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// The End 
// Story: Three Days to Die 
// by Azurala 
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    This was it.

Three days ago, Rarity had closed up the Carousel Boutique, giving an excuse that she had gone out of town. Two days ago, she had penned her will and notes to everypony. Yesterday, she'd finished the last outfit she'd ever make. 

Staring up at the black, flowing, lacy, gently ruched dress she'd made for her burial, Rarity didn't have to hold back tears. For three days she'd cried, and that had been enough. She wouldn't have to cry today. Nopony would have to fix her makeup for the viewing-- like she'd ever let anypony even try to make her as pretty as she could herself. Her mane and tail were perfect and sprayed over with enough hairspray to keep the curls tight and pretty until the lid went down on her coffin.

Gently unlacing the dress, she carefully slipped it off the mannequin, wrapping herself in it delicately and let her magic tie up the corset down the back just ever so tight. Moving with heavy hooffalls, she stood in front of her full body mirror, straightening the ruching with a level of precision only her eyes could see. With a glimmer of her horn, a hat sitting on her sewing desk drifted gracefully over and settled atop her head. The cornflower blue aura worked at the crystal adornments atop the rim, making sure they were all primly in line with each other. 

Glancing over herself once more, she decided that she'd need just a little more blush to color her cheeks if her fur lost its natural luster before the viewing. Luckily, the blush lay on the floor beside the mirror where she'd left it earlier in the morning and she picked it up with her magic, moving the brush slowly and fully through the pigment before tapping off the excess and gliding the soft bristles over her cheek fur delicately, careful only to apply the very least she could get away with-- she wouldn't want to look gaudy at her own funeral. 

Perfect.

Satisfied, she trotted purposefully over to the back of the boutique, where she'd laid out the coffin she had bought for herself years ago. After all, she couldn't have just anypony picking her coffin! What if it was tacky? She couldn't let herself rot in any old tacky box, no. This coffin was simply beautiful. Fit for a pony with such a graceful fashion sense as herself. The lining was silver silk with crystals embedded into the fabric around the edges, adding a glimmer that was just enough to be pleasant. The outside, beautifully varnished dark oak, was embellished with borders of real silver, a few carefully cut sapphires adorning the corners.

"Ok..." She let out a settling breath, turning on one hoof to take stock of everything she'd prepared. "Everything looks right. Let's see... Notes written, everything tidied, will written, and dress on. Oh--" she gasped, horn sparkling and levitating a bouquet of white roses over to her, which she laid on the closed half of the lid, "there. Much better."

With a contemplative sigh, she glanced down at the bottle of pills sitting at the base of the coffin-- her antidepressants. She'd stopped taking them a week ago when she'd decided to go through with her long-awaited plans, to make sure she had enough to actually overdose. The bottle was practically full, fortunately. Unscrewing the cap with her magic, she picked up a frosted wine glass of chardonnay that sat beside it. Why not go pleasantly, with a good taste on her tongue? Not to mention that the alcohol was a backup plan to react with the drugs.

Her magic's grasp on neither the bottle nor the glass wavered, as she was willful and determined in the matter. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she tipped some pills into her mouth, then swallowed them with a bit of the chardonnay. She repeated this precisely five times, then drained the glass and let it and the bottle drift over to the table to rest beside her will and notes. Careful not to stumble, she stepped into the silver hoof covers that rested beside a small step ladder leading up to the lip of the coffin. Checking their fit, she nodded to herself and began to slowly climb the ladder.

Stepping into the soft, cool silk, she sat gracefully and nudged her hind legs beneath the closed half of the lid and laid back. Adjusting the ripples of the dress with her magic to pool beautifully around her, she straightened the hat with her hooves to assure it laid correctly when her head rested on the small goosefeather pillow at the head of the coffin. Her mane and tail had arranged themselves perfectly despite all the scrabbling she had to do. 

Letting her eyes fall on the image of her cutie mark meticulously painted on the inside of the lid, she took a few deep, relaxing breaths. This was it. All she had to do was breathe deep and slow, and she'd fall asleep like nothing had happened. The drugs would stop her heart, and she wouldn't wake up. Crossing her hooves over her midsection, she continued her breathing exercise.

And, fade to black, were her final thoughts.