I can feel their eyes on me. Filled with wonder, or awe, or any other range of emotions. Or at least that's what I imagine.
My ears burn. Dams and Sires telling the little foals the legend of me. Ghost stories around a camp fire. Whatever the situation, the story is told. The evil mare in the moon. Though my true identity was lost in history.
And the horrid holiday, dedicated to the horror I cause. Little fillies and colts leaving offerings to me. It's disgraceful.
But it's better to be feared. For now, the knowledge to my presence is there. Even if only a myth, an old pony's tale, my presence is there. In the back of every ponies minds. In books. Whatever it may be.
At least now, I am acknowledged, unlike before.