What is a Word, Truly, but a Sound Conveying Thought?
Princess Celestia.
Ruler of the United Equestrian Empire, now alongside her recently freed sister.
The alicorn's pale-white coat seemed to reflect the rays bearing down on her from the same sun emblazoned on her flank, a regal tone few can dare match, and even fewer naturally; her mane and tail, luxuriously attended to by mares trained their entire lives, shimmered as it floated on a breeze unknown to most mortals, a breeze most have deemed magical in nature, and one that would not be readily available to even the most magically talented unicorn, even one such as Twilight before her coronation; the royal attire, forged under a great hellfire long since extinguished by the forces of time, accented by gemstones the quality of which is revered by the dragons themselves, pieces polished to a near mirror-like sheen, were exquisitely placed atop her head, around her neck, and upon her hooves, glittering spectacularly in the mid-morning light; and finally, her eyes, ancient as any part of the castle or perhaps even the land of Equestria itself, older than a fraction any given pony would be able to know, wiser than the alicorn would tend to give herself credit for, especially after events such as the fiasco with Discord or the Changeling Queen; and yet, as they looked, she sensed a familiar youthfulness about them, one of somepony with a naïveté about the world, and a charmingly fresh way of looking at things, though this she knew was simply the facade she wore to keep herself a relatable figure of hope to her subjects below not only her social and economic status, but also physically, both in the city of Canterlot below her castle or the land that fell beneath the length of her rule.
A soft tap pierced the room, echoing across from the fantastically carved wooden doors wrought about by an unknown woodcarver, long since placed in their hinges by an unknown carpenter, both of which the princess knew once by name, but no longer, as time since passed and, as with all things, she had forgotten, both to allow knowledge of her current subjects in and to keep unpleasant thoughts about her immortality and the mortality of others out; the knob, worn and rusted from years of use and quite in need of replacement, squealed in protest as it was turned by someone on the opposite side, the hinges responding similarly as the unknown intruder made herself known to the lone occupant within the well-furnished and well-designed bedroom of the solar princess; the mare behind the door thus revealed herself as Twilight Sparkle.
To say this mare had an impact upon Celestia was nowhere near the strength of the reality, as she had realized long ago upon initially laying eyes on the young foal casting magic to gain entrance into her school; one with a penchant for magic and unnatural, innumerable amounts of power lying in her soul, something that caused even the regal princess to be impressed with, and had nearly a need to check to ensure she was not some sort of old horrors reborn to the modern age; this, in essence, is what had forced her hoof, and soon thereafter, Twilight was to become the official protégé to the Royal Princess of the Celestial Sun and the Realm of Daytime Itself, Ruler of the United Equestrian Kingdom, Princess Celestia.
As the purple alicorn crossed through the elegantly crafted room—not decorated, as the few lucky ponies who gaze inside with adoration are quick to assume, but instead crafted from the very essences of magic and sunlight itself, cured into a physical form with a long and elaborate spell, costing a few, now nameless, ponies their lives—the sound reverberating off of the painting-lined walls; a venomous hiss escaped her throat, eyes narrowed and bloodshot—a condition the princess had seen far too many times, including somewhat recently, usually appearing during moments of high duress for the young student, which, with her, could range anywhere from a simple assignment being a day late to being unable to find a book to research some world-saving spell; though, as Celestia herself had noted many times, she was exemplary in her stoical advancement when the moment exerted pressure and necessitated leadership under fire, sometimes even being the sole voice of reason amongst a crowd of madness—and her mane in a matted disarray, sending an uneasy shiver down the spine of the sun goddess herself; such an air about the young student was not one to be easily accepted except by the most well-worn of travelers down little-tread paths, and perhaps, even then, it would leave a bad taste in one's mouth; thusly, the trotting stopped, the frazzled, tired, and ultimately angry purple mare staring down the ruler of her life-long inhabited land with a gaze of a mare scorned, the air between the pair crackling with the intense heat of both the sun on one side and the anger from the other.
"Pray tell, Twilight, whatsoever possessed you to come rupture through my chamber door?"
A puzzled expression bequeathed the older mare's face to accompany the inquiry, if perhaps a tad too obviously, as if it were an attempt to help construe a point; an attempt that was indeed not lost upon the listener, who immediately rebutted with a claim of her own; "Perhaps you would like to firstly reproach your statement, followed by a simple return of the property you inherited falsely from my possessions," and the object was described thusly: an old, perhaps impossibly old tome, one whose proper name had long since been lost to time, along with the text running upon the spine; a ratty, dusty cover, brown as the dirt upon which the common tread across; pages embroidered with gold flakes and edges, such that, viewed under adequate lighting and from the right angles, created a near-blinding rainbow effect; finally, a blood-red strip of laminated paper, a lighter-colored tassel hanging upon on end, stuck between two sheets deep within the pages of the immensely large book.
"You cast such accusations upon my character, my dear student, and cry to all who may listen in upon us now from outside the boundaries of this room, that I am equivalent to some petty thief in the night," the princess intoned, her visage darkening with each word spoken, "that I must stoop to a level so far below my own station, that I must cross my own morals, and do something so heinous as to betray the personal trust and bond such only a mentor and pupil may share and which you and I have cultivated and nurtured over these long, tiring years—and perhaps even gruesome in some cases—and that I did something so perverse as to wait upon the rise of my own sister's domain, that which is the night and all associated with it, and use it to perform such a low, horrible, and unnerving deed as to steal away with such a tome; you dare sit there and claim that I am a sort of monster who would dare move to steal such an item as a thesaurus from amongst your collection of literary works? How dare you!"
Twilight's initial response was a smirk; an unsettling act in and of itself, Celestia realized, noting the dark, twisted dimensions it took on in the now evening light; a demonized shadow of what would normally be such a joyous expression; but most importantly, she sensed the subtle undertones of self-assured victory she seemed to exude—as both an alicorn and an old, experienced ruler, it had become commonplace for her to pick up on such hidden thoughts, which would oft betray those who wish to betray her in kind—though the contortion of the purple mare's face could not prepare the elder for the sentence about to form from the former: "Why, yes, I shall sit here and make claim that you are the villain of this tale; a thief in the night, a level-stooper, moral-crosser, heinous traitor, pervert, and, indeed, monster, as I can believe beyond a shadow of any reasonable doubt you may cast upon me that you are guilty of taking the book from my possession; and, in fact, I have the evidence to prove such a claim true," and with this she drew up the covers of the well-made bed, revealing a small cluster of clutter, quickly dispersed with a simple spell to show the damning evidence behind it: the thesaurus, complete with ruby-red bookmark.
A soft gasp escaped the lips of the princess—indeed, she thought this a crime unsolvable, a trail of clues unreadable, a scene untraceable; but this changed many preconceptions she had long since gathered about the now-delicate situation—although she meant no harm, surely; this was a simple outcry for variety to add to the repetitious letters she was required to send, an unending chain of tedium and sameness, and she sought to break the cycle with a simple bit of vernacular fun; except she couldn't simply go up and ask her princess-in-training, the ever-curious Twilight Sparkle, for something so inane and unordinary as an average thesaurus, as her personality would easily cause her to ask for the source of such a request, thus leading to her revealing her ulterior motive and, potentially, discouraging the younger alicorn from becoming her successor; this emotional conflict remained internal, however, the mask upon her face refusing to let up as she gave a quick rebuttal; "Indeed, you may have overwhelming evidence, but what exactly shall you do about this preposterously overblown situation we now find ourselves in?"
Twilight's response was a quick slap to the face with the thesaurus, causing Celestia to blink confusedly. "Don't take my books, bitch," she hissed, moonwalking out of the room. The princess slowly lowered herself into a laying position, trying to process the events that just occurred.
Some say the morning lasted three times as long that day.
