“Do you know what’s worse than feeling unwanted? Feeling like you don’t matter. For aeons I was the custodian of dreams. I policed, maintained and created them...

And now I find that ponies have managed perfectly well without my intervention for over a millenium. If their minds create dreams almost as intricate as the ones I made, what use am I?”

“But you’re not unwanted,” she says with that soft voice of hers, which wipes out any arguments I was going to make.

But she’s not done. “You could always write some dreams for me... if that’s okay with you.”