Sunlight streaming through the hallway window was always a source of annoyance, and she could say with certainty that it was the strong, distinct, and potent feeling of annoyance that she felt. Nurse Redheart’s eyes bore their bags well enough, and she still tasted her fourth cup of coffee in the back of her throat.

There was a calm smile on her face, one that she could really trust this time. Oh, gods, she could feel the easiness that came with it, and the calm, cold sense of pleasure that flowed throughout her. That was a welcome, powerful feeling that she couldn’t say she had before – and of course, whenever she needed it, Nurse Redheart would be glad to have it again.

Doctor Stable found her shortly after she turned the corner, cantering towards her with a hurriedness that made her quail as soon as she saw the potent sadness in his eyes.

“Redheart! You’re finally here, and not a minute too soon!” His voice always drew her attention, namely because he was the only pony who called her anything less than ‘Nurse Redheart’.

“Yes?” She drew back, mimicking the quiet worry of the nurse who was a few steps behind her and to her side. “Oh gods, what’s wrong?”

His breathing came in puffs, even when he was standing right in front of her. The armor of his white coat and stethoscope was not enough to hide how utterly fragile he looked right now.

“The mare in room 213, Wisteria Terrace of Canterlot. She died last night.”

“Oh no!” Nurse Redheart exclaimed, voice cracking with her fear, and her head tilted. “Whatever could have happened? When was this? I checked out last night and nopony said a word about her. The clipboard on her door was not signed by any other nurse past bedtime.”

“Yes, that’s true – the night watch reported no disturbances throughout the rest of the hospital overnight. And yet she passed anyway. We’re…” He faltered, looking forlornly to the polished floor, and Nurse Redheart ate up every second of it with her eyes, not letting their concern break. “We’re not quite sure how yet. Nurse Sweetheart just found her, and as you can imagine, she’s devastated.”

“Oh no, oh no!” Nurse Redheart gasped.

“Come now, why don’t we find you somewhere to sit. The guards will want to question as many ponies as possible and if they’re dispatched from Canterlot quickly enough, we might only have to wait a few hours.”

“R-Royal Guard?” Nurse Redheart said dizzyingly. “In Ponyville? After the Summer Sun Celebration?”

“Yes, it’s always the procedure to have them summoned after any unexplained deaths. Forget a train station, it would be a miracle if Ponyville ever got big enough to warrant any Royal Guard being deployed here.”

“I-I know, Doctor. I grew up here… it’s just… Royal Guard… from Canterlot... oh gods, it makes it all feel so big...”

She sniffled, and Doctor Stable stepped aside to give her some space. “Redheart? Is there anything you need? Water? Do you want me to get somepony to go to town and fetch anypony?”

“N-no, I… I just…” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve… I’ve never seen this h-happen with a patient before…” Redheart stammered, her whispery lie growing quieter and quieter. Was it really a lie at all, if in her final moments she could not have called Wisteria Terrace a patient? She had slept once, and then forever. That was all.

Doctor Stable bit his lip, and if it weren’t for the grimness of the situation, Nurse Redheart would have thought that he was marveling at the newness of her reaction – in a sad, tired kind of way. “Hopefully, you never will.”

Don’t be so sure of yourself, Doctor.

...

For the second night in a row, Nurse Redheart did not have that particular dream again. She was able to sleep soundly, and without disturbance.

Author's Note

This story was based around the phenomena of "angels of mercy" (also known as an angel of death). They're a kind of serial killer, and one of the more common (and prolific) kinds. In most instances, they're female due to the occupation having a lot of appeal for abusive women and people in general who want to be in a position of power but don't want the particular brand of violence other serial killers have. I suppose the irony and access to so many useful materials is why the medical field is one of the most selected by notorious killers in the past and present.

You can read more about these things at the links below. Like most things I find morbidly fascinating, I thought it would make a good story and speculated what the life of someone (or in this case, somepony) would look like behind the scenes. Usually, they're rather bare and when people are asked why they did these things they often reach for excuses, however delusional. Trying to hide envy behind a more tragically mundane facade felt like a good route, and thus this story was born.

• Link the first.
• Link the second.
• Link the third.
• Link the fourth.
• Link the fifth.
• Link the fifth, except it's actually the sixth and I just can't count.
• Link the sixth, though it's more about why many female serial killers often seek an accomplice (it's to have someone to turn on) even when both parties exhibit violent cooperation and perversion. That kind of dynamic wasn't present in this story, but I still had it linked around the stuff here as something interesting I was reading at the time.
• Link the seventh.