Everything She Loves

by FeatherB

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Writing on the Wall

45 East Villa Street – Sunday, in early March

---

Everything you love will fall apart.

Those were the words written on the wall of Redheart’s new apartment. They were painted in long black streaks over the plaster, covering the space between two windows.

Redheart couldn’t bring herself to move from the doorway, with her mouth half open, and one hoof still placed firmly on the cold light switch. Surely the message was a prank left behind from the previous tenant, or the mover ponies. After all, they had only just been there two days prior.

She pulled her gaze away and looked down at the floor. Strewn out about her were the cardboard boxes that contained all her things from her parents’ home. Some were stacked in piles, while others laid by themselves on the floor. But none of them were opened yet, and all of them were placed well away from that far wall.

Carefully, as to avoid stepping on anything, she went inside and tried to shut the door behind her. It stuck most of the way there, and she had to kick it again before it clicked into place. A single chip of green paint fell from it and floated to the ground.

It’s fine, she told herself. Green wasn’t her favorite color anyway.

The bulb in the room flickered for a moment, and her heart leapt. She backed up against the door, her hind leg crunching down into one of the boxes. But the light went calm again, its faint buzz filling the room once more. And the words still loomed on the far wall, unchanged.

With a grimace, Redheart pulled her hoof free from the box. To her relief, it had only been filled with her “towels,” which was also labeled on its front in marker.

She turned back to the living space, surveying its contents. The most dominant thing there was a battered brown couch that played sentry in the middle of the room. It was faced away from her, toward the windows, which made her wonder if there had been something else there before those spiteful words. But most everything else had been taken away. There were places in which pictures had clearly hung, but no longer, and scuff marks on the wood where a heavy piece of furniture had been moved. The only other thing standing was a floor lamp which tilted dangerously to one side. It would have been nice if they had thrown it out for her.

Without a second glance toward the black streaks, Redheart trotted forward over the creaky floorboards, entering through the one of only two other doors in the apartment. This one led to the kitchen, and more importantly, the refrigerator. At least they had left her the appliances. The landlady had promised her they would, but still...

She smiled at them; the old rusting appliances that somehow managed to work, even after the years of abuse. Or at least they did when she had first checked out the place.

Biting her lip, she walked over to the stove and lifted a hoof up to the knob. With a click, one of the burners hummed to life, and she let out sigh of relief. Clicking it off again, she returned to the living space and stopped by the first window. She could see the black letters waiting for her, even larger up close.

She forced her eyes away, gazing out through the dirt-stained glass. The city of Fillydelphia spread out before her, its lights shrouded in the late evening fog. Down below, taxi carts still rumbled over the cobbled streets, taking their patrons in and out of sight. Across the way sat a local bank and a flower shop among other tenant buildings. Redheart could think of no two places more different. The bank was broad and proud, standing out in the mist with its smooth stone surface which looked down on anypony who passed. The flower shop, on the other hoof, did its best to blend in. It huddled close to the tenant building aside it, made from the same rough bricks, and sported a simple green awning that read “Fresh Flowers” on it. The windows above had small cast-iron balconies, some of which were decorated in various colors of flora. She made a mental note to visit such a quaint place when the weather was nicer.

She peeled herself away from the glass, and trotted quickly across the room, trying to ignore the words that hung in the corner of her eye. She stumbled into her bedroom, almost falling in her haste to escape. Steadying herself, she looked up to see if the previous tenant had left her anything there.

The room was almost barren, except for a wooden bedframe and a squat dresser, with its drawers hanging open. They hadn’t even given her the wool carpet.

She took a deep breath, trying to bring back her earlier smile. It didn’t work.

She considered looking at the bathroom again, which was situated through a door in the back of her bedroom. But she knew it would only bring more disappointment. The sink dripped, the toilet was too low, and the shower worked only in cold or colder. And those were about the only things that could fit in the cramped space. It was easily the worst thing about the apartment... or at least it had been.

Redheart turned back, immediately heading for her unpacked boxes instead of looking toward that wall. She was going to have her first day at the hospital early the next morning, and her things were not going to unpack themselves. Sure, she could have asked a neighbor to help. It wasn’t that late. But the very thought of randomly trying to introduce herself made her dizzy.

She dug her hooves into the folds of the first lonely box, and pulled open the flaps. Inside it were the items that typically went on her nightstand. On top was a framed picture of her family. She picked it up tenderly, looking at a younger reflection of herself. Her lily-pink mane had been shorter then, barely reaching her shoulders, where her mum and dad each had a hoof resting. She wished her parents could have been helping her now. Maybe she shouldn’t have moved all the way to the other side of the city. What if her job fell through, and she couldn’t make rent? Or if her parents needed help, and she wouldn’t know about it? She had convinced herself that those were stupid questions, but not anymore. A shiver went down her spine, and it wasn’t from the draft in the room.

She spun around, her eyes darting to the far wall. The words hadn’t moved. They were just hanging there on the plaster in the same streaky black paint, framed by the windows and the growing darkness outside.

Everything you love will fall apart.

The portrait accidently slipped from her hooves and shattered on the floorboards below.