Beneath the whole moon, there is a corpse in the far east. Skin and muscle are strewn over its grisly frame. The tongueless corpse wore a formless crown of Steel on its head, as it spoke in a voice that was not its own, moved by a mind that was not its own, gifted clarity that was not it's own.

Its words were long and eldritch, as it recited a poem in a thousand different tongues into the void. Fingers curled around a shard of purest iron, blood dripping from a growing wound.

The moon broke, as the corpse whispered - "Fear the Lady in Lavender."

In Canterlot, Twilight Sparkle has just been born.

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