//------------------------------//
// Entry Twenty-Two 
// Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant 
// by SugarPesticide 
//------------------------------//

July 12, 1000 ANM

I brought up the prospect of starting an expedition to Neighgeria at breakfast, hoping to begin the search for a reticulated python without delay. Sister Dearest’s response was, unfortunately, less than supportive of this genius idea.

“We have a kingdom to rule, Luna,” she chided me gently. “Yes, ‘we’ includes you. It simply wouldn’t do to go wandering off to the Zebrican countries while our little ponies need our constant assistance. Speaking of which, you really should consider starting up the night court again. I’ve barely seen hide or hair of you over the last two days, and your responsibilities are beginning to pile up.”

“Must we go through these motions a second time?” I sighed and examined the fork hovering magically above my plate. “At least this time you comprehend the fact that it is the night court I would prefer to attend, not that of the day. If you truly insist that I must do so, then I shall oblige you. I shall pass the entirety of the night without rest or dreaming if that would satisfy your heedless demands.”

“You could always take a nap the day before,” she said with a smile. “I really would like you to consider it, you know. You might even find it rewarding.”

I sincerely doubt those words, but as her insistence will eventually surpass the extent of my resistance, I suppose I shall have to do so. In any case, it seems unlikely that many ponies will wish to forgo their nightly slumber in favor of an audience with me. So long as I am distanced from my destiny as empress, I will forever be the shunned princess. Only Blueblood might deign to be my companion, and I am otherwise cripplingly alone but for the cold light of the stars, walled off from my own dear sister by my quintessential secret … What are these droplets staining this paper? Do they not realize my intent to write on my troubling situation? It is rather difficult to read what I am writing with such water swimming before my eyes.

Enough of the sentimentality. After breakfast I was confronted by a servant, who bore a tightly bound scroll. As he departed I perused the parchment, and I am certain that a light shone in my eyes as I discovered the message in its carefully tight script. The nitroglycerin was due to arrive this very day! I was to receive the incoming shipment at two o’clock. Such was my excitement that I could scarcely keep myself from pacing the polished floors, and by the time the hour drew nearer I fairly leapt from the palace and soared down to the mysteriously deserted train station on wings of anticipation.

Indola was there to greet me. He was accompanied by an umbrella bearer, who cheerfully prevented the rays of that great ball of fire from scorching his head. The bearer boasted a peculiar lack of laziness, as she was startled enough to jump when the arrogant blast of an incoming whistle pierced our ears. As I was unfamiliar with such behavior from sloths, considering how their sluggish behavior has influenced our vocabulary, I inquired of Indola how he had arrived at that place on this day without requiring the majority of the week to travel.

“It’s such a simple thing, really,” he explained, squinting at the train as it grew more visible with each passing second. “Ingestion of nitroglycerin is only mandatory for the common sloth. Those in political positions, such as myself, are strongly encouraged to avoid such a diet in order to accommodate the pressures included in the job. There is no reason for those like me to be slothful, if you’ll pardon the term.”

“I believe we have a similar method of relaxation,” I told him as I watched that lumbering locomotive roll to a stop beside our platform. “Oftentimes our restless subjects will consume a glass of warm milk to lull themselves into a peaceful state of security. Should they attempt any sudden motion, their exhausted haze is nearly enough to cause them to topple over.”

“Is it really? Well, that’s ...” He paused, attempting to construct a convincing statement. “That’s exactly how it is with nitroglycerin in Yugoslothvia. Yes. Of course it is. What a refreshing parallel, Princess.”

We exchanged further pleasantries as the fateful package was carefully rolled off of the train, and I nearly seized it in my excitement before my clawed companion reminded me that there were several papers I must sign before I could claim it as my own. It took a fair amount of time to do, but this did not trouble me. At last, my long-sought nitroglycerin had come to me! My excitement was surely palpable. My latest invention was no longer so far in the future as to be naught but a twinkle on the vast horizon of time.

I was careful to keep the package in a firm telekinetic grip as I made my way back to the palace. When I remembered that I must cross through the throne room to enter the Bat Cave, however, I nearly dropped it in my sudden realization. How was I to arrive to safety without Sister Dearest noticing my precious cargo? I scolded myself for this unforgivable oversight. How dare I neglect to remember the slight detail that the day court was not yet finished!

Fortunately, Sister Dearest appeared enthralled by her current unsatisfied pony, a red mare lamenting the status of her hometown as the newest target for wayward Diamond Dogs. I was able to simply march past them into the preparation room, relying on the principle of acting as if I belonged there. I am almost certain that Sister Dearest did not notice my passing.

Within the Bat Cave, Blueblood was working with the pool that he had been installing that morning. By “working with”, of course, I mean that he was gazing into it at his reflection. I wonder at times whether his interests lie in mares at all, despite his status as the most eligible bachelor in Canterlot. He seems far too interested in the height of his cheekbones, the shine of his blond mane, and the curve of his rump. Perhaps I shall need to discover a mare exactly like him in order to grant him true happiness.

Despite his infatuation, he was quick to assist me when I requested that he retrieve the food coloring at once. I carefully unwrapped the package, tossing the nondescript wrapping away to reveal a glass container nearly filled with nitroglycerin. With the utmost caution I distributed the liquid equally between four steel bowls, to which I added droplets of blue, pale blue, purple, and black. The color dissolved nicely into the explosives, turning the liquid to vivid shades. A quick glow of my horn ensured that it would become the appropriate consistency.

Glee crossed my face. At last, here was that most glorious creation, the feared loved Nitroglycercute! I seized a nearby crystal and a paintbrush; the latter was dipped into the black paint, with which I slowly coated the former until not a trace of its original color could be found. The crystal smelled odd, certainly, but in my magical grasp it posed no danger.

“Huzzah!” I crowed, throwing my hooves in the air. “It is a success! Let us test this invention, Blueblood, to be certain of its purpose.”

We navigated our way through the twists and turns of the crystal-studded corridors, until we at last found ourselves at the edge of a great chasm. Its depths plummeted into the deepest darkness, far past the extent of the torch Blueblood had so thoughtfully brought. We exchanged a glance, and he nodded cautiously. Taking a deep inhalation, I wound back and flung the crystal at the far side of the chasm with all the might I could muster.

The resulting explosion tore a magnificent hole in the wall, shaking the entire cavern and dislodging several stalactites from their secure positions in the ceiling. The rumble of falling rock could not conceal my triumphant laughter. At last, a marvelous invention with not a drawback to be found! I would have to be careful in storing the Nitroglycercute of course, but that was only to be expected. Sister Dearest had best watch herself, for the days of Empress Luna draw ever nearer!