All was still.
The search had ended hours ago.
When dawn came, there had been knocking. Curious customers came to the door and begged entry, but most soon decided to leave well enough alone and went on their way. A few held concerns. One of them was concerned enough to return later that morning. It was she who discovered the door was unlocked the entire time.
Unlocked, because the lock had been broken.
The one who had entered soon saw the state of things. Rips and tears in fabric, whether clothing or otherwise, were seen everywhere. Several spools of thread had been exhausted, their wooden cylinders forgotten on the floor. More than one table had been overturned. There was a faint scent of iron, sweat, and panic. Most importantly of all, the bed was vacant, its sheets and pillows thrown about in what was clearly a fight against someone.
And like the shop's door, the door to the bedroom had its lock broken, too.
An hour later, there was noise. Friends and family were in a state of panic. Officers were photographing everything, their cameras flashing in the most annoying fashion. The one who had entered that morning was pulled aside for questioning. The filly was constantly on the verge of tears.
Those allowed inside the building had taken note of everything. The shop was nothing short of destroyed. Dresses and suits were torn into and had their fabrics scattered like so many fanciful ribbons. Hats, ties, and cuffs were slit to triangles. Dressform mannequins were upturned, with most suffering sizable dents and cracks along their limbs. One such mannequin was missing all of its limbs. A chest containing valuable gems had been breached, but though the stones were spilled, none were missing. The register at the counter was untouched.
The kitchen and dining areas were littered with shattered plates and cups. The table and all its matching chairs were turned over, similar to the mannequins. There were cracks all along the woodwork. Objects that could not be broken were instead askew. The larder and icebox were wide open, spoiling the contents of both. Some of the cooking elements in the stove had been removed, but the coils themselves had been laid down with no further damage. Towels and doilies had been tossed along the counter, as though for good measure.
Out of everything wrong in the Carousel Boutique, the one thing that seemed fine was the back work room. Its lock had still been intact. It took the cooperation of Sweetie Belle to find a spare key in order to avoid unnecessary damage. When she and the investigators opened the door, they were met with a calming sight.
The work room was pristine. Sewing machines were powered and ready to accept thread. Bolts of fabric were resting in their slots along the wall, with only two hanging down like colorful flags. New mannequins were lined up near the window. A nearby desk held a sketchbook, its pages open to all. The page revealed a bold design for a matching dress and suit, with notes for required materials listed in the margin. Most of the writing had been done in black ink, though one excited-looking afterthought of 'IDEA!' was written near the bottom. Beneath the sketchbook rested a small pile of the newest fashion magazines, the most recent one showing off a design of one Coco Pommel. That magazine had been curled with use.
Oddly, the scent of iron was stronger in this room, though it was still faint.
With every room open, the ponies continued their search and their noise. They spotted a bill of sale for Rarity's newest line of clothing, dated one week earlier. Near that was a receipt for the new mannequins. Her ledger showed a marked increase in business after incorporating both her Ponyville base and her new Canterlot boutique. Sales and expenses were still resulting in a steady profit, which appeared to be going toward a third shop sometime in the coming years. The ledger itself was nearly filled.
Some boxes of supplies had been opened. Inside were new bolts of lesser-known color hues, mauve and coquelicot and teal in one, xanadu and amaranth in another. One box, which contained bolts of sarcoline, had its address label circled twice. It was an incorrect address. Other boxes held flattened shipping boxes, which Rarity would use to send stock to her store in the capital. A pile of them against the wall had been nearly exhausted. There was a note above the pile reminding her to send a bonus to Sassy Saddles.
As the day wore on, another fact made itself known. Only three new mannequins had been received, yet there were four in the work room. It didn't take much time to see that the fourth was simply an older one. It was clear why it had been hidden away - the entire form was cracked and dented. It was held together purely by an adhesive, likely tree sap. Indeed, there seemed to be a little sap escaping from the cracks and around the center pole. All of it had dried, and most of it had been cleaned. By comparison, the newer mannequins hadn't see a single use. They shone in the sunlight from the window, their wooden forms and steel poles untouched. Whereas the old mannequin had clearly been used and dropped over the years of modeling clothing, the three new ones were modeling themselves.
The search continued, but didn't yield anything further. No clues were gained as to who had attacked Rarity. The entire building had been sealed off to the public. Due to Rarity's history alongside her friends, some investigators from Canterlot had arrived as well. Even their experienced eyes did not see enough to provide a theory. All they did was prolong the questions and camera flashes and incessant noise.
Eventually, the search began to lessen. Investigators and friends moved to the surrounding town and fields, taking their questions with them. They did not return. Other ponies stayed longer, such as Sweetie Belle, who had fallen into silence long ago but refused to be moved. Some of her friends remained as well, but even they had run out of things to say. Canterlot investigators tried asking them the same questions they had answered dozens of times before. With no new information and nothing else to gain from the scene, even the investigators moved on to widen their search. Sweetie Belle eventually fell asleep, and Fluttershy volunteered to look after her. They left with the rest of their friends as the afternoon began to darken.
Finally, after another visit that turned fruitless, the last of the ponies left the building. A couple guards were posted outside the boutique, in the slim chance that Rarity or her attackers would return. Search parties were formed and then scoured the surrounding wilderness. The only paths they found were those left by themselves. As day turned to dusk, many of the groups were forced to suspend their search for fear of encroaching on the territory of wild beasts after dark. Despite the suspension, all teams returned with the same empty findings.
Night approached. Ground teams retired and left the search to pegasi. Rarity's reputation allowed a team of night-guard thestrals to join, but even their specialized senses revealed nothing useful. Sweetie Belle had run back to the boutique, chased by her friends. She was desperate to be at the spot where her sister disappeared, but her body hadn't rested, and she quickly lapsed into sleep once more. It was another hour before Fluttershy carried her back to the cottage near the forest edge.
The moon rose and brought an end to the day. The night guards continued their vigilance, but those who had been working all day shuffled to their own beds. The guards stationed at the boutique were reduced to one, who stood just beyond the yard. Nopony else came near the building.
Now all was still.
The search had ended hours ago.
The crying ended shortly after.
Author's Note
Happy Nightmare Night. Can you solve the mystery?
