I Am Going To Save And/Or Destroy Equestria!

by Bucking Nonsense


Interlude: I'm Not Beautiful Like You. ...I'm Beautiful Like Me.

My name is Miss Bubbles, and I'm a doll.
I've always been a doll, for as long as I can remember. If I ever wasn't a doll, then I don't remember that, obviously. I can only speak to what I do remember, and what I remember is this...
Once upon a time, there was a humble toymaker. He lived in a great city, and toiled every day, making toys for the colts and fillies of the city, and would often go to the neighboring villages, selling his wares to little ones all throughout Equestria. He was a kind-hearted soul, and when not hard at work making dolls and toy soldiers and stuffed animals, he would sometimes be seen outside his store, reading stories to the youngsters of the city, who loved him as if he was a member of their own families.
He is not the one who made me. This would be a different story if he was...
I was made by the toymaker's son, who wanted, more than anything, to be a toymaker just like his daddy. One morning, while his daddy was hard at work, the son decided that he would make a dolly for his daddy to sell. He worked for many long hours, striving to make the best doll he possibly could. I'm a humble doll, but I will admit, he did a pretty good job, all things considered. My coat was plush and soft, my mane long and silky, and the toymaker's son put his heart and soul into making sure I was the best doll I could be. That isn't an exaggeration: Even now, a piece of his heart and soul remains inside of me. How else would I be able to talk to you today?
The toymaker's son worked as hard on his first work as a master craftspony would on his magnum opus. His blood, sweat, and tears went into every stitch, every bit of fluffy stuffing, and when he was done, he presented his work to his father. Sadly, there was just one thing wrong...
My eyes weren't in proper alignment.
Having seen the hard work that his son had put into the doll, the toymaker could not decline his son's request to go with his father to market, to sell his work right alongside his father's... even knowing that no one might buy me. And so, the father and son sat side by side at a stall during a market day, the father's work at one side, the son's on another. As the day went on, the father's toys quickly dwindled, sold away to happy little colts and fillies. The son's doll, however, simply stood, smiling at the world with eyes that could not see straight.
As sunset approached, the toymaker's son began to despair: He'd put so much effort into that doll, and nopony wanted her? However, his despair was nothing compared to my own. After all, what use is a doll without somepony to love her? If no one chose me, then I would be left alone, purposeless, until either somepony took me apart to make a new doll, or time ate away at my fabric, and I fell apart at the seams.
It was then that they appeared.
A humble woodcutter came upon the toymaker's stall, his daughter riding happily upon his back. While quite poor, the woodcutter had made a promise to his daughter, that when the toymaker came to the village, she would be able to pick out a toy all for herself. As the youngest of six daughters, this would be the first thing she'd ever had that had not been passed down to her through five other fillies, but instead would be hers and hers alone.
You cannot begin to imagine the joy I felt when, instead of the dozen other dolls on display, she chose me instead. I didn't understand why, though, until I met her mother that evening. She was... she was just like me. Not just the eyes, but in every aspect, save that she was flesh and blood, and I was plush and stuffing. Chance or fate, I cannot say, but...
No one in this world is perfect, and sometimes it is the flaws that make the masterpiece. I am beautiful, because Rosy Sunrise says that I am.
In the time since Rosy Sunrise chose me, I have been hugged eight hundred forty-three times, have had my mane and tail brushed out four hundred twenty-two times, attended eighty-seven tea parties, danced with eighty-nine princes (Well, they were her brother's toy soldiers, but she was pretending they were princes, so they were princes), been wed to said princes sixty-eight times, been held captive by evil dragons until rescued by a handsome knight (Soldier, whatever) eighty-three times, and vanquished the evil dragon when the handsome knight proved unable to secure victory for himself twelve times.
If you have to question how I can, with such precision, recount all of that, then you know nothing about being a toy.
And... I was there when the fiends came, and ravaged the small village Rosy Sunrise called her home. I was with her when she saw what they did to her parents, her sisters, and her brother. I was with her when she ran away, unable to face what was happening to them. I was with her when she hid away, only to be caught by the Raptorians. They... they held me over a fire, and burned me as she was made to watch. I am a doll: I cannot feel pain or fear, but I can feel sorrow. If those had been my last moments, my last thoughts would not have been for myself, but for how Rosy would be all alone in the world without me...
...I was there when the Swineherd stormed in, filled with fury and rage at their tormenting a small filly, and struck all three unconscious in as many seconds. I was there when he shooed Rosy away after she had hugged him and thanked him, telling her to be away before his master arrived. And I was hiding with her when, a few moments later, Diretusk the Cruel came and Subjugated the three Raptorians into eternal servitude.
I was with her, a week later, when Rosy nearly died from starvation and thirst, and Sparkling Sunset and her friends found us, and nursed Rosy back to health.
I was there when the great king mended me, and made me whole once more, and I was there when, years ago, Rosy's mother had told her little filly that one day, she would meet a stallion, one who was kind, strong, and brave, and that Rosy would love him with all her heart, and that stallion would be the one that would, no doubt, be her husband.
Rosy and I have been together, from that first day to this one, as inseparable as true sisters, and I dearly hope that it will always be so...


...I am a doll. I cannot laugh, or cry, or sing, or dance, or hug, or grant true comfort to the one filly I love more than anypony else in the world. But I can wish, and I wish, with all my heart and soul, that I could. I wish that I could do something more to bring joy to her, and to this world, even if it seems as if this world is on its last breath.
I wish, above all else, that I could do something that would spare my dear Rosy any more tears.