Princess Twilight stepped into the throne room to thundering applause of paper hooves. Eyes glittering with respect, greed, need, the fragile pony-shaped constructs were everywhere, like the audience of a particularly popular play. A long line of them stretched all the way to the foot of the dais on which the Equestrian throne stood, a pillar of marble inlaid with gold and cushioned with the finest silk that could be bought. Twilight stood in front of the throne and raised a hoof, silencing the paper masses before her.
They looked at her expectantly. Her right eye twitched. Too much caffeine. The floor looked mighty comfortable to lay down on at the moment. But she had to do this, like she did every day for the last hundreds of years. Equestria was hers to watch over. She owed a sacred duty to lead her people, and she would lead them and guide them and dance for them until she could dance no more.
The creaking of spotlights swivelling. The excited murmur of the crowd rustling against each other. The curtains parting. All was in place.
She put her hoof down, and the show started.
Princess Twilight walked between anthills towering over the surrounding landscape. Who had let them get this large? She considered them, considered the palace towering even over them. She guessed she did. She lightly touched one, and the columns and ants on it shifted, directed by her hoof.
She went past them. The mountains beckoned. They loomed in the distance, grey peaks in the north.
Noble Duty stayed by her side as she walked through the high grass. Well, relatively high. The grass barely reached her knees. She could still remember it reaching above her when she had been only a filly. How time flew. The grass rippled in the breeze. Today was a good day.
“My liege?” Noble Duty asked below her.
“Six hundred millions four hundred thirty nine thousands three hundreds and sixty four blades of grass,” Princess Twilight answered. Noble Duty nodded and scribbled something in her notebook. That the mare even had a notebook surprised her. How did she even write in it?
The gardens of Canterlot were another story entirely. Fussy plants, difficult flowers that needed careful tending. She did her rounds, the gardeners swarming around her to await instructions. Dance, step lightly around the flowers. They were so, so fragile. Princess Twilight took great care not to step on any of them. This one would bloom in a week, this one in two. Winter was quickly approaching. So much effort, so much waste tending to those flowers, when they would go back to sleep so soon. She'd always admired them as a filly but now…
The sky darkened briefly. She blinked. Fluffy white clouds hung overhead. Today was a good day. Grey mountains in the distance. Stone. Unmoving.
Stone. Statues had multiplied recently. She didn't know why, but she liked them. Elegant curves flowed down the carved representations of whatever was being represented, eyes following down uncertain waves and mathematical patterns going up and down and up and down again. Sometimes, one seemed to move, almost seeming alive, but it invariably was nothing but a trick of the light. Like the past, stone didn't move. Stone didn't change. Stone simply was, and remained, unbothered by seasons passing or weather changing. It was good. Looking out at the statues, she always knew what to expect. Flowers were fickle, unsure, unpredictable. Flowers could die at any time. Stone… stone simply was. With a minimum of tending, the carved stones of Equestria's past would shine like stars in the sky.
The paper crowd cheered and applauded her deft moves around the flowers, and the flowers bowed in reverence. The garden sequence was over. The mountains beckoned.
Princess Twilight stood in a clearing in the fields. The tall grass seemed to wave at her all around. It was only in that small clearing that she felt like a filly again, with the grass covering the horizon, not letting her see anywhere past the little circle in which she rested briefly. Even then, her crown poked above the grass and caught the sun, glimmering, blinding her. She squinted. She wasn't wearing her crown. What had blinded her then? She couldn't quite tell. She could only see past the grass, the snow-topped peaks ahead. North. So far. So close. The mountains beckoned.
“And three more, and two less.” Noble Duty scribbled. “And four more, and five less. And seven more, and zero less. And eight more, and six less. And two more, and…”
Her words phased out of Princess Twilight's attention. The crowd held its breath.
The show continued.
Something glimmered in the mountains to the north. Twilight lazily looked at the glint against the stone.
The show continued.
She rose from the grass, cracked her neck.
Somepony spoke. Somepony shouted. Some laughed. Some cried. The paper ponies fluttered in a whirlwind, each trying to catch her attention, each needing to be nudged and directed back to their proper place, back to their spot. Such silly things those paper ponies. Tea was served, and luncheon with gilded pages was had. Princess Twilight nodded at an advisor. She approved a minister's plan. The kingdom moved and lurched with only her signature on paper. Such a strange thing paper was. So fragile, yet bearing the power to move the heart and fate of so many.
That wasn't enough for her. Why? Why? Paper crackled and tore under her hooves. She was alone, piles of documents lining up before her. They were like mountains, overwhelming, crushing. She bore that weight, and the kingdom went well. Her life was simple. Deal with the paper, and the people were happy. Dance for them, guide them, and they lived good lives. Equestria was in a golden age, the people prospered.
That wasn't enough. She only had to sit in her throne and all was well. But that wasn't enough. Why?
Twilight looked out the window. Stone peaks to the north. Mountains beckoned. The curtain dropped, and all she saw was a Place inside the mountains bearing her name.