Daniel Rogers in: ...Princess Celestia?

This is a recollection of the last events of Princess Celestia.

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Princess Celestia woke groggily, looking around at her bedroom. The location was lavish in every way: a bed larger than king size, with blankets that had sun and moon motifs; next to the bed sat a night stand, with Celestia's crown upon it; a desk sat at one side of the room, adorned with stacks of paper, an abacus, and a large tiffany lamp with sun designs for the stained glass shade, and a brass neck; and a large mahogany door with big brass and crystal doorknobs and a large bar lock; and a large wooden dresser painted white.

Celestia hated her bedroom; it was far too nice. She wanted something practical, not the most luxurious bedroom ever designed. She didn't like being a princess, she felt ponies looked up to her too much, which prevented her from ever being able to mingle and have a normal life.

This cannot go on any longer, she angrily decided, rising from her bed and trotting over to her dresser. She looked terrible, her mane was a mess and she looked incredibly tired. She nodded at her reflection in the mirror on the dresser and walked over to her desk, her hooves clicking on the well-polished wooden floor.

She rummaged through the desk, searching for a rope. The rafters would do nicely, she thought as she levitated a long piece of rope from a drawer, wondering why it'd be there anyhow. Not like it'd matter within the next ten minutes. She'd be the hell out of this place, away from her life as a princess. Quite literally.

She tossed the rope over a rafter, briefly wondering if it would be worth it. She'd be taking her life. Of course it'd be worth it, she thought. This cannot continue any further.

She wanted to tie the noose without using magic. If she wanted to kill herself, then she was going to do it with her own hooves. She spent the next twenty minutes making a noose. She "admired" her work, noting how that she wouldn't have much time to actually enjoy the own work of her hooves.

She dragged the chair from the desk all the way over to where the noose dangled, raising the noose up to her head, stuffing her head through the rope. It was scratchy and uncomfortable, just as she'd imagined it. She stared down at her reflection in the wooden floor.

She kicked her rear legs and the chair toppled over, her neck getting caught in the noose. Death was not instantaneous: there was too little room to break her neck. She did not die quick and painless: the noose simply crushed her windpipe, choking her to death.

She struggled against the choking grip, suddenly having lost the urge to die, but it was too late: her vision was fading, getting fuzzy. She soon stopped struggling, dangling limply from the ceiling.