Dear Princess Celestia,
As you may have heard by now, Equestria has recently entered into a state of war against the sovereign nation of Yakyakistan. I—and I alone—am to blame for this catastrophe. Before you banish me to the moon for failing to befriend the yaks and for initiating the first war our nation has seen in five hundred and seventy-three years, I wish to explain the cause of my awful mistake.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning. As you know, I have always been exceptionally gifted at magic. In fact, as a young filly, I learned my first spells before I even learned how to read and write. I observed other ponies performing magic, and I found myself able to copy their spells. I could see a spell and execute it myself, without requiring the usual efforts of studying the theory behind the magic.
In magic kindergarten, I was already quite adept at performing many spells when I was first learning how to write. It was their that I discovered a problem: writing was very hard for me. No matter how hard I worked, I had trouble forming words and stringing them together in coherent sentences. I could perform spells far beyond the abilities of many adult unicorns, but I could not master the simple art of writing.
My weakness was greatest in one particular area: spelling. Despite the fact that I red prolifically, I always struggled with spelling words correctly. Somehow, I could never translate the words correctly onto parchment, and they always came out mangled. For years, I struggled through school without being able to spell. My exceptional performance in magic always kept my grades up, but their were times that I nearly failed because of my atrocious performances on spelling tests. I tried everything I could think of, every method and studying technique that could possibly help me, but I never did master spelling.
One day, though, I finally discovered a solution. I was going through every book in the Canterlot archives, looking for some knew insight or piece of information that could help me. Then I stumbled across a marvel that changed my life: a spell-checking spell.
What a discovery this was! You cannot imagine how excited I was to find it! This peace of magic could automatically correct misspelled words and fix mistakes as I wrote. All I had to do was cast the spell on a parchment before beginning too write, and everything I wrote would be correct. No more would misspellings plague my writing. No more would I stumble over words every schoolfilly knows. This spell would make sure that I was never wrong.
So, Princess, I cast the spell for the first time. And for the first time I could remember, I was able to write without hesitation or uncertainty. I could finally express myself without getting cot up over every little word. I was free to write, free to think, and free to go on to become your personal student.
Since then, I have cast this spell on everything I have written. I used it for all of the friendship letters I sent you. I used it for writing my entries in the journal I shared with my friends. I have used it for paperwork, government notices, and royal decrees. Even when I finished Starswirl’s unfinished masterpiece, I used my auto-correct spell to make sure I had not made any errors. This spell has never let me down; on the contrary, it has made me into the princess I am today.
Except for the incident yesterday. After Pinkie Pie’s excellent party for the visiting yaks, I thought that everything was going to be fine. The party was a success, the yaks were pleased, and they relented from going to war with Equestria. Everypony (and every yak) was happy, and I could not have been more relieved.
After the party, I approached Prince Rutherford about formalizing our new alliance in a written treaty. He agreed, and I volunteered to draft a treaty that he could take back to Yakyakistan. He would present it to the rest of their government, sign it into law, and seal the friendship of Equestria and Yakyakistan four a thousand moons.
You may be able to guess what happened next. I cast the spell-check spell on the treaty, and then I proceeded to write one of the finest documents the Equestrian government had ever seen. I knew that everything in the treaty had to be perfect; otherwise, the yaks would become angry and refuse to sing it. I addressed every minuet detail; I clarified every possible ambiguity; I closed every potential loophole. The document was perfect.
Except for one small mistake. I had employed several yak mannerisms throughout the document, so as to express the sentiment that this was as much their treaty as it was ours. One such statement was the declaration that yaks and ponies would be friends “four a thousand moons.”
Perhaps you have already noticed the error. I am sure you have; after all, you are the wisest pony I have ever met. I am told that the word “four” is not the preposition I intended it to bee, but it is in fact the homophonous cardinal number that follows three. I was completely unaware of that fact, and since “four” is a legitimate word, my auto-correct spell did not catch this error.
Prince Rutherford, though, noticed immediately. He spotted the single error I had made in an otherwise flawless treaty, and, well, he immediately went berserk. I was able—through the use of the barrier spell I learned from my brother—too limit the yaks’ rampage so that it only destroyed half of Ponyville. Still, the damage was done, and friendship between yaks and ponies has been irrevocably ruined. The prince stormed off back to Yakyakistan to mobilize his citizens for war. Princess Cadence has already reported sightings of the yak army on the northern border of the Crystal Empire.
All I can say is, I am truly sorry. I never thought my inability to spell would cause an international war. I deeply regret my deception and the unintended destruction it caused. I leave it two you to decide weather you would rather send me to Tartarus or just encase me in stone. Again, do not blame my friends, for as you have seen, the fault is all mine. So it is with a heavy heart that I conclude what most likely is knot only the last letter I will ever pen as a princess, but also the last letter I will ever right that is not riddled with misspellings.
Your fateful student,
Twilight Sparkle
