It was a bright and sunny day. Canterlot's ivory and gold architecture shone in the bright light, nearly blinding the casual observer.
Said casual observer happened to be myself, and the golden glint was a retina-killer for sure. Wincing slightly, I turned away from my window and flicked out one wing, closing the blinds and cutting off the light from outside.
My room was pretty cheerful, in an OCD-organized sort of way. My mother had raised me on athletics instead of makeup like other fillies I knew, so I didn't have a huge vanity covered in bottles of expensive perfume, tubes of brand-name lipstick, or compacts of eyeshadow or blush. I just had a small mirror hanging on the wall, a caddy hung next to it containing my daily essentials: contact case, bottle of contact cleaner solution, a simple brush, and a ring of hairties.
Clicking beneath my hooves was hardwood flooring; some fairly pricy Zebrican import. I forget the name. It had a nice red tint to its dark brown coloration, which went nicely with the navy walls and ceiling. Speaking of which, looking up said ceiling, you'd find an amazingly detailed replica of the night sky. A little something my mother had commissioned for my seventh birthday.
My mother.....
No. My mind's voice spoke, overpowering the memories. No mom. Not now.
I swiped at a stray tear with my left wing. Not the time or place to cry. Not with Dad sitting on my bed a few feet away.
"So, I just want to make sure you're up to going, okay kiddo?" Even with bloodshot eyes from the last few weeks of crying, he still managed to keep his tone steady and ward off the sniffle in his voice. Trying to stay strong, just for me, because he knew I needed him.
"Yeah, dad." My own voice is more or less stable, emotionless and bland. Better than sobbing, I guess. I'll take what I can get. "I'll go."
His green eyes glimmered at me. "Okay, Shade. Goodnight."
As he slid off my bed and trotted out of the room, the green aura of his magic enshrouding the handle and pulling it shut behind him, I couldn't help but wonder why his voice had gotten strange at the end.
Like.....like 'goodnight' meant 'goodbye'.
No. He wouldn't do that to me. Dad wouldn't leave me if he knew I needed him.
I crushed all remaining thoughts on the matter and flung back the sheets, crawling into bed with an exhausted sigh. Case closed, I told my nagging doubts angrily, Go home. Game over. Bye bye.
The world slipped away, and my eyes fluttered shut.
The first thing that hit me when I woke up was the distinct feeling that something was very wrong.
I shot up and out of my bed, wings flared and eyes wide, but the only thing that met my panicked sight was my room. But the blinds were closed. Dad always opened the blinds every morning before he went to work, right along with a warm breakfast on the table. I lift my jet-black muzzle into the air and take a long, deep sniff.
Nothing.
Something was definitely going on.
I crept over to my door, my hooves placed lightly and carefully, and open the door. The door makes a loud creak as I open it. Well, there went stealth. Charging down the stairs, I holler for Dad. No answer.
The living room is empty.
He wasn't upstairs or he would've yelled back by now.
The basement's empty.
The kitchen's empt-
I freeze in the doorway, slowly turning back around. In the center of the kitchen is a rectangular island, with red granite countertop. Seeping out from behind the island is a small amount of red liquid.
Heart pounding, I take a tentative step forward into the kitchen. "D-dad?"
No answer, in any way.
I peek over the counter and immediately regret it, freezing up again.
My dad's body is splayed out behind the island, his yellow coat dyed red from the pool of blood he's laying in. His eyes are wide open, filled with terror, unblinkingly staring at the ceiling. Dimly, in the back of my head, a small voice whispers to me that the ceiling must have been the last thing he saw.
But it loses precedence to the larger part of my brain, which is screaming hysterically.
Soon, so am I.
I'm numb.
Sitting on the couch as the Guardspony in front of me explains some standard procedure that I can't bring myself to care about.
Staring forlornly at my father's body, still splayed in the pool of his own blood, long since dried, as both newsponies and detectives buzz around the kitchen like bees. Snapping pictures, slipping things into plastic bags as they claim them to be 'evidence'. A few of them stopping to offer their sympathies before leaving.
Good. I hope they stay gone.
Princess Luna enters the house, and everypony goes quiet. They all kneel or bow in some way.
I just sit on my couch, staring at Dad's body. I can't really force myself to care that an over a thousand years old princess of the Moon is standing not ten feet from me.
Dad is dead. That's all I can care about right now.
I don't even notice that the Lunar princess is right next to me until one of her forehooves taps me gently on the shoulder. "My child, your attention for just a moment."
Tearing my eyes away from the body is easier than I expected. Sort of like a rolling, instead of a tearing. By the sun, moon, and stars I'm losing it. I lock them onto Luna, her dark blue countenance the new focus in my tunnel-vision. "Princess," I mumble, but still don't bow.
Her eyes are sympathetic, but not sad. She's probably been to scenes like this more than the Guard ever had. The thought gives me some form of comfort. Except it's not really comfort, since I'm not really feeling anything at all right now.
"I know this must be hard for you," she begins in a semi-comforting manner, "But going into complete lockdown helps nopony in the long gallop."
To my surprise, her words stir a small amount of feeling. But she isn't quite finished yet.
"My sister and I have dealt with murder cases before. We will find your father's killer and avenge his death, I assure you." Her eyes are a sort of aquamarine color, wisened with time. They're staring me down. "His death," she waves a wing in the vague direction of the kitchen "Will not go unheeded."
As she turns to go, I finally respond. My voice surprises even me - it's cold and emotionless, with a hard, bitter edge to it. "Not if I find them first."
The princess stares at me for a few moments, probably contemplating which cell will best hold me in the dungeons of the castle. Then she turns and leaves, her face passive and expressionless.
