Celestia gets ready to read a book

The below was in my writing folder, but I can't find its outline, so I can't really finish this as originally intended. It set a nice atmosphere, though, so I'll post it here.

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Sunday night was a poetic time to broadcast. Of course, she found so many things in the Equestrian language were poetic, particularly when applied to herself; that was part of the territory when one was princess.

There was a pomp to the process, even though it was one that only a few hundred ponies would ever be aware of. Luna would be advised; they would dine after moonrise, and Celestia would mention she would be away. The Minister of Continuance would be consulted - not for need, but so his old dodgy heart would rest well. Her guard would be formally relieved of duty, and her hoofmaidens given a hug and the night off. It took a remarkable amount of talking to a unwieldly number of ponies to be left well and truly alone.

The crown would be locked away; so would her peytral and her shoes, the gilded elements of the throne. Each was tucked away carefully in a velvet-lined case; then, the cases would be slotted into a specially made chest, the chest would be locked with a logographic combination, and the chest itself would hidden in a nondescript closet. Those symbols were for other times. Those were all things for duty, and power, and official capacity. In short, it was for her life upstairs. But her bedroom had a hidden staircase.

The secret staircase behind her wardrobe wound down, spiralling in the middle of what many ponies supposed was merely a load-bearing pillar. Absent-mindedly, she began humming to herself; an old song she not heard in centures and that she had all but lost the tune herself, but which felt fresh and new on her own tongue. This was becoming routine for her by now; she didn't need to pay attention to where she was stepping, nor did she have to affect the 'relaxed rush' of royalty. While she normally allowed her hair to flow free, the new "duties" she was about to undertake demanded something more practical - and easier to clean - than her 'regal' hairstyle; and so her mane found itself being braided, absent-mindedly, in two long braids. Catching her own reflection in a window, she hardly recognized the mare in front of her. Even now, she could hardly be recongized as the regent of Equestria; but she was going to go further than simply cast aside her mark of station. She was going to expose herself - the real Celestia - and this required dressing up.

The tiny dungeon's landing was now a tiny walk-in closet, perfectly cool and dry. Critical eyes darted over the racks, as she made her decisions. Lacy undergarments, comfortable yet frilly, in passionate red, slipped up to hug her curves; she knew full well that concealment could be more provocative than outright revelation. She reared up, and slipped a nightgown over her; admiring her reflection in the hall mirror, the translucent fabric far more daring and reveaing than normal. From a clothes horse's muzzle, she withdrew a pair of little red hornrim reading spectacles - her audience so loved the glasses.

And, finally, a single flower, plucked from the royal gardens - a white dittany. It was on the precipice of wilting, so the royal gardener would have had no issue with this particular one disappearing; woven into her braid and tucked just above her ear, it drooped forwards, as if on display there.