The original reason for setting up this scraps story in the first place and yet I never posted it...

Marmite Showers had a black and yellow mane. It had been a beautiful mane. Lush, shimmering, styled to perfection. The very epitome of the equine coiffure. He had loved that mane. Adored it. Cared for it. Given it his every waking moment.

Had.

Now the black and yellow strands of what had once been his most treasured possession in all the earth littered the ground around his feet. The grass was thick with the bristly remains of his crinière, a million lustrous threads immersed in the sticky brown apocalypse that had flowed forth from the package he had, just moments earlier, attempted to deliver to one Twilight Sparkle.

Her eyes shone blacker than the blackest depths of those shattered jars now slowly sucking the soul from his shaven pate, the remnants of her magic glowing in their inky depths, to be extinguished like the last sputtering embers of Marmite's self-worth.

"I hate that stuff," she said, and slammed the door.