> Dark Pink
>  by False Door
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Dark Pink
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pony everyone knows as Pinkie Pie is dead. For a time, I was the only one who knew this, and I knew this because I killed her. Who am I? I have a name, but it's of no consequence now, an unremarkable Changeling who was in the right place at the right time.
Hers was not a flashy, grandiose death befitting a member of the Mane Six, as I've come to know them. No, it was short and quiet and dare I say, pitiful. It was during the Canterlot siege. I'd stolen a pony likeness; I remember, it was her friend, Rarity's. The rest of the brood was executing the same tactic on enemy forces. It's a time tested method for causing confusion. In the heat of battle, a pony can't tell friend from foe. We Changelings though, we can smell our own, no matter how we appear on the outside. I was so surprised to feel her neck crack beneath my hooves, to see the life vanish from her eyes. That sound sticks with you.
Despite our desperation, our forces were beaten back and I had the sickening sensation that we’d be scattered and sent home soon. Back to the Hive to lick our wounds. Back to unending starvation in a tightly sealed jar. Back to a society that crushes you if you stop to catch your breath. I could only imagine what the penalty back home would be after our inevitable rout.
To think that I, a mediocre soldier, had levied such a devastating, though late, blow that even the queen herself could not land. I don’t believe in fate, but I have no other way to describe it.
The moment she left this world, I did not see the crest of a turning tide. I saw a waste… and I saw freedom. In that instant, my good sense left me and I leapt into the unknown.
Out of sight during the chaos of battle, I took her likeness and rubbed her blood into my coat to mask my scent. My new pink fur hid the stains quite well. I concealed her body in the courtyard the best I could under the circumstances, knowing I'd have to address it later to secure my plan.
In an extremely brazen, nay, foolhardy move, I grouped with the enemy and fought the Hive. My exploits were enough to convince both sides of my feigned allegiance. 
The queen's numbers had diminished significantly and mere moments later I heard the high pitched trill of the retreat command. I watched, panting as Changeling forces reverted form and broke off the attack, taking to the air. I had done it. I had emancipated myself. Or had I?
I stumbled through the Canterlotian victory fanfare and the ensuing wedding that we had tried to sabotage, drinking and slapping backs with my enemies, ponies I would have killed without hesitation just hours earlier. I was an actor in a play I had never even heard of, much less rehearsed. My demeanor was largely excused, as many others behaved the very same, absent and glassy-eyed after the tumult of a bloody battle.
I almost missed a celebratory obligation that I of course wasn't aware of until Twilight Sparkle urgently reminded me. Surreptitiously I fished for details about what I was supposed to do and where my confetti cannon, as it were, had gone. I did it though. I made it through. To my own disbelief, I made it through the day.
My nose stung with the stench of mass cremations as they burned my kind in piles around the city and we boarded the train to wherever it was that I lived now. On the journey I listened intently to the conversations of the ponies sitting around me, who were apparently all Pinkie Pie’s close friends. I wasn’t a trained spy or a scout but I gleaned what I could, speaking only when necessary and laughing weakly when appropriate.
“Yer awfully quiet,” accused the one in the hat, with a knee nudge to my side.
For a moment, I panicked, interpreting the gesture as hostile or suspicious. “Am I?” I laughed. “Guess I’m just tired from all the excitement.” And thus, my go-to excuse was born, the explanation for whenever I failed at being Pinkie Pie. An excuse that I’d later come to find completely meritless for a pony with boundless energy, optimism, friends, and everything else I don’t have.   
My eyes warily scanned over the Ponyville station, mind flailing for something familiar and comfortable to lean on. This weird colony was where I lived now.
I got Twilight to walk me home for the express purpose of finding out where home was. Imagine my dismay when I saw Sugarcube Corner and came to understand that it was not only my place of work, but also where I lived. When I saw the flamboyant decor of my new room, I could do nothing but sigh and close my eyes for a long time.
“I can do this,” I whispered. "I've made it this far."
I spent the whole day poring over photos and memorabilia from Pinkie Pie’s bedroom, trying to piece together the life I’d stolen, revealing the part I’d be playing… forever. Friends… Family… A rock farm and parties. So many parties.
That night, I began reading cookbooks in the kitchen, trying to familiarize myself with my new career which I had little previous experience in. I didn't know what was important so I tried to read everything. I opened every drawer, every cabinet, memorizing where things were in order to appear as normal and capable as possible in the morning when I started work at… I didn’t even know. The hours of operation in the window said eight, but my alarm clock was set for seven.
"Oh, Pinkie," came a voice that startled me from my reading. "What are you doing up?"
I looked to see Mr. Cake drifting into the kitchen with a warm smile on his face. He was the co-owner of the establishment and my employer. I knew that much.
"Just looking for something new to try," I offered awkwardly.
"Didn't see much of you today," he said, stopping to look deep in my eyes.
The gaze made me feel uncomfortable, like he was peering inside my hiding place but the smell coming off of him was intoxicating.
He ran a hoof softly through my mane. "Glad you're safe, Pinkie," he sighed.
Just then, his spawn cried from somewhere distant, drawing his attention from me. He looked back and smiled. "Don't stay up too late," he breathed before hurrying away.
Before he got too far, I opened my mouth and took in some of the love that was radiating off of him. Euphoria… I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt satiated and fulfilled like this. I closed my eyes and sighed, telling myself this was all going to be worth it.






 
I burned many things and confused tablespoons with teaspoons, making some overly salty dishes. I was moved to occupy the front counter until I could get my “head straight.” Work of course was not the only facet of my new life that I was failing in. The only time I’d interacted with Pinkie Pie was our short bout on the battlefield. I knew nothing of what she was like, but the more time I spent with her friends, the more I came to realize that she was everything I wasn’t.
Any time I miss a giggle or refuse a cupcake, they're quick to ask if everything is okay. Because I'm not acting the way I should and something must be wrong and they're correct. Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. ‘Anything you need,’ they’d say. ‘I'm here for you.’ Right, what a cruel joke. I’d never be able to explain my real issues to anyone.
Even if I can remember to act in character, I simply don’t have energy to waste on bouncing and yelling and smiling without cause. I don’t like talking, especially not with creatures I don’t know, and I don’t like parties. My incongruities and gaffs while slowly feeling out Pinkie Pie were putting the spotlight on me and compounding my fears and frustrations. I found myself having to leave stressful situations to go cry in the bathroom or a handy closet. On work breaks, I was more likely to go upstairs and scream into my pillow. I had chosen the wrong life. This was a mistake.   
When you defect from the Hive, you become their enemy. If you return or are found, you are killed on site… if you're lucky. A Changeling cannot live as a hermit; we are hardwired to seek community and without it we whither. A Changeling cannot live as a Changeling amongst ponies. At best they would never be accepted, but more likely run out of town or lynched. I had ventured out of where I belonged and become trapped here. There was no one who would defend me anywhere, not the real me.
I began fantasizing about bailing on playing Pinkie Pie and becoming someone easier. Fluttershy was quiet and lived alone and secluded from town, yet she was still part of the community. She was weak. It would be easy to do away with her in secret. But… something about it didn't feel right. Why should she have to pay for my mistakes? I could leave Ponyville, insinuate myself in a society of different creatures if I could find them, but that was just another roll of the dice and all the other creatures that came to mind were caustic and loveless compared to ponies. I could just become a new pony, one that no one knows. I could act how I like, but I'd have to start from nothing in a society I was struggling to navigate. At the end of my delusions, I always sighed and shook my head. The love I consumed at Sugarcube Corner was unique, plentiful, and impossible to leave.







I made it a month before my cover was blown. It happened the way I thought it would. I was expected at the Pie family's rock farm. It was with no small amount of dread that I acquiesced. They made me Pinkie's favorite dish, which I managed to consume without visibly retching. I made small talk over surface level topics. I wandered aimlessly around the halls of their home, doing reconnaissance on the layout, photographs and personal effects.
It was difficult to gauge how my ruse was going over with Pinkie's close family. I think the angry sister believed I was on a substance. The parents and the silent one were bewildered but seemed to shrug it off well enough.
The stoic sister was the problem. I heard the door click shut behind me as I gazed out the second story window over the odd boulder sitting above the mine entrance. I turned to see the inexpressive monotone one.
"You're not Pinkie," she charged bluntly. "Who are you?"
The words sent ice through my veins. "What are you talking about?" I almost called her 'Maud' but I wasn't entirely sure the name was correct. It wasn't worth the risk.
"If you're Pinkie, what did you get for Boulder for his birthday last year?"
I hung my head in defeat. I didn't even know who Boulder was. "I'm a Changeling," I muttered softly.
"Show me," she demanded flatly.
I allowed my guise to lapse, revealing my true form for only a moment. Her expression did not change.
"Where is Pinkie?" she droned.
My eyes darted back to the window as I mentally prepared to leap through and fly away to some other life… or demise.
"She's dead," I breathed. "She died at the Canterlot siege."
Maud dropped her eyes and stared at the floor silently for a long time. When she finally looked up again, I saw tears sparkling on her cheeks. "Was it you? Did you kill her?"
"Yes," I admitted. "It wasn't personal or malicious. If it hadn't been her, it would have been me."
She shook her head, lips trembling. "Why are you doing this? Are you a spy?"
"No, nothing like that. I just wanted to escape the Hive. I saw an opportunity and I took it. And as you can see, I’ve clearly shouldered more than I can handle."
"You're just going to pretend to be my sister for the rest of your life?" she asked.
I nodded. "It sounds insane when you put it like that but… yes, that was the plan."
She stared into me with a silent but intense hatred. I inched backward, ready to take flight.
"If you really want to be Pinkie Pie, you need my coaching."
I was absolutely stunned. That was the last thing I'd expected to come out of her mouth. "Y-you want to help me?" I stammered.
"I don't want to," she replied. "But I realize that it's in my best interest to. Mother has a weak heart. If she knew one of her children was dead, it would kill her. You took my favorite pony from me and I hate you for that, but I'm too pragmatic to destroy everything else I love just to get you."
Uncomfortable as it was, an alliance with one of Pinkie Pie's sisters was exactly what I needed. She taught me Pinkie's full name, her family and history, her mannerisms and personality, and the operations of the farm. She covered for me for the rest of my visit. We stayed in secret correspondence through the mail. I wrote to her whenever I had questions. We grudgingly shared the burden.
Gradually I became better at my job and my impersonation to the point where things didn't seem to be better or worse than the Hive, just different. But overall that still means generally very unpleasant. I was still deceiving in a constant state of vigilance. I still was never me. In a way, Pinkie was still alive and I was the one who had died. I no longer existed anywhere, but she did, if only as a lie.
I got better at watching the Cake's spawn while they were away. Though I'll admit that much of my talent in this area was due to being able to freely adopt the likeness of either parent or even some other form that the twins found amusing. They would keep my secret. My success gave me confidence and I even started to enjoy foalsitting, volunteering for the task.
I put the twins to bed one night when Mrs. Cake was away on business in the city and Carrot Cake was working on after hours bookkeeping. I leaned into the crib, listening to their quiet breathing. When I was sure they were both asleep, I crept out and quietly closed the door.
I gasped softly as a foreleg slipped around the back of my neck. I could not fully turn my head to see before Carrot Cake’s lips smothered my own. Caught completely off guard, I shrank back.  
He pulled away from me abruptly. "What's wrong," he asked worriedly.
"Nothing," I replied quickly. "You just… surprised me."
“Sorry,” he laughed. “It’s been a while.” 
He leaned in close again. I pressed my lips to his aggressively, determined to convey my eagerness in the act as with all things I do now.
"C'mon," he breathed, taking my hoof. He led me to my bedroom. We continued our embrace on the tousled sheets of my mattress as I tried to keep up. 
So that’s what it is, I thought, finally having an epiphany. I didn’t know what to make of his physical attention from the day I got there. Him touching my tail, my mane. I don’t know the meaning behind these gestures or their contextual appropriateness in pony culture. He was one of my earliest, closest ponies to model behavior from and I just thought it was a typical everyday pony thing.
Changelings do not have a joining ceremony or a construct of breeding exclusion between parties. In the Hive, drones service the queen for breeding purposes and occasionally workers service the drones as a biological necessity, an outlet. I understood enough of pony culture to see that the Cakes were supposed to be joined in such an exclusive breeding contract, but apparently Carrot does not honor the agreement, nor did Pinkie Pie respect it as a third party.
I found it difficult to feel apprehensive about a taboo that was not culturally ingrained in me. All I knew was that this coupling was in character and I wanted his love. It all made sense now, the love in this place that I was subsisting on. There was the love between Mr. And Mrs. Cake, the love between them and their spawn. But the greatest of all was Mr. Cake's love for Pinkie Pie. It wasn’t that their relationship was intrinsically stronger or passionate. It was that it was directed straight at me and I had never felt that before. It was the most intense and wonderful sensation I’d ever experienced. No wonder Chrysalis had tried to replace Cadance.
Pony and Changeling anatomy are comparable and so are their breeding rituals apparently, at least on a basic level. I wasn't completely lost here, but I was tense and nervous all the while. Though ultimately I was relieved to find the logistics were not dissimilar to what I'd experienced with drones in the Hive and shockingly… more enjoyable. It was so slow and soft and methodical. There was much more mandible wrestling than I'm used to but I could get used to it.
Afterwards, we laid facing one another, his chin on my head. "You felt different inside," he breathed in my ear, stroking my mane.
I was unsure of what this meant, but it put me in a state of unease as it seemed he was possibly suspicious of my disguise. How could he detect that I was different inside? Was this some sort of pony sense that I was not aware of? "Is that good or bad?" I asked warily.
"Just different,” he replied indifferently. “Are you doing exercises or something?"
His question only further confused me as I was unsure of how exercises could change someone's inner being. "Yes," I answered, just wanting any viable excuse for his perceived anomaly.
"Did something happen?" he asked abruptly.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. You just seem to be in a fog; have been for a while now."
"Oh, have I? I dunno," I added flippantly.
He laughed weakly. "As long as everything's okay."
When he turned over, I feasted on his love, making sure to cut myself off and not leave him hungover. He slept next to me until he had to leave and tend to his spawn, but then he came back and stayed with me till morning.
That night marked a turning point for me or perhaps it is best described as an event horizon. The more time I spent with Carrot and the more of these rendezvouses we had, the more I realized that I didn’t just want the love he provided; I wanted him specifically with or without his sustenance. I wanted an exclusive relationship as the ponies did. 
I was mixing cake batter in the kitchen when I discovered this and subsequently realized that no matter what, I could never have him. He was married. I was a Changeling deceiving him. He loved Pinkie Pie. He didn’t even know me. If I showed myself to him, he’d probably find me repulsive. I was just basking in a dead pony’s glow like a parasite. I tried to keep my emotions inside to at least finish the batter but I couldn’t. Tears began to stream down my face and I ran, sobbing up the stairs to my room.
I smelled the pillow where he’d lay his head when he came to my bed and I wept uncontrollably. I couldn’t even understand what was happening inside me. Changelings don’t feel like this and I’m certainly not a pony. What am I? 
I was inconsolable for days. Of course there was no one I could talk to about it. I thought about writing to Maud but I was afraid of how she would react to hearing that her sister was having an affair with her married employer and that I was posthumously continuing it in her name.
I began fantasizing again, this time about replacing Mrs. Cake which I know would have only been a lateral move, not to mention selfishly destructive. What happens if I let Pinkie Pie disappear too? What about her family and the Mane Six and all the stupid parties? Why can I just not care?
 My life here was a house of cards that I'd already built much too high to change design. I'm not Pinkie Pie and I never will be, no matter how hard I try. But regardless of the mantle I'd taken, shouldn't I still be able to write my own story? Doesn't everypony have the capacity for change and growth? Couldn't Pinkie start liking salads more than cake? Couldn't she skip a party to catch up on sleep? Couldn't she destroy a marriage to steal a mate?
I'm so sick of this cage. I wanted to scream at the next Six meeting, tell them everything, let it all sort itself out and then I would have all the answers. Then I would be free. Maybe they wouldn't even put me to death. Hadn't I done enough to earn their trust, and even proved my value to their cause? Their lives had been in my hooves. We'd defeated foes together. They'd been alone with me, had their backs to me, even slept in the same carriage as me. Within my capacity, I'd pretended to be a caring friend sometimes. I hated Chrysalis as much as them. Even the Element of Laughter had accepted me, which honestly raised many questions about how the elements work in my mind. By my own right, I should have a place here and they were lucky to have me.
I was a Changeling. I killed the real Pinkie Pie but so what? I was following orders. So was she. We knew the rules and risks of the game. Surely someone could understand that. Why couldn't I let them see the real me?
Because of the love.







There was not one point during my time as Pinkie Pie that I wasn't lost or conflicted. My mind always churned with a dark, bitter brine. Staring down at Pinkie's motionless body, panting, ears burning with screams, I couldn't have foreseen a future like this, and daily I'd revisit the question: was it worth it? Where would I be right now if I had just gone back to the Hive with my head hung low like all the rest?
In the park one day, I saw a magic show and I was captivated. I stayed through the whole performance. When it was over and the magician was alone, I approached her with many questions. I had an idea. I posed a similar problem to mine and asked her if she could help and she said yes, for the right price.
I wrote to Maud about my idea and waited by the mailbox every day until I got a response. She hated it, said it was "vulgar and offensive", but at the same time she understood why I wanted to try it and remained open to it.
I returned to the magician and spoke openly at length with her, told her my real issue and even admitted to her that I was a Changeling. She didn't care as long as I had the money and reaffirmed that she could probably help me.
With the terms of the agreement set, I conferred with Maud and invited her to come and assist with the project. She came as soon as she could and one night the three of us packed into the magician's wagon with the shades drawn.
At a little table, Trixie rifled through the stack of papers we'd prepared which contained every important detail for recreating Pinkie Pie. "Okay," she muttered to herself. "Wow. You're really serious about this. This is not going to be a short session."
"This had better not be a scam," glowered Maud in the flicker of the candle light.
"I assure you that there is no trickery here," she replied haughtily. “The only question is how well it will work on a particular subject. I must warn you, though, there exists a possibility of relapse. If something happens to uncover a repressed memory of the subject's former self, it could trigger a catastrophic identity crisis."
"I'm already having a catastrophic identity crisis," I argued wearily.
"Very well, then," she replied, stacking the papers in front of her. "Let us begin." Trixie dangled a pocket watch between us with her magic and began to swing it back and forth. "Watch the watch and listen to the sound of my voice."
The pocket watch swayed in time like a metronome as Trixie spoke in a calm, even tone. "Clear your mind and listen to my voice. Your muscles are relaxing and your eyes are getting heavy. Soon you will drift off to sleep."
I let my eyes lose their focus and saw a blurry arc as the watch reflected in the candlelight. Exhaling, I let my eyes rest for a moment. When I opened them again, all I could see was blue. I blinked and then the blue blinked.
"Oooooooo!" marveled Pinkie Pie. "A new friend?"
"Ack!" I recoiled from the pony whose face was an inch from mine and tipped back, almost falling over. "Not exactly," I gasped, righting myself in my chair. 
Pinkie hopped haphazardly down from the table and into the chair across from me behind an array of cakes and sweets. She slid a plate my way with a solitary pink cupcake riding atop it. It came to a stop right in front of me. "It's a special occasion!" she blasted manically. "We have to celebrate!"
My eyes flicked up from the offering. "I came here to compromise with you."
Pinkie shrugged and screwed up her face. "Some compromise; I'm dead."
"I know, but your friends and family aren't. They always seem to be sad and worried about you. I thought this might make a better situation for everyone."
Pinkie took a bite out of an uncut vanilla cake. "I'm not the real Pinkie Pie, silly filly. I'm just the collective mental manifestation of an on paper description that you're projecting your own inner misgivings on."
"I know," I sighed, looking around the completely white and featureless space we inhabited. "But for me and pretty much everyone except Maud, you will be the real Pinkie Pie from now on. I wish I could ask you how you felt about Carrot Cake, though. That's something we'll never know. I didn't have the guts to explicitly outline our relationship in front of your sister so who knows how all that will turn out."
She finished licking off all the vanilla frosting from the empty plate and then looked thoughtful. "Maybe a better question to ask is how Carrot Cake feels about you."
"Or maybe it's best to never ask those questions at all," I backpedaled.
"You could try implanting that desire in me right now," she suggested, eying the next plate.
I dubiously cocked my head to one side. "Wait, would that work?"
"I-unno," she shrugged again before sucking down an entire chocolate eclair. "Like you said, the me you see is the me you'll be. Hey, that rhymes!" she giggled. "Maybe if it's something you think is really really important, I'll remember it."
"Okay," I nodded. "Worth a try… You're having an affair with Carrot Cake and you're okay with that for now." That's very important to remember. I don't want you to be blindsided by that fact. As for your feelings about him…" I pondered for a moment, weighing the two sides of the longing and the catharsis, unable to declare a clear winner. It was so difficult on the spot like this. Good, bad or just different. I looked back at her and smirked. "Let's just see what happens."
"Okie dokie loki!" she mumbled through a mouthful of mixed pastries. "You gonna eat that cupcake now or what?" 
I looked down at the pink frosted cupcake before me. "Yeah," I breathed. I picked it up carefully and hoisted it to my open mouth. Then I took a big bite like I really meant it.




"I t  '   s    t     o      o       s̵̗̏ ̶͖̈ ̶̟̽ ̷̩̇ ̸̦͘ ̸̘͂ ̷̟͋ ̶̙̈ ̸͇̅w̶͓̎ ̵͎́ ̷̻͠ ̶͉̊ ̸̨̿ ̸̘͗ ̴̹̊ ̵̩͑ ̸̨̒ ̴̨͌ê̷̱ ̸͕͝ ̴̝̚ ̶̖̐ ̶͓̿ ̸͇̑ ̷̫͝ ̶̪̿ ̴͉̀ ̶̞̓ ̸̜͠ȩ̷̓ ̵̱̇ ̸̛̼ ̸̙̄ ̸̦̋ ̷̲̅ ̸̭̕ ̶̪͒ ̸͖͛ ̵͕͆ ̴̲͗ ̵̯̐t̷̄ͅ ̷̤̅̔̕͝ ̵̠́̄ ̵̡͕̣̰͋̕ ̴̲͕̫̟͠ ̵̳͉̏͜ ̴̰͎̺̀̔ ̴̘̝̘̀͊̀ͅ ̴̘͎̗̈̋̈́͛ ̵̱̿̄̐́ ̵̮̺̏͑̆̍ ̷̡̯͙̓̄̑̆ ̸̧̲̤̃̈́̆̿.̶͕̩̽̍͠ ̴̙̍̐͘͠ ̸͕͓̰͋̈́̓̍ ̵͓̖̭̖̍̇̈́̊ ̵̖̜̥̰̈́̂ ̷͍͓̯̙̓̽ ̴̳͓̆̎ ̵̝̾̆̔ ̶͚̈́ ̸̦͒ ̵̤͝ ̸͍̼̠͊ ̶͕̭̙͓́̀̃ ̸͚̳̯͑.̷̺̦͔̎͗̍̕ ̵̡̭̍̈́̊ ̶̠̮̆̄͑͑ ̷̫͗̈̓̍ ̴̗̿͐̑͝ ̶̘̺̙͑̐̇͘ ̵̡̤̻̇̉̒ ̵̛͕̯͉͐͂͠ ̷̞͈͍͊̐̈́ͅ ̵̬̺̰̒͆̄͊ ̵̡̛͎͙̄͘ ̶͔̉̿ ̶̛̞̻͆͜ ̵̨͉̑̏͆ ̴̩̗̱̕͜.̵̪̈́̏́́ ̸̩̳̏͒ Ĝ̶̢͙̹̝̫̬̀͒̌̑.̶̨̮̹̾͐͛͂.̶̨̯͇̺̆͆.̷̨̇̽̏͐͆ ̴̉͂́̐̑͝ͅO̷̗̾̂͗͛͋͋͜.̴̢̗̞̥̇̚͝.̸̧͉̗̞̗̓̔̄̂̽.̵̦̞͇̞̘̓ ̸͉̙͈́̏̈̀̔͝ͅO̵̘͈͚̚.̸͔̺̅͂͗.̴̮̩͙̤̝͚̿͒̓.̸̻̱͇̟̪̔̆̓͛̌͘ ̸̛̛̭̫̞̙́͐̽͑D̵̝́.̴̻͗̉̋.̶̟͋̓̍̈́͠.̴̖͖̞͇̲͆͐͘͝ ̵̨̧̳̝̹͇̣͕̠̗͇͉̽̃͗͒̈́̆̔̀̏͊̇̚̚͘̕B̸̡̞̥͓̲͗̀͊͂̓͘͝.̵̡̾̈͂͂͒͐́͐̍͂̅͘͠͠.̵̧̛͚̖͍͕̙̥̪̘̣̠̖͖͋͑̓͘.̵̢̢̮̰̳͚̰͚̰͙̤̆̿ ̴̯̻̠͚̇̈́͗̄Y̷̫͙͙̞̍̈́̃̏̈́̒̂̅̌̈́̎̌̄.̸͇̈͊̇̔͗̈́̌̄͘.̴̣̠̞͖̯̳͉̻̆͂̍͑̑͛͜.̷̙̺̻͋͐̑̔͆̐ ̶̢͉̖̟͈̈́̈́͋̇̈́Ȩ̷̗̪͍̩̿̍͊̾͒̄̚ͅ.̴͉͔̪̗͂͐̒͂͑͗͐͝.̸̢̳͛̏̍͑͊͛̏̒̊̎̑̀͑͂.̷̨̙̳̺͈̩͓̂̓͛͂̏͠͠͝.̴̝̠̟͂̍͋́̑͊͋̇́̌̏̚͝.̶͕͚̙͚̗͉͆͐̐.̸̡̛͍̩͙̱͎̹̤̹̲̞̫̑̇̃̅̓͂̏̌̅̍̚͠.̶͍͂͒͑̍̿͑̏̃̾͆͌͐͘͘.̷̧̛͇̟̮̫͚̮̖͈̈́͑̇̓͑̐̑̇͆̚͝.̸̡̧̛̞͎͚͙̫̱̮̪̳̂͑͌͒̀͆͋̓̔̾.̸̨̨̡̨̗̯̙͍̯͚́̆̔̂̇̔̀̒͂̆̿͛̐͜͝.̴͈̥̮͔͙̭͑̕.̵̨̡̣͖͉͙̮̤̼͈̙͖̳̝͋̄͂̀͊̓̅͜͠.̵̛͔̩̆͑̑̄̎.̷̧̢̦̳͓͚̱̘̞͂͒̀̆̐͌͒̆̎͆̊.̸̛͕̹̜̹̙͓͔̿̔̎̎̒̽̊͝.̷̢̛̛̫̭̟̪̮̦̯̞̠̫͙̙̿̄̈̒̑́̊͊̇̍̑̅̚.̶͓̈́̄͊͂̏̾̐̾.̵̪̬̘̟̗͈̀͒̌̓̚.̵̪̭̟̒.̷̛̲̙̲̞̤̻̲̻̞͖̜̙̘̓̈́͌̉̚͝.̸̨̛̰̫̫̩̰̞̹̥͓̃͑̾́̀́͑̊̉͘͜.̶̧̛̖͉͖͈̳͇̠̲̪̠̠͍̖̉̈́̉̓̊͆̓̃̈́̚̕͝.̸̪̺̫̥̊̔͛̈̿͋̍͠.̸̡̧̛͚̗̮͚̰̻̬̐͆͗͘.̷̞̻̬̞̠̮̗̄̉̅͐͑̋͋͐͂̒͒͠.̷̳͕̬͓̫̜̟͈̠̈̊














"Wake up, Pinkie Pie."