How do I tell you how I feel? How does one relay matters of the heart to the sun? That bright, shimmering orb floating there in the sky. I've seen firsthand how deeply it cares for every surface that feels its rays. But how deep can that love go? Is it even worth spending the time to wonder? There's so much else to do with my time besides daydream but still my mind wanders. I suppose I ought to write about at least one of those useless fantasies. As much as I want to cast them out I hold onto them in hopes that they'll prove to be more than useless fantasies. Someday, at least.
A room. Comfortable in size but not extravagant. Whoever occupies its space has a sense of decorum, clearly. Bookshelves line the walls and various charts and graphs fill any blank space available. Not every shelf contains books, however. Plenty of trinkets have found their way into this private library, sprawling out across any available space. The trinkets carry just as much knowledge as the books they crowd around.
There's a window on the far wall. Its heavy purple drapes are flung open to allow the sun to caress anything that might find itself in front of the window. Odds and ends of outfits ranging from simple to simply decadent, dog-eared books big and small, scraps of parchment with messages hastily scrawled on them all find themselves illuminated. Moving further inwards, opposite the sun-filled window, rests the centerpiece of the room, Everything else around it has been dressing, a setting in which a story could be told.
It's a bed. Larger than most. No expense was spared in acquiring this most sacred of furniture pieces, that much was certain. To say it was massive would be to do no justice to its scale. Massive just wasn't the right word, really. The right word was hard to find. Big, certainly. Roomy, perhaps? Maybe a phrase would lend itself to the situation better. It was a bed fit for a queen... Or a princess.
Luxurious sheets. Luxurious pillows. Luxurious blankets. Every inch of its surface spoke of a level of luxury that most mortals could only dream to experience. It felt like a well-kept secret of sorts. Surely a good and just ruler wouldn't hide this sort of thing from their subjects, right? Regardless, the occupants of the bed didn't seem to be too worried of whatever moral dilemma that might present itself within the scene.
When describing the occupants one could use as many or as few words as one wished. There were two, one a fair deal larger than the other in stature. Both asleep, for now. One was the brightest white, the other a rich purple. Both winged, both with fluted horns perched atop their heads. It could be said that the larger of the two, the one wearing the coat of brilliant alabaster, was altogether more celestial than the other. More radiant. Possessed of an inner glow that promised love and kindness beyond measure. The sweeping curves that made up her body spoke of power, of compassion, of an otherworldly wisdom.
But one could get carried away, couldn't they? The smaller of the two sleeping figures was just as beautiful, just as much a gift, just as much a blessing in the lives of her friends. Perhaps even more so. If the first of the two was celestial then the other would be more terrestrial in nature. More grounded. More noble in her efforts, more stunning in her achievements, more graceful in her failings. That's what she forgets at times. One doesn't need to be born of fire to usher light into the dark. One needs only to find their own inner fire, as it were. But I digress.
The sun creeps up up up onto the bed, its shimmering rays catching themselves in a sea of purple. Tentatively a pair of eyes open, greeting the new day. They take in the tableau before them with contentment at first. Before, that is, something rests heavy on their mind. It's a weight that's come to be accepted as par for the course. To describe it in full would require far more space than it warrants, but its surface can always be scratched. It's fear, in an unfamiliar form. Fear that nothing is real. Fear that everything is far too good, far too peaceful, far too laden with love to be true. The eyes search for a crack in the veneer, anything to prove their doubts to be reality. They instead find purchase in one thing and one thing only: her.
It hurts to look, initially. Gleaming white light, blinding sunlight, all taken in by bleary eyes. It is almost too much. Almost. The eyes paint the most radiant portrait they possible can. The ears take in every detail available; every soft sigh, every inhale and exhale, every creaking floorboard. It's real. All of it is real. She's real, the glimmering avatar of the sun before her is real, the room is real. For now.
Daydreams never achieve much, do they? Why I write any of this is beyond me. Perhaps it's a call for attention. A request for help. How many of those have you received? Certainly more than you deserve, especially from me. But have I ever told you why I value your presence so much? Why just seeing you means so much to me? There are days. Days that stretch in front of you, that promise no quarter, that seem impossible to face. Impossible to me, at the least. There are days where I know nothing, where every attempt at anything is met with failure, where somepony else instead of me always seems to know the way.
But then I look at you. Then I look at you. Then I look at you. Then I look at you. And the world's alright with me. Just one look at you and I know it's going to be a lovely day.
With love, your faithful student and friend,
Twilight Sparkle
Twilight looked the letter over. When she sent the same piece of parchment off all those days ago, she never really expected a response. She was still uncertain if she technically received one at all. The only thing that had changed was the addition of the extra paragraph after the sixth. It was in Celestias' familiar cursive so it was clearly her work. It was sweet and had made her flush just the slightest when she read it but still didn't satisfy any of the curiosity that currently gnawed at her. Perhaps she should pose a proper question? Something that would get a real answer, at the least. In hindsight, this was more a confession than anything else.
Back to the table. Paper, pen, and ink. What to write?
Dear Princess Celestia,
As good a start as any. But what next? Something simple, no doubt. Something straightforward. No beating around the bush allowed by either party.
Do you love me?
Not bad, but it needed something more. Love could mean a great many things. While a 'yes' would send her heart racing it still wouldn't really answer her question.
Like, really love me. Romantic love is what it would be called if I recall correctly. Do you, Princess Celestia, feel romantic love for me, Twilight Sparkle?
Done. Off it goes. She'd hope for its swift delivery but there really didn't seem to be any way it wouldn't reach its destination. So no she had only to wait for a response. A real one this time. Something concrete, something real.
Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle,
Celestia smiled. How she loved being able to use that title. Princess. It felt so natural to her. As natural as Princess Celestia was to Twilight, she imagined. It was obvious from the start that Twilight was destined to be a princess. While she couldn't have predicted the twists and turns that would lead her once-student down that particular path, her destiny was always as clear as day. But this momentary reverie was distracting her from the task at hoof. There was a letter to be written.
Would you like to go out for dinner?
Nope.
Do the flowers love the sun?
Nope.
If you wish to know the truth, I have a task you must complete.
Funny, but no.
Always.
With love, Like, real love. Romantic love. From me to you,
Princess Celestia
