Pony's P.O.V.

"Miss Pony, would you care for another drink?"

I looked up at the middle aged waitress, who from her sarcastic tone when saying my name was clearly disgruntled at having to serve someone like me who looked like nothing more than a common farmer girl. "No, thanks. I've had as much as I need." With this, the woman bowed slightly before walking away, muttering to herself; "Dirty farmers on a high class ferry... What is the world coming to..."

I guess I was annoyed, but I found ill-informed comments like hers easy to ignore – I'd spent my whole life around conflict of sorts. You want my sob story? Well, here goes.

My name's Jillian. Jill for short, I suppose, but no matter how you change the name, it just doesn't suit me. I've always worn my hair in two big pigtails, but because my hair's so thick they've always looked like two big ponytails – so I quickly took to telling people to call me Pony. I was born out in the sticks, in a little place called Forget-Me-Not Valley, but I didn't live there for long, so I've never really seen it as "home". I don't remember much about my childhood, other than living in an eyesore of a large mansion where a ranch used to be. Not much ever happened in the Valley, from what I do remember – like I said, it was really out in the boonies. The most eventful thing to take place was the annual Fireworks Festival, but only because the veteran twins in charge of the event would almost blow themselves up each year; I remember laughing at their burnt off eyebrows and charred faces while they explained that they were "real experts at pyrotechnics, we swear!" Other than that, the valley was a place of lazy days by the Turtle's Pond, and pretend yeti hunting up by the spring in Winter. It really was a ridiculously lax place.

I must've only been around four or five years old when that all changed. By night, the Valley would be attacked by strange humanoid creatures with ungodly amounts of power and ruthless strategies, and each time, someone would lose their life. By day, the village folk would be boarding up their windows, while the few who thought themselves brave would venture outside to create makeshift weapons out of anything that could be salvaged – but being such a lax and unprepared village, we truly had nothing for such a task. I remember watching my Father leave every morning whilst my Mother reassured me that he was searching for the latest casualties to lend his aid. We'd both sit watching the door, not knowing whether or not he'd come back – mother tried to hide it from me, but in their state of panic, the village folk became feral. They'd become so afraid that they'd resorted to the mindset of "every man for himself". If they weren't killed by the outsiders, they were killed by each other, and one morning my Father didn't return. All I remember after that is a lot of crying, black clothes, and my Mother sending me away from the ravaged village to a town far away. Its name – Bluebell.

I was never fond of Bluebell. Huge English-style houses everywhere; truly a place for the rich to live. Precisely why I was sent there. As I may have mentioned before, I hate big, fancy houses. My luck with the matter continued to deplete – I was adopted by Bluebell's Mayor, who told me all about the "terrible town" of Konohana which neighboured ours, as well as their "uneducated Mayor". Once again, conflict was the centre of my life.

Growing up, I became increasingly curious of Konohana. One day, when I was twelve, I snuck out of the city of Bluebell and made my way there – and it was beautiful. Oriental houses surrounded by greenery and bamboo stretched out in front of me. It felt truly unfortunate at that point that out of the two towns I could've been sent to, it wasn't this one. Whilst there, I met a girl my own age – Lillian. She'd been adopted by Konohana's mayor, so she was as wealthy as I, but she was lucky enough to be surrounded by such a beautiful place. We hit it off straight away, and made arrangements to sneak out and meet each other every Thursday, if we could help it. It went that way for eight years, until we were twenty years old – that was when I decided to leave. My closest and most precious friend was sad, naturally, but she understood. She knew I hated living in Bluebell. She also knew that I had to go to the town of outsiders that ravaged the land of my "home", though the real reason I was going was in response to an advertisement – there was a vacant farm there, and I wanted to be a farmer, just like Lillian. She sent me on my way, all packed up with my belongings, and gave me some old blue overalls to wear on my journey, which she said once belonged to her birthmother. She bought me first class ferry tickets, albeit against my wishes, and that was goodbye – and just like that, I was en route to find my answers.

So, there you have it. This is yet another tale of two towns, but not the towns of Bluebell and Konohana. This is the tale of the former Forget-Me-Not Valley – its name recently ironically changed to the Forgotten Valley – and the town that was home to the attackers. To be honest, at that point in time I'd be happy just to be off of that ferry – I'd had more than enough of all the well-dressed snobs looking down their noses at me.

Not a moment too soon, the intercom sounded; "Now arriving at Mineral Town beach. Would all passengers with a red-stamped ticket vacate the ferry – we have reached your destination." I stood up from my horribly uncomfortable leather chair as soon as I heard this, though looking around it seemed I was the only one travelling to Mineral Town. I walked through the mahogany door of the ferry and stepped outside into the salty sea air. The sound of my work boots against the steel pier resounded in the dusk, and I sunk into the sand slightly when I stepped on it. I was so tired – I'd been on that ferry since eight in the morning, and by that point it must have been almost nine at night. For a moment, there was a light Autumn breeze, before the beach once again fell into a serene stillness. Maybe it was strange for me to want to be anywhere near to the home of the alleged perpetrators of all that destruction, but the beach was truly scenic at that time in the evening, so much so that I lowered my guard completely. The sound of the waves caressing the shore soothed me against my better judgement to be apprehensive, and the washed up fragments of sea shells glimmered in the light of the moon. At that moment I felt it – I could really make a life here.

I lost track of time staring out into the deep blue, and before long it was almost too dark to see. "I suppose I'd better get going..." I muttered to myself. I took out the slip of paper with my new address on it from the belly pocket on my overalls; I knew where I needed to go. I unsteadily walked through the shifty mustard-coloured sand toward what looked like a dimly streetlamp lit Town Square – at that moment, I heard a strange sound almost like footsteps far behind me. I spun around sharp toward the pier and for an instant – just an instant – I saw the blur of black cloth and a rounded silver blade, before the image before me vanished into the darkness. Then, once again, it was just me, encompassed by the silent, solitary stillness of the beach. My eyes widened with the possibility as the slip of paper fell from my now limp hand.

Did I just see... A reaper?

Note from author: Hey there, this is my first fanfic so I hope you enjoy! :3 Sorry this chapter hasn't been all that eventful; I just wanted to get some background in before I kick off with the actual story. ^^ Reviews of any kind would be much appreciated! ~Nyannygiri