The potion had worked, the foals breath had returned her precious voice. But it came with a cost. The brew had thinned the veil, and something deeper, darker, more terrible and ancient than can be imagined began to seep though. It was always there, whispering in dead tongues not meant for mortal ears.

The voice wore on sanity, and she made every effort to drown it out, to purge it from her mind with song, verse, and chatter. Little by little those cursed words began to be woven into her own voice, when before long there was none of her own remaining.