Dear Rarity,
You know, I never went much to parties. It was interesting to read you talk about them, or well. About things related to them? I guess you weren’t really talking about the party itself but a facet of the party, but it’s enough to count. Probably.
You know, I agree with you on the subject of Applejack. When I was younger I tended to think of romance in terms of wild love affairs primarily. But she exhibits another flavor: namely, that she is the pinnacle of that vision-minded, domestic love that is as romantic as anything you or I might find. But you and I aren’t Applejack, and it would be rather unfair for either of us to compare ourselves.
I enjoyed your letter, by the way. I thought I should say that. I mean, I always enjoy letters! And I enjoy letters from friends more than normal letters by default because, I mean, most everypony does! But I enjoyed your letter more than that. On one level, it was reading material and I don’t have to describe how voracious of a reader I am. I packed a bit too light for that trip! I finished reading my copy of Black Guard’s Repetition long before anticipated. And of course, one doesn’t read a letter once. Oh, no. Read, re-read, contemplate, return to and reread, argue with, agree with, disagree with, read again, sit on for awhile, and then answer. That’s the way a letter is done.
My first reaction was to be a bit sad, and to think that you had sold yourself short all over. My second reaction, and don’t be upset, was to think that you were being ridiculous and perhaps I ought to talk some sense into you. My third reaction was merely to listen, and that was when I took you the most seriously.
I imagined you, talking to a young mare (which I probably imagined because of my own interests, which amuses me to think about) and how she might have left and forgot about you, and it made me sad. But what made me more sad was imagining how she might have left and thought, surely I have no chance with such a mare. She never really seemed like she wanted to keep going so much as she wanted to watch me. And another, a tousle-headed stallion, perhaps a young academic rising in fame, who went away with a sigh, thinking—I was mistaken, wasn’t I? She wasn’t a true pony at all, but an image.
Does that seem harsh? I hope not.
What I most mean to say is this: I think perhaps that you are a bit too enamored of distance and image.
Going further—Distance. You throughout this letter maintain a distance between yourself and these pretend suitors. I can’t tell if you ever let any of them in. Do you? Do you ever think about it? Do you really entertain this option at any point when sober?
Image—you talk at length about the aesthetic of the meeting, of the pleasure inherent in the experience. It may be because of what I’ve been reading, but… what exactly did you experience? Were you experiencing something which can be called aesthetic in any sense?
Sometimes, I think I work on a different wavelength than you. I think that about most ponies! But often I think we say the same word and mean two very different things. When I think “aesthetic” I think of art in museums or on easels or in galleries of sculptures. But I sense that you mean “aesthetic” in the way that I might use the word “experience” and that’s very puzzling to me. I would love for you to explain it.
Beyond semantics, though, I hear a bit of… oh, I don’t want to be rude. Loneliness? Loneliness works. That’s really sad, Rarity. I mean, why wouldn’t ponies be interested in you? That can’t be it. You admit as much yourself that they are. It doesn’t seem to be them that is the source of this disconnect.
What do you want out of a relationship? You talk about this experience but is that the experience that you want? It doesn’t seem to be. What would you want if you could choose another setting, or another dynamic, or change really any part of this scenario?
Maybe I have gone about this all wrong. Maybe you’re just sharing thoughts and I’m seeing problems to be fixed. I do that, after all. I imagine problems and then worry over fixing them. If I’ve read you wrongly, please tell me! I promise it comes only from how much I care.
Thank you for the dress. It was perfect and honestly I think it helped me feel a bit more confident for going out with Celestia.
Oh, and two can play at smuggling! You are no doubt wondering how this letter found its way into your sketchbook. There’s actually another copy by your bed, and one that may or may not be tucked underneath your sewing machine so whichever you get, know that employing your little sister for acts of espionage was actually far more enjoyable than I had anticipated. She was very excited for an “Official Princess Mission”.
All my love to Ponyville.
Twilight
P.S. What is this about Rainbow Dash? She seemed a little dour the last time we talked.
Dear Twilight,
Is this real? Like, if not, well played. Seriously, I’m not messing with you, very well played. If this is ironic or a joke in any way please go ahead and tell me because otherwise I’m going to assume its real because this is way, way, way too good for a Twilight-prank. Sorry, but them’s the breaks.
So I’m going to treat this as real to be safe.
You. Celestia. You dating Celestia. Celestia dating you. Like, Celestia dating anypony, really, but also dating a former student. It’s not crazy because it’s you, mind you, just… Just I guess its like someone knocking on your door and saying, “oh by the way, here’s a letter with the royal seal! Celestia actually thinks the moon is better than the sun and also she gave you up for adopted so you’re a princess now!” and then shoving a pair of wings at you and slamming the door. It’s surreal to me because it’s Celestia, and it…
Let me back up.
So, when you told me about how you and Celestia were dating and stuff, I was sitting on the the statue pedestal. You know, the one outside of school, where the portal that you came through was. Though, I guess it doesn’t quite work like it used to, does it? But I was sitting there.
And I had just been thinking about home. I mean, Equestria, not my apartment. Home with a capital H. Which is weird to write, by the way. It took me awhile to figure out how to transfer that idiom over into Equestrian. Heck, it took me a few seconds to remember how to write your name in Equestrian.
And while I’m thinking of home, waiting for the girls so we could walk home together (to Pinkie’s place. Just because in Equestria I’m no longer school age doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it to the fullest here!) I started flipping through my journal. I looked at the old entries, back when I was writing to Celestia. Those entries used to hurt so much. It was an almost physical pain. No matter what they were about, each one was either something I wished I could redo or phrase differently or it was something I wish that she would… say again.
But it didn’t hurt, reading on the pedestal. I was happy. And it occurred to me that I hadn’t talked with her in a long time. I guess… I know you wanted me to. I know you said I should write her, and you went to the trouble of giving me bottled dragonfire for that express purpose, but I just couldn’t. Writing that letter was too much. I thought it when you brought me the bottle and the parchment, and I thought it again sitting and reading. The Celestia in these pages is untouchable. She’s an icon on a wall, or a beautiful stained glass.
I’m not sure if I ever really knew her, and I think that it’s my fault that I didn’t.
And then the book gave me your newest message and… I mean, first I laughed because I was sure you were pulling my leg, and I was about to reply and tell you that it was rather bold of you to tease like that about Celestia of all things! But then you kept going and you were so happy and the Celestia you wrote about…
Was she my Celestia? Were they the same? Of course they must be on some level, I mean, she’s still Celestia. Like I was Sunset then and I’m Sunset now, so she’s still Celestia. But the way you talked about her, she seemed so real. She seemed like a pony, and not like a painting or an icon or a stained glass. I was confused.
I can be brash. I get it. Maybe this is brash to ask, but what do you see in her? What drew you to her in that way? What is she like, when she’s not in teaching mode? Who is Celestia?
I’m dying to know.
I couldn’t write a letter to the Princess. But I think I could write one to Celestia.
Sunset
Dearest, Sweetest, Best Former-foalsitter’s Dream Twilight,
This is like, litterally the greatest thing that has happened to me. You’d think my wedding was the best thing, but eh. We know how that went down!
No, this is the best possible thing. We live, I have decided, in the best of all possible worlds. I am beyond excited for you and for Aunty.
I know that I’ve been teasing you off and on about colts and fillies and the odds and ends of your romantic life since you were old enough to even think about dating, but I always knew you would find a wonderful match someday. Trust me, this is my job. I know things. Okay, more I have an approximate knowledge of things. But even when you were young, I knew you would grow up to be wonderful. It wasn’t just how smart you were, or how eager you were. It was just you, who you were. Sweet Twilight. When I moved to Canterlot, Aunty made me get out and do things to avoid being a Palace couch-potato like Blueblood had been. I tried all kinds of things. Did you know I worked for a few months as a barista? It was fun. I mean, the coffee part was fun. The customers were a toss-up.
But eventually, we compromised. I foalsat, so I could do homework and work at the same time. It was for the best, really. I was still struggling with learning Equestrian at the time, remember? Or maybe you didn’t know. You were young.
I didn’t mind it, but I wasn’t really enthusiastic until I met you. The first time you were a little terror, but in a way that was endearing. It was all a game to you, and you were a clever player. Foalsitter meant bedtime, and you didn’t want that, did you? Even when you were difficult, I found myself enjoying the times I sat for your parents. And no, it wasn’t just because I met Shiny that way.
Okay, so that helped a little. I won’t lie.
I’m rambling, I know. But I’m just very, very excited. You have to let me help. Not “have to” as in “oh, Twilight, you should come to me for advice”. Oh no. This is my domain, and this is my finest hour. Maybe. Probably! I’ll go with it being my finest hour. If you doubt me, I’m sure someone can tell you of my youthful experiments in setting Aunty up with ponies. And griffons. And a dragon once but that was actually mostly a joke. And here you come along and do it for me! I knew you were the best.
All of this to say: next time you two are going out, write me. Love is a battlefield, and you’ll find no better general than me. Or any general. Most generals aren’t really plotting out the perfect romance. At least, I don’t think they are.
Ever yours,
Cadance