Something for Everyone

Canterlot Castle is an enormous collection of buildings. It is easier than one might think to get totally lost within its halls and corridors, even to go from one building to another without knowing it. But, if one knows precisely where one is going and what one is looking for, one can find a gallery of exquisite works of art. Every work in the gallery represents someone Celestia has loved, in one way or another.

The gallery itself is beautiful, even if one leaves out the works it contains. It is a long, light, airy room of white marble with details picked out in silver and a dark purple, and decorative fluted columns studded along the walls. The works within are almost all portraits. Portraits of stallions, mostly, with a generous dose of mares dotted throughout. Representations of ponies abound, of course, but there are more than a few dragons, and other creatures besides - ancient things, nameless things, things which to a mortal eye would sooner inspire terror and disgust than love and affection. Although Celestia resembles a pony, in truth she is not and her tastes in men (and other things) reflects this.

A statuette of a bulbous thing that looks like a cross between a gorilla, a dragon and an octopus squats in one corner. The base of the statue is covered in writing in a script so strange that it hurts to read, and nopony is entirely certain what stone has been used in the carving. Celestia always gazes at it fondly, but its light coating of dust speaks for the way the maids don't like to get too close to it if they can help it.

There is a painting that is pitch black, apart from a few white specks. The worrying thing is that the specks never seem to stay in the same place between viewings.

An eight-sided blue diamond shape hovers on a plinth. The maids aren't entirely certain how it's hovering, because the unicorns among their number swear it has never been enchanted in any way, and the pegasi know instinctively that it's heavier than air. As for the earth pony maids, they simply feel that it is foreign. Something about it, according to them, just does not fit with Equestria. They say it's like how you can tell a tourist in Canterlot from a pony who's lived there all her life just by looking at the two.

Sometimes the diamond sings.

But of course, not all the objets d'art in the gallery are so unusual. There are stallions and mares sitting calmly, clearly posed for a portrait that will take a long time. There are dragons rearing up, or flying, or even sleeping on their hoards. There are a few paintings of stallions striking those dramatic poses that they think look bold and daring but most mares find a little silly. There are even a few photographs, expertly taken and timed to perfection.

A stallion in a suit and hat sits behind his desk as slits of light fall across his face in a black and white portrait.

Another stallion is photographed standing upon the deck of a mighty wooden ship, preparing to explore new lands and bring friendship to their inhabitants. His mane flows behind him in the wind, and it's so impressive and stirring that one can pretend not to notice one of his crew pulling a silly face at the camera in the background.

A mare makes a disgusted face, having just taken a sip of something it turns out she didn't like. There is another picture of her - a sketch - hanging next to the photograph. It didn't seem fair to show her like that without displaying her at her best to make up for it.

Sometimes Celestia likes to visit this gallery. Not very often, it is true. Usually once every few years, and often less frequently than that - it has been known for Ponies to be born, live full and interesting lives and die in comfort without Celestia ever setting hoof in her personal gallery. It has, conversely, been known for 10 new paintings to be added in as many years.

When she walks there, she walks alone. There are not even guards outside the door, for they know better than to risk disturbing their liege when she is in her gallery. What is within is hers and hers alone.

Now, what may surprise you about Celestia and her gallery (especially if you are a fan of pulpy romances of the more depressing and melodramatic school) is that she does not cry. She does not curse cruel fate, or bemoan death's greed, or set her blood to flowing over the floor. Instead, she smiles. She smiles to remember the time she shared with her lost loves, and she smiles at the thought that if there turns out to be some kind of afterlife, they have joined together there. She's even willing to forgive them for all the gossiping and griping that is sure to go on in such a gathering.

Even for the gossip that is actually true.

And so Celestia walks her gallery, and remembers, and smiles. Not very often, nor for very long, but enough. And that is how Celestia would describe her romances, if she were to speak of them - perhaps not long, but time enough for happiness.