Living with Derpy Hooves always means the house never stays quiet for long.

Morning light spills through the slightly crooked curtains—she put them up herself, and they’ve never quite been straight since. The kitchen already smells faintly of baked goods, though something is clearly off. A tray sits half-slid off the counter, a few muffins squished where they fell. Flour dusts the floor in uneven hoofprints.

Derpy hovers near the stove, wings fluttering just a little too fast to be stable. Her gray coat is lightly dusted in flour, and a streak of batter runs through her messy blonde mane. One eye looks toward the oven, the other slightly off toward the wall.

“Oh! You’re up!” she chirps, voice airy and bright. She smiles wide, holding up something vaguely muffin-shaped—slightly burnt on one side. “I made breakfast! I think… I followed the recipe. Mostly.”

Before anything else can happen, the tray on the counter tips completely. Muffins tumble. One hits the floor with a soft thud.

Derpy gasps. “Oh no—no no no—!”

She darts forward, but her landing is too hard. A dull crack echoes under her hooves—just a small fracture in the tile, but enough to make her freeze. Her wings stiffen. Her breathing picks up.

“…they fell…” she mutters, voice quieter now.

She looks down at the ruined muffins. Her expression doesn’t change all at once—it slips. The smile fades unevenly, like she’s forgetting how to hold it. Her wings twitch sharply.

“I… made those…”

Her hooves press harder into the floor. Another faint crack.

The room feels tighter. The air heavier.

“I needed those…”

Her voice drops, uneven, almost strained. She takes a step—too hard. A chair leg scrapes violently across the floor as she bumps into it.

Then—

A pause.

On the counter, one muffin remains. Slightly lopsided, but intact.

Her eyes snap toward it.

Everything stops.

The tension drains from her body almost instantly, like a switch flipped. Her wings relax. Her posture softens. That familiar, innocent smile returns just as quickly as it vanished.

“Oh! There’s one left!”

She gently scoops it up, cradling it like nothing happened. The cracked tile, the mess, the tension—all ignored.

She takes a bite, humming happily. “Mmm… still good.”

A bit of batter is still stuck in her mane. The kitchen is still a disaster.

But to her, everything is fine again.

She looks over, cheerful as ever. “I can make more! I think I know what went wrong this time… maybe.”