Ragout de Cheval

It was a lovely meal.

Pinot Noir stood at his counter, whisking away at the eggs in his metal bowl. The soft, rhythmic scraping sounds and churning mixture was music to the cyan unicorn's ears. Pouring the now smooth mixture over a hoof-full of crumbled sausage and sauteed mushrooms into his cast-iron skillet, he hummed along to the soft melodic trill of a piano in the background.

Sausage frittata. Yes, it was a very lovely meal. Noir would settle for nothing less; breakfast was always the most important meal of the day. And it was important to start one's day right. Especially a day like today.

Rich sanguine eyes turned to the rest of the kitchen. All chromes and stainless steels, with black marble counter tops and floor tiles. It was the epitome of modernization: Everything a chef could ever want to make magnificent meals, both for himself and his adoring guests. It was a shame he couldn't bring it all with him. He had a great many fond memories of this kitchen. The kitchen was where Noir truly thrived; his passion and talent for the culinary arts was unmatched by any in his current location, and his skill with fine food was something of a legend.

Taking a deep breath and feeling a pang of something akin to regret, Noir turned his eyes back to the skillet of thickening egg-sausage mixture and levitated it down into the oven to finish cooking. Yes, he would miss this kitchen...but all was not lost. Canterlot was a city of great possibilities, and his current home limited him far more than he was comfortable with. And Noir knew better than most that growth required sacrifice.

Casting another sad smile at his domain, Noir removed his apron and left the kitchen to finish packing. The lovely scent of egg and sausage allowed some small measure of comfort to cut through the haze of melancholy hanging over his head.

His home, a modest but well-kept dwelling accented with rich cherrywood floors and maroon rugs, seemed cold and uninviting without Noir's collection of sculpture and paintings giving life to the place. Closing his eyes, the stallion allowed his mind's eye to paint a picture of what his current home should look like: The chandelier of intertwined silver vines casting a forest-like collection of shadows on the walls, giving an impression of mystical, fantastic spirit to the abode. Hauntingly beautiful sculptures of wrought iron and bronze populated small mahogany tables and marble pedestals. Abstract, impressionistic oil paintings, most painted by Noir himself, dotted the walls to give a much needed splash of color and life to the museum-esque home.

He opened his eyes. The cold, lifeless emptiness of his now ex home nearly stole the air from his lungs. The ice seeping into his veins rushed to his core, banishing the brief comfort from his mind. It was painful to leave this life behind. But a necessary evil.

His eyes turned to the stacks of boxes from his study. Books on psychology, law, anatomy, art, and cooking. Noir had read through every single one, but would often re-read them at his leisure when confronted with boredom. One could never have too many books. Particularly books with valuable, useful information. Knowledge was power, after all. And power was the most important thing in the world. Especially in the brutal political landscape of Canterlot. It wouldn't do to be cast unprepared into the shark tank. Noir had no interest in being devoured so quickly.

He turned to return to the kitchen. Breakfast was likely done, now. And Noir was loathe to leave a meal to burn.

Tempered Steel shot upright in her bed with a strangled scream. Her body trembled in residual terror from her nightmare, fur slick and clammy with a cold-sweat. It took her several moments to shake the horrible dream from her mind, and several moments more to get her traitorous breath back under control.

Mother...father... Drawing her knees up to her chest, the earth-pony mare let out a soft, barely-audible sob and squeezed her eyes shut. The ever-present hole in her heart ached terribly, bleeding a cold, lethargic agony through her core and extremities. Her mane clung to her scalp like a second skin, dripping sweat down her muzzle and the back of her neck. Am I going mad?

The only response to her broken thoughts was the faint flash of fangs and monstrous blue eyes in her mind, causing her to flinch. A faint buzzing echoed in the back of her mind, ever-present and penetrating even her most fervent attempts to drown it out. The buzzing, the eyes, the fangs...The only company she had in this cold, empty life she now lived. The only companion that stayed by her side in this cesspool of ivory towers and golden spires. Wrapping her in a numbing haze of impenetrable misery, blocking out light and heat like the thick smog over her hometown of Fillydelphia.

Tempered didn't bother to check the time. She knew it would be early, just an hour or so since she'd fallen asleep. she unsteadily got out of bed, meandering towards her bathroom with the uncoordinated, graceless shuffle of a zombie. Absently opening the door and turning on the light, she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. A sickly pallor had taken hold of her visage, giving her face a drawn, nearly-cadaverous look to it. Her emerald eyes had lost the clear, bright sparkle they once had, seeming dull, sunken in, and unfocused. Dark rings and bags lined the lower lids, a badge of countless sleepless nights.

She hardly recognized herself. It seemed fitting, in a way; Tempered hadn't felt like herself in months. Not since-

She quickly took her eyes away from the mirror, closing them and desperately trying to banish her current line of thought.

It's your fault, you know...If you hadn't dragged them to Canterlot-

Tempered snarled and turned, smashing her hoof into the mirror with a sharp crack. Pain lanced up her foreleg, and white spots dotted her feverish vision. Letting out a pained yelp, she withdrew her hoof and held it to her chest, sinking down to the shard-covered floor. Crimson stained her ivory coat, a large shard of mirror embedded deep into her hoof. Her eyes caught her red-stained reflection, eyes half-delirious with stress and sleep-deprivation barely able to focus through the pain.

I can't do this...I can't stay here. I...I need...

Sleep claimed her, unbidden and unwanted.