this long journey ahead of us.
Draco's notes: This isn't funny at all. And I still want nothing to do with you. So far as I'm concerned, this whole situation is half your fault. Just get us out of here already, you old fool.