Laramie the unicorn awoke on a particularly cold, foggy morning to the sounds of nothingness.

He blindly reached around with his left foreleg until he found his glasses on the nightstand. He shoved them on roughly, then sat up in his bed.

He quietly levitated a small mirror to get a look at himself. Bright blue eyes stared back at him. His orange mane was as messy as ever, and his usually light grey fur was still scorched black in places from the dragon that he and his 'magical treasure hunting crew of what may or may not be mentally deficient ponies to try and get Luna out and socializing more because god knows the diarchy needs it about now' had fought earlier in the week.

It was Sunday.

He set the mirror down.

Upon exiting his bedroom, Laramie was greeted with a long, dark hallway. Stepping silently over the corpses littering said hallway, Laramie finally made it to the end, his hooves covered in crusty blood.

It was set up already to be one of those days.

Author's Note

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