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// Letters from Rain #1 
// Story: Starswirl's Journal 
// by AlesFlamas 
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Dearest Starswirl,

I'm not sure what I should be writing down in these letters, and quite frankly I wonder even as I write whether or not I should bother with them. But only time will tell how long I stay in this room, sequestered from the disease you so desperately wish to keep me from. And there are things I'd like to tell you that otherwise we might not have the time for. Things about myself; who I am, who I was, and who I intend to be. My life's story if you will. Now, I've ordered the guards to give you all the letters at once, but do me the favor of reading no more than one a day. As much as I want you to know what I'm writing, I don't want to distract you from your work. Anyway... here I go.



I was born on November twenty-fifth, in the year twenty-one seventy-three, to a pair of rather wealthy aristocrats of high social and political standing in the city of Negra Beliza. I'll tell you their names later. But anyhow, my birth was one greatly celebrated, by both my parents and quite a few other well-to-do denizens of the city. After all, what reason would there be to not celebrate the entrance of another member of the master race into the world? That was their line of thought. Negra Beliza is a city of elitists, racists and bigots, but it's where I was raised. And for the vast majority of my fillyhood, that racism and bigotry was all I knew. The Pegasi were little more than barbaric neanderthals and the Mud-Dwellers little more than a reliable source of food, according to all that I was taught. They were to be treated with only as much respect as you would provide a rock in the middle of the road. Best case scenario, you simply ignore it and move on with your day, as though it weren't there. Worst case scenario... well, I'm sure you've heard the tales of all the merchants that go missing up near Negra Beliza. It was one such merchant that showed me just how skewed and twisted the view of the world I was being given was.

The December of my fifth year, I began to get curious about all that lay beyond the walls of my fair city, though I call it fair in the most shallow of terms. Of course, I'd picked the worst time of year to develop this curiosity, as winters in Negra Beliza are especially harsh. I remember wandering around, just beyond the line that divides the city from the pure, unforgiving wilderness of the north, when all of a sudden a snowstorm hit. I couldn't see beyond my own nose, but I knew that if I just turned around out would make it home safely. Unfortunately a strong gust of wind knocked me over and I lost my bearings. And though I was scarcely old enough to write my own name, I still understood that such a storm would take my life if I remained in it for two long. So I began shouting and feeling, calling for my parents and searching for the wall. Neither ever appeared. But what did appear was a covered wagon. A wagon driven by an earth pony. I was both disgusted by his appearance and fearful. I had been told rather horrifying and incredibly lewd stories of the atrocities that such ponies with wagons such as he had committed to fillies just like me. I know now that most of those aren't true, but at the time... well, to be frank, I relieved myself out of fear. And then I blacked out.


It would appear I've run out of room on this page. Hopefully you can wait another day to read about the rest of this ordeal. I love you, Starswirl. Now re-focus yourself. Get back to work.