Applejack tucked Apple Bloom's little tiny hooves under the little tiny blanket of her little tiny bed. She made an extraordinary albeit gentle fuss of tucking the edges of the duvet around her little sister. Then—when all was said and done—she leaned in and nuzzled the filly closely, kissing the nape of her neck.
"I love you, sugarcube."
Applejack was an honest pony.
"Mmmmmmmm..." Apple Bloom stirred ever so slightly, wriggling deeper into the bedfolds with a subtle smile across her slumbering muzzle. "...sail the cats down tree trunk space... zzzzzzz..."
Applejack blinked. "... ... ...alrighty, then."
She backtrotted out of the room, paused besides the light-switch, then gave the tiny bed a final smile. Several quiet seconds later, she exhaled and flipped the light off.
Applejack shut the door quietly.
She stood alone on the second floor. A narrow hall stretched in both directions, lined with photographs and portraits of faces she could no longer make out in the darkness. Through the floorboards leading up to Big Mac's room, she could hear the distinct bass roar of a large stallion snoring. She lingered by the doorframe, noticing that the entrance was slightly ajar. Across the way, a dim flicker of candlelight peeked out of Granny Smith's room. Soon it too vanished, swallowed up by shadow.
And Applejack was serenaded by her own breaths, and most of them off-key.
One lazy hoof after another, she began the long and sluggish trot to her own bedroom.
A red ribbon lay loose on a vanity beside a candlestick holder.
A tiny dancing flame reflected off the brass frame of a black-and-white photograph of Sweet Apple Acres.
Applejack sat on a stool, facing a mirror that had lost a third of its luster from years of being passed down by multiple generations. Countless ponies had stared at themselves in the same glass, and most of them long gone.
Now Applejack gazed at herself. Slowly brushing her long golden strands straight. Fifty strokes... sixty five... seventy...
The motions were long, concentrated, and graceful. They all went in the same direction.
Applejack sat dead still in the heart of her room.
She paused for a moment. Her ears tilted back. She listened to the dull hush of her home. Everypony was asleep but her. A thickness settled in the air, growing more and more compact by the surmounting shadows.
The candle was dying. Applejack made sure she was done before it went out entirely.
Slowly...
Sluggishly...
Applejack slithered into bed.
She pulled a blanket over herself.
It wasn't warm enough, and she shivered.
So she pulled the next blanket. Then the duvet.
Still, her teeth rattled. Or perhaps she was just clenching them for the sake of clenching them.
Nevertheless... her muscles weren't the least bit satiated...
...until she dragged a spare pillow to her chest and hugged it tight... tighter.
Her eyes gazed out the window... neither tired nor sleepy. Applejack's mind wandered, and her eyes danced lonesomely amidst the stars to match it. Searching... scouring... finding nothing—much less an answer to what she was looking for or why.
She counted her breaths, and the spaces in between them frightened her, for she was lucid of the emptiness that she found there.
Sleep eventually came when she stopped pondering about it... which didn't happen soon enough.