The woman sitting across from me puts down her teacup exactly as you did. Everything about her is so infuriatingly identical, and I can feel the simmer of old anger burning behind the empty stare I give her. It's been years, and I never should have had to think of you again, but now a pale imitation of you is giving me your same placid smile, the one that never stopped being antifreeze sweet. We didn't even have antifreeze like the kind that's here in Equestria, and I don't think any other creatures on the whole planet had it. We certainly didn't have anything close to cars, either. As soon as I heard what something so sweet-smelling could do to the non-sapients here, I thought of you.
That had been the first time — and the last time — I ever wanted to think about you again. It was when we were in shop class at Canterly Junior High, and the teacher was lecturing about workplace safety for students who worked in garages. I remember that I was half-listening. Antifreeze was supposed to be a spell, not a liquid potion. I didn't ever do more than I had to in those classes. Just whatever kept me on the honor roll.
'It may smell like the sweetest thing in the world,' the teacher had droned, 'but one slurp of the stuff and your pets will die.'
I didn't have a garage. I didn't even have a house. The group home I was in slapped my emancipated minor status on me as soon as I hit fourteen and kept cruising towards advanced placement classes. For gods' sakes, I lived in an apartment. I didn't need to know anything about cars.
But hearing about something so sickeningly sweet, the kind of thing that was said to taste like candy but could kill someone or their pet after a few sips...
Oh gods, was I to think of anyone else but you? This woman here is almost exactly like you. Yes, she's mortal and slimmer than you ever were, and her eyes are lighter and happier — but she's more than enough of you than I will ever be ready for. Her eyes are the same blank rose, and even though she is looking at me, she doesn't see me, which is the most painfully you thing in the world.
Other than 'have a seat' the first thing she said to me was 'Call me Principal Celestia, I get enough of being called Mrs. Galaxia or Principal Galaxia from the superintendent' she's said absolutely nothing to me. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I heard that, and not because of her voice or her name. That woman said something you would never have, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from calling her your highness or Princess like you always instructed me to.
I can only ever taste poison in the latter now, and can never bring myself to say it, even though every little girl in this world is supposed to have grown up wanting to be one. That's something I was never able to fake. Whatever gods this world has, I'm sure that they would be laughing, knowing that this is still the world where being a princess is easier. None of the leaders in this world are gods — though, just like in our world, this one's Dalai Llama is similar. I've never felt so... unwatched before. Never before years have I ever felt so free, knowing that your divine eyes weren't watching over me. Not like how it was on your side of the mirror.
I look at this woman, this joke of who you are, and how she has the same painted smile. She's not a goddess, she's no impossible idol beyond mortal ken. She is not my goddess.
I... I could do anything to her... and get away with it.
She only has a school, and she probably used to actually teach too. This woman is so utterly un-you and you all at once. She is more ordinary than the number two pencil I'm clutching so tightly in my clammy fist I think it might snap. But she doesn't have a special school, made for her to pick the best unicorn of the rest like a spoiled child insisting they only want to eat a cherry on a sundae. Gods, you were a founder and superintendent of the most stars-and-gods-be-damned pretentious school on the whole Eastern Continent. You didn't hover over announcement microphones — we didn't use those — or prattle about your 'good old' teaching days like you were one of us because you didn't have any.
This woman is doing that right now, while I nod my head at all the right beats and watch the steam from her tea float up, up, and away.
"I understand that you're one of the best honors students that Canterly had," says Principal You, smiling at me.
I have to swallow the dryness of my throat to find my voice again. "Oh gosh," I say, giving my best sheepish smile. 'Gosh' has always been the best of empty oaths for this concrete jungle world. "I wouldn't say that I was that good..."
"Oh, dear. There's no need to sell yourself short."
That's all you ever wanted me to do, I don't tell her. Instead, a whole bulb of bitter memories is swelling up in my throat. I'm already trying my hardest not to let my eyes fill with tears I absolutely don't want to be shedding.
"I'm here to personally welcome all of Canterlot High's newest AP Wondercolts to our program." She folds her hands together on her desk, tenting her fingers with perfection all too close to what I'm sure you could do.
"R-really?" I stammer, hoping I just come across as shocked.
Really, she's — no, you're — only shocking thing about my first steps into this school. Everything else is plain, suburban ape-world about this part of town. I don't know why I honestly expected a city bearing the name of Canterlot here to measure up to a literal citadel of an enchanted kingdom. The most enchanting thing I've found since getting off the bus and stepping into here-Canterlot is that no one likes cleaning up after their dogs here, like, at all. Most town names here are blink-and-miss it: Everton, Canterly, Crystal City, and a few others that would put me to sleep by remembering them. Equivalents to places on Princess Celestia's side of the mirror are there, but rare. Canterlot is unlucky enough to be one of them.
"Of course!" Principal You says, beaming down at me, as bright and artificial as a tanning bed's light. Her whole office makes me swim with its tacky foam-finger, school-logo coffee mug, and complete I-have-no-personal-life-or-family-photos-to-speak-of look. That's so nauseatingly you — only the ring on one of her fingers is a sharp deviation, but jeez, even her wedding band is as plain and formal as the rest of her. "My own mother was the previous head of the program, after all. It's of great significance to me."
Unholy Acheron, that last bit — you have a mother? You, a great goddess, have a mommy dearest? Just like everyone else?
I hold my laughter back, twisting it into as natural a smile as I can hope for. I just can't hide a reaction to something like that.
Oh my gods, oh my gods minus Celestia, please don't make me look too goofy.
On your side of the mirror, you didn't have anypony. No spouses, no foals, and certainly not family members. There wasn't a pony alive who believed you, a great goddess, could have been born. The non-Equestrian thaumaturges always speculated about the other divine, but I was never lucky enough to get my hands — err, hooves — on any of their tomes. I wonder whose fault that was, hm?
"Wow, that's amazing!" I say instead, running a finger along the spiral of my school-issued planner. All the other AP students got them at this morning's assembly, and I've already broken off a bit of mine from fidgeting.
Principal You nods politely, not seeming to understand that not a single freshman is going to care about that. Now that's something else that I wouldn't expect from anyone — or anypony — but you. Praise is praise in your mind, no matter if it's sincere or not. Even when I was nine, you would still primp and preen in this subtle way when I was awed by you. It took me getting lost in another world to realize that an adult who is that invested in a child's perfect view of her isn't healthy. And frankly, if I were a goddess, I wouldn't be that invested if my worshipper was nine, not when gaining the trust of adult followers like that would mean way more. Kids will worship anything, whether they're a pony or not, and no matter what world they're in.
Maybe that's why you liked me...
Now it's my turn to tighten my smile, and I do so in just the right way. The way that I always saw you do so. Sitting before me is a woman taking another prim sip of tea. In a moment, she's going to ask me if I have any more questions and hand me the AP Student Handbook and Welcome Packet that is sitting on top of the small pile next to her.
Dear Princess Celestia, I think, taunting nopony that can hear me, now that I have a reason to think of you again. I learned that insincerity from the best. Sincerely, Your Unfaithful Apostate Sunset Shimmer.
Except, I got to leave a little something out of my mental note, something I've thrown away ever since I came here.
"Are there any more questions you had about our program?" The woman tucks a strand of the green part of her hair — I still can't believe it's ordinary hair — behind her ear. Of course, she does, since we can't have anything that stands out. Everything and everypony must be kept in their place.
And that place is always right where you tell me, because you wanted me there, under your hoof.
"Not at all, ma'am," I reply. "Unless there was something—"
"Oh, silly me!" Interrupting someone, especially a Faithful Student? Now, that's more like you. "Stay there, Sunrise Glitter, I almost forgot something."
She thrusts the little plastic bag, done in sleek blue and gold, right under my nose. A picture of a rearing horse is so bright and obvious on it. That image, or rather, the statue that it represents, is the only familiar thing about this place.
I look straight at Principal You, watching how she looks so doll-like under the icky look of fluorescent school office lights. Without looking away from her benign gaze, I reach a hand forward, taking the handy — hah, because ape paws — loops of the bag, if only because they're opposite of the side she's holding it from.
It's hard to imagine a world where any bit of you is clumsy to hold something like that.
"Principal?" I prod gently, clutching the bag to my chest. It sticks to my fresh blue Wondercolts tee immediately. Normally, I'd be hesitant to own something so tacky, but the horse logo is comforting, and I need all the free clothes I can get.
"Yes?" she asks instantly, blinking her lashes way too fast.
I'm still able to see the mascara she uses to make them look as real as they do, and I remember how much you loved things like that too. I always never understood why you couldn't bother learning cosmetic spells as most mares would with all the magic you had, but instead, you stuck with fake eyelashes and mascara, expecting nopony to say anything when they realized they were never naturally full. I used to ask for makeup at Hearth's Warming so I could look like you, since you were the only mare in the world I could imagine wanting to look like.
Sitting before me is a mortal woman who will never be lauded as the paragon of beauty in her universe. I can't dream of the words to say how satisfying it is to know that, or who I'd even tell that to.
"It's actually Sunset Shimmer. Not, uh, Sunrise Glitter." One of my hands reaches for my hair, tugging at a strand idly. It's a newer habit, but it helps me not look at her too directly when I'm thinking about your eyes instead. I could never meet yours, not when they were always so cold to me and too intense to ever stare down.
"You don't have a middle name?" she asks me, almost suddenly.
I don't understand why, and it makes me freeze. I already have the best documents I was able to manage for my situation, and I've been able to register at two friggin' schools with my social worker's help. What is she trying to get at? Does she think I'm some kind of freak because she saw the files about how weird, 'homeless' thirteen-year-old me thought it was better to fake being a normal school student before I was forced to register for eighth grade, just like everyone else? Does she think that just because I've been in a group home and don't have a stars-forsaken middle name she can out me as a literal illegal alien?
Yeah, right. Nice try, lady. I was smart to stay in a state that cares about homeless kids like me more than Karens like you.
"No," I say, the next bit just as practiced as it's always been. I've done my years here; this mortal woman has nothing on me. "It's just Sunset Shimmer. Nice to meet you!"
Both are as good a lie as any. You gave me every reason to throw away being Sunset Helia Shimmer when you made my name into a criticism to hurl on me on par with young lady and see me after class. Here, I can throw that away and give you — any version of you— that much less pleasure and power.
Knowing all the twins this world seems to have, Sunset Helia Shimmer probably has her own Social Security number and identity somewhere else. That's trouble I don't want to stick my hoof — er, foot — in.
"My goodness! You have my apologies, Miss Shimmer. It looks like remembering your name correctly will be my task for this year," is what Principal You says instead. It's a bumbling routine I've seen you fake before, but still not very Queen Karen like I'd have expected from your body politic on her side of the mirror.
This version of you is a different story of eye contact, even if she is just a different kind of idol.
"Hm," I mumble. "Yeah, I guess so. Do I, uh, have your permission to leave?" It's more than the cold of the office that's starting to get to me.
I wonder if there's ever going to be a world with a real Celestia in it.
"Yes, you have my permission to leave," Principal You says too sweetly, as you wave good-bye from your cushy swivel throne. "Please feel free to drop-by any time, Miss Shimmer. I look forward to seeing you succeed at Canterlot High, and know that my door is always open."
Ice Queen You would have never said something as brash and emotional as that.
"Me too," I say, dropping my fake smile as soon as I leave the room and turn my back on the office of Principal You.
I count ten steps away before I hear the door to your office close, and since your secretary wasn't in, no one else could have closed it but you, and you alone. That's all I need to know there is no line between princess and principal, and the ball I've been choking on since the meeting comes out in a hoarse gasp. Two cold tears have already slipped out, and I make a beeline away from the administrative offices and toward the school's nearest exit.
Only you ever knew how to say a door was open before shutting it in my face. Only you ever knew to say things like that, and then dismiss them as just a figure of speech. There is nothing more like you than to burn a bridge, or anything like it, and blame it on someone else.
But this isn't your side of the mirror anymore, and no mortal woman can compare to Goddess You, what I've been, or what I can still become.
I will not be made to feel guilty about how I reign on my side of the mirror.
Author's Note
I may be working on beating the flu, but at least I can still write some trash for y'all.
