Aft

The glass shatters countless times, though you are certain you only dropped it once.

She came in your window. She must have, as she's standing in the corner with her back facing the open glass and the adjacent wall - the curtains flap silently against her back. You cannot see her face, as the darkness means she is illuminated only barely from behind, and you didn't bother to turn the kitchen light on. You know that she is female from the set of her shoulders, and the way she carries her weight.

You think you're probably about to die. That she is a thief or a serial killer who had been prowling the streets for her next victim, deciding upon the only apartment with open windows in late October. You live on the fourth floor, she must have been determined. Or desperate. The fire escape had been rusted shut for years.

She draws something out of her coat - a weapon, you suppose. You can feel shards of glass resting precariously close to your hooves; if you move, you'll surely slice yourself open, but it's seeming much more favourable than the alternative. As you consider your escape route, tilting your center of gravity forward a little, she speaks.

"There will be no need to injure yourself. It's quite unnecessary."

You glance down at your hooves stupidly, as if there will be a way she could have known, before realizing you are very much standing behind a kitchen island and that she can't possibly see more than your upper body. You're considering checking the reflections in the glass kitchen cabinets before you realize that she definitely heard and probably saw you drop the glass.

The dark mare in your apartment mutters something under her breath. A horn dimly lights up with a pale blue glow, but doesn't cast enough light to make out her face. She appears to be fiddling with her weapon - you hear the sound of a match striking a few times and think immediately of a gas torch, but then her front half bursts into light like a new flame and you start violently. You feel glass pricking the underside of your hoof. Held aloft in her magic is an ornate golden candlestick, which hovers lazily by her side.

"Hello," she says pleasantly, pushing her narrow glasses up her nose, before settling her legs together primly. Your first thought is that you've never seen someone wearing a tailcoat in person before. You stare at the perfectly-pressed garment, rather unabashedly eyeing her up and down. When your eyes settle on her face, you squint very hard to make sure they aren't misleading you.

Though the candlelight throws her entire figure into a yellowish haze and draws odd shadows across her cheekbones, you're certain her blue eyes actually shimmer, though not in the way you've known those from the Crystal Empire to have. They gleam menacingly at you, framed by long eyelashes, behind red glasses. You guess that her coat is probably white away from the candlelight. Long purple hair is expertly, carefully curled around her face and across one shoulder.

Your second thought is that you don't think she is carrying a weapon. The horn on her head isn't particularly sharp, and you can't imagine a unicorn headbutting you to death anyway. "You're in my apartment," you blurt out, on the off chance she's disoriented and accidentally scaled the wall and climbed in your window dressed in her finest evening wear. She raises her eyebrows at you. The action is so smooth as to seem mechanical.

"I am, yes."

She reaches up to remove her glasses, the delicate silver chain on the arms swaying slowly, and peers at you. "I will admit, I was expecting you to be a bit more resistant." She sounds almost disappointed. "Most would be disappearing down the road by now. Of course, it never does any good, but I cannot deny myself the pleasure of a good chase every now and then." She allows her glasses to hang by their chain around her neck.

"Nevertheless, it does make things rather more tidy. I am sorry about the glass." You gape at her soundlessly, no longer trusting in your ability to say anything intelligent. She takes a few fluid steps towards you, sets the candlestick down on your kitchen island, and opens her coat once more. From the inside pocket she draws a small black notebook. She opens it to a seemingly-random page.

"Twilight Sparkle," she reads, "lives alone. Works as a barista at a small coffee house. Not religious, not particularly invested in politics or sports. No extracurricular activities. No close friends. Enjoys reading, and," - a pause, to look up from the book - "has a particular fondness for cats."

You scowl now. "Do you take notes when you stalk me?"

She laughs. "Of course not." The small notebook is turned to face you, revealing the blank pages. "I have long since memorized everything about you. The book is just for show, it makes me look organized." It is quickly tucked back into the coat. You watch it go, not quite believing what you're hearing. "What do you want?" you force out eventually. She makes a noise indicating she'd been waiting for you to ask.

"My name is Diamond," she says with a small bow. "I am here to collect your soul."

Your hindhooves slide backwards across the tiles, glass skittering musically across the surface. She is a serial killer. She has to be. "I'll call the police," you threaten weakly, glaring at her. She seems so intimidatingly casual about the whole situation, so when she smiles wryly at you in response, you swallow, and your eyes dart to your kitchen phone. "I brought the candlestick in lieu of other forms of lighting. I do so sincerely apologize, but I believe you will find your apartment's electronics non-functional for the duration of our conversation."

"You cut my wires?"

"There is no need to dirty my hooves with such a task. No, I have simply....turned them off, for lack of a better term."

Sure enough, the signal light on the phone is off. She follows your gaze. "It was not my intention to alarm you. This is simply a very important conversation, and I did not want to be interrupted."

"If you're going to murder me, stop beating around the bush and get on with it."

The being named Diamond huffs out a sigh. "I am not here to kill you. Kindly calm down." She adjusts white gloves you hadn't noticed she was wearing, no longer looking at you. You get the distinct impression that you exasperate her. Edging an inch towards the front door, you start speaking again, hoping desperately to distract her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the collection of ones' soul implies I will soon no longer have a use for it." The corner of Diamond's mouth quirks upward. "No, you are correct."

She suddenly looks up at you, and you freeze where you are. "The fact is simply this: you have one month to live. At the crux of that time, I will collect your soul."