Following of the Sun

I hope it won't be considered boasting when I introduce myself to be one of the finest classic stained glass artists alive. I take great pride in my work, and certainly, I'm quite glad to see that at 52 I have become as good as I am now at what I had committed myself to at such an early age. But, you must understand that in this line of work one does not simply go out of their way to proclaim their accomplishments, or, indeed, get acknowledged very much for the work they have done, however prominent it may be. I trust therefore that because you would not find the name Lily Crystalline in any historic records - the odd hoofnote permitted - you will not have heard of me.

Even so, if you have never been to the Royal Canterlot Palace, or have never visited the Crystal Empire, you could still find my work in a variety of public properties all over Equestria. But I promise you that this story isn't really about all that. If you can find it in your heart to enjoy whichever piece of mine you have come across, or draw some other reaction from it, that is all well and good, but I am not about to tell you that I am an artist beyond reproach, or that I am one of the great geniuses of this time that you simply must know and admire.

I suppose that since I have already mentioned the Royal Canterlot Palace, an example relating to my work there would work perfectly to express I'm quite sincere when I say I'm not about to wax on my renown. What comes to mind was a crucial point in my early career, when I had just moved to Canterlot in order to study the craft of glass working and, particularly, the art of stained glass windows (or "leadlights" as some have decided to call them - the glass is, after all, typically supported by cames of lead). This early point in my development, that, according to the insistence of my dear apprentice belongs in some 'success story', I hope will do just as well as any to illustrate to you my priorities.

That I had - mere months after my arrival - been selected out of twelve students under The Great Southwind's tutelage to be featured in the palace, seemingly without warning, had come as something of a shock to me. I was then a young girl with low expectations and high hopes, well aware that such an equation could hardly last forever. But for all that, I wasn't as affected by this election as I had pictured I would be in my crazed daydreams of courtyards and spiral staircases. This lack of utter consternation in itself was quite shocking, actually, and sometimes I couldn't quite go to bed at night without telling myself, over a quiet cup of tea, that big things were happening very soon; big things part of me could not realise yet were about to become very real.

When my friend Kismet had spotted me up at a balcony table at the Second Scone Gardens meeting this curious, posh-looking gentlecolt, he was absolutely sure I was engaged in some secret affair, though what kind it was he couldn't tell. So he asked me, frankly as always, on the very next day in the atelier. Maybe I didn't quite trust him enough back then - we had after all, met only a few weeks prior - but I felt a distinct sense of embarrassment about the whole thing. Within the echoing walls of my little room I had felt exposed, and it was like I had been caught doing something abhorrent. As a result I couldn't quite get myself to be completely honest with him.

I did reveal to him that the gentlecolt was a representative for the Royal Canterlot Palace house management, but when the ramifications of such a statement had dawned on him, he was quick to congratulate me and I again felt this same sense of embarrassment I had mentioned previously. Thinking back on it now, I must conclude that I didn't quite understand this myself, despite having thought of it quite a bit. You see, all I could really think of were my origins; where I had come from and where I was then. And these things put together filled me with, as I had tried to explain, some embarrassment.

I have to stress now that I did feel also a distinct pride and, perhaps more so, a sense of accomplishment. After all, I had been commissioned to compose and construct several window pieces to be featured in prominent positions. Beyond that, the court was exceptionally picky and loyal, I knew, to its contracted artisans and artists. Meaning that should my work be to their impeccable standards, I could trust them to commission me again in the future. At the very least, I could stay where I was for at least another year, paying Canterlot's exorbitant costs of living as I worked.

But as I had tried to explain, although this was very important to me, this wasn't the prevalent emotion when Kismet had told me I "had made it", repeating wide-eyed that this was big news and that he was very happy for me. Even when his initial enthusiasm had subsided and we chatted more leisurely, I had found part of me drifting back into my past. Departing for a moment the golden city of towers and business cards, I found myself visiting again the old house in Fillydelphia where I grew up, flying along the grimy paths and unkempt gardens around it like a little songbird or young pegasus; gliding freely along the crazy zigzag paths of the tiny park that then seemed a forest. It seemed that in every corner there was the sound of conversation, and together these voices scolding, haggling, singing created very much the sensation that one was in the eye of an interminable storm. I even remembered distinctly the makeshift baseball courts that seemed to be at the end of every street, though I never stopped to watch the improvised games they played there. All of these things together comprised the neighbourhood, and it wouldn't have been the same if any part of it had been missing.

I grew up in one of the larger houses in the street, though it lay indistinct in a long row of similar buildings. The walls weren't too solid, so that often you could hear the neighbours talking in their foreign tongue when there wasn't too much noise outside. I shared a room with my two brothers and sisters, being two years younger than half of them, and a year older than the others. As you'll imagine, there wasn't much privacy in such a household. My youth then was largely spent in the company of my family, and although I wouldn't want anyone to think I disliked my family, I firmly believe there is such a thing as 'too much' when it comes to family. That threshold surely was crossed a long time before I finally moved out with as little money on me as I had.

Particularly, when Kismet and myself were talking about the work I was set to do in service of the Royal Canterlot Palace, I was recalling a summer a few years before my move to Canterlot. It seemed at the time that I was remembering some distant past, but by my calculations that couldn't have been more than five or six years prior. I was, of course, still very young. Anyway, that year we were struck by a particularly insistent heat wave and as a result I mostly remember being continuously thirsty. Water, somehow, didn't seem very satisfactory, and I regularly found my lips parched, longing for strawberry lemonade throughout each long summer's day. Outside, it was the summer kids were often found clambering over abandoned couches and other such furniture, and the year three of my classmates had threatened to burn my sketchbook.

At home, we had divided the living room into separate 'islands' then, because the heat had made it so that there was an insurmountable supply of cockroaches scrambling around at all times of the day. We often found ourselves sitting on these furniture islands so that our hooves wouldn't touch the ground, and made sure the couches and chairs didn't come too close to the walls. From there we ate, talked, played (insofar as we could), but also, when he had returned from the workshop, we listened to Father's stories.

Father I remember most of all to be an exceptional storyteller, but also, he was very proud. He may have been just one more in a long line of coopers, but nonetheless he was proud of his heritage and proud of his duty to Equestria. And so, most of the stories he told were of noble soldiers and workers doing their part in saving Equestria. I won't now tell you about these stories themselves, for I would completely lose track of what I was going to talk about, but I will say that one particular element stood out to me. By Father's stories there was always some incorruptible force of good that his protagonists aspired to serve, in whatever limited way was afforded to them.

His view of the Royal Sisters was, I'm sorry to say, quite the contrast from the general opinion in town. Largely it seemed to be the popular view that since we were all but common workers in this town, we were largely neglected when it came to infrastructural improvements. Actually, that summer I was thinking of had a particularly pronounced outrage, because it more than ever exposed the deteriorating conditions of the architecture and general lack of adequate facilities. But, if you'll believe it, it ran far deeper even than that.

I did say just now that there was outrage, but really it was a sort of fierce, seething, disgruntling irritation that had manifested itself among most adults I came across. The best way I can describe to you this general viewpoint is by recounting to you a time that year when the teacher had pulled me aside and said to me: 'You know it would not be proper of me to tell you what you can and can't draw, but remember that we're not truly in their world.' Then Mrs. Comet knelt the least bit, in the way that some adults do when trying to level with children, and continued: 'Pegasi serve in the military and enjoy a privileged... a special position with good pay and recognition. Unicorns largely are in their own caste, enjoying positions of power. I wish we can offer you those same opportunities here, and in schools everywhere, but this is the reality we're in.' She would smile then, but it was a smile of sadness I later understood to be pity.

It might be a bit hard to believe that she, a teacher in a school, would say such a thing to a young student, but it is important to understand what she was speaking of when she spoke of us not being, as she said, in their world. As it was largely pictured, the economy and caste system was one specifically designed to maintain its figures of division, so that wealthy unicorns would continue to fill vacancies of professors, astronomers, doctors, and so on, while the pegasi were the designated protectors of Equestria. And what other necessary vocations would be left then, once those positions were met? It would be in the best interest of Equestria itself that the worker class would continue to work as they did so that aforementioned professors had desks to read at, the doctors had beds to sleep in, and so forth, rather than having them compete elsewhere.

Anyway, I'm sure that none of this is a compelling revelation to you, and I can't entirely say I truly know much more on the matter than those outlines I have just sketched before you, but what is important is that this was the prevalent perspective across town, and had been so for many generations. It was the perspective in the crafts school and it was the perspective in the shop at the corner. I couldn't help however, but largely ignore the things they said, and admire Princess Celestia. I often found myself thinking of her, even while Father told his stories. Holding myself on the chair, or whatever spot among my siblings I was afforded, l thought about what she was doing while the heroes Father spoke of did the things they did, travelling or toiling in whatever quest they had found themselves in. I pictured her then in some tower in her palace, envisioning how to enact justice and make things better for her subjects; pictured how she thought of the other characters in Father's stories. Sometimes I even pictured her thinking of me.

It was this little chapter of my life that came back to me then when I had been commissioned by the Royal Canterlot Palace, but I must say that even then my point of view had matured quite a bit. It was true that I revered Princess Celestia and the entirety of the Royal Sisters, but as I had learned more, I no longer entirely shared Father's perspective as much as he would've liked. To me, she was much more than a noble ruler; much more than one who simply did the right thing at the right time and did so better than anyone else could. This perception seemed too limited a scope to me. No, I had decided, Celestia's greatness could not be measured in classes of skill, power, or blood. It's hard to say exactly when this became clear to me, but by the time I had left the house and went to Canterlot, I felt myself to be very different from my family; almost as much, in fact, as I thought myself different from the rest of town.