[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

[Epithet]

Across the sea

A pale moon rises

The ships have come to carry you home

Epithet

 
The log wiggled.
 
Yes, the log.
 
Epithet moved and  cracked her neck, stretching up her wings (which were now made of dingy brown bark-colored feathers) and stretched out her legs, revealing the odd log shape she had taken while she had chosen to take a nap. Boredom and lack of activity had caused her to practice her magic, but then, on the off chance that she would be caught unawares, she had turned herself into a log to settle down for a rather long nap. She blinked, her lashes created of moss and lichen that had tinged such a graceful log, so perfectly unstepped on by the filly named Wonka, that they looked like fuzzy green caterpillars above her eyes… Or maybe the extraverted makeup that one sees on a totally fabulous drag queen.
 
Shaking, she stood up, her barkness remaining about her as she settled back into an equid form…-a wooden, barky equid form-, and she moved her head to also avoid being hit by the stone that had been thrown off the back of the filly’s head. Unfortunately, she was not successful, and made an audible “oof” noise to note her rather sudden discomfort as it fell to the ground at her feet. Spying the direction that the stone had come from, Epithet narrowed her eyes to spot a tiny fog with an even tinier crown on his head, hopping off into the trees. As he passed the bushes into what he believed to be the cover of protection, she willed the trees to reach out and slap his little slimy behind, to show that he was not as stealthy as his little froggy butt thought he was. He was a frog after all.
 
However, she said nothing to the filly, and instead made a rather interesting wuffling noise to her, speaking with a lyrical voice that belied her rather ragged exterior. “Thank you for not stepping on me. Sleep was kind of necessary, especially considering the season. Not much to do these days. I’m Epithet. Pleased to meet you, Wonka.”