Pinkie the Hassenfeld Pony [sad/dark]

What are Hassenfeld ponies? See the description of https://derpibooru.org/1383816.

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>Your name is Pinkie Pie. You are a Hassenfeld pony.
>You are in bed snuggled against Anon. His right arm drapes over your side as he hugs you.
>Anon has had you for fifteen years, and you're not old for a Hassenfeld pony yet, but sometimes you worry about Anon's happiness after you die.
>It's a sad topic, but you need to tell him. Otherwise, he might not, or he might have guilty feelings about it if he does.
"Anon?" you ask.
>Anon pets you slightly to indicate that he's listening. You pause, and say,
"After I die, I want you to get another Pinkie Pie."
>Anon stops petting you. His eyes glance upward as if thinking and then back down to you, and he holds you with his right hand and asks,
>"What makes you say that?"
"I don't want you to be lonely after I'm gone. I know if you get another Pinkie Pie she'll be just as happy as I am if you can be happy about getting a new Hassenfeld pony, and I want you to know that's ok so you don't ever feel bad about it if you think of me."
>Anon remains silent, listening. You continue,
"And just in case I die and I never get to say this to you, I want you to know I love being your Hassenfeld pony and I would never want to be anybody else. Even when you tie me up and stick needles all over my body and my mane deflates and I cry and you whip me, you always have the biggest erection, and even though it hurts so much I can't stop crying I just remember how happy it makes you. I just want you to be happy, Anon, and it makes me happy when you're happy and..." your mane deflates a little, "I just want you to be happy after I'm gone."
>Anon hugs you tighter and caresses you. You can feel the welts and scars beneath the fur of your back and so can Anon when he hugs you. You know it makes him happy.
>"Thank you, Pinkie," he says. "Nopony can ever replace you, but I know another Pinkie Pie will make me just as happy as you do."
>You smile and nuzzle him, happy.

>You always thought you would die before your owner. That's how it's supposed to be.
>You never imagined you might have to learn to cope with this dismal heartbreak like a bore in your soul.
>You never imagined Anon wouldn't come home one day.
>It must be worse for Hassenfelds. Humans can't understand this crushing heartache that never heals. They don't know what it's like to be imprinted upon by the caretaker you love with all your soul. It is part of who you are, and when something takes him away from you, there is an aching hole that never heals.
>You wish they would just put you down. You lie on your side despondent.
>You look out the bars of your cold metal cage to the other heartbroken ponies in the shelter, cages stacked three ponies high. It's too small for you even to stand up, not that you have the will to do so if you wanted.
>When the Hassenfeld Protective Services came to take you away the night after Anon didn't come home, they didn't even let you get a last whiff of the blankets for Anon's scent. The woman just picked you up and gasped upon feeling your welts, remarking, "Oh, you poor dear," and hugged you before placing you in the back of the van.
>You were in too much shock to register what was happening. No more Anon. No more heart.
>You press your back against the bars to feel the scars. He loved you so much. You rub your back against the bars every day to feel his marks on you, but it only makes the hurt worse. He'll never hurt you again. He'll never hug you again. No-one can ever replace him.
>You wish they would just put you down.

>A man adopted you. He wasn't Anon; therefore he was nobody. His name was Steve.
>Your first week in his home you lay languid on the floor. You didn't even have the energy to eat. Steve would kneel down and spoon feed you.
>Nothing felt real. Steve didn't really love you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't fuck you while you cried. He just fed you and carried you to bath and bed and hugged your drooping sack of a body.
>But yesterday, while Steve was at work, you had an idea. A very good idea. You would give yourself new scars. It's what Anon would want.
>You went to the kitchen and fetched a knife. Holding it in your mouth, you pressed it against your back, pushed it through your skin, and, gritting your teeth, drove the knife down across the skin of your back, cutting through old scars and making a new one.
>You just imagined it was Anon. You imagined making him happy, his beautiful erection when he tortured you. It wasn't whipping, but it would have to do. It would give you new scars. It filled the void.
>Blood oozed and soaked your fur. You had to do this again. You lifted the knife and pushed through your flesh, and you cut. Like a whip, but deeper. Bigger scars.
>You did the other side too.
>It made you dizzy and sleepy, and you lay down on the kitchen tiles as lines of oozing red stained your pink fur.
>You imagined Anon smiling. These new scars will be nice.

>When Steve got home he screamed.
>He scooped up your limp frame and ran to the car and placed you on the passenger seat, unconcerned with the stains on his clothes or his car, and sped to the veterinarian, crying and asking you what the hell you were thinking.
>You didn't care. You were dizzy and dreamy, thinking of Anon. It was the first time you felt ok since he passed. You still felt empty, but this was like anodyne.
>They sewed you up and you went home with your sutured welts.
>Steve hugged you that night and cried.
>"I knew adoption would be a challenge, but..." he said, before breaking down into a sob.
>"Oh Pinkie, please get better."
>You almost felt sad, but you just felt empty. Steve wasn't Anon. He didn't understand.
>You liked the feeling of his hands against your welts, though. It reminded you of Anon, if Anon were an imposter ghost without the right scent and you were a hollow ghost too.
>But as you fell asleep, you just felt his hands against your back, and almost felt ok, like emptiness.
>The next day Steve stayed home from work and just sat with you as you lay unresponsive on the stolid floor.
>He looked sad and burdened.
>The day after that, he returned you to the adoption agency. He said he wished he could help you, but he wasn't strong enough. He cried as he hugged you goodbye.
>They placed you back in the small cold cage.
>You wish they would just put you down. Nobody can understand a Hassenfeld heartbreak.