MINIFIC MAYHEM

Dear Princess Celestia,

Regarding “the incident” last night: allow me to shed some light on how it came to happen, which I think will show that everyone involved was a victim of circumstance, and that nobody needs to be banished anywhere (please).

Cheerilee’s class has been preparing to put on a play about the life of Neighbraham Lincolt, and being the only friendly dragon within a hundred miles, Spike was asked to play the role of his assassin.  Spike was very excited to be part of the production, and I spent many hours helping him practice his lines.  Well, line, but nevermind that.

Unfortunately, he came down with a terrible cold the day of the show.  Poor Spike was snuffling and sneezing all afternoon, and I feared he would be unable to perform.  But he is a little trooper, and refused to even consider the possibility of letting an understudy play the part.

I got him into costume and stood backstage with him, but things only went from bad to worse.  It was very dusty back there, and he was soon in quite a dreadful state.  His eyelids were so swollen from the dust that he could hardly see a thing!  I practically begged him to let me take him home then, but he was adamant that “The show must go on!”  And after how much work he’d put in, I couldn't say no.  Instead, I pointed him in the right direction as his scene approached, and told him to head right back the way he’d come when he’d delivered his line.

What happened next, I can only speculate.  As Spike ran onstage, he simply vanished.  I suspect he must have tried to hold in a sneeze; I know you’ve told him never to do that, but he can surely be forgiven for not wanting to ruin his dramatic entrance, can’t he?  In any case, I now know why you told him to never “censor his emissions.”

I didn’t learn what became of him until I read the newspaper this morning.  In light of what I’ve explained, I hope you will now understand why Spike appeared in front of you last night in court, shouted “Sic semper tyrannis!,” hurled a pie in your face, and then turned and ran to your prime minister, crying, “There, I did it!  Aren’t you proud of me?”

Your faithful, fearful student,

Twilight Sparkle