The Song of the Mandrake Queen
 
The simple folk of Ponyville
From whence this story hails
Derive a certain perverse thrill
From dark and spooky tales
 
In quiet whispers, some may tell
Of evil they have seen:
A vision from the pits of Hell,
The dreaded Mandrake Queen
 
A banshee made of twisted wood,
Her eyes are jet black holes
She stalks the righteous, hunts the good,
And gobbles up their foals
 
And ponies claim that late at night
Whilst in a pleasant dream
They have been woken in a fright
By her shrill, distant scream
 
Invariably the next day
When folks have heard that sound
A foal, they’ll say, has run away;
But they are never found
 
But she was not always that way,
That dreaded, monstrous mare;
Pure evil walks by light of day
And takes one unaware
 
So gather friends, for now’s the time
As nights grow cold and long,
To hear this cautionary rhyme:
The Mandrake Queen’s sad song.
 
 
CANTO I
 
Across the bridge and down the roads
As cobbles turn to loam
Past the pond with croaking toads
There stood a lonely home
 
And in the home there was a mare
Whose days were full of toil
She cultivated carrots there
In dark and fertile soil
 
Her cutie mark was just the same
As her delicious crop
It even spilled into her name:
They called her Carrot Top
 
She led a very simple life
Monotonous and dull
Enduring much hardship and strife
For one most noble goal
 
Her dreary life had but one light
One reason to exult
One thing that made the sun shine bright:
A darling little colt
 
She was his mom, and he her son
Though she was no one’s wife
She worked until the day was done
To give him a good life
 
He was an energetic boy
Quite perfect in and out
He brought his mother pride and joy
His name was Carrot Sprout
 
Yet their horizon held dark clouds
For just beyond their farm
Beneath the forest’s leafy shrouds
Was one who meant them harm.
 
It started on one bright fall day
As leaves were turning red
When little Sprout was made to stay
At home sick in his bed
 
His mother did not feel concern
The flu was all it was
But as his fever came to burn
It gave his mother pause
 
And when she woke up the next day
Poor Sprout was still quite ill
She knew that she would have to pay
A hefty doctor’s bill
 
She flung open her dusty purse
And laid her money bare
She sighed and mumbled a soft curse
There wasn’t enough there
 
As Carrot Sprout whimpered and cried
While in his bed he laid
She knew she’d have to squelch her pride
And beg the doc for aid
 
She made the long trip into town
And found the doctor there
She set her threadbare coin purse down
And pleaded for his care
 
And though the doc was old and gray,
He also was quite kind
He went to the farm without pay
To see what he could find.
 
Upon arriving at her stead
The doctor tasted fear
The young colt’s tongue was crimson red
His grim ailment was clear
 
He prayed that it was not the case
Ran all the tests he could
They failed, and so he had to face
An outlook far from good
 
He told the colt he’d be okay
And patted his sweet head
He did not have the heart to say
The child would soon be dead
 
But still, the mother had to know
Her son’s impending doom
He tried to blunt the heavy blow
With tact, grace, and aplomb
 
His tone was gentle as he spoke
He was direct, not vague
But still he watched as her heart broke
At news of the Red Plague
 
The weeping mare fell to the floor
Her agony was pure
Through sobs she managed to implore
The doc to find a cure
 
The doctor swore to do his best
To save the colt from harm
Advising water and bed rest,
He left the carrot farm.
 
CANTO II
 
The doctor diligently sought
A cure for Carrot Sprout
But soon it seemed ‘twas all for naught
And time was running out
 
He wrote to colleagues far and wide
Read all the books he had
But none of these sources supplied
Salvation for the lad
 
The doctor was at his wit’s end
And tired to the bone
When he received word from his friend
In distant Griffonstone
 
It seemed the griffons had a brew
For Red Plague and its ilk:
Three cups of frost salts, cold and blue
Mixed with some buttermilk
 
While those two things were common fare
The potion needed more
Its final part was very rare
And steeped in myth and lore:
 
Born from the hearts of windigoes
That brim with icy chill
A flower grown in bitter snows,
The Crystal Daffodil.
 
But some old griffons had the skill
To find the bloom of ice
They’d ship some off to Ponyville
If paid the proper price
 
The letter then went on to state
The flower’s crushing cost
The doctor knew at that high rate
That Carrot Sprout was lost
 
For Ponyville was not a town
Imbued with massive wealth
And none could put the money down
To save the young lad’s health
 
The doctor set the letter down
And though his stomach churned,
He took the long path out of town
To share what he had learned.
 
Meanwhile, the carrot-farming mare
Was doing her utmost
To stop the sick child in her care
From giving up the ghost
 
Her many friends did what they could
To aid her in this task
They came because their hearts were good,
She didn’t have to ask
 
Sprout’s kindly friend from down the way
Brought water from her well
And came to help him pass each day
Her name was Sweetie Belle
 
Though bedridden, young Carrot Sprout
Did not fall to despair
He’d smile and laugh, he’d joke and shout
While in his sweet friend’s care
 
And when poor Sprout needed to sleep
She left most gracefully,
She crept downstairs without a peep
And joined his mom for tea
 
As they were sharing their Earl Grey
A rap came on the door
The doc arrived with much to say
About the bitter cure
 
And when he shared the sky-high rate
To get what Sprout would need,
The farmer’s heart was filled with hate;
She cursed the griffons’ greed.
 
As Carrot Top began to cry
The doctor hugged her tight,
But Sweetie wouldn’t let Sprout die;
She swore that she would fight!
 
She let the grieving mother be,
And headed home with haste,
For if she wanted victory
There was no time to waste
 
Though nobody in Ponyville
Alone was rich enough
Together, they could pay the bill
It wouldn’t be that tough!
 
And so the noble Sweetie Belle
Embarked on her bold quest
To end her good friend’s living hell
And let the poor colt rest.
 
CANTO III
 
Young Sweetie gathered up her friends
And shared the plan she’d made
To satisfy her lofty ends
She needed both their aid
 
And when she told them what to do
To help the colt in need
Both Apple Bloom and Scootaloo
Quite happily agreed
 
The kindly trio set about
Preparing their campaign
They crafted slogans they could shout
To maximize their gain
 
And when the sun’s first golden ray
Came heralding the dawn
They set out quick and seized the day
Their fundraiser was on!
 
They knocked on every single door
Hit every merchant’s stall
“Save Carrot Sprout!” they did implore
To ponies great and small
 
And soon they found, to their surprise,
Bits filling up their cart
For Sweetie, with her sad, sad eyes
Could melt a frozen heart
 
And when the day was growing old
Their fundraising was done
They marveled at their pile of gold
That gleamed beneath the sun
 
Triumphantly, the fillies went
To Carrot Top’s chateau
They laughed and sang with merriment
Their hearts were all aglow
 
For nothing in this world contends,
As all can plainly see,
With bringing hope to downcast friends
Through generosity.
 
They knocked on Carrot Top’s front door
And showed her their surprise
The farmer’s jaw dropped to the floor
And tears came to her eyes
 
The fillies told her of their quest
To help her save her son
She quelled the sobs within her breast
And deeply thanked each one.
 
Soon Sweetie’s friends excused themselves
They had somewhere to be
And Carrot Top ransacked her shelves
To find her finest tea
 
The farmer and the filly sat
And sipped at their hot brew
They laughed and had a lovely chat
As good friends often do
 
Soon Sweetie went bearing a smile
To visit Carrot Sprout
And Carrot Top worked for a while
To count the money out.
 
She counted stack by golden stack
More than she’d ever seen
The sheer amount took her aback
She felt quite like a queen
 
But as she counted, she felt fear
Arising in her soul
Could even this cash see her clear
To pay her bill in full?
 
At last she set the money down
And choked up, lost for words
The alms of the entire town
Could not pay those damn birds.
 
Sure, she was close, but not quite there
Just what was she to do?
To save the young colt in her care
Her options now were few
 
When Sweetie said bye for the day
She smiled and stroked her mane
She did not have the heart to say
Her efforts were in vain
 
And once young Sprout was tucked in tight
With much water to drink
His mother stole into the night
To walk around and think
 
She did not care as she went ‘round
It was all just the same
She pointed her nose at the ground
And wandered without aim
 
But soon she let out a quick gasp
And looked up just to see
That she was in the forest’s grasp
This was the Everfree!
 
The woods beyond her house, she knew
Were dangerous at night
For monsters slithered, sneaked, and flew
And sought some prey to bite
 
She did her best to keep her cool
And head back to the east
She prayed she wouldn’t meet a ghoul
Who’d have her for a feast
 
She’d nearly reached the forest’s edge
When something caught her ear
A calm voice coming from a hedge
Spoke to her, loud and clear
 
“Oh please my child, please hear my rhyme,
I do not mean you harm
I’ve watched you now for quite some time
Down on your carrot farm…”
 
CANTO IV
 
The strange sound coming from nearby
Gave Carrot quite a scare
She looked around, searched low and high,
And stammered out “Who’s there?”
 
“Come closer, child, and speak with me,
For I know all about
The deathly crimson malady
Afflicting Carrot Sprout…”
 
The farmer’s heart skipped quite a beat
At mention of her child
Though instinct told her to retreat,
She stepped into the wild.
 
The soothing voice, it led her on
As gentle as a breeze,
And soon enough she came upon
A clearing in the trees
 
The ground was covered with a plant
Of very ill repute
Its leaves hung in a drooping slant;
They called it mandrake root
 
When uprooted, the stories said,
The mandrake, without fail,
Would knock a foolish pony dead
With one ear-piercing wail
 
But stranger still, the form it took
Could chill a pony’s soul;
Its twisted roots would often look
Just like a little foal!
 
And at the clearing’s very core
A worn stone altar stood
It bore the evil runes of lore
To ward off light and good
 
Poor Carrot shook in fearful dread
At this corrupted place
But still she forged on straight ahead
To see what she must face.
 
As Carrot Top stepped with great care
Her mind quite ill at ease
She spied what seemed to be a mare
Emerging from the trees
 
“Now welcome, child, to my old shrine,
In this forgotten glade.
I think, with your son on the line,
A bargain can be made…”
 
The ragged mare looked small and old,
Though sturdy as an oak,
To ward herself from wind and cold
She wore an old green cloak
 
Her milky eyes seemed frail and weak
But held a hidden flame,
When Carrot brought herself to speak
She asked the pony’s name.
 
“Oh child, I’ve been called many ways
But none that you have seen
For ponies that I meet these days
I’m just the Mare in Green.
 
I’ve seen the trouble you’ve been through
With your son’s losing fight,
And so I wish to offer you
A chance to set things right.
 
For I can offer you great wealth,
Your coffers I can fill,
You can buy, for your son’s health,
That Crystal Daffodil!”
 
It all seemed too good to be true
Could such a thing be real?
The farmer asked what she must do
For her end of the deal
 
The Green Mare’s creepy laughing broke
The silence ‘round the glade,
She reached her hoof beneath her cloak,
And pulled a wicked blade.
 
“To this shrine, olden ponies came
To offer sacrifice
Now I want you to do the same
To pay this bargain’s price.
 
An innocent you must bring here
Whose life is at its start
Then lay her on the altar, dear,
And cut out her pure heart
 
When you’ve done that, I’ll let you see
The secret that I hold,
And you will most assuredly
Start raking in the gold
 
And once you’ve done it four times more
We’ll both have reached our goals
You’ll have your son back from death’s door
And I’ll have five more souls!”
 
The hag gave Carrot Top the knife
But Carrot shouted “NO!”
She swore upon her very life
She’d never sink so low!
 
“If that’s your stance, dear, I don’t mind
You’re free to walk on out,
Just know that you will never find
A cure for Carrot Sprout.
 
But should you do right by your son
And child, I think you will,
You cannot stop until you’re done
Once you’ve made your first kill…”
 
And as she muttered those last words,
She looked up to the sky
A flock of jet black, cawing birds
Came swooping from on high
 
They covered her from tail to face;
A most disturbing scene,
And when they left, there was no trace
Of any Mare in Green.
 
Then Carrot Top was wise enough
To quickly run away
And though she’d wheeze and huff and puff,
She didn’t stop ‘til day.