I had a name once. The day I remember it, I might just share it with you. For now though, you may call me Crimson. That’s it, just Crimson. Not blankity-adjective-verb or color-skill-profession like most ponies in Ponyville. I have little need for that. It’s not like I need to describe myself though my name anyway. When you mention the name Crimson in Ponyville, most every pony will know who I am and the acts I have committed.

Lastly, I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes that may abound in my writing. Circular hooves make for bad letter selection on my keyboard, and I am still shaken from the events of last fall when the nightmare of a living dead came to life. Sanity for me is little more than ice in an empty glass. While it is there, nothing is left to serve its purpose. Instead, it lays stagnant, slowly melting away until there is nothing left. Someday I shall be driven to the point of madness. For now, I am making use of the time I have left before I am too mentally destroyed to pass down my story to another generation.

Well, that’s everything you need to know about me. I won’t bore you with what it is like to crawl into my mind. Instead, see through my eyes, hear the screams, smell the scent of burning orchards as the smoke traces higher into the midnight air. I have lived this once already. Now the only question is if you will come out the other end of my ordeal in a better state than I.

It was a cool autumn’s eve, and the night air was alive with the sound of leaves drifting off their perches atop the large oak trees of the Everfree Forrest and being carried off in the midnight breeze towards the dimly lit, cobblestone streets of Ponyville….