Guilty pleasures.
There is a not a single pony alive on this planet that escapes the peril of their own guilty pleasure or vice. For some, perhaps they may have one. But for others, like myself, can have several. Whatever they may be, these vices can draw out the mind and force a terrible realization upon oneself: no one is omniscient, no one infallible. Yet they do offer balance to any lifestyle. Many of our subjects would be devastated to discover I’m not the perfect princess they think I am, a fact I cannot help but chuckle at. Over my long life I have made many mistakes, but I do my best to learn from them, whatever they may be, just as anypony should.
Cake, gryphonic whiskey and the occasional romance novel. Those are my guilty pleasures, and I am ambivalent about them. Many ponies believe as the princess of the day, it would be my sister, Luna, guardian of the night, who would be more susceptible to such things as alcohol and romance. It’s amusing to know that this couldn’t be further from the truth, though she is not without her own. As it is not my place to mention them, however, perhaps it best I return to myself. Cake, gryphonic whiskey and romance novels. They are hardly the best vices to have, but they are hardly the worst.
On cold winter nights, or in the weary hours of the morning, sometimes I might banish the chills from my body with a small beaker of whiskey. It is a fiery drink – the strongest stuff the gryphons make – but I have grown to love it. On nights of grief or failure however, I might forgo the beaker for the bottle. For instance, when the changeling queen cast me down in front of Twilight and her friends, I knew I had failed them. Though I managed to keep an commendable appearance for the wedding, once it was over, I succumbed to the temptation.
On days that I am feeling down, bored or beside myself, I may forsake my work to crack open one of the many books on my bookshelf for an hour or two, much to my secretary’s chagrin. I welcome an escape from this world into one where my decisions bear no consequences, however foalish it might be. It’s a peaceful rest from the rigours of the world, a world which I too often seem to be made the center of. I know I’ll have to make a decision when I emerge from the story, I know I’ll have to right some wrong, but I cannot help myself.
Whiskey and romance novels might be a part of me, but it is my hunger for cake which shapes me… Well, perhaps not quite in that way. Of course I make great efforts to keep the weight off, but instead, that single desire has taught me more about life then I could ever hope to imagine. It is in struggling to overcome ourselves that we learn who we truly are.
It may sound odd to say my life is so influenced by a dessert, but give me a moment to explain myself. In our lives, we remember our fondest memories with one particular sensation. It could be the sound of a robin chirping that reminds us of that spring picnic, or the colour of the walls in a hospital for waiting on the birth of a foal. For so many of my memories, it is cake. Of course, that is not all that reminds me of those occasions; the chance to eat the delicious confection is somewhat of a anomaly for me. You’d think as a princess I could eat whatever I wanted, but too many of my friends thought it unfitting of my position to be eating simple cake. With that, everytime I do get cake, it makes the moment all the more memorable.
It might be thought that cake would most often come from the royal kitchens, or some world-renowned bakery. Actually, most of the cake I get to eat is snuck in by the guards. For many, the Royal Guards are all that their name suggests and nothing more: guards. Truth is, they are the ones who take the time to put up with my antics. Most of them understand what I go through day after day and seek to ease the burden any way they can.
It was many years ago that I caught a cold. I had been sleeping little with the paperwork which had to be done. But my clerical duties prevented me from taking even a day off to rest. Most of the nobles and general public did not notice it, but those closest to me did. The next day, Blue Heart, a sergeant in the guard, knocked on my door as I sat working. I bade him to enter, and he approached me carrying a small box. He presented me with the box, thanked me for my everything I put myself through, then left. Oh, how sweet that stallion was. Inside that box was a homemade chocolate cake, decorated with vanilla frosting and a few blueberries sprinkled on top. Best of all, I had the entire thing to myself, though I did call him back to share a piece with me. It was late into the night before he departed, and it had been an ever so pleasant evening. Through events like those, I have learned to treasure the gifts of others, and value the simple time with friends, however unconventional those times may be.
Speaking of friends, of Twilight and her friends, there is perhaps one who loves cake more than me. Though I believe it would be more accurate to say Pinkie’s guilty pleasure (and diet) is sweets rather than cake. At the end of a dessert competition, there stood the prize winning cake: a glorious masterpiece. I can scarcely remember how to pronounce its name, but it looked no less delicious for it. Twilight cut me one piece, a single piece, Pinkie Pie devoured the rest of it in a single bite. It was quite an incredible feat. One time I managed to replicate it, though not without my sister catching me in the act (who still reminds me of it to this day). I could have stopped Pinkie, but I didn’t. It was likely one of the best cakes I had ever seen or tasted, but I was fated only to have a single piece. Still, it only took one glance at her as she lay there in a sugar induced bliss, to realize she had been waiting even longer than I for that chance. I allowed myself a single sigh before joining her friends in laughter. The happiness you share is always worth what you give up.
Sadly, just because it is something you love, does not mean you will always enjoy it. To this day, there is a reason I will never again eat carrot cake. The taste is fine, but the memories which accompany it are not. The first time I prevailed over Nightmare Moon, it cost me a sister for one thousand years, a duration which seemed barely shorter than an eternity. Yet my subjects threw a celebration for me in my victory. The centerpiece of the entire celebration was a twelve layer carrot cake. When they passed me a piece, they did so eagerly awaiting my judgement. Carrot cake may be something I swore off, but my sister always had adored it. Every year since she was old enough to request it, she would ask for a carrot cake for her birthday. As I stood there and placed her favourite dessert in my mouth, it tasted like ash.
It was in that moment that the weight of my actions finally struck me. I had lost my sister: my only family. I swallowed the cake, shakily smiled at the ponies crowded around me and told them it was divine. Then, I excused myself and hurried towards my room. I hadn’t even made it ten steps before tears were streaming down my face and my breath came out in ragged sobs. I cried till I didn’t have any tears left to shed, and then I cried some more. Were it not for my friends back then (and the whiskey which one of them introduced me to), I may have never been lifted from my depression. Carrot cake still is to me a symbol of my failure.
But just as cake reminds me of the lowest points of my life, it also reminds me of the highest. Cake has always been the celebratory dish of choice. Treaties and agreements brokered between ponies or other races often times were followed by a mutual party or ball. Victories against tyranny in particular were always followed by unforgettable parties. I can remember the taste of each and every cake, and they were all delectable. When the Crystal Empire was re-established and the Crystal Heart returned, they threw a simply massive banquet. Not to be outdone, the kitchens here at the castle prepared a banquet celebrating the return of our close ally. Crystal berries were baked into the cake, and oh was it ever good. Reuniting with old friends is always something worth celebrating.
There are many more memories like this, all highlighted by various types of cake. I’m not implying that cake is what made the memory, but rather, each memory is touched by that dessert to make it all the more noticeable. The years have been kind to me, and I thank the four winds that it has been so. Life is nothing without memories like these, as living only in the moment and inconsiderate of the past would have gotten me nowhere. Let me recount my most recent memory, one which began this morning.
The half a dozen ponies whose responsibility is my health, remind me repeatedly that I have to take better care of myself. It’s become their mantra. Anything from my sleep to my diet I may neglect. But it doesn’t just stop at my health. I have forgotten more of my birthdays than I have remembered, and today had been one of those days. When I awoke this morning, I did so to with no fanfare, groggily raising the sun and stumbling to a shower. A confession: I am not a morning pony. Were it not for my duty of raising the sun, the castle staff would be vainly trying to wake me at noon; I am a very deep sleeper.
I had finished my morning ablutions before I noticed something amiss. Normally, somepony would have come in to go over the day’s schedule. Oddly enough, nopony had. Still, it had happened before, be it for some reason or another: usually a holiday. When I had stepped into the throne room, what awaited me caught me completely by surprise. Over the night a party had been set up for me: my birthday party. How long had it been since I’ve had one? I cannot remember.
So now I sit surrounded by all my friends singing me happy birthday as I sit at the head of a beautiful cake, blazing with many candles. I do not want to even consider how much effort went into it as I examine the enormous dainty. When the song ends, I take a breath, and try to blow out the many candles. Scarcely twenty of them go out. I laugh, and use my magic to extinguish the rest.
I slice into the spectacular cake. A great cheer goes up as the knife slides through clearly, then I begin to pass out pieces. My sister goes to help, but I shoo her away. I want to do this on my own. Once everypony has a piece, I glance down at my own plate, looking at the piece laying on it. There is nothing fancy about it or anything unique. It was a square piece of marble cake with a smooth layer of vanilla icing on top. When I go for a bite, I hear a little filly ask what I wished for when I blew out the candles. Somepony else tells her that it won’t come true if I tell them. I keep quiet, but my wish was the same it has been every year. I look up, setting down my fork to look at the room before me.
I see Twilight Sparkle speaking with her brother, Cadence and Rarity, telling a story which causes them to break into laughter. I see Applejack and Rainbow Dash hoof-wrestling before a crowd of spectators and Fluttershy acting as judge. I wonder if she can see Private Summers behind her trying to build up the courage to speak to her. I see Pinkie Pie doing… well, whatever it is that Pinkie Pie does, assisted by my somewhat unwilling sister. All I know is they are surrounded by members of the kitchen staff who are barely able to stand from laughing so hard.
I see Tangled Web leaning lovingly against Brilliant Shore. I anticipate the news that one of them has proposed to the other. I see my secretary speaking to Willow Ways about me. I can tell by the way they look over when they think I’m not looking. I see the servants, the Royal Guard and many nobles. I see ponies I barely know, ponies I know everything about and ponies of all statures and sizes. But most of all, everywhere I look, I see everypony I love.
My wish?
Let them love and mourn, weep and celebrate, argue and work together. Let them live their lives to the fullest, revelling in their victories, while learning from their mistakes. But most of all, let them live with friendship in their hearts, knowing it will never fade nor die.
And let them eat cake.
