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This wasn’t how she’d expected her 17th birthday to go.

Only that morning, she’d woken up to the terrible news that her sister, Violet had died. The maid Mary had informed her during breakfast. She’d said that Violet had gone out for midnight ride, and fell down the Ravine. But… it didn’t seem right. How did they know she’d gone on a midnight ride? Why’d she go on a midnight ride? Nothing seemed to make sense.

Now Dahlia stood at the last place Violet had supposedly been alive. A stiff, hot breeze rustled the edges of her black gown. She looked over her shoulder to the soldiers waiting at the edges of the forest, a couple meters away from the cliffside. She had a plan, but she didn’t know if it would be worth the risk. But… she needed to know. She just needed to.

Taking a few steadying breaths, Dahlia crouched down and crept off the edge. She swung over the side of the edge, her claws digging into the dusty earth. She shifted her weight, looking for a spot to place her feet, but she couldn’t find any crags.

“H-Hey!” Stomping feet shook the earth, sending bits of dirt and dust flying. Dahlia swore under her breath, adjusting her grip against the shifting earth. She shoved her hand into the cliffside, clinging to it with all her life. She repeated the process with her left hand, lowering herself as fast as she could. She could hear the guards discussing above her, their voices hushed.

A spear was lowered until it sat just above Dahlia’s head. She shook her head, realizing after they wouldn’t see that. She opened her mouth to reject them and explain what she was doing, but couldn’t make her voice work. Only a few crackly noises escaped, too quiet for the guards to hear.

A terrifying rumbling sound echoed through The Ravine. The dirt under Dahlia’s claws shifted, crumbling away. “Oh-“ the dirt wall gave way, falling away in large chunks and a brown film of dirt specs.

She wanted to scream, cry, anything, but dirt seemed to have clogged her nose and throat. Hot winds shifted the dirt film every which way, stinging her eyes. The moments seemed endless. Her eyes watered, her throat itched to wail, and her lungs screamed for air. Oh, Gods help me.

Stone crashed into her back, hard, painful, and unnervingly cold for the hot atmosphere. It curved down, and she tumbled with it, falling off the edge into a pit. Dahlia curled onto her side, coughing and hacking. Pain was pulsing like a shockwave in her upper back, and all Dahlia wanted to do was to go back to her room, where it was warm and comfortable and not at all barren and hot.

Dahlia slowly sat up, studying her surroundings. She was sitting in a pit that was mostly covered by a rocky overhang. A thick, purplish mist swirled through the air, thick and stuffy and hot. The mist blocked off anything farther than where the pit ended, leaving it a dark purple void.

She stumbled to her feet, a few screechy noises escaping her throat with the effort. Her back sent extra painful waves in retaliation to her movement, rivaling the pain of being struck by lightning.

”How the hell am I going to get out of this death trap?” Dahlia mumbled, stumbling to the edge of the pit. It went straight down from the edge. She stared at the seemingly endless pit of swirling purple shades. Nope. That was plan B.

She turned her attention to the overhang. Yes, that’ll work! She grabbed onto the edge of the overhang, hauling herself atop it despite her back’s painful protests. There was a short area of space she could comfortably stand on before it steeply curved up. Dirt was layered on top of the stone, evidence of that terrifying fall. Dahlia slid carefully over to the cliffside, placing her hands onto the stiff stone to steady her. That’s when she realized it. The cliffside here was completely smooth, save for bumps and cracks that couldn’t steady a shrew.

Plan B it is, then. Dahlia begrudgingly crawled down into the pit, and then scaled the wall. At least then, she could find out if her sister truly had died there. The climb down was easy, the lower cliffside containing plenty of cracks and bumps for her to grab a hold of. The climb was slow, though. Each passing second she grew more impatient, and her back grew more painful.

After what felt like eons, she found herself on solid ground. When she looked up, no light came from the top of The Ravine, so it must have been supplied by the mist. After that disgusting revelation, Dahlia held her cape up to her muzzle.

She wandered the dusty floor, looking for something to prove if Violet had been there or not. She couldn’t see anything though, just roots, rocks, and lots of purple mist. She began to wonder if there was something going on in secret. She couldn’t understand why, though. Her sister could be annoying, but not annoying enough to stage a murder. Or- no, she wouldn’t let herself come to that. No way would anyone try to… take out her little sister. She was too popular with the kingdom.

A vibrant rag caught Dahlia’s eye. She stumbled over to it, investigating the brightly colored fabric. It was snagged on a low-hanging root that stuck out the side of the cliff. The fabric was a dark, almost shimmery red, with threads of gold fluttering from its farthest edge in the gentle breeze. That… was no ordinary fabric, she realized. It was part of her sister’s nightgown.

She turned her head, looking away to wipe her eyes. And then, in the dirt, she saw the footprints.

Description
This wasn’t how she’d expected her 17th birthday to go.

Only that morning, she’d woken up to the terrible news that her sister, Violet had died. The maid Mary had informed her during breakfast. She’d said that Violet had gone out for midnight ride, and fell down the Ravine. But… it didn’t seem right. How did they know she’d gone on a midnight ride? Why’d she go on a midnight ride? Nothing seemed to make sense.

Now Dahlia stood at the last place Violet had supposedly been alive. A stiff, hot breeze rustled the edges of her black gown. She looked over her shoulder to the soldiers waiting at the edges of the forest, a couple meters away from the cliffside. She had a plan, but she didn’t know if it would be worth the risk. But… she needed to know. She just needed to.

Taking a few steadying breaths, Dahlia crouched down and crept off the edge. She swung over the side of the edge, her claws digging into the dusty earth. She shifted her weight, looking for a spot to place her feet, but she couldn’t find any crags.

“H-Hey!” Stomping feet shook the earth, sending bits of dirt and dust flying. Dahlia swore under her breath, adjusting her grip against the shifting earth. She shoved her hand into the cliffside, clinging to it with all her life. She repeated the process with her left hand, lowering herself as fast as she could. She could hear the guards discussing above her, their voices hushed.

A spear was lowered until it sat just above Dahlia’s head. She shook her head, realizing after they wouldn’t see that. She opened her mouth to reject them and explain what she was doing, but couldn’t make her voice work. Only a few crackly noises escaped, too quiet for the guards to hear.

A terrifying rumbling sound echoed through The Ravine. The dirt under Dahlia’s claws shifted, crumbling away. “Oh-“ the dirt wall gave way, falling away in large chunks and a brown film of dirt specs.

She wanted to scream, cry, anything, but dirt seemed to have clogged her nose and throat. Hot winds shifted the dirt film every which way, stinging her eyes. The moments seemed endless. Her eyes watered, her throat itched to wail, and her lungs screamed for air. Oh, Gods help me.

Stone crashed into her back, hard, painful, and unnervingly cold for the hot atmosphere. It curved down, and she tumbled with it, falling off the edge into a pit. Dahlia curled onto her side, coughing and hacking. Pain was pulsing like a shockwave in her upper back, and all Dahlia wanted to do was to go back to her room, where it was warm and comfortable and not at all barren and hot.

Dahlia slowly sat up, studying her surroundings. She was sitting in a pit that was mostly covered by a rocky overhang. A thick, purplish mist swirled through the air, thick and stuffy and hot. The mist blocked off anything farther than where the pit ended, leaving it a dark purple void.

She stumbled to her feet, a few screechy noises escaping her throat with the effort. Her back sent extra painful waves in retaliation to her movement, rivaling the pain of being struck by lightning.

”How the hell am I going to get out of this death trap?” Dahlia mumbled, stumbling to the edge of the pit. It went straight down from the edge. She stared at the seemingly endless pit of swirling purple shades. Nope. That was plan B.

She turned her attention to the overhang. Yes, that’ll work! She grabbed onto the edge of the overhang, hauling herself atop it despite her back’s painful protests. There was a short area of space she could comfortably stand on before it steeply curved up. Dirt was layered on top of the stone, evidence of that terrifying fall. Dahlia slid carefully over to the cliffside, placing her hands onto the stiff stone to steady her. That’s when she realized it. The cliffside here was completely smooth, save for bumps and cracks that couldn’t steady a shrew.

Plan B it is, then. Dahlia begrudgingly crawled down into the pit, and then scaled the wall. At least then, she could find out if her sister truly had died there. The climb down was easy, the lower cliffside containing plenty of cracks and bumps for her to grab a hold of. The climb was slow, though. Each passing second she grew more impatient, and her back grew more painful.

After what felt like eons, she found herself on solid ground. When she looked up, no light came from the top of The Ravine, so it must have been supplied by the mist. After that disgusting revelation, Dahlia held her cape up to her muzzle.

She wandered the dusty floor, looking for something to prove if Violet had been there or not. She couldn’t see anything though, just roots, rocks, and lots of purple mist. She began to wonder if there was something going on in secret. She couldn’t understand why, though. Her sister could be annoying, but not annoying enough to stage a murder. Or- no, she wouldn’t let herself come to that. No way would anyone try to… take out her little sister. She was too popular with the kingdom.

A vibrant rag caught Dahlia’s eye. She stumbled over to it, investigating the brightly colored fabric. It was snagged on a low-hanging root that stuck out the side of the cliff. The fabric was a dark, almost shimmery red, with threads of gold fluttering from its farthest edge in the gentle breeze. That… was no ordinary fabric, she realized. It was part of her sister’s nightgown.

She turned her head, looking away to wipe her eyes. And then, in the dirt, she saw the footprints.