It was silent.
Her head felt like an egg after being emptied into a mixing bowl and beaten with a whisk, and her skull felt like the brittle shell was tossed in for good measure.
It was dark.
She realized her eyes were shut. Squinted shut in a desperate attempt to squeeze out the throbbing pain, but also covered by something wrapped around her head.
It was cold.
The mattress under her back was firm, and the cloth draped over her belly was thin and allowed the cool, dry air to sift through. Her hooves were strapped to the bed.
It was silent.
Her voice made no noise as she gained the strength to cry out. She felt the wind passing through her, but only the vibrations in her throat grew more intense.
It was futile.
Her hooves struggled to free themselves from their straps, but whatever bound them was too strong for them to break and granted no mercy for motion.
It was warm.
Something soft and round touched her chest, momentarily stopping her struggles. The object lifted away, but another began stroking her neck and her shoulder.
It was silent.
The stretching of her neck and the rolling of her mane under her head were the only signs that she had turned toward the object which was now against her cheek.
It was sharp.
Something pricked her and embedded itself into her leg, penetrating deep before pushing a thick fluid inside and removing itself from between her muscles.
It was cold.
The coverings over her eyes were damp, drawing the heat from her face and sending it out into the air flowing above her aching head. The pain slowly followed.
*****
It was silent.
The carriage ride home bounced her over the roads of Canterlot. Its hard, wooden wheels struck the hard, stone ground with hardly a jostle to show for it.
It was wet.
The fur under her eyes glistened in the morning light, but she couldn't bring herself to wipe away the sparkles. The one beside her, however, did that for her.
It was warm.
Celestia's sun shone threw the doorless openings in the carriage's sides. Her alabaster escort reached out and held her in a loving embrace, softly stroking her mane.
It was silent.
She could see ponies going about their day. Conversing with each other, laughing at jokes and smiling at trivialities which could only be enjoyed by the true elites.
It was hard.
The carriage stopped and her escort stepped out before extending a hoof to her. She grabbed hold, but she still stumbled on her way out and was quickly caught.
It was cold.
The stones under her hooves had yet to accept Celestia's gift of light as she walked toward her apartment building. She reached into her bag and grabbed her key.
It was silent.
The telling creak of the opening door wasn't present, nor were the creaks of the steps of the stairs which led to her room as her weight pressed down on them.
It was familiar.
After weeks of time in a room filled with ponies she had never met nor intended ever to meet, her little room was a welcome sight. Yet it still felt incomplete.
It was empty.
The corner in the back of the room where she kept her most treasured possession was vacant. Where a large, black plastic case should have stood stood nothing.
*****
It was silent.
The stage which had welcomed her, where she once performed many recitals and many symphonies now shunned her, refusing even the soft echo of her hoofsteps.
It was dark.
A single light shone from above her, illuminating her grey coat and the large, cloth covering which she carried, but all else remained shrouded in familiar blackness.
It was chestnut.
She doffed the covering from her instrument, revealing its large, wooden body and long, black neck. The pegs in its scroll were ebony, connected to long, metal wires.
It was silent.
She placed her instrument down on its side with a ginger hoof, but the gentle kiss between floor and instrument passed unnoticed until her hoof left its neck.
It was heavy.
She drew her bow and tightened its hair before grabbing the small chunk of dark rosin. Taut hair and hardened sap met in her hooves, as they had many times before.
It was ready.
She lifted her instrument and touched their necks together with a lover's embrace, begging against hope that it would return her love. She raised her bow to its string.
It was silent.
The music she knew and loved did not reach her. She couldn't stop playing, nor could she continue with the song. She poured her entire soul into that one note.
It was over.
She withdrew her bow and loosened it before returning it and her instrument's body underneath their black cloth case. She zipped it closed and placed it on her back.
It was white.
One pony stood at the edge of the light as she turned. A pony who was with her every step of the way, reaching out even now to try and calm her silent tears.
*****
It was silent.
She felt the wind across her back, ushering a gray wall of clouds with its swift movement. Every pegasus in the city would be focused on the coming storm.
It was distant.
The train carrying her closest friend to Ponyville could be seen along the side of the mountain, snaking its way along the cliffs until it disappeared into a tunnel.
It was silent.
The rain began to pour, beating her face and the rooftop beside her as she stepped onto the edge of the stone. She cast one final look at her friend's tunnel.
It was pounding.
Her heart raced, unprepared for what she knew she would do. She took several deep breaths to calm herself before closing her eyes and letting gravity carry her.
Then she was silent.
