[open] come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination;

[Wonka]

I'm fancy asf.

Once upon a time, there was a little bay filly named Wonka. She had a twin sister named Varuca and they had a swirling black hole that they had affectionately dubbed ‘Mother.’ As much as Wonka adored Mother, Mother was never so keen about keeping her or Varuca around; there were at least twenty or thirty other children for her to look after, after all, so when one of them got lost, she simply shrugged it off and made another—such was the case of Number Sixty-Nine.

Fortunately, this wasn’t an episode of Law and Order: MLP Special Victims Unit and no harm came to Wonka. Well, physical harm. The deep emotional wounds and subsequent scarring would last the rest of her life. Despite all that, though, she tried to stay positive. Even after she went on a hike through The World’s Creepiest Forest and ran into some shifty prick who started talking to himself and disappeared. He died or something a few days later. Served him right, it did.

Having survived all of that, Wonka was prancing along through the Meadow one day when she noticed a log lying in her path. She couldn’t go around it because she didn’t feel like it. She couldn’t step over it because she just didn’t feel like lifting her legs that high. Jumping was simply out of the question. This wasn’t the Grand Prix. So she turned around, narrowly dodging a rock that someone had chucked at her head. “How strange,” Wonka said, frowning.

Nearby, The Frog King looked on. He was flanked on either side by his henchmen. A robin named Robin and a rather buff-looking chipmunk named Frank. “One day, boys,” said The Frog King. “One day.” Whipping back his head dramatically, he spun around and hopped off into the woods with his henchmen in tow to scheme and plot and plan and things. Many things.

wonka