"And then I can learn real magic!?"
"Absolutely," Celestia said.
From her place beside her, Twilight grinned until it looked like her face was about to split apart. "Wow! Are you gonna teach me?"
She wasn't a large filly, and her hooves padded softly over the grass. The ground was still wet with dew, Canterlot Gardens slowly waking up with the rest of the city. Celestia turned to peer down at her new student.
"I may," she said. "Would you like me too?"
"Oh, yes, please!" Twilight hopped and down, her eyes shining. Celestia chuckled in spite of herself; if there was one thing that she could say about Twilight, it was that she had quite a bit of energy. Fillies were like that.
Celestia looked back over her shoulder. The sunrise was coming along nicely. A yellow spark leapt from the tip of her horn, and she nudged the sun up a few degrees. Shades of pink and gold danced over the Canterlot skyline as she turned her attention back to her student, who was currently babbling about the types of magic she planned to learn.
"—and telekinesis, and telepathy, and teleportation!"
"That's quite an extensive list," Celestia said. "Are you sure you're up for all of that?"
"Uh-huh," Twilight said. "I'll study every day, I promise."
"I'm sure you will." Celestia turned down the dirt path that cut through the Gardens, taking a quick moment to smell the new patch of roses that the gardener had planted last week. They smelled wonderful—she made a note to thank him later. "But wouldn't you rather do things other than study, too? Play outside?"
Twilight followed beside her, her stubby filly's legs working overtime to keep pace. "Not really," she said, making a face. "If I don't study, then how else will I become the best unicorn ever?"
"Like—" Celestia began, but Twilight got there first.
"Like Starswirl the Bearded!" she said. "Or Incendia, or Amethyst Star, or, or—"
The filly seemed at a loss for words. Celestia quirked an eyebrow, waiting.
"—or anypony else, only better!" Twilight said, recovering. "I'm gonna be the best."
"In all of Equestria?"
Twilight's head bobbed up and down. "Uh-huh!" She paused. "Only, uh, not as good as you."
Celestia stopped beside a grove of orchids. She peered down at her student; Twilight's nose was wrinkled, as though she'd encountered a particularly nasty math problem. "What makes you say that?"
Twilight rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. You're the Princess!"
"And?"
"And—and—"
Celestia waited.
"—and so you're the best, and that's that," Twilight finished. "But if I study really hard, I can get almost as good as you."
A frown almost crossed Celestia's face, but she exchanged it for a smile. "You know, Twilight," she said, "there's more to life than magical ability."
"I know. There's books, and tests, and—"
Celestia coughed. Twilight cut herself off, her cheeks coloring a light pink.
"Sorry," she said.
"Don't be," Celestia replied.
She glanced to the side. Keeping Twilight beside her, she walked toward a small patch of grass bordering a hedge of daisies.
Celestia knelt down onto the ground beside a fountain, the grass tickling her belly. Twilight took a place beside her, her stubby legs curling under her chest.
"What I meant," Celestia said, carefully, "was that there are things other than old books and scrolls. Sometimes, the things that matter most are right in front of our faces."
Twilight frowned, biting her lower lip as she thought. Celestia felt her student's warmth beside her body as the two lay in the grass, the songs of the morning birds echoing through the garden. Twilight's brows furrowed deeper, but Celestia made no move to disturb her.
Finally, Twilight asked, "So what does matter?"
"Quite a few things," Celestia said. "It's different for everypony—for some, it's a song, a type of music they find. For others, it's a belief. There are as many things that matter as there are ponies in Equestria."
Twilight looked nonplussed. Celestia sighed, a fond smile crossing her face.
"For others, it may be another pony."
Twilight's eyes lit up. "Like you?"
Celestia chuckled. "I'm flattered that you think of me so highly, Twilight. But yes—that is some part of what I mean."
"Well...you're important to me," Twilight said slowly. "Am I important to you?"
"Of course you are." Celestia said. "You're my faithful student, after all."
Twilight took a moment to consider that. "What about other ponies?"
"Well, another way to find what matters is to find somepony to love. A very special somepony, like your mother and your father."
"Y'mean, like, colts?" Twilight made a face. "Ew!"
"Or fillies," Celestia said. "What matters is that you find somepony that you truly love. Somepony that you want to share your life with."
"Like with all of those yucky romance novels that Mom has?" Twilight shook her head, her mane whipping at the sides of her neck. "Yuck! I'd much rather stay here with you."
"I'm sure you would," Celestia said. "But you may find that you change your mind."
"Maybe," Twilight said doubtfully.
A few moments passed. The sun was beginning to crest the spires of Canterlot Palace, the windows shining with reflected light. A warm breeze blew through the Gardens, whistling over Celestia's ethereal mane. Finally, she spoke again.
"Tell me, Twilight," Celestia began, "do you like riddles?"
Twilight nodded. "Yup! My favorite is the one from The Golden Bridle, where the wizard has to find the password to enter the lost city of Atlantia." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "It's actually the Seapony word for 'friend,' only they didn't actually know that at first."
"I'm afraid I'm speaking of a somewhat different riddle," Celestia said, "but I'm sure you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Would you like to hear it?"
"Yes, please," Twilight said.
Celestia smiled.
"There's a reason for the world," she said simply. "Can you find it?"
"A reason?"
Celestia inclined her head. "For everything."
"For everything?" Twilight asked, sounding incredulous. "For all of Equestria?"
"And for everything beyond that," Celestia replied. "For every pony, griffon, or dragon that ever lived, there was a reason. And I'm trusting you to find it."
Twilight mouthed the word 'wow.' Celestia had to stifle a giggle; evidently, her student hadn't quite gotten over her awe at being given an assignment by the Princess herself.
"You don't have to give me an answer right away," Celestia said. Twilight's shoulders almost sagged with relief, and this time, Celestia did let out a giggle. "Don't think of it as an assignment. Think of it as...a lesson."
"Okay," Twilight said. "Are you sure you don't want an answer now?"
"Do you have one?"
Twilight opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it again. Her brow furrowed as she stared at the ground, her little hoof brushing over the grass below. "This is hard," she finally said.
Celestia's eyes sparkled. "I'm sure it is. But I'm confident that you can come up with an answer, my faithful student."
Twilight's head bobbed up and down. "I won't let you down!"
"Wonderful." Celestia winked. She pushed herself up from the grass, brushing off any errant specks of dirt or debris that had clumped against her coat. "Now, what say we get some ice cream?"
Twilight was on her hooves in a flash. "Ooh, yes, please! Can we go to that place with the chocolate fudge?"
"You mean Vanilla Bean's Creamery? I don't see why not."
"Yes!"
Celestia watched fondly as Twilight hopped down the path out of the Gardens. Her crown glittered in the morning light, her mane rippling around her head with every breath. She smiled, took a breath—
—and blinked.
“—was wondering what you thought of my proposal.”
Celestia blinked again, steadying herself. Goodness, hadn’t she just been—
Twilight—tall for her age, but still caught in the messy, uncertain era between filly and mare—looked up at her with her impossibly wide eyes. There was a quill levitating beside her, and a piece of parchment on the table.
The table. Right. Twilight’s desk. It was old oak: good, hardy wood. Celestia herself had gotten it for her on her student’s eleventh birthday. It was piled high with books and scrolls, and squeaked a little every time Twilight set her quill down.
“Princess?”
“Proposal. Of course.” Celestia offered Twilight a smile and took a step closer. A yellow aura sprang up around her horn. “Mind if I take another look?”
“Not at all!” Twilight’s horn flickered to life, and her magical field seemed almost eager in pushing the scroll into the Princess’s face.
Celestia skimmed the first few lines. They were written in a tight, compact font; where her own script was much more like the calligraphy of days long past, Twilight’s was the very picture of efficiency. Celestia could swear that she’d not seen quite so many right angles outside of a geometry textbook.
“It’s certainly well thought out,” she said, her eyes flickering toward the bottom of the page. The parchment was speckled with scratch marks and eraser shavings, and if she turned it just a degree toward the light, she could make out revisions that hadn’t quite made it through. “So, you think you’re ready for a full analysis of the Copying Spell?”
“Oh, yes,” Twilight said. “I’ve assembled a collection of texts that I could use as samples for my experiment, and I’ve double checked with Professor Brightmane all the equations that I’d need to run the analysis.”
“And what analysis might that be?” Celestia asked, scanning the parchment.
“Nothing fancy. I just want to measure the average magic output of the spell over time. Still, it’s a start—and once I get this approved, think of what else I could do!”
Celestia chuckled at the look on Twilight’s face: even with her mane falling in three different places over her forehead and a reddish patch of acne on the tip of her snout, it was hard to miss the sense of earnestness shining through. “Okay, then. I’ll be sure to send this to your headmaster with my seal of approval. Just make sure to follow all of the safety precautions in your book.”
Twilight—who had never ignored a rule in a book in all her short life—positively glowed. “Thank you, Princess! I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Celestia said. Twilight’s toothy grin made a warmth rise in her heart. As her eyes swept around the room, though, each successive stack of books and papers took some of that warmth away—it didn’t fade, certainly, but it was...muted.
“Twilight,” she said.
“Yes?” Twilight said.
The parchment floated back down to the table, the yellow halo around it disappearing. “Have you considered bringing any of your classmates in on this project of yours? Surely a collaboration might not be such a bad idea.”
“Not really,” Twilight said. She made a face. “They’re so far behind that I’d have to spend the whole time bringing them up to speed. Besides, I doubt they’d be interested.”
“Really?”
“Yup,” Twilight said, frowning. “They’re too busy with parties and things. I doubt even one of them has even reread the textbook yet.”
“Perhaps,” Celestia said. “But you have to remember that even scientists work with each other. Teamwork is an important part of any academic field.”
“Then I’ll work with them in the lab,” Twilight said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like them outsidethe classroom.”
Celestia sighed.
“You know,” she said, “there’s more to life than studying.”
“Yes, I know.” Twilight waved a hoof in dismissal. “You told me that when I was a filly. But how could I spend time with somepony who didn’t even know Fetlock’s Last Theorem?” She spread her forelegs wide, wearing an incredulous expression. “Can you imagine it?”
“I certainly can,” Celestia said, stifling a smile. “But perhaps you’re looking at this the wrong way.”
Twilight frowned again.
“What do you dream about?”
Twilight blinked.
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Well? Go on.”
“Well, I’m guessing that you don’t want to hear about the dream I had two nights ago about Spike and a giant teddy bear,” Twilight mused. “Hm.”
“What is your dream?” Celestia supplied. “Perhaps that will help.”
“To be the most magical unicorn in Equestrian history.” Twilight’s reply came instantly, her eyes shining. “To read every book in Equestria. To make you—”
Her voice fell off, and she gave an awkward chuckle. “To, uh, make you proud, I guess,” she finished quietly.
“All very admirable goals,” Celestia said. “And you truly flatter me, Twilight—I’m honored that you think so highly of me. But are you sure you’re dreaming for the right things?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me, Twilight,” Celestia said. “What would reading every book in Equestria mean to you?”
“That I’d have more knowledge?” Twilight offered. The look on her face was somewhere bewilderment and guilt. Celestia recognized that expression. She’d seen it every time that Twilight had gotten an answer wrong on an oral exam.
“And what does knowledge mean to you?”
Twilight opened her mouth—and then closed it. She sat, quietly, on her chair, with her hooves swinging in the air above the floor.
“You see,” Celestia said gently, “the pursuit of knowledge is an admirable goal, but it cannot be an end in itself. Meaning is what we all search for in life, and I’d be remiss if I said that I didn’t want each of my little ponies to find it.”
Twilight’s brows furrowed until her eyes almost appeared closed. “Meaning? What do you mean by that?”
“It’s different for everypony,” Celestia said. “Some ponies find it in music; others, in art.” Something sparkled in her eye. “A very wise pony once told me that he only realized what truly mattered when he gave up logic for love.”
“That sounds silly,” Twilight said. “Why would he do that?”
“He found an angel,” Celestia said simply, “and she found him.”
Twilight snorted—and then blinked, her expression shifting into shock as she realized, it seemed, that she’d just insulted the Princess. “I mean,” she quickly said, “it just sounds a bit strange.”
“I’m sure it does.” Celestia smiled. “But I believe that’s enough philosophical tangents for one day. How is Spike’s fire-breathing training coming along?”
Twilight’s face lit right back up. “Much better now that he’s learned to not burn things every time he hiccups. I was actually doing some reading yesterday—did you know that dragonfire actually…”
When Celestia finally left her, Twilight still hadn’t offered to do the collaboration. The subject of friends didn’t come up again for sometime.
Still, as Celestia walked out the door, there was a thoughtful look on Twilight’s face. Knowing that the seed had been planted, Celestia smiled to herself, straightened her crown—
—and stepped into her chambers, a scroll floating beside her.
When she settled down to read it, it was with a cup of tea hovering by her horn, and with a stack of parchment by her hooves. She took a sip of tea—mint, with extra honey—as she read Twilight’s latest correspondence.
Dear Princess Celestia,
I am happy to report that the dragon has departed our fair country, and that it was my good friend, Fluttershy, who convinced him to go. This adventure has taught me to never lose faith in your friends. They can be an amazing source of strength, and can help you overcome even your greatest fears.
Always your faithful student,
Twilight Sparkle.
Celestia felt a fierce sense of pride in her chest. She remembered Fluttershy, of course—how could she not remember the Bearer of Kindness? It seemed those skills had served her well while working alongside her friends.
And Twilight…
Dipping her quill into a pot of ink, Celestia opened a fresh piece of parchment and began to write.
My Dearest Twilight Sparkle,
You must extend my gratitude to your friends for assisting you on this quest. All of Equestria is surely in Fluttershy’s debt. Dragons can be fearsome creatures, and it does me good to know that you have found a friend with such strength of will.
You’re learning so much in Ponyville—more, I believe, than you could have ever learned in Canterlot. I’m so proud of you. The magic of Friendship is an incredible thing, and I have little doubt that you will one day uncover all of its mysteries. Each pony can hide wonderful secrets inside, and it takes a true friend to uncover them all.
Celestia paused, a drop of ink falling from the quill’s tip as she thought. Perhaps she would not be remiss in giving Twilight a visit in person. Just to see how she was doing.
She’d have to be careful, she realized. It was no secret how highly Twilight thought of her; too much of a presence around her student could put undue pressure on her. Why, imagine if Twilight began to think of her Friendship Letters as homework! Celestia giggled at the thought.
No, she decided. She’d have to be subtle. She couldn’t allow herself to be the teacher anymore—Twilight was no longer solely her student. Twilight was a student of Friendship, now, and an overbearing Princess in her life could only stifle her growth.
Her tongue between her teeth, she set quill to paper once more, closing her eyes as the gentle scritch-scratch of its tip filled her ears.
On another note, did you know that I’ve been considering taking a tour of Equestria? It can only do me good, after all—a Princess who refuses to leave her castle is no good to anypony. Perhaps I will bring Luna with me.
Ponyville, of course, would be my first stop. I would love the opportunity to meet with your friends once more. Let us only hope that no more dragons or Nightmares come to stymie the festivities.
Give my love to Spike. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the package I’ll be sending him next week.
Yours,
Princess Celestia
A chuckle escaped her as she signed her name with a final flourish. Yes. This would do perfectly.
And, she admitted to herself, it would allow her one more glimpse of her student while she was young. She was growing up so fast…
With a flicker of her horn, the parchment curled up into a scroll and disappeared, vanishing in a puff of golden smoke.
Celestia looked out of the window and smiled. It was a lovely morning: the sun had just poked over the top of the Canterlot skyline. Sunbeams scattered throughout the city, giving each pane of glass a bright golden glow. She could feel the sun in the back of her mind: warm, and filled with joy for a new day.
Her horn glimmered yellow as she reached out to give it a nudge. Soon, it would no longer need her help, rising high into the sky before it would descend toward the horizon, and only returning to her at the dawn of a new day.
The sun rose—
—and the sun fell, and rose, and fell again.
Dear Celestia.
Goodness; it still feels odd not to open these letters with “Dear Princess” Celestia. Five years after my coronation, and you think I would have gotten the hang of it. Spike’s rolling his eyes as I write this, though of course he thinks I can’t see because he’s so tall.
In any case, I’m happy to report that this year’s Running of the Leaves has been a resounding success. I double-checked with Mayor Mare that all of the participants had been properly registered, and made sure that we didn’t miss any obvious trails. Fluttershy was extremely helpful with that—did you know that squirrels get very upset when their trees are only half-bare? I certainly didn’t.
Nightmare Night is coming up soon, and in response to your last letter, I’d be more than happy to welcome Luna to Ponyville for the celebrations. We’ve even considered opening a “Haunted Trail” of sorts between Fluttershy’s house and my castle. With all of the spring cleaning we’ve been doing this year, the Everfree shouldn’t hold any dangers for an enterprising young colt or filly. Besides, Zecora and Pipsqueak have both volunteered to lead the tours. When he heard that Luna might be attending Nightmare Night, little Pip offered to give her a tour himself. I’d never seen a pony blush so red.
I suppose it’s time for the gossip. I’ll never understand why you find all this so fascinating, but it feels good to get it down on paper all the same.
Apple Bloom managed to get herself a part-time job at Quills & Sofas. Repairing sofas, of course—Applejack didn’t think she’d be able to find the time away from her farm workshop, but Apple Bloom seems determined to make a bit of money on her own. I think it’s to visit Babs again, to be honest. That young mare really does love the city.
Oh! I almost forgot! They’ve been very hush-hush about it, but Fluttershy and Big Macintosh went on their first date last week. Big Mac was all pink cheeks and stutters when Applejack found him with a sprig of wildflowers the weekend before. I think she mentioned something about refusing to let “some random hussy take her big brother out.” Boy, was she embarrassed when he told her who they were actually for.
Spike’s snickering as I write this, but they’re absolutely adorable together. Fluttershy and Big Mac, that is. He seems a perfect gentlestallion, and I’ve never seen her so...at ease with somepony before. I’d better stop before I start going on about what their foals would look like. I don’t want to start sounding like Rarity.
I think that’s all for this week. I’ll make sure to send in my next letter by sometime next Tuesday. Spike should be around then.
Yours,
Twilight Sparkle.
My Dearest Twilight,
Luna was delighted to hear of your invitation. Truth be told, I believe she may harbor more of a desire to see that adorable young stallion than she’s letting on, but she wouldn’t admit it even if I broadcasted it from the roofs of Canterlot.
I’m delighted to hear of Fluttershy and Big Macintosh. A wise stallion I once knew said, “A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and pony cannot live without love.” I’m sure that Big Macintosh will help Fluttershy bloom as much as the most beautiful flower. I can’t help but imagine it now—you simply must send me some pictures for the benefit of my voyeuristic spirit. I’m sure they are every bit as adorable together as I’m imagining it.
Your parents came to visit me yesterday, by the way. I was left with the firm impression that I was to inquire as to your intentions for their anniversary. However much they may have appreciated it, your mother seemed quite emphatic that an event such as last year’s city-wide celebration is out of the question. I myself quite agree. Thirty-one years is hardly important next to a full thirty. Perhaps a more subtle gift is in order this year.
I find myself recalling that the Wonderbolts’ draft is due for next spring. Do you know whether Rainbow Dash plans to submit her name for consideration? Her Sonic Rainboom at your brother’s baby shower was certainly impressive.
I’m afraid that, in the time of writing this letter, a mound of paperwork has grown up that I must deal with. Canterlot bureaucracy suffers without your watchful eye, it seems—or, at the very least, my punctuality does.
Yours Truly,
Celestia
Dear Celestia,
I’m beginning to think they’ll never drop last year’s anniversary fiasco. Could you see to it that they receive the gift I’ve enclosed with this letter? It’s an order of chocolates from that Ponyville shop that Dad liked so much when they visited. I’m sure they’ll love it.
—Twilight
Twilight—
Your parents seemed to enjoy your gift very much. They’d like to know when you’ll be visiting them again, though, or at least allow them to visit you. I quite understand their apprehension myself. Perhaps you’ll consider at least coming home for a weekend?
—Celestia
Dear Celestia
I’m so very sorry for not writing a letter for such a long time. It’s been a long winter, and I’ve been up to my eyesockets in paperwork for the wrap-up. It seems that Ponyville’s new Marketing District found itself understaffed, and had to deal with an excess of rooftop slush for an entire week! Raindrops was understandably annoyed.
I’m sure you’ve heard this already from Spitfire herself, but—wait for it—Rainbow Dash made the Wonderbolts! They want to keep her acceptance hushed-up until their first show, but Dash is practically over the moon. She’s been spending every other day with Soarin’ and his team. I can’t wait until the big day—I’ve heard that they plan to finish it off with a Sonic Rainboom! Can you imagine? Pinkie’s already decked herself out in Rainbow Dash merchandise, though I’m a bit uncomfortable imagining where she got all those rainbow-maned hats.
Rarity’s been spending quite a bit of time around the castle lately. She says it’s for the redecoration; apparently, I’ve let the place stay empty for far too long. “A ghastly haunt full of drafts and musty paperwork,” she said, and I have to admit that she’s right. It’s nice having her around; I thought that she’d be overwhelmed with orders from her new branch in Canterlot, but she swears that she’s able to make the time easily enough. I wholeheartedly believe her—I’m actually fairly proud of the schedule she’s drawn up for herself. If only more ponies could take as much initiative!
I’m glad that Mom and Dad liked my anniversary gift. I feel bad for turning down their offer to host my birthday, but I honestly don’t think I could spared the time. I do plan on surprising them with a visit next weekend, though—don’t tell them. Maybe I’ll find the time to drop in and see you. It’s been so long since we’ve even managed to have tea together outside of some royal function or other.
Well, I suppose I’m rambling on, now. I’d better go—Spike is holding my latest book order, and I think he might drop it. I’ll speak to you soon!
Yours,
Twilight
PS: I know this is long overdue, but I thought that you might appreciate the pictures I’ve attached to this letter.
My Dearest Twilight,
I’m overjoyed to hear about Rainbow’s acceptance. Spitfire did manage to let it slip in conversation the other day, but I was happy to have already heard it from you. Do give Rainbow Dash my congratulations.
So much has happened in Canterlot since your last letter. Did you know that the Royal Palace is being renovated? It may surprise you, but it was at Luna’s suggestion, of all ponies. She’d mentioned an idea to give citizens more power over their daily affairs, and I can’t say that I don’t find it attractive. Excessive paperwork aside, it’ll be nice to see Canterlot take more of its own affairs in hoof. We’ve not formally announced this expansion yet, but I’ve already approved the designs for what Luna has taken to calling a “Parliament.” We hope for the first elections to take place within the year.
I must thank you, by the way, for those pictures of Fluttershy and Big Macintosh you sent. They truly are adorable together—they’ve been going steady for nearly half a year now, I’d imagine. And who was that stallion with Applejack? I could swear that I’ve seen that horseshoe Cutie Mark somewhere.
I’d be happy to meet with you during your visit to Canterlot. Shall we call it for next Saturday? I’ll clear my calendar—if there’s one thing that the Royal Secretary knows, it’s how to take a hint. Luna may resent me for the extra work she gets that day, but deep down, I know she loves feeling involved.
That’s all for me. Looking forward to seeing you again.
Yours,
Celestia
Dear Celestia,
It’s been a few weeks since our little “tea party,” but I just want to repeat how wonderful it was. I don’t believe we’ve had that much fun together for...gosh, it’s been ages, hasn’t it? It was lovely just to see you again.
The stallion in that picture with Applejack is named Caramel. He’s been a part-time worker on the farm for years, now, and it seems they’re finally spending some time together off the clock. Don’t let Applejack hear me saying that, though. That mare’s in more denial than Discord.
You’ll have to let me know how that draconequus is doing, by the way. I’ve not seen him for some time. I seem to recall Fluttershy mentioning him going on a world tour a year or two back; is he somewhere in Saddle Arabia right now, turning headscarves into hoodies?
You might be interested to know that Spike has decided to come back to Canterlot to take some summer classes at the Academy. He told me that he’d be fine with a correspondence course, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’ll do him good to be in a classroom setting, especially because Sweetie Belle is already there to re-introduce him to the place. It’ll do the professors good, too—I’d love to see the look on a certain professor’s face when she realizes that there’s a six-foot-tall dragon sitting in the front row of her class. Do remind him to keep up with his coursework; he can be such a procrastinator sometimes.
While he’s gone, of course, I’ve had to send my own letters, as you’ve no doubt already noticed (unless I got the long-distance teleportation spell wrong, in which case I’d like to apologize to anypony reading this by mistake). I’m happy that he’s expressing interest in improving his education, but...the castle feels more than a bit empty without him. We get the same stream of visitors and petitioners that we always have, but once everypony’s gone, it’s just not the same. I rarely see Fluttershy or Applejack anymore, and Rainbow Dash is budy off somewhere in Cloudsdale with her training. Pinkie’s time is taken up almost entirely by the bakery; Mr. and Mrs. Cake seem to be taking more and more time off these days. I’m more than halfway convinced that they plan to retire soon. If so, then Sugarcube Corner will be in good hooves.
Thankfully, Rarity still manages to find the time to hang out around the castle. I swear, I don’t know how that mare does it, but whenever I think she’s taken with another monstrous order from Canterlot, I turn around and there she is. It’s...nice, having her here. The redecoration is finished—it looks “fabulous,” by the way—but I can’t help but feel a little less lonely when she’s here. There’s just something about her that brightens the place up; I can’t quite put my hoof on it. She’s absolutely wonderful to talk to; I don’t think I’ve been as open with anypony else other than you.
She’s calling my name now, as a matter of fact. It seems the tea’s ready to go.
All my love,
Twilight
Dearest Twilight,
It’s wonderful to hear that you and Rarity have been spending some quality time together. It’s always good to have somepony to talk to. Why, without you and Luna, I’m sure I would have gone mad long ago.
I’m sorry to hear that your other friends haven’t had quite as much time to spend with you lately. I’m sure that you’re still happy for Rainbow Dash, but at the same time, I more than understand how you feel. The magic of Friendship, though, burns on within the six of you still—even after time spent apart, I’m sure that your bond remains as strong as it ever was. In the meantime, I think time with Rarity can only be good for you. That mare has a wonderful personality, and no small amount of integrity.
You’ll be happy to hear that Spike has gotten settled in without much trouble, if any at all. I don’t doubt that you and he have traded your own correspondence, but allow me to add my own assurances that my door is always open for him, should he require it.
Discord would like me to let you know, by the way, that he’s doing wonderfully. He’s in between trips at the moment—the Equestrian embassy in Prance, thankfully, merely submitted a polite request for his removal rather than starting any real affair over it—and he tells me that he’s pondering a visit to Ponyville. I’m sure you’ll find accommodations for him.
Wishing you well.
Love,
Celestia.
Dear Celestia,
I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I swear, the time just flashed by. One minute it was July, and the next, Hearth’s Warming Eve was nearly here.
I’m sure you’ve heard through the grapevine by now that Rarity and I are spending quite a bit of time together. I’m afraid that’s not quite true—we’re spending a lot of time together. Every other day, it seems, she’s waiting at my door, ready to whirl me away.
The thought never really crossed my mind, but I heard Spike mention something about “dating.” After a bit of deliberation—along with a bit of cross-referencing from The Mare’s Guide To Interequine Relationships—I’ve come to the realization that what Rarity and I have been doing can, indeed, be classified as such.
Me. Dating one of my best friends. Can you believe it?
I wasn’t exactly sure how to think of it at first. I almost brought it up to Rarity herself—she loves to gossip, and I’m sure gossipping about herself would be a whole new experience for her—but something held me back.
Am I really sure that I want to go ahead with this? Other ponies date for fun, or to pass the time, but...gosh, dating can lead to marriage! I’m barely thirty! Do I really want to make that commitment? I know that, statistically speaking, it’s fairly normal for somepony in my demographic to be searching for a special somepony, but…
Rarity! Me! Dating!
Oh, what do I do? I know that I like Rarity—I certainly enjoy her company more than most ponies’—but do I love her? I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what to do.
Do you know anything that can help?
Your Truly,
Twilight Sparkle
My Dearest Twilight,
What you’re experiencing is completely natural. It, in many ways, is very similar to what your friends Fluttershy and Big Macintosh are undergoing right now. Love is a pure, all-pervading emotion, and while I understand your reluctance to give into what you do not understand, I advise you not to throw it away.
What you have with Rarity is precious, and your previous letters have showed me that you appreciate it every much as you should. Taking it a step further may seem scary, but I know that you’re brave enough to make that decision.
If you’re still confused, or afraid, then I advise you to ask yourself one simple question:
Is there anyone else that you would rather be with?
Warm regards,
Celestia
Dear Celestia,
I don’t know for sure if this is the right choice to make, and I don’t know how it’ll turn out, but I’ve decided to go ahead with it. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Rarity to be my special somepony.
I can only hope that things go well. Thank you for your advice…
“...and for all of the wisdom you’ve ever given to me. I’ll let you know how it went as soon as I can.
“Yours Truly, Twilight Sparkle.”
Celestia glanced up from the worn piece of parchment. Twilight’s eyes were twinkling.
“And the rest,” Twilight said softly, a smile dancing across her face, “is, as they say, history.”
Celestia set the letter back down on the table among a stack of similarly-aged pieces of parchment. Her horn glowed, summoning a cup of tea to her lips as she marvelled over the size of the stack. “Goodness, Twilight. You really don’t throw anything away.”
Twilight chuckled. “I’m a librarian, you know. One doesn’t simply throw away words on a page, whether they’ve been published or not.”
Celestia merely smiled into her tea, inhaling the aroma of jasmine as her eyes moved from the table to glance over Twilight instead. The other mare had aged well; even in middle age, greying hairs were rare in her mane, and the few bits of silver that did poke out lent her an air of maturity. Twilight herself was busy preparing her own tea—exactly two bits of sugar and a teaspoon of cream. Celestia didn’t have to look. Her former student was a mare of habit.
Twilight looked back up as a glow suffused her horn. The dull clink of a spoon against the sides of her cup echoed in the small room. “I’m glad you were able to find the time for this little tea party of mine. Even now that I’m in Canterlot, I see you so little outside of royal functions.”
“Merely seeing you there warms my heart,” Celestia murmured, sipping her tea. “How is Rarity doing, by the way?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard already,” Twilight said. “She’s rolling out a whole new line of autumn apparel next week—her company is working overtime to get the models prepared.”
“I had heard of an upcoming fashion event,” Celestia said. “I suppose I should have put two and two together.”
Twilight chuckled. “I’m just happy that she has the means to put up with such high demand. Those outfits will be rolling off the shelves soon enough, and having actual employees to produce her designs means that she actually has time to spend with me.”
“You’re not regretting the move, then?”
“Not at all,” Twilight said. “It’s been over three years already, and I’ve never seen Rarity this...well, this vibrant before. Expanding her business seems to have only lightened her load, ironically enough. She’s calm. Collected.”
“Not overworked, I hope?” Celestia offered.
“Absolutely not.” Twilight sniffed in what Celestia presumed was an imitation of Rarity’s wealthier clientele—and then burst into giggles. “I wouldn’t let her, anyway.”
“Good to hear.” Celestia smiled.
There was a moment of silence as the two sipped their tea, each looking out of the window. It was a bright, crisp day outside, the last, lingering sunbeams bringing warmth to the few surfaces that they touched. It was a clear day, and the leaves outside were just beginning to change from green to red.
“You know,” Twilight said, still looking through the window, “it’s hard to believe that I’m sitting here right now.”
“Oh?” Celestia asked.
Twilight nodded, ruffling her wings. She readjusted her position on the carpet, her long, lithe legs folding beneath her torso. She was certainly nowhere near Celestia in height, though perhaps a bit taller than Cadance. “Time just seems to have flown right by me,” she said quietly. “It seems like just yesterday that you had sent me out to Ponyville to make friends, but today I’m sitting back here in Canterlot as a Princess. I still don’t entirely believe that,” she added with a smirk, wagging her forehoof in Celestia’s direction. “But I’ve long ago made my peace with it.”
“Time has a way of passing us by,” Celestia agreed.
Twilight sighed. “Moonshine is getting so big,” she mused, raising her teacup to her lips, but not quite drinking it. “She’ll be in the sixth grade soon, did you know? She had all As last semester, and her teacher told me that she’ll be in the accelerated program next year.”
“That sounds like another filly I once knew,” Celestia said. A smile played across her face.
“Maybe,” Twilight admitted. She shook her head. “But every time I look at her, I see that same foal that I gave birth to.
Celestia waited.
“Wet, covered in goop, and crying her eyes out,” Twilight added with a lopsided grin.
“I’m sure she’d be flattered to know of your mental image of her,” Celestia observed, taking a careful sip of tea. “Have you told Rarity about the honors program yet?”
“Of course I have,” Twilight said. “It’s just...she’s growing up too fast, is all.”
Celestia arched an eyebrow.
It took a moment for the gesture to sink in, but the spark of realization was obvious in Twilight’s eyes. She chuckled. “Of course, that must be how we all seem to you. Young in one second, and then covered in wrinkles the next.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Twilight raised an eyebrow in return before snorting and turning back to her tea. “But you’ve been around long enough to become that diplomatic. As for me...well, I won’t be around forever.”
Celestia’s cup, halfway up to her mouth, froze in thin air. She barely dared move a muscle, though Twilight appeared not to notice.
“At the very least, I’m old enough that people have to respect my bluntness. ‘Respect for your elders,’ they call it. Ha!”
Very carefully, Celestia set her cup back down.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’ve certainly heard that before.”
Twilight turned to face her, tilting her head. “Celestia? You sound...strange. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” Celestia said. A tight smile flickered over her face. “Thank you, Twilight, for asking.”
She drew herself back up, forcing the tightness out of her muscles. Silently, she chided herself. This was no way for a princess to act. “But in any case, it sounds like everything is going quite well for you.”
Twilight’s head bobbed up and down. “Absolutely. The big city life couldn’t fit Rarity better.”
“And you?”
Twilight smiled, in a small, childish sort of way. “It’s just enough that I’m able to see you more, Celestia—even if it is mostly through official functions.”
Celestia smiled in return, her thoughts mostly in order once more. “And would you say that you’re happy?”
Twilight hesitated.
It wasn’t a big one—a momentary pause, really, that took place over no more than a fraction of a second—but it was a flicker in Twilight’s eyes more telling than a hundred words.
And then the smile was back on her face.
“Definitely,” Twilight said. “I have a job that most of Equestria would die for, a wonderful daughter, and a beautiful mare who loves me with all her heart. What else could I ask for?”
Celestia said nothing. Instead, she’d known, there was the hesitation again—that split second pause as Twilight’s eyes flickered to the side.
“I’ll admit that I don’t see my other friends nearly as much as I’d like,” she said. “Although Rainbow’s hinted that she might be retiring soon—a Wonderbolt over forty is almost as insane as a cotton-candy hurricane—”
That had been Discord’s “present” to her this past Summer Sun Celebration. Celestia smirked into her tea. There were still puddles of sugar lingering on some Canterlot rooftops.
“—so she’ll have more time to drop by. Who knows? She might even end up in Canterlot.”
Twilight licked her lips. “And Fluttershy and Big Mac still send me letters through Sweetie Belle, and it’s a rare week where Pinkie doesn’t send me some new sugary concoction. So we’re still in touch.”
She sighed: a long, drawn-out breath that made a few strands of her mane dance across her neck. “Things seemed a lot simpler when I was a filly,” she admitted. “Or when I first arrived in Ponyville. So much has changed since then.”
“In good ways, I hope?”
Twilight inclined her head. “Life is...harder, in some ways,” she said. “Different, certainly. But it’s no use wishing for days gone past.”
She met Celestia’s eyes, her lips curving upward. “And I’ve so much to live for that there’s no doubt that it’s been worth it.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Celestia said, chuckling. “Perhaps you’ll write me a friendship letter once you’re back home.”
Twilight snorted. “Maybe. Spike would be nearly apoplectic at seeing me this sappy.”
Celestia merely smiled.
“So,” she said, curving her neck to the side and reaching down. “More tea?”
Twilight’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes please.”
Celestia smiled demurely as the kettle lit up with a golden glow. She swallowed her own tea, closed her eyes, took in a breath—
—and breathed it back out.
She opened her eyes.
“Welcome to the Canterlot Archives. How can I—”
Twilight stopped midword. Slowly, her tight-lipped smile spread into a beaming grin. “Celestia! My goodness; I hadn’t expected you to drop by today.”
“And neither did I,” Celestia said. “My hooves have a mind of their own, it seems. May I come in?”
Twilight chuckled. “They’re certainly not my Archives. Come to my office and make yourself at home.”
Celestia followed behind, taking long, steady steps as Twilight moved across the room. Bereft of the youthful grace she’d once had, the other alicorn now moved with purpose, her every movement precise. A bun of steely-gray hair sat between Twilight’s ears, with only the barest highlights of lavender still remaining. Her coat was still a vibrant purple, though, with only the slightest streaks of silver or gray through her fur.
The door to Twilight’s office clicked open; it was good, solid oak, with Twilight Sparkle: Head Librarian carved across it in gold leaf. Inside was a wide desk cluttered with stacks of paper—some things never changed, Celestia thought with a curl of her lip—and a ratty-looking sofa sitting off to the side of the room. She took a seat there, letting herself sink into the cushions.
“Will you take some tea?” Twilight had busied herself behind the desk, a veritable array of papers and mugs hovering around her. “I just know I have mint in here somewhere.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Celestia said. “I’ve just had some. I’d just like to chat for a bit, if you have the time.”
Twilight turned to look over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes still held that fierce spark of intelligence, but for the first time, Celestia realized that there were wrinkles on her cheeks and forehead. She blinked. When had those gotten there?
“I always have time for you, Celestia,” Twilight said with a smile. “No tea? Just words are fine with me.”
She took a seat behind her desk, steepling her hooves beneath her chin. Though somewhat discolored with age, her hooves were still shined and cleanly cut—almost certainly Rarity’s work, Celestia decided.
“So,” Twilight began, “how are things up at the castle? I’ve not been much involved in royal affairs since my abdication.”
“They’re going quite well,” Celestia said. “How has your research been going?”
Twilight’s eyes lit up. In that moment, Celestia could see once more the brilliance of her student’s foalhood—that pure, untempered desire for knowledge. “Oh, it’s going wonderfully. Did you know that temporal spells actually resonate with a particular frequency?”
“I can’t say I did,” Celestia said with a chuckle. “I see you’ve been spending time in the Starswirl the Bearded Wing lately.”
Twilight waved a hoof. “More than I can count. Rarity seems to think that I’ll start forgetting to feed myself one of these days.”
“And will you?”
“Not with you around,” Twilight said, grinning. “You just can’t leave an old mare alone, can you, Celestia?”
A smile flickered across Celestia’s face. “I’m afraid not. Forgive an older mare her whims.”
“Bah. As if I’d want anything else,” Twilight said. “I don’t know how I would have survived in the castle without you peeking over my shoulder—I’m certainly not going to start turning you away now.”
“Not even for your research?”
Twilight tossed her head back and snorted. “Research can wait.”
Celestia blinked.
“What?” Twilight raised an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on her weathered face. “I’m not about to fool myself into thinking that I’m the only pony who’s ever studied something. I’ve uncovered more than my fair share of knowledge. Why else do you think I wanted to stay a librarian after retiring?”
“And those things that you still don’t know?”
Twilight shrugged. “There’ll always be something that I don’t know. Secrets that I’ve yet to uncover, or mysteries staring me right in the face. I might not ever learn everything, but I’ve already learned the most important thing of all.”
Celestia thought she’d hazard a guess. “The magic of friendship?”
“Got it in one,” Twilight said, giving a throaty chuckle. “Sounds cheesy, doesn’t it? It’s a good thing Spike is off somewhere down south, or else he’d be all over me in a second.” She paused. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“That—oh, you know what I mean,” Twilight said.
Celestia merely smiled, a small, secretive sort of smile. “I think you already know the answer yourself.”
“A standard Celestia non-answer.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “I’d nearly forgotten how irritating those could be. But I’m sure that your next student will learn all about that.”
Celestia frowned.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Twilight said. “I know for a fact that I’m not your first student, and I certainly won’t let you make me the last.” She wagged a hoof in derision. “There’s always more to learn, and I’ll be disappointed if you don’t take on a new apprentice when I’m gone.”
There was a hard lump in Celestia’s throat. She swallowed it and looked Twilight steadily in the eye. “It’s truly that important to you?”
“Of course it is,” Twilight said. “I’m a foolish old mare, and without you, my friends, or Rarity, I never would have made it this far. Goodness; without you, I never would have met Rarity. I just want to make sure that some other foal gets that opportunity.”
“A funny thing, life is.”
Twilight’s smile was genuine, her wrinkled cheeks dimpling beneath her eyes. “It is, isn’t it?”
They sat quietly for a moment.
“A bit of a morbid topic, don’t you think?” Celestia finally asked. “Talk about what comes…” She took a moment to consider. “...after?”
“Of course it is. Don’t even pretend that you’ve not had to deal with something like this before.”
Celestia closed her eyes. An unspoken agreement rang out between them—yes, of course she had, as all ponies had…
...but it’d never been like this.
“And don’t worry.” Twilight patted her chest and coughed. “I’ve got plenty of life left in me. I don’t plan on going out anytime soon.”
“More to do?” Celestia asked.
Twilight met her eyes and smiled. “Perhaps. But, more importantly, there’s always—
“—more to live.”
Celestia bit her lip. The doctor before her stood with his head bowed to the floor, a clipboard hovering at his side. His coat was white and clean. There was a door behind him, marked with a little slip of paper.
“So not long, then,” Celestia said quietly.
The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, Princess. It’s impossible to say for sure, but…”
He left the words hanging in the air like a noose.
“I see.”
“Would you like to see her?”
Celestia’s nod was immediate. The doctor smiled wanly as his horn lit up, the doorknob turning behind him.
“She’s tired,” he murmured as the door swung open, “but I’m sure she’ll stay awake for you.”
“Thank you,” Celestia said. “Truly. For all you’ve done for her.”
The doctor inclined his head. “Of course, Princess. I’ll leave you two be.”
Celestia stepped into the room. The door clicked shut behind her.
The walls were painted baby blue. Picture frames on the walls held art of beaches, fields, or sunrises. There was a balloon tied to a chair that sat against the back wall. The last few sunbeams of the day shone through the window, the sky outside colored a deep gold and scarlet.
There was a bed, too, in the center of the room. The sheets were clean and neatly folded, with a small lump beneath them near the top.
Celestia took a step closer.
“Celestia?”
The lump turned toward her; with a start, Celestia realized that it was in fact a head. Dull purple eyes looked up at her beneath a mane that had long since turned to silver. Wrinkles spread across the face, and Celestia realized that it was smiling.
Twilight Sparkle beamed up at her, her aged hooves curled up over the top of her sheets. “You came.”
Her voice was a wisp of sound, curling into the air before vanishing. It was hoarse, too, but there was a warmth beneath it that made Celestia’s heart swell. She took another step, this time placing her beside the side of the bed.
“Of course I came, Twilight,” Celestia murmured. “I’m so sorry—I was in Saddle Arabia when I heard the news, and—”
“Hush.”
One of Twilight’s eyes was blurred with cataracts, but a glimmer yet lingered in its depths. “You’re here,” she whispered. “And that’s all that matters.”
Twilight licked her lips, looking up at the ceiling. A strange sound came from her throat—it took a moment for Celestia to realize that she was chuckling.
“A hundred years seems so long to a filly,” Twilight murmured. “Yet I’m here, wishing for just another moment. When did I get so greedy, Celestia?”
“You’re anything but,” Celestia said. “No pony wants to stop living.”
Twilight’s mouth inched upward into a smile. “I suppose not,” she said. “I lived a good life, I think.”
“One of the best.”
“All that time,” Twilight murmured, “decades, wasted, just wanting to be older. How could I have been so blind?”
She coughed; Celestia’s eyes widened with alarm, but Twilight waved her away with a weak flap of her hoof. Instead, a small paper cup on the night-table beside the bed lit up with a dim purple glow, hovering over to Twilight’s lips.
“A bit sad, I know.” Twilight licked her lips as the cup hovered back to the table. “I’m afraid that it’s the most that I can do now, but at least I’m good for something.”
“You’ve always been good for something,” Celestia said. “And that has nothing to do with your magical ability.”
Twilight wheezed in a mocking facsimile of a laugh. “It’s something of a cosmic punchline that the Element of Magic can barely muster up the strength to lift a paper cup of water. Go on; laugh. I won’t feel bad.”
Celestia pursed her lips.
Twilight took a deep breath before letting it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. “You won’t forget me, will you Celestia? Not as I was—strong, intelligent, and in the prime of my life.”
“You’re still the most brilliant pony I know,” Celestia said. “And I will never forget a moment of your life.”
“Flatterer. Will you help sit me up?” Twilight asked. “I want to look out of a window before I die—not stare up at a cracked ceiling for the rest of my life.”
Celestia chuckled, her horn glowing with a golden light. “I can certainly do that.”
Twilight’s sagging cheeks inched upward once more as she was moved into an upright position. Celestia made sure to be careful—the spine was a delicate thing, and she didn’t want to injure Twilight’s back. She made sure to stuff a few pillows behind her, just to be sure.
Twilight grunted in thanks, turning to face the window.
“It’s a lovely sunset,” she remarked. “Did you make it?”
Celestia shook her head. “That would be Luna’s job,” she said gently.
“Of course it is.” Twilight gave a sort of chuckle-wheeze again. “Silly me. It’s still very nice.”
“It is,” Celestia said.
She took a seat on the floor beside the bed. Twilight didn’t seem to object.
The sun began to sink below the horizon, rays of red-yellow blazing out across the city. Windows, reflecting the light, looked like panes of solid gold, and the many Canterlot spires sparkled like diamonds.
“You asked me something once,” Twilight said. “A riddle, if I recall correctly.”
“Oh?” Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Did I, now?”
“Don’t start on my memory again,” Twilight scolded. “I know it’s fuller of holes than a changeling’s leg. But I know what I know.”
“Which is?”
“That you asked me a riddle,” Twilight said stubbornly. Her voice shifted, becoming higher-pitched as she drew out her words in imitation of a more ‘regal’ tone.
“There’s a reason for the world,” she said in Celestia’s voice. “For all of Equestria.”
Celestia closed her eyes, smiling. “Ah, yes. I seem to remember a similar riddle. You were just a filly, I believe.”
“To think it took my this long to figure it out.” Twilight shook her head. “You know, for the longest time, I thought the answer was straightforward emotional pandering—’The world exists for you and I’.”
“You and I?”
“And me and you,” Twilight said. “For Rarity and I. For you and Luna. But then I realized that that’s not quite it. That’s not the whole answer.”
Celestia waited.
“We’re here to find each other,” Twilight said, “but that’s not why we do it. No—that’s not it at all.” She coughed.
“We’re here,” she said carefully, “to answer a different question—‘Who am I?’”
“An interesting answer,” Celestia murmured.
“Oh, phooey. You know I’m right.” Twilight snorted. “Melodramatic, I know. But those are the words, aren’t they? We’re here to find out who we are, and the only way to do that is through other ponies.”
Celestia’s lip curled up in a smile.
“Well?”
“That’s correct,” she said. “You’ve solved my little riddle.”
She couldn’t see it, but she knew that there was a tired grin on Twilight’s wrinkled face, beneath the wisps of hair that played across her cheeks.
“Good. Took me long enough.”
The sun was over halfway down, now. It stood out on the horizon, glowing gold like a pat of melted butter. The rooftops were on fire now, blazing with each final sunbeam that escaped into the day.
“A long, long time,” Twilight finally murmured. “I’m tired, Celestia.”
Celestia bit her lip.
“I want more time—but at the same time, all I want is to rest. Like Shiny and Cadance.”
Celestia said nothing.
Twilight coughed again. “Or Rainbow Dash,” she said, wiping her mouth with a shaking hoof. “Goodness knows old age suited that mare not at all..
Seconds passed.
“You’ll give Moonshine my love, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Celestia said. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Twilight smiled. “Good.”
She shook her head. “You know I’m a skeptical pony,” she murmured, “but I can’t help but wonder if there might be something more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve lived a good life,” Twilight said. “I hope. And if this is the end, then maybe that won’t be so bad. But still…”
The words lingered on her lips.
“...maybe when I finally go to sleep, I’ll see her again.”
The sky was dark, the last flashes of red replaced by glimmers of indigo and purple. The first stars were beginning to come out, and in the distance, the silvery glow of the moon was rising.
When Celestia looked back, Twilight’s eyes were closed.
She didn’t need to check to know that her chest was still as well.
Silently, she got to her hooves and stood up. Reaching down, she nuzzled Twilight across her cheek. She looked so small, curled up and wrinkled like this.
There was a smile on Twilight’s face.
“Good night, Twilight,” Celestia whispered. “And I hope you two will meet again.”
The door opened and closed without so much as a squeak. Outside, the doctor was still waiting, clipboard in hoof.
“Princess!” he said, looking up. “How is she?”
The look on her face said everything.
His smile faded. “Ah,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”
Celestia cleared her throat. There was that lump there again, but she knew it would go away in time. “Doctor,” she said, “is my companion still here? He should be downstairs in the waiting room.”
“You mean Senator Pip? I believe so.” The doctor blinked up at her. “Why?”
Celestia closed her eyes. “Tell him to go to my sister. Tell him…"
Good night, Twilight.
“...Tell him that the last of the Elements of Harmony has gone,” she said. “Gone, to join her friends.”
Ponies come, and ponies go. The seasons pass, from summer to snow, before new life brings summer forth again. The planet turns on its axis, and the clocks tick as though time will never come to an end.
And with every sunset, there will be a sunrise to follow.
“Princess!”
There was a little filly: small for her age, but with eyes that flickered with mischief and intelligence. Her coat was a deep blue, her mane a light gold.
There was an ice cream cone floating beside her.
“What are you going to get?” the filly asked. She was practically bouncing up and down—the sooner the Princess got her ice cream, the sooner she could eat her own.
Celestia giggled down at her. “Oh, hush, Glimmer. I’ve still got to make up my mind.”
She looked over the stand’s menu, humming to herself.
“You should get Rocky Road,” Glimmer supplied helpfully. “Or Mint Chocolate Chip. My big sister really likes that.”
“I think I’ll get the Chocolate Fudge cone,” Celestia finally said. “Two bits, right?”
Five minutes later, the two were sitting on a park bench, watching as dozens of other ponies strolled by. Glimmer giggled as Celestia pointed out a clown walking past in his big silly-shoes.
“I like your shoes much better, though,” Glimmer said. “They’re princess shoes.”
“Oh?” Celestia asked. “Do you want to be a princess, then?”
Glimmer appeared to consider this before nodding. “Uh-huh. Then I’d get to live in the castle, and I’d get a lot of servants, and it’d be so much fun!”
“But you already live in the castle,” Celestia pointed out.
Glimmer frowned. “Well, at least I’ll get the princess shoes. So there.”
Celestia chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ve certainly heard worse reasons to want to be a princess. Maybe we can arrange something for the shoes.”
“Do you think I can be a princess, too?”
She paused before peering down into her student’s eyes.
Glimmer beamed back up at her.
“Maybe,” Celestia said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yes!” Glimmer cheered, pumping her hoof in the air. “Princess Celestia says I’d make a great princess!”
“Now, wait just a—”
“Princess! Princess Princess!” Glimmer sang out, hopping around the bench. Celestia just rolled her eyes and smirked.
With a final lick, Celestia finished off the last of her ice cream. “Okay, Glimmer. I think it’s past time we headed back to the castle.”
Glimmer instantly stopped in place and pouted. “Aww…”
“I seem to remember that you had some homework to do,” Celestia chided gently. “Whatever happened to that report on Prench history you had?”
Glimmer coughed guiltily. “Uh, right. That one. Are you sure I have to do it? Can’t we learn some magic instead—like that light spell you told me about”
“I’m afraid that you’re not quite ready for that spell yet,” Celestia replied. A smile flickered across Celestia’s face. “And besides,” she said, “a true princess works hard to become the best she can be, and never turns down an opportunity to learn.”
She couldn’t have chosen better words.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Glimmer asked, jumping to her hooves. “Let’s get going!”
Before Celestia could react, there was a blur of bright blue zipping across the park, dashing through confused pedestrians and leaping through the dirt paths.
Celestia finally recollected herself and got up off of the bench, chuckling to herself. She’d see how long this new zeal for studying actually stayed for.
Still…
She strolled out of the park, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Just before Glimmer had rushed off, she could have sworn that she’d seen something in that filly’s eyes: a six-pointed star, shining from dark blue depths.
She looked back over her shoulder. The sky was painted a bright, cheery blue, with barely a cloud in sight.
And the sun was rising high into the sky.
A secretive smile on her face, Celestia set off down the path after her student. Perhaps she would teach Glimmer that spell today, after all.
fin
