Was it day, or night? Neither, probably. It didn't feel like day here, yet night seemed so far away. Behind her.
Pear Butter opened her eyes. The act itself was more painful than any other time she had done it before. In this blue mist, glittering purple haze, bathing in a light that was seemingly coming from all directions, yet only targeted at her.
She looked around, wondering where she was. However, that answer was clear to her heart. And it became clear to her mind as well, once her eyes fell on this white figure in front of her. It was shaped like a pony, but lacked any discernible edges. It had no face, yet was staring at her. She knew what it was. She understood it. She feared it.
Immediately, with a lump in her throat, she turned around, calling:
"Bright Mac!"
But he wasn't there. Only that white silhouette was, yet again, in front of her. She turned again, only to come face to face with it. She took a step back, her heart racing, as she pleaded in fear:
"Where is he!? Where is Bright Mac!?"
No answer came from the face with no mouth. But a hoof was extended, which she denied, moving another step back.
"I can't! I need to know! I need to know if they will-"
She stopped. She suddenly felt cold. Cold in her body, cold around her, cold on her shoulder. A chill embrace. She knew.
She wanted to cry, but tears couldn't come. She wanted to mourn, but her heart was at ease. She wanted to turn back, but her soul couldn't.
She wasn't alone. She didn't feel alone, not because of the silhouette in front of her, but because she knew he would be there. He was only waiting for her. Yet, despite all the acceptance within her, something, something stronger than those feelings, was slowly taking back its rightful place.
She looked back and saw them. It was night. They were sleeping, each in their own bedrooms. Her children. Unaware, peaceful, dreaming about great days to come, which they would never see. That she would never share with them.
She looked at her mother-in-law, asleep as well. But she wasn't alone. He was there, right by her bed, looking at his own mother.
"She will care for them," Bright Mac said. "They won't be alone."
"She already did so much..." Pear murmured. "It's not fair..."
"It isn't..." her husband sadly agreed. "But we can't do anything about it."
Pear Butter glanced behind her. The silhouette made out of light was still here. Staring at her, silently, hoof still extended. She knew what it was. She would go once she accepted it. She'd leave, with her husband, to somewhere that wasn't another place, or a place at all.
She took another look. Not at her mother-in-law, but her newborn. Her little Apple Bloom, wrapped in a small blanket, sleeping peacefully. Could she really let go of her? Just leave?
As Pear was leaning over the cradle, the little filly in it opened her eyes. Pear's heart, despite feeling calm up until now, skipped a beat. She was looking at her. Apple Bloom extended her legs towards her, with an innocent smile.
"Bah!" the baby happily exclaimed.
Pear's heart melted. She leaned a bit more, whispering with a kind smile, trying to hide her sadness:
"Hey there my little apple. Mommy's here, don't worry."
She reached for her with one hoof, caressing her head and cheek with tenderness. There she was. Her last little apple. The last gift this world had given her. Naively smiling against a hoof she could barely feel, happy to see her mother carrying for her, for the last time. A last time she would not remember.
The grip on her heart grew weaker. That forced acceptance, this wrongful ease of mind, enacted by some old precepts, by life itself. It was being fought by the fiercest strength known to ponykind. A mother's love.
"Go back to sleep, Apple Bloom. Mommy will watch over you."
The small yellow baby smiled again, resting its head against her hoof, holding onto a plush. She quickly fell asleep.
Pear Butter kept her hoof against her for a moment, engraving it in her mind. Then, she let go, straightening up as she turned around again, looking at her husband, in the eyes.
"I won't go," she firmly said.
"Buttercup... There's nothing we can do here anymore. We can watch them grow from the other side. Live their lives, while we rest in peace."
But Pear wasn't sharing his view. She could feel it in her, that strength, the resistance her instinct had put up. Her guts, she could always trust them.
She looked at the silhouette made out of light, asking:
"Is there really nothing I can do?"
The silhouette slowly lowered its hoof, still staring at her.
"Will you stay?" it asked, with a voice that sounded like a thousand different people, yet Pear could distinctly hear her own tone in it.
"I will," Pear Butter affirmed.
"No matter the time that passes on. No matter the sorrow that sinks into your heart. No matter how much you come to regret it."
"I won't."
The apparition stared at her once more, judging her. Pear was firm, determined, heart beating and eyes filled with resolution.
"You want to help them?" it asked.
"If I can do anything," the light-orange mare nodded. "One last thing for my family."
"One thing. I can give you one thing. You will decide what it is, you will decide when to use it, but it needs to be of utmost sincerity. And when it is done, you will come back with no regrets, no bargains. In the meantime, you will wait here. Watching. Alone."
Pear looked over at her husband. He nodded, understandingly saying:
"We have time."
She looked at the shape, before sitting on a floor that wasn't there. Ready.
"It's settled, then."
