The night was quiet. Deathly quiet. Not a sound could be heard through the small Vanhoover apartment, as if some unseen force had sucked the noise from the very air. Any who had entered would have instantly felt a sense of unease, as if they were waiting for a storm to break. For several minutes, it stayed like this, not even the wind interrupting the tense stillness within. And then, a cough.

Up in a small loft in the apartment, up a rickety set of dark wood stairs and through a tiny door made of the same wood, coughing suddenly erupted, breaking the tension and filling the small space with noise once more. Within this loft was a full-sized bed, bordered on the right by a small nightstand where a simple white lamp with a black lampshade stood. The light from the lamp dimly lit the tiny area, just enough to where one could see the sickly mare laying in the bed, her stained ivory blanket pulled up to the middle portion of her neck. Her brown fur, once the same shimmering color as a wheat field lit by the sun's rays, was now lackluster and dull, with spots of gray and white here and there. Her eyes, a faded lavender in shade, were milky and unfocused as they stared at the smaller pony at the bedside.

Light gray with dark gray hooves and a small dark gray splotch on her rump, Storybook met her mother's own dying purple eyes with her teary white ones, shoulder-length light purple and maroon mane falling into her eyes a little bit. Seeing this, Dawn Peach, Storybook's mother, shakily raised a hoof to brush the hair from her face before going into another coughing fit.

On the other side of the bed, a little bit farther away than Storybook, the doctor, a dark red stallion with a white mane and tail, stepped forward, laying a hoof gently on the sick mare's shoulder. The two ponies exchanged a small glance, one which was clearly a warning that she didn't have much time left. Dawn Peach frowned sadly for a moment  before speaking in a very quavery tone. "Please-," she started before coughing again. Trying to get her coughing under control, Dawn Peach continued, pushing through the pain. "Please give me a moment with my daughter, Gauze."

After a moment's hesitation and a glance at the clearly grieving Storybook, Gauze gave a reluctant nod and left the room. When he was gone, Dawn Peach turned to her daughter, a weak smile on her face. "My beautiful Storybook...," she whispered, her voice cracking a couple of times. As she spoke, Storybook stepped closer, reaching out with a shaking left hoof to grab her mother's left hoof, gripping as tightly as she could without hurting the frail mare. "I have not always told you everything I should have, but please know that I only did it out of love." When Dawn Peach said this, her smile became a little strained, and a confused expression spread across Storybook's face. However, not wanting to interrupt her mother, Storybook kept quiet as the dying mare continued.

Reaching into her blanket with a quivering hoof, Dawn Peach drug something from up around her neck and over her head, removing it from her body. It was a simple gold necklace, with a small normal-shaped black flower pendant with a gold lining attached to it. By this point, Dawn Peach's smile had vanished, replaced by a rather serious expression, her eyes gaining a little bit of their clarity and fire back as she held the necklace out towards Storybook. Taking it hesitantly, Storybook examined it for a moment before looking back up at her mom for an explanation. However, she got none. Instead, Dawn Peach let out another small cough, then said, "Promise me one thing before I go, Storybook. Swear you will always wear that necklace, that you will never take it off, and you will never show it or give it to anybody. Promise me!"

As she ended her sentence, Dawn Peach seemed to regain a little bit of her former strength, sitting up in bed slightly, clutching her blanket tightly, and staring at her daughter with intense, fiery eyes. A little startled, Storybook stammered, "I-I promise, mom. I'll h-hold onto it and never let anyone see or t-take it."

This seemed to appease Dawn Peach, and she settled back down into her bed with a content sigh. "Thank you," she responded, a small smile back on her face. However, it vanished once again as she turned to her daughter, the fierce look in her eyes turning to one of almost...fear. Or perhaps worry. Maybe even both.

"Storybook, should anyone ever try to take the necklace from you, run as far away as you can, and hide. Do not let anyone you know or don't know have it. If they even ask you about it, do not stay. Get out of there, and hide until after-" Before she could finish, Dawn Peach started coughing again, and the dullness from before seemed to return tenfold as she flopped limply into her pillows. Using all her remaining strength, Dawn Peach locked hooves with her daughter, meeting the filly's teary gaze and allowing a small smile back onto her face. "You have a great destiny in front of you, Storybook, whether you know it or not. My beautiful daughter...I love you...so......much," Dawn Peach muttered out before she stopped moving.

Frozen, Storybook shook her mother, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes beginning to drip down her light gray fur. "Mom?" she whispered in a slightly panicked voice. "Mom!" Storybook called out after a few seconds, shaking Dawn Peach's lifeless body a little bit harder. At her calls of desperation, Gauze came running back into the room. Upon taking in the scene, he allowed himself a moment to pause and bow his head in respect before rushing forward to stop Storybook, who was now fervently shaking her mom's corpse while crying out her name.

Managing to drag the small filly back, Gauze forced her from the room and locked the door. She pounded on the door for a few seconds afterwards, but it was too sturdy for her to break down. Upon realizing this, Storybook raced down the stairs and into the larger room of the apartment and slammed the door shut, locking her door and throwing herself onto her bed, crying into her pillows as the pain of her mother's death coursed through her.

Up in the loft, Gauze heard her race down the stairs and the slam of the bedroom door. Letting out a sigh, he turned to face the body of his former patient. Walking up to her, he gently lifted a hoof and closed her still-open eyes. "Rest in peace, Dawn Peach," he muttered, sorrow lacing his voice.

Then he drew the rest of her blanket up to cover her head.