Hadn’t her throat been slit? Yes, she’d live with those memories for as long as she lived. Maybe that was a bad comparison and she was dead. No, her neck ached and she was colder than usual. She didn’t think pain existed in the afterlife, although she admitted she could be wrong. Something was clinging to her coat, but she ignored it for the moment. She looked around. Wherever she was, it looked like her house. She rolled onto her hooves and stood up. Definitely her house, albeit messier than usual. She braced herself for something mind-shattering or alien and looked out the window. The Crystal Mountains, as plain and beautiful as ever. If this was the afterlife, it was awfully mundane. She would’ve expected at least some sort of psychopomp.