"Darling?"
A middle-aged stallion knocked softly on the bright pink door, which swung inwards with the slightest impetus. Inside the room, his wife stood silently, cradling a stuffed animal in her magical aura with extreme care. His brow furrowed and he sighed.
"I've packed the carriage. It's time."
Sapphire Sunrise sighed as she let the stuffed toy fall to the ground. The knitted manticore had been a gift from her parents, and although she had always thought of it as a frivolous toy, it and her daughter had once been inseparable. Yet she could not bring herself to remove it from this room, where it truly belonged.
"I know. I'm coming. Just... one more moment?"
The stallion nodded, a sombre look on his features. He had aged poorly, greying and wrinkling well before his years, and his mind was not much better. He paused for a moment, as though he might join her, then apparently thought better of it.
"I understand."
The door slowly closed behind him, and she was alone once more.
There really was no excuse for her being here. There was nothing from her daughter's foalhood room Sapphire Sunrise wanted, not even happy memories. All that laid there was sorrow and regret, yet it was this she drank from most deeply, unable to let go from it even as it smothered her.
Her little filly. The room was filled with her presence, even though it had been many years since it had last seen her. The walls were decorated with more awards than she could count, each one a tiny fragment of a greater testament to her daughter's accomplishments. Above her bed, in the most exquisite frame of all, was her acceptance letter to Twilight's School for Gifted Unicorns.
They had been so proud. What parents would not be? To be accepted, to be even considered, was an honour beyond measure. What had it mattered, that they had pushed her till she cried? What had it mattered, that they would see her only a few times a year? It had been difficult, but it had been for her own good. Of that, she had never wavered.
With every accolade, every award, every achievement, their pride had only grown. And then had come the news, the wonderful news, that Luster, her own daughter, had been made the protégé of Princess Twilight. She had wept with joy.
A few paces took her over to her daughter's desk, untouched since her last visit, scattered paper and ink coated with a thick layer of dust.
Yet now, all she felt was hollow. Empty. Her daughter had, in the space of a few days, gone from the darling of Canterlot high society to a despised outcast. The murderer of the Princess. Ponies who had once greeted them warmly now regarded them with angry scowls. They vanished from every social circle. They had even changed their names.
Her husband had tried to convince her to make a public statement denouncing their daughter's actions, but every time she had seriously considered it, she was unable to put her feelings to words. In truth, she was not certain she could have denounced her daughter openly without cursing herself in the same breath.
Did she feel responsible? Of course she did. She would never admit it, but the shame of how she had raised her daughter burned deep into the fibre of her being. Never a word of unqualified praise, never a word of pride without achievement, never a kind word without criticism. And now, she would trade all of it, the awards, the trophies, the protégéship, for one day of reconciliation with her daughter.
Even now, as the war ended and Equestria returned to a semblance of normality, she was nowhere to be found. Her student - the first Alicorn in decades, and none less than an infamous filly she remembered all too well from her own youth - had put in plenty of public appearance, but her own daughter hadn't come to visit - and after today, she never would. The stares and whispers had become too much. She and her husband would disappear again, this time for good. A quiet retirement in a small corner of the world. A slow, unbearable countdown to her final breath. It was what they deserved.
Once more, she began to pace the room, trying to memorize every square inch, committing it to memory that she might return here in the years to come. There was so much more to say - but no time in which to say it. The clock had run down, and she felt the world beyond calling her. But there was, perhaps, time for one final confession.
A photograph of her daughter laid on the bedsit. She had been a young filly, maybe five years of age, her hair tied up in that same ridiculous bun she had still worn as an adult. It had always been a source of consternation between the pair of them, but now it made her smile like the filly it pictured.
Raising the photograph to eye level, she smiled through fresh tears.
"I hope you're okay. I'm sure you are. You always knew to do the right thing... just like your dad."
The portrait stared back motionlessly, always with the same friendly smile.
"I'm sorry. For everything. I should never have pushed you like that. I should have been a better mother. I should..." Her breath caught in her throat. "I should have done so much more for you. But I didn't. And maybe this is what I get for that."
A tear fell from the end of her muzzle and struck the photograph's glass cover.
"Whatever happens, you're always my daughter. I always loved you, no matter what it felt like. I always cared, and... and I... I..."
She choked.
"I was always proud. Always."
The picture landed gently back on the bedsit. Sapphire Sunrise took one last look at it, then sighed, wiped away the last of her tears, and turned her back on it forever.