Just like a museum.
It was just like a museum.
The shelves, the quiet-- it hardly felt like any one pony's personal collection.
And yet, here it was.
Mister Haystack's former estate. The stallion himself passed away not long ago, with no children to ever pass anything down to. His friends knew him for his travels. The locals, his spirit. Even beyond the lands of Equestria, he was known by and for a single title: The Old Collector.
Even then, the name wasn't a perfect fit for him. In days long passed, he'd been one of Celestia's personal adventurers, akin to the likes of Daring Do today. The Badlands, Abyssinia, even the deep depths of the sea-- if one could name it, he'd probably been there.
Trinkets and baubles sat on one table, protected by glass. These told of the struggles one took to live in the shadows of Klugetown. A dagger to defend oneself with and a satchel for valuables-- that was all you could afford as a unicorn when everycreature else sought you for your horn. A fine, dusty powder filled a goblet across from the dagger. This was the powdered horn of a less-fortunate unicorn that once accompanied Haystack; one who had perished in a feud over a watermelon.
The next table had considerably more under its enclosure. Various amulets and medals rested on their stands; oxidized metals and dull stones on strings, that's all they were anymore. Yet, long ago, they once were given to those brave few souls who dared to venture to the Changeling hive. The cobwebs on some of the amulets looked fitting.
And then came the Grand Vault. Eons' worth of memories were retained behind this door. Ancient relics of times before Equestria; swords, shields and bows from wars long-forgotten-- it was all there. Scrolls and texts, from Shake Spear to Yearling-- it was all there.
The doors opened. In-person, it was all the more breathtaking. Every shelf and cubby was filled to the brim, overflowing with sashes and satchels and snakeskins and old gin, some neatly labeled and tucked away, while many others remained haphazardly strewn across the room. A single ray of sunlight shone down from the glass-domed ceiling; it was still early in the morning, but that never stopped a scholar.
More recent relics stocked one shelf. A cane of Twilight, a hundred or so teacups, books that communicated across realities-- these were from times that many still remembered. Darkened orbs, a staff of storms-- some were collected to serve as reminders.
Even then, nothing can ever truly last forever.
Beneath the Vault's floor lay the remains of things that came to pass; a pedestal for a being of chaos, the goggles from one very loyal pony, an old, faded photo of a quaint apple orchard-- not everything could stay as it was, no matter how hard one could try.
Crowns of old, of day and night; two regal sisters who brought the nation its light. One fought the other, and was banished out of fright. When she returned, her future looked bright.
But then again, even they couldn't last forever. One should always expect that-- ever doesn't always mean never.
A crystal heart; a heart of flurries. This one once sheltered an empire from worry. Once stolen, but later returned; the fall of a king that refused to learn. Try as he might, his rule was overturned.
But ponies come and go, and the heart would finally stop its glow. Sooner or later, the empire was entombed in snow.
A shard of gemstone; a piece one might call elemental. The way this gem's owner ascended, was sometimes called accidental. An unfinished spell, the twisting of fate-- it was the deaths of her friends that she would soon come to hate.
As six turned to five, and five down to four, the mare would retire, she would rule the land no more.
Four turned to three, but it was something she could foresee. The great generosity of that mare was celebrated with a special jubilee.
Three down to two, the only friend left, was the pink one-- at that old age, she had long since grown deaf.
Two down to one, and the Twilight was done. A thousand years' flee, from all responsibility.
A nation fell, an identity shattered; in the end, they realized that it was each other that mattered. Old Equestria was remembered, while a new nation flourished, sparked from the old's embers.
Chaos once returned; a broken mad goddess, drunk on her power, inherited on a promise. She was the last friend, one that hid away; she was an old one, her mane long since turned grey.
But the promise was kept, the mare would live on. She was powerless to help, when her loved one was gone. Confused and enraged; the mare that didn't age couldn't handle it, her reality became disengaged.
And so fell the madmare, that being of chaos, banishing herself to a realm never found, always lost.
She never did know what happened to the Twilight, for that mare was long gone, having vanished in the night.
With that, the Vault is closed, and the journey goes deeper. Watch your step now, the next place is much steeper.
The faux-rock stands tall, imitating the old Mount Canterhorn's walls. The recreated castle stands here, before its fall. This model's enchanted, one step above all; little ponies and creatures run amok, their activities may enthrall, but their representation is incomplete, if the Collector may recall.
Watch the mother and child cross the street. Watch the cart-stallion hand out his treats. Watch the sun rise high in the sky, and at night, the moon comes, to many a foal's delight. Yes, this model is fine, its creatures none the wiser, but if its enclosure may break, it shall burst like a geyser.
These volatile displays were kept safe and sound. Had it not been for the Old Collector, they'd be nowhere to be found. He brought these here, for all to see; for ponies of all ages, there was no entry fee.
But that was the past, and now is the present. There is no collection, for it is no longer under protection. Rooms stand empty and looted, their value now commuted. The collection's been ravaged, as decades passed on; there is nothing to salvage, for everything's now gone.
Look to the Vault-- its gems are now gone. Its gold has been melted, likely even pawned. What's left are six pedestals. Not even their memories live on.
Twilight Sparkle, the last Alicorn of Old Equestria, bowed her head, placing her dull crown on her pedestal.