Lemon Hearts pressed her hoof down the pleated front of her new dress shirt and glanced up at the clock. She’d almost been late, after sleeping through her alarm. But the anxiety had been… shallower, this time. Still there, but less deep and gripping than usual.
Getting to tell off her mother in a way she had always wished she could had been truly empowering, she guessed.
But it was already nearing eight o’clock, the last rays of sunset long since faded, and the mullioned windows already blackened by nightfall. The food would be getting cold if it took much longer.
“Princess Luna has arrived!” the guard cried, but the door was already swinging open.
And so she had—either fashionably late or right on time, depending on the court member you asked. Princess Luna stepped into the dining hall, fluid and rolling and regal. Her coat had darkened a few shades since their last encounter, but her light blue mane remained the same in color, bound up as it was into an elegant, almost classical updo. Lemon Hearts bowed carefully, her heart in her throat as she straightened.
“H-hello, Your Highness,” she said, mentally running through the script she’d written out last night. “My name is Lemon Hearts, and I will be your etiquette teacher.”
“Indeed,” Princess Luna answered imperiously, coming to a stop beside one of two table settings. She quirked a brow upward, waiting. Lemon Hearts lit her horn, carefully pulling the chair out.
The Princess dropped into her seat with graceful aplomb. “Our sister has informed Us that We require a ‘brush up’ to Our dining skills.” She eyed Lemon Hearts. “Apparently much has changed in a thousand years, not that We think that that should be any concern of Ours,” she continued sourly. “It is the duty of denizens to oblige and imitate their rulers, not the duty of rulers to ingratiate themselves to the masses.” Luna sniffed, opting to stare balefully at the rice pilaf draped elegantly across her plate.
“Cuisine and dining has gradually morphed into its own art form over time,” Lemon offered helpfully. “Various foreign political factions have come to expect certain customs and procedures. I am certain that Your Highness will pick it up quite rapidly, given your solid foundations.”
“Hm.” The Princess nudged her knife delicately. “All the better to ‘get to know’ Us for thy transition into thy new role,” she noted dryly. Lemon Hearts flushed.
“Your Highness, it is a joy to serve you and impart my knowledge, little though it is—”
“Do not faff about with false flattery, We neither desire nor need it as such,” Luna snapped. Lemon tensed, half expecting the Princess to start throwing a fit again as her anger spiked. But instead, it cooled almost as soon as it had come. Luna leaned back into her seat, her posture more upright and controlled than anything Lemon Hearts could ever hope to approximate.
“Our sister has instructed Us to apologize to thee.” A pause. “We shall do no such thing. To prostrate oneself before a servant is an image best left to one’s flights of fancy.” She cut a glance at Lemon Hearts. “However, We shall… humor thy attempts at succor,” Luna said imperiously.
“Oh.” Lemon Hearts didn’t really know what to say to that, but ‘you sound like Princess Celestia’ was clearly out. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“See to it that thou does not disappoint Us.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Lemon Hearts smiled. “Shall we begin with the layout and order of utensil usage?”
“Very well,” Luna sighed.
____________________________
“That is the wrong fork, dear,” Mother chided.
I frowned, but smoothed it before Mother could notice the wrinkles forming. She would chastise her for ‘damaging her beautiful face’, but I knew by now that what she really cared about was my perceived value.
“Mother,” I said, setting down my salad fork.
“Yes, dear,” Mother asked, gracefully sipping her tea.
“I don’t want to go to college.”
And there it was. The Sigh.
“We’ve talked about this, Lemon Hearts…”
“No, Mother,” I said, and the uncharacteristic boldness suffused my body with warmth. “You have talked. You’ve never listened to me, or what I have to say. What I want.”
“What do you want?” Mother tittered. “There is nothing more important in life than station. Station is the obligation that allows you to have what you want.” Her gaze, so demurely focused on her plate, rose to meet mine, and her blue eyes were glacial. “Again, we have discussed this.”
“That I must either become a forerunner in a magical field or marry one to rise up above my ‘station’, yes, you’ve said that many times,” I answered scornfully. “And I’m telling you now, Mother.” I swallowed. The nerves were back, as squirming and restless as always.
“I’m telling you, that I won’t do it.”
Silence reigned. The mantle clock ticked on by, heedless of the growing tension as each tock filled the space between us, that ineffable sea that I had never been able to see, let alone swim, across.
“Your little friend, Twilight Sprinkle—”
“Sparkle,” I corrected, and it felt like a victory. Mother’s expression soured.
“Yes, her. Her parents are common ilk. And yet she became the personal student of the Princess, and her brother the paramour of Princess Cadance, and head of the Royal Guard besides.”
“So what, mother?”
“You come from nobility, Lemon Hearts, so why should you be any lesser than them?”
“I’m not lesser than them, and father was the third son of an unlanded Earl, that’s hardly the upper ranks.”
“You dare insult your family history!” Mother’s hooves slammed into the table, and I froze. In the kitchen, I heard the kettle whistle, the pitch slowly building.
“But the tea was already made,” I muttered.
“You dare insult me!” Mother continued, stomping around the table to get up in my face.
“This is a dream,” I realized, and it was true. I could see the fuzzy edges, the inconsistencies—the clock running backwards, the faceless portraits on the walls, the strange double timbre of Mother’s voice.
“A proper unicorn lady has only two paths in life—thaumaturgic success or marrying into it!” Mother’s magic snatched onto my mane and tugged, pulling me down to her level. Had she always been this small, this delicate, I wondered, staring into her livid eyes. “You will go to university, and you will become a proper unicorn once and for all, instead of mucking about like some earth pony filth with your hooves and your dough and your silly ideas about what you want!”
“No.”
“What?” Mother reeled back, utterly incensed.
“No.”
“You dare—!”
“I do,” I answered simply. “You’re just… a bad pony,” I realized, taking a step back. The dream was fading, dissolving like paper in a puddle. A rush of lavender filled my nostrils again, and I breathed in.
“You’re petty and racist, and you don’t love me, not in the way that counts.” I smiled sadly, but my eyes were dry this time. “I never really realized it before.”
Realized what? A quiet voice murmured, the lavender scent growing stronger still.
“That I’m not the one who has messed up.” I gazed levelly at my mother, so small and terrible and lovely. “You are.”
The dream popped like a soap bubble.