Commission for The pegasus stares at herself in the mirror. Her own face is a mockery of its once familiar self, contorted by terror and streaked by tears. This might be the last time she sees herself alive. The last time she sees herself whole and intact. Her world spins, somehow at once a dizzying blur and a perfect moment crystal clarity.
The wailing alarm klaxons tear into the pegasus mare's ears, accompanied by the bone-rattling throb as the enormous Raptor's engines beat at the air, struggling to keep it aloft on an inconstant stream of old and repurposed aviation gasoline.
Static-filled orders hiss over partially functioning intercoms. Stripped of all vitality by the failing electrical systems, crackling voices seem like the whispering of the dead. The ghosts of past battles cry out through the ship, crying false and barely comprehensible encouragement to the pegasus ponies who will soon be joining them.
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