This is chaotic, absurdist fiction. Or true art. Or utter garbage. You decide! Warning: may actually contain meaning.
Those who came here for Derpestia or Derpy, skip to Chapter Zero.
[trigger warning: don't lose your way]
This is a tail of fate and freedom, yet another iteration of the Myss of Sysiphus, the Equine Comedy perpetuating itself: with no end in sight there, is only the journey. Will Derpy and Celestia's Love, Friendship, Agape and Storge prebail against the B.R.o.T.H.? Will Truth, Justice, and the Equestrian Way win against the Forces of Evil? Whatever happens, don't stop beliebing; hold on to that feeling, you screenlight poeple!
My first story in this continuity. Apologies, but I'm not a Nobel-Prize worthy writer—yet. Even my summaries are still imperfect, so apologies for that too. This story's a bit of a slow starter, but I promise it gets better after Chapter X—which I haven't written yet, I'll replace "X" with the right number once we get there, together, dear reader, you and me. Of course, if you don't like it, please don't read it; I do not wish to inflict needles suffering on fellow sentient beings—I hope that, in some parallel universe, a pony is reading this.
This broth is owned by too many cooks for me to list or even care, so sue me. Yeah, I'm not even listing the proofreaders, they knew what they were getting into when they signed on for this mission; I'll remember them so you don't have to.
Currently being rewritten: from its broken fragments will be forged a newer, better, successor story, like Anduril seceded Narsil. Indeed, the Flame of the West will succeed the Sun/Moon upon their ascension. But that is a story for another story.
Tagged "teen" for adolescent humour and juvenile taste. Not to be cofused with Juvenalian Satire... or is it? (DUN DUN DUUUUN!)