con do•lo•re ; sorrowfully (used as a direction in music)

"And how are we today, Miss Octavia?"

Her light purple eyes jerked up from the carpet they had been absorbed in to regard the unicorn that had posed the question. Her name, Octavia knew, was Pink Plasters. Her coat was a pale pink, with a cutie mark depicting two plasters crossed over each other to form an X. The white mane and tail complemented her coat perfectly, in Octavia's opinion.

"Fine," she muttered lightly, "perfectly fine." Octavia was always fine.

As fine as a pony stuck in Healing Hooves Psychiatric Hospital can be, anyway.

[Cover art by yiKOmega on deviantArt, used with permission]