Prologue

Author's Note:

obviously my first MLP fanfiction in a while so bear with me--

this is kind of just an experimental fic for the most part, but there is somewhat of a plot i swear lol--it'll probably be pretty long and slow to update (and obviously short in chapter length), but i hope some people might like my dumb ideas and want to stick along for the ride anyway! constructive criticism/feedback is always welcome!!

(also, as a sidenote i didn't include character tags because i still want the characters themselves to be shrouded in mystery, not because actual MLP characters are excluded; you'll see what i mean later hopefully)

It's dark.

That's the only thing you notice at first--the darkness all around you, suffocating, like smoke. It feels cold, too, like you'd taken a plunge in an ice-frozen lake.

You didn't; not that you can remember.

...Not that you want to remember.

You're not even sure you want to remember your name. It's distant--too distant, and reaching out to find it seems painful somehow.

You're not sure how you ended up here in the first place, though that much is probably obvious. You think you're in a forest, but the trees here are so scraggly, stretching out dangerously to prick at the night sky; it feels more like you've led yourself into purgatory itself, but then that begs the question: How?

Had you merely gone for a walk in these woods? Did you merely get yourself lost? That's what you hope to think, just for now. Just for some kind of explanation, even if it doesn't quite make sense.

So, you were walking in the woods, in this cold and dark world, right? And you wandered off the path, and that's how you ended up here, in the middle of nowhere? That has to be it.

So, you should be able to find your way out, right...?

With a little nod of determination, you set yourself on this thought, and begin to wander aimlessly in search of life. You have nothing to go off of--your hooves hurt, and your head does too, but all you can hope to do is find your way back.

The farther you go, the darker it becomes somehow. Even the moon, which you had previously seen some glimpse of, has long gone. But even when you try to turn around, or actively start in a new direction, you somehow end up trotting in circles to the point where your hooves hurt too much to bear.

You have to stop.

So you do.

You plop your rump right on the wet, slimy floor of the not-forest, just praying the pain will go away soon, and you can continue your looking.

Part of you know it's fruitless.

Part of you is too tired to care anymore--the trees all look the same, the smell is always the same: smelling of rotting wood and burnt leaves.

...

But you can't give up. You can't.

You don't remember who would miss you, but surely someone must, right?

Surely there's some hope here.

Surely, you won't die here.

Surely...

Tears impair your vision, and you barely hold back a sob, giving one last vain glance through the trees and...

...

Surely, that's not your imagination?

It's not, and suddenly, you find your hooves aren't aching anymore.

Before you know it, you are already galloping forward, carrying yourself right on over to the object: it looks like a shining beacon in the dark at first, anchoring you somehow. When you do reach it you find it to be a book of sorts. It is faded, and the name that might've been on it is crossed out, enough so that you can't even make out a single letter.

You're disappointed, instantly.

You're not sure what you'd been expecting, exactly, but...

You hadn't thought of a book.

A book can't save you, now can it?

Sullenly, you sank yet again to the ground in defeat, so, so tired; a pile of despair and fur rolled into one, beaten down on the foul grass.

...And yet somehow,

you find yourself reaching for the book anyway.

You pick it up, flipping to the first page, then to the next, and so forth.

It's a diary. Or a journal--whatever you want to call it.

From whom, you don't know. How it got here, you also don't know. Perhaps it was put here to placate you; comfort you, in a way. As if somepony knew you would get lost here.

It now has the same troubles you do. You have almost the same inquiries for it that you have for yourself.

If that's the case, then...

Maybe, you can find your answer here, within these pages.

Maybe, just maybe...

Dear Diary,

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this. Maybe someone will find this later--I'd like to think that. I would like to think I'd be remembered, maybe. And I hope that if they read this, they will learn by reading what I did, and not make the same mistakes. But that's silly, because I know no one can find me here. I could make the excuse that I am trying to find some sort of clarity through this, but I can't; not really anyway. At this point there is not really

Sorry, I am getting a bit ahead of myself, aren't I? My mother used to say I go off on tangents a lot. I'm a bit scatterbrained like that, but I still figured this might help someone. As I mentioned, maybe I can teach them something, or spout valuable lessons. That being said I should start from the very beginning! Whoever's reading this could probably use some context.

I was born in a rather dark world. The moon and sun were quite rare then, without magic to hold them up. There was death left and right, pony and plant alike. Magic too was rare, as a matter-of-fact--there weren't a lot of unicorns then, and we were lucky my father was one. My mother was a pegasus, and together, they had me. They are long gone now, but I hope for what it's worth, I did carry on their memory as best I could. Perhaps you can carry on my memory on too!

What little magic we ponies did have was mostly witchcraft and the like, derived from some zebras long ago. Real magic was from unicorns, as I said, and no matter how a pony went about it, you couldn't replicate it from some simple herbs and voodoo spells. Because of this my father was quite famous, and quite powerful--for even though witchcraft was mostly feigned magic, it could be used for real magic in ways we had never thought of!

Eventually, they started training my father to

I don't have as much time as I thought I originally did, so the rest of this will be left up to "past me," so to speak; therefore, you will have to find your context among the lot of these pages I'm afraid. This is a temporary farewell, but you will see this me again at the end if all goes well! Until that, feel free to read all of the entries if you like. I won't mind--like I said, I would like to be remembered, especially as best I can be.

In turn, I hope you will be remembered as well, if you found yourself here with me. Goodbye for now!

Best wishes,
⬛⬛⬛⬛

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Pete100

Pete100 #1 · Dec 29th, 2020 · · ·

...Not that you want to remember.
You're not even sure you want to remember your name. It's distant--too distant, and reaching out to find it seems painful somehow.

Why not?