The halls of our home were as lonely as I. I trotted down them, my hoof skimming over the rippled and crinkled wallpaper. Our manor had been the inheritance of my father. He had received it upon the passing of his grandfather, when the mansion was in its prime and had been renown throughout our little town as a splendor.
Though my father hated to admit it, the house had since deteriorated. Even though my mother did all she could to keep this house in shape, it was as though the home had died long ago and was now slowly decomposing as its ghost leaked from every cracked shingle and shattered window.
It didn't help that Father was our only source of income. Mother had once worked as a business pony alongside my father. That was how they met. When they married and soon had their first foal, she became a stay-at-home parent while Dad traveled across Equestria selling products and attending meetings.
I sorely wish Father was around more. I haven't had the nerve to tell him about Mother's... less than healthy habits. Nor have I bothered to inform him that she is the cause behind my black eye, for love is truly blind. He sees nothing but his perfect little wife. If only he knew that she was nothing but a remnant of the Beryl he married eighteen years ago.
I was startled by a loud chime emanating from just down the hall. It took me a moment to register it as the doorbell, which hadn't rung for at least a week. The sole thing Mother and I had in common is that we both detested solicitors with a burning passion. However, the determined little devils still managed to drive their carts all the way across town just to ring our doorbell and soon after, be yelled at.
I knew at once that the silhouette framed against our slightly tinted window surely belonged to Father. I galloped to the door, prying it open with gusto.
"Daddy!" I cried, flinging myself into his already outstretched forelegs.
"Trixie! How are you, my darling?" he asked, cracking a wrinkled smile as he hoisted me up onto his shoulders.
Tell him. Tell him, Trixie.
"Just fine. Rather boring without you around. You mustn't be away so often, Mother has been missing you." My father had carried me in, and at that, he promptly set me down. I noticed that he was avoiding my gaze, instead choosing to stare intently at the floor. "Father, is there something bothering you?"
He sighed dejectedly, nodding. "I'm afraid so. How should I put this? You won't... have to worry about me leaving on business trips for a while."
My eyes widened in realisation.
"You were fired?"
"Unfortunately, yes," he sighed, letting his saddlebag slump to the floor. I followed closely at his heels, weaving around him like a fox kit pursuing a rather large rabbit.
"However will we ever tell Mother?" I yelped, nearly leaping at the thought of her.
His reply was nothing but a half-hearted shrug. After spending a sizeable amount of time in silence, I thought it best to summon Mother and the darling hags I shuddered to call my siblings. Acantha and Iris, or 'the twins' as Father liked to call them when he hadn't the time to differentiate them, scuttled hastily down the stairs. Mother poked her head into the room, beaming as Father came into view.
"Pudding!" she cried, galloping towards Dad.
The two kissed briefly, though my mother's eyes lingered passionately. I knew that she would have given anything to have lengthened the embrace. I was surprised to see she hadn't been drinking, most likely because she was expecting Father.
She wouldn’t want her little secret out, now would she?
* * *
I had long since been in my bed, struggling to fall asleep. The room was muggy and warm, and despite my efforts, it was insistent on remaining that way. The room hadn't darkened considerably as the late sun still hung at the rim of the horizon, exchanging a long round of goodbyes before it disappeared for the night. In a desperate attempt to shield my eyes from the fading glare of the setting sun, I had slammed down my blinds, only to have them sway and crash back with every slight breeze.
My throat felt like the Saddlehara desert, as I hadn't had a drop of water throughout the day. We had called a repair-pony down to take a gander at our faucets. There had been problems of late and they had refused to choke out any water, instead having it spill onto the tiled kitchen floor. Mother had, obviously, demanded that I clean it. Neither Acantha nor Iris even batted an eyelash as I spent the entire day scrubbing the floors and dusting the furniture. They were much too busy being 'mommy's perfect little angels' as they lounged there, filing their hooves.
Deciding to finally pay heed to my screaming throat, I groggily made my way out of my room and down the stairs to the kitchen. At least, I would have if I hadn't seen a light on in my parent's bedroom just down the hall. Curiosity got the better of me as I tiptoed down, past the multitudes of faded, old photographs and paintings of long-dead artists. As I neared, the muffled sounds of their hushed arguing grew in my ears until I was pressed up against the wall, peering in with one violet eye.
"What will we do?" my mother sobbed, placing a hoof dramatically to her forehead. "We have nothing! Nothing! We're bankrupt, darling. We'll have to sell the house and move to... P-Ponyville!"
My eyes widened, my ears flattening.
Ponyville?
I watched as father placed a comforting hoof on her shoulder, whispering soothingly into her ear. "It won't be too bad! Think about it. New sights. New places. New ponies to meet."
"But Ponyville! They're filthy! I'd much rather remain in Canterlot, thank you." I'd heard enough. I retreated quickly down the hall, racing down the stairs and grabbing a glass of water. As I made my way up the stairs and through the winding halls with nothing but the faint glow of my magic to guide me, I savoured the house. If I wasn't mistaken, this was the last night I would spend in it.
I pried my door open, and for once, I enjoyed the groan the hinges made. There sat my room in all its comforting familiarity; the bookcase lined with How-To magic guides and novels, my small bed and Mr. Bloo, a stuffed cyan rabbit, sitting on the pillow with a pleasant and perpetual smile.
A hoof pressed itself against my lips like a gag, muffling my cry of shock. I wriggled in my captor's grip, but it proved futile as I struggled against their strength. With a single, swift action, I was spun around to face the pony that had grabbed me.
A familiar face frowned at me from the shadows.