The princess of the night was more than quite hasty in her rapid-fire descision making.
As soon as the thought hit her head, she knew what it was she needed.
What she desperately needed- Neigh, could not live without!
It helped this understanding that her wakefulness from the dull administerial tasks of her night work arose from a deep, heavy grumbling deep in her royal stomach, as startling as an alarm.
With this dark, urgent sound came the knowledge that there was a snack out there, waiting for her, to sate her vast hunger. Only a sandwich would do it.
As her graceful shimmering horseshoes hit the ground of her regal quarters with a light tap, she felt the resolve stiffening up through her slender, dark frame in a grand shiver of apprehension. Tonight, on this night of all nights, no princess, guard or high-born pony would dare to stand in the way of her and her quarry. Her delicious, salty quarry.
She stepped slowly away from her loaded desk, its enormous Himalayan ranges of late-night paperwork. Moving faster and faster until her hooves were clattering at an inappropriately loud volume across the hallways of Canterlot palace, the princess knew that to follow her heart, to realize her dreams, she must first follow her stomach.
And how it led her! Across the beautifully planted royal garden, past her sister's mighty viewing tower, over the great dining hall of the palace staff, and finally down, down, into that glorious tunnel of holy light, that angelic hollow of unregaled beauty which signified the skylight of the staff kitchens. Here she would find her prize.
Luna's mouth watered up as the tides of the sea rise to meet their mistress moon, at the thought of a big, juicy, mayonnaise-filled sandwich of epic proportions. Of bacon, lettuce and tomato levels of wonder.
Oh, glorious night! Glorious, starry, empty-kitchened night! Glorious velvety slices of whole-grain bread, paired in eternal union like the Yin to the Yang, encasing the crisp, delicate leaves of fresh-cut lettuce, the smooth, rich creamy heaven of mayo, the harsh sweet tang of tomato, and of course the bacon. The salty, greasy, delicious, wonderful bacon, Oh, glorious bacon!
Lightly caressing the handle with her mysterious purple magic, the shadowy princess slowly opened the fridge, taking every glorious second as it came, letting the anticipation ripple down her spine like cold running water. This was going to be beautiful. She savoured the seconds like a gourmand savours wine. And within that cold dark case lay the vintage Pol Roger of her hunger.
As the smooth doors glided apart like the gates to heaven, she allowed herself one tender second, eyes closed, to stand in the radiance shining forth from the little automated light. slowly, carefully, lest the oasis of the midnight craving dissapear like nought more than an illusory mirage, she opened them again, warm feelings of ensuing joy rushing up to meet the chill breeze of her refrigeration cabinet. In a fit of ecstatic admiration, she ran her huge blue-green eyes over her prize: There is lay, the most wondrous thing she had laid her eyes on all night. As yet encased in clinging plastic, her hooves and horn ached with the desperation to release her beloved snack.
She reached forth and gently as one might lift a newborn foal, drew her tasty target out from the heavenly light and into her darkened abode. She slowly tore the sandwich from its bindings, and bit into its rich, delicious form without hesitation. But as soon as she did so, she stopped. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
This... this taste... no salt... no chew... no crunch...
WHERE WAS THE BACON?
She gently lowered her prize upon the counter, like a soldier relieving his weary back of the weight of his dying mate. A single tear rolled down her soft dark cheek.
That is when she heard it: A laughing, evil incarnate. Her eyes flared to an ice blue, and she stomped her mighty hoof, cracking the kitchen floor beneath her. Who dared to so despicably defy her grand majesty, on so hungry a night as this? Whipping her head up, her night-visioned eyed caught sight of the darkened perpetrators: Two twisted, black-hooded figures stood. Other end of the kitchen. A third hung from a rope descending from the second skylight, like a spider.
The Princess shook with fury, and her eyes began to glow, when she saw what one of the invaders held aloft upon his dirty,common hoof: Dangling, sadly, in the air, its rippled pink surface glisteningand dripping with the panicked sweat of terror at being so held hostage. Her bacon!
She had promised she would never do this. Never again. But as the evil bastards laughed at the pain they had inflicted upon her life on this night, she pounded her hoof into the ground and her eyes lit up with fury. There was no other choice. Her pupils turned to slits, her mane to purple fire, and their laughter turned to screams as the dreaded Nightmare Moon charged toward them.
Their wild screams turned to triumphant shouts as they rushed up their rope and onto the roof, retracting it and the skylight behind them. But they could not escape. silently unfurling her vast ebony wings, the Nightmare of legend rose up, up, and onto the roof, and stopped to catch the scent: Not their scent, of course. The scent of her bacon. Her beloved bacon.
What did they want from her? She realised suddenly that they had a great bargaining power over her! What might they do to tempt the hungered princess? What might they do to her one, her only, her beloved snack? She pushed the raging questions from her predator's mind. Kill the intruders first, take back what was hers, with blood and with dark fire. Then wonder at it all. She would have plenty of time for that when her adversaries lay slain and she was once again reunited with the glorious finish to her perfect sandwich.
Her horn glowed, her hooves raged, and her wings beat on throughout the night. THEY. WOULD. SUFFER.
They would suffer for every drop of grease that was lost, every scrap of dripping flesh that did not make it back to her mouth, every speck of their filthy common hooves that they left upon her precious, gorgeous bacon.
This BLT sandwich would be the most glorious she had ever tasted. Never would she shed so many tears of joy over the delicious taste of her bacon.
There is no fate more painful than that special one reserved for he who dares to come between a princess and her bacon.
...And then she remembered she was Jewish. And she calmed the sh*t down.
