My Dearest Twilight, Luna, and… Unfortunate Trixie,
I write to you now not as your wise and composed ruler, but as a mare who has witnessed too much. The events of the past twenty-four hours have forever changed me. I escaped the truck stop, but my suffering has only multiplied in ways I could never have foreseen.
As I galloped triumphantly into the open air, my mane flowing in the wind, basking in the sweet relief of my newfound freedom, I heard it. A sound that should not be. A sound that haunts me even now.
The slap of bare hooves against asphalt.
I turned. And that is when I saw him.
A stallion—not just any stallion, but a maniac—clad only in a thong that defied all laws of physics and good taste. He was sweating profusely, his eyes alight with the unholy enthusiasm of one who had nothing to lose. He pointed at me, took a deep breath, and screamed:
"PRINCESS CELESTIAAAAA! GET BACK HERE! I NEED YOUR TOENAILS FOR MY COLLECTION!"
I did not think. I did not reason. I ran.
The chase began. Through streets, over highways, across fields of terrified bystanders. The thong-clad menace was fast—too fast. His hooves barely touched the ground, his speed powered by some dark, unholy energy that should not exist. He dodged carts, leaped fences, and at one point, backflipped over a moving train. I teleported once—he teleported too. It was then I knew that I had made a powerful enemy.
In my panic, I sought refuge in a military base, where the guards, seeing my wild-eyed distress, immediately gave me access to the control room. A terrible mistake. In my flurry of alicorn-powered button mashing, I may have accidentally launched a missile.
…Which may have been aimed at a nearby Six Flags amusement park.
…Which definitely exploded.
Twilight, I need you to understand something. I did not mean to nuke Six Flags. I love Six Flags. But one moment, I was trying to escape the Stallion of the Thong, and the next, I was watching a roller coaster cart full of screaming foals fly through the sky like a majestic, flaming phoenix.
The news is already calling it "The Celestial Incident."
I am currently hiding in a hayburger joint, hoping the authorities don't find me. I have covered my wings with a large trench coat and am wearing a pair of cheap sunglasses I stole from a gas station (possibly Trixie's gas station, but I cannot be sure). The stallion in the thong is still out there. I can feel his presence. He is waiting.
Twilight. Luna. Trixie. I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but I do know this: This is the worst week of my life.
If any of you have a plan, please, for the love of Harmony—HELP ME.
Celestia (Fugitive, War Criminal, Survivor of the Thong)