Synopsis: Anon finds himself at the end of the world, but he's not alone.

>You walk across a wasteland of death.
>The flat, dark earth underneath your feet is overcast by an even darker sunless sky.
>Dusky, rolling hills shift in the horizon like mirages.
>And intermittently sprouting out of the ground are blackened, decaying trees—if you can even call them trees—that struggle to even match up to your neckline.
>The only noise that graces your ears in this expanse is the cold, howling wind that's also buffeting your face.
>You can feel it within your bones—this world is, and forever will be, devoid of life.
>Perhaps life flourished here at some point, but such conjecture means little to you now.
>It's not like you can travel back in time to see it.
>The hopeless atmosphere that oppresses this place is enough to crush anyone's resolve—it has almost crushed yours.
>But there's one thing keeping you going—one thing that's keeping you from lying down and meeting the same fate as rest of this world's past populace.
>Curiosity.
>Because you see a shining beacon in the far distance.
>The tower of azure light that it emits soars high into the sky—a stark contrast to this otherwise-bleak and colourless landscape.
>And so you push onwards—stepping across the cracked dirt and over the lumps of rock that litter it.
>As you do, you begin to wonder what exactly this place is.
>Why were you brought here?
>*How* were you brought here?
>Could this be a Limbo of some kind?
>Or Hell?
>You struggle to recall your last moments before waking up in this place; it almost feels as if your past is growing blurrier with every passing second.
>If you were to fall asleep here, what would you wake up to?

>As you draw closer to the source of the light, you can slowly make out its shape.
>It looks like…a large round table.
>Perhaps a sign of a past civilisation?
>Once you get over there, maybe you can finally get some answers.
>And then you can…you can…
>You're not sure.
>Eventually, you make your way over to the table; it takes a few minutes, or maybe it was a few hours—it's hard to tell. Time itself seems to have lost all meaning in this place.
>As you examine the table, you find it…curious; from afar, it seemed to shine like an azure star, but up close—it appears dull and dilapidated, with not a glimmer of light emitting from it.
>You rest your hand upon the table's rim; it's covered with a thick layer of dust, and underneath that—it's hard and bumpy.
>It seems to be carved out from rock—no, crystal?
>And upon closer inspection, you notice that this table's surface is far from flat; there appear to be all sorts and sizes of bumps layered over the table top.
>Upon clearing away some more of the dust, you uncover what appears to be a topographical map of some kind; it protrudes out of the table's surface like a 3D-printed model.
>You spy miniature mountains and replica ravines all across this crystalline chart of the world.
>Unfortunately, unless there's an "endless expanse devoid of life" section on the map that you're glossing over, you wager that it's past its expiration date.
>Once upon a time, you can imagine that this table would be right at home in a fancy establishment of some kind—maybe a noble's mansion or a medieval castle.
>You can see it now—the lord (or lady) of the house and their closest associates, gathered around a table just like this; they'd discuss the evolving, ever-changing matters of the world using that fancy map, and they'd sit on those fancy crystalline chairs—
>Oh…the chairs, of course.
>Yes, you've only just noticed it now, but there are chairs around this table, too; they appear to be made of the same crystalline rock as the table itself.
>Although, unlike the table, the chairs seem to be in a much worse shape; in fact—you'd be stretching the term to even call them "chairs" in their current state.
>A few of them are turned up or on their side, and all of them have eroded away quite heavily in some fashion; you count only three of them still standing.
>Needless to say—any potential occupants to these seats have long since left this realm.
>Well, except for one.

>There's one chair that's in a better shape than the rest—it's the only one with an in-tact back.
>You see a symbol adorning the top of its back; it's partially faded, but it looks like a star.
>But what really catches your eye is what lies on the seat of this chair; you see what appears to be a decently-sized stuffed animal slumped against the back.
>With its equine features and a horn atop its head—you wager that it's meant to be a unicorn.
>It has dusty, lilac-coloured fur and a deep purple mane with turquoise accents that's done up in a front-end bang; its mane billows about in the harsh wind.
>How curious; while you can understand these crystalline structures being able to survive in this wasteland—how is this toy still intact? And who left it here?
>The more questions that arise in your head—the more you find yourself strangely enchanted by its visage, unable to look away.
>You continue to gaze at it, and it continues to lay slack against the chair—lifeless, blinking…
>Blinking…
"A-ah!" you gasp.
>Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest for the first time in what feels like aeons.
>That's no stuffed animal.
>It slowly lifts its head up to look at you in response to your surprised yelp.
"Y-you…you're…uh…"
>It gazes at you with bored, blue eyes.
>"Hmph."
>It looks you over with an indifferent, unchanging expression before speaking up again.
>"Haven't seen one like you yet."
>That voice…you recognise it as feminine—dry as the tone may be.
>Its head slumps back down as it once again stares at the ground underneath the table, having seemingly lost interest in you already.
>You take a deep breath to recollect yourself before you address…her.
"'One like me?' Are there others?"
>"No. I'm the only one here, and the only one who ever will be here," she responds without looking at you.
>You give her a quizzical glance before her words sink in.
>It's likely that she doesn't think you're real—perhaps a delusion brought on from the maddening desolation of this place.
>It would certainly explain her nonchalance.
>And perhaps yours, too.

>Still, if she's willing to at least acknowledge your presence in some form, then maybe you can get some answers out of her.
"Do you know where we are?"
>She takes a small moment to respond, her eyes flickering ever-so briefly.
>"…This is the end."
"What do you mean 'the end?' What happened here?"
>"This is the end of Equestria—the end of everything."
>She shuts her eyes briefly and sighs.
>"And…"
>After a few seconds, she raises her head again to stare at you; her gaze appears to be slightly more focused this time—more lucid.
>"I did this."
>At that moment, it feels as if the roaring wind has died down—as if the entire world has stopped to exacerbate the weight of her confession.
>Within this strained silence, you can feel your own heart nervously beat in your chest; *she's* the one who did…all of this? The reason this world is so devoid of life? Of hope?
>A murky cocktail of emotions threatens to well up from within you as a result of her apocalyptic admission.
>Yet, above all else, you find yourself wanting to know more.
>There are a deluge of half-formed questions swirling about in your mind that demand to be asked.
>But there's one pertinent question that stands above the rest.
"How?"
>She shifts her gaze downwards—this time, to look at the round table's map.
>"…Revenge.
>"There was a battle, between myself and…and her."
>She frowns.
>"She claimed that her…friends were the sole reason why this world maintained its peace."
>Her brows furrow.
>"Obviously, I didn't believe her. Who would? Who could?
>"So we fought… We fought and fought and fought, until…until…
>"She didn't want to fight any more; she wanted to…understand."
>She lets out a tired huff, shaking her head.
>"As if she ever could…
>"But in that moment of weakness, she let her guard down—just enough that I could grab it."
>She leans forward ever so slightly, extending a forehoof and resting it on the dusty table.
>"I had it—I had the spell. All I had to do was…"
>She quickly flicks her hoof across the table, dispersing some of the dust into the wind.
>"She knew that, so then she tried—one last time—to get me to admit defeat…to give up."
>She lifts her head to look at you once more; her brows are furrowed, yet her eyes betray the slightest amount of watery gloss.
>"I didn't.
>"I tore it up—that fragile bond. And then…
>"She…she failed her Sonic Rainboom. They never got together.
>"And I won."
>Her gaze shifts past you, and she stares into the empty horizon behind you.
>And her next words are but a whisper.
>"I won…"

>Her words hang in this empty world, with you and her being the only ones left who can acknowledge them.
>As you rest a hand on the table, staring up into the dead sky, you reflect on her speech.
>The story she told was one spoken with scattered words, a bitter heart, and a pyrrhic resolution; yet as an outsider to this tale—you could never hope to grasp it in its entirety.
>But while you may not understand the circumstances that had lead up to this point—you fully understand the emotions intoned in her voice.
>You understand them all too well.
>So you circle around the table, one step at a time, to make your way over to her; she shows no sign of acknowledging your presence, instead continuing to stare off into the distance.
>Soon enough, you find yourself standing at her side, gazing at her as she sits on her lone crystal throne.
>And you lean in, slowly wrapping your arms around her body as you bring her into a hug.
>She gasps in response, immediately tensing up.
>"Huh—what?"
>As you rest a hand upon her withers, you can feel that her fur is matted and covered with dust, so you tenderly brush that layer of detritus away.
>And in doing so, you unearth the mare hidden underneath that sullen shell of silt, laying bare the emotions that she has bottled away in her solitude.
>She slowly, shakily reaching up one of her forehooves and touches you.
>"Y-you're…"
>She cautiously turns her head to make eye contact with you; her tearful expression is a mix of uncertainty and incredulity.
>"…Why?"
>You already have your answer.
"You looked like you needed this."
>She takes a deep, shuddering breath.
>"I-I…"
>She sniffles as her eyes begin to water more and more.
>You can feel her body steadily relaxing in your grasp.
>Eventually, she relaxes enough that she can bring herself to lean towards you, cautiously laying her head against your shirt and closing her eyes.
>Gingerly, she wraps one of her forelegs around your back, reciprocating your hug.
>You feel a damp spot forming from where she's resting her head on your shirt, but you don't mind.
>As time passes, what started as quiet, restrained sniffles soon turn into cathartic, wailing sobs as she expels everything that she's held back until this point.
>Her tears are a tempestuous kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions.
>And yet, despite the freezing cold of the biting wind and the dampness of her tears, the warmth that you two share right now outshines everything else in its intensity.
>Neither of you say anything; nothing more needs to be said.
>Because at the end of everything…
>You'll be there for her.