I stare into the mirror of the dimly lit bathroom. I already have tears running down my cheeks. I haven't even killed the mare yet, and I'm already crying.

"I'm not even supposed to be here," I mumble.

I pull the handle on the sink in front of me and a small stream of clear water shoots from the faucet. Steam rises from the gentle porcelain. I run the blistering hot water over my hooves. Maybe the pain will serve as a penance.

I wipe my tears with my hooves and shut off the water. I have to do this. The sooner I get it over with—My mind trails off. After this is done, then I can fall apart.

I step out of the hospital bathroom to the empty halls of the emergency room at night. A gentle sobbing echoes through the halls. I place one hoof in front of the other, each hoof-fall announcing presence to the nearly-empty hospital. A few doors down, a light floods through the patient room door. The sobbing grows louder.

I gulp.

"Why can't she just die on her own?" I mumble to myself. "Why me?"

But the truth is I already know why.

I stop in front of the open door and knock against the frame. Bon Bon looks up from her hooves to me.

"How are you holding up in here?" I ask softly. "Do you need more time?"

The mare sniffs to herself then shakes her head.

"I-I," she pauses, trying to keep her voice strong. "I'm ready."

I take a deep breath, then step inside the room.

Lying on the bed is Lyra Heartstrings. I wince at the sight of her. Her eyes are shut. The heart beat monitor beats slowly, unevenly.

"Did you say everything," I pause, "You needed to say?"

Bon Bon shakes her head.

"You should," I say. "You'll regret if you don't."

I move to the right side of the bed, where a ventilator pushes air down through a tube in her throat. I look to her hoof, and for a moment, I swear I see it dripping with blood. I blink, and the vision is gone.

"Lyra," Bon Bon says, rising to her hooves and moving to the left side of the bed. "Can you hear me?"

Her brain is receiving the signals, but there's no activity.

"I'm sure she hears you," I lie.

The mare's voice cracks as she places a hoof on her wife's body.

"I can't help but feel like this is my fault." Bon Bon’s voice cracks as her eyes move to the floor. "I didn't tell you to get checked until it was too late. That it was just a cough. Just a headache."

I wince at her words. This is her moment. I shouldn't say anything. I already know the truth. After all, I gave the diagnosis.

Maybe she should know what really happened.

"I just hope you'll forgive me. I'll never underestimate being sick again. I just—" Her voice cracks once more. "You were the best thing to ever happen to me. And..."

She takes a deep breath, then lets loose the tears building inside.

"I will never forget you."

Bon Bon grips Lyra's hoof tightly, and a silence fills the air. I feel like a stranger at moments like these. I shouldn't be here. In this case, Lyra shouldn't be here. None of this should have ever happened.

I'm the background character in the worst moment of two ponies’ lives.

"Okay," Bon Bon whispers. "I'm ready now."

I nod, knowing she won't see. My hoof trembles as I reach for the switch on the machine. I wasn't even supposed to work this shift tonight. My job was supposed to be helping ponies. Not this. I grit my teeth.

I murder Lyra Heartstrings.

The machine flatlines. And I turn the machine off to mute that horrid sound..

Bon Bon's sobbing continues. I take the clipboard with charts and medical history beside Lyra's bed.

"I'll be just down the hall if you need anything."

My hoofsteps are quick and silent, like the assassin I am. The horror I am. Tears stream from my eyes as I leave bloody hoofprints down the halls. I slam myself into the nearest room and flip through her charts, looking for what I know is there. My bloody dagger. The smoking gun.

I stop; the clipboard and I are the only inhabitants of this dark, secluded world.

One week ago, a patient visited the hospital at the busiest point in the day. Flu-like symptoms. Prescribed a flu medication.

My eyes move to the dosage. And instead of the pony dose, 5 mg, I see my critical flaw. My murder weapon.

50 mg. A yak dosage.

The tears flow freely, my hooves leaving streaks of blood across my face as I try to cover my eyes. I can’t lose my job. I’ve done too much to get this far.

Then I see my answer. Hanging on the wall of the examination room I find myself in is a small red box with a biohazard symbol on it.

I’m a good pony.

I rise from the floor, ripping the paper of her last visit from the clipboard. I drop the clipboard. I rip the paper in two. Then again. I look down at the shreds, seeing my name on top.

Another tear. Another.

I slam the papers in the toxic and used needles container. I push the safety deposit up and my crime is buried underneath blood, needles, and infected materials. One hoof inside of this bag, and any pony would be pricked by a sharp needle. Or worse.

I turn from the box, and there, standing in front of me is Lyra Heartstrings. She stares at me with wide golden eyes. Her skin is pale and her gaze pierces like an icepick deep into my soul.

I take one step forward, and another, and pass through the judging apparition.

I am the murderer of Ponyville General. I killed an innocent pony.

Nopony will ever know my mistake.