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// Entry Three 
// Story: Diary of an Aspiring Tyrant 
// by SugarPesticide 
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June 23, 1000 ANM

At last! Freed from the foul curse of the Poison Joke, I can now speak my mind whenever I may choose without consequence! Or at least I would, if I wished to make a complete fool out of myself by revealing all of my plans to every random passerby. At least I may communicate in a manner that is not completely tedious.

I began this day soaking in a refreshing herbal bath to cure myself of my affliction, although I fear love that I may have broken a mirror or two in the process in my impatience to see whether I was already returned to my normal state. When tentatively questioned by my maids, whose names I really must learn within due time, I stated that I had broken them in my frustration (true) and that I was sorry (also true) that I had already caused a kind of distress within the palace. (This was more of a lie, because after they had left I realized that if the broken mirrors have been taken in symbolically, the staff will soon realize that only I can help them in breaking out from their miserable states of denial and self-loathing. This line of reasoning, dear reader, may seem a bit of a stretch, but being one step ahead of your rival sometimes requires taking unlikely roads of logic.)

I emerged from the bath refreshed and prepared to once again plot and plan as only a princess can. Sadly, my dear sister had other ideas. As soon as I was finished, she quickly whisked me away to the kitchens, where she insisted on having me try some odd modern dish.

"Well, it's not modern per se," she remarked, trying to correct me. "Actually, it's been around for millennia — it was an ancient delicacy in Yakyakistan long before strife began between the three pony tribes. It's only recently that the dish has come into Equestria thanks to trade routes being opened about six hundred years ago."

"It still disturbs me." I prodded the tall stalks of the flowering plants, eying their fluffy white flowers as they bounced lightly in response. "What is it?"

"Krascheninnikovia."

"Pardon? Crash in any what?"

She stifled a giggle with one of those slender white hooves. I tried to bristle but failed miserably, to the point that I could not conceal a grin of my own. There is little in the world more pleasing to the eye or ear than Sister Dearest giggling, which is never in mockery but rather in love, with joy first and sometimes amusement second. She may be the worst ruler Equestria has ever seen, but her former status as the Bearer of Laughter cannot be denied even in the worst of my moods.

"It's an amaranth," she explained. "In Equestria we call it winterfat. Now, I know that sounds rather unappetizing," she went on, raising an amused eyebrow as my grin faded into a disgusted grimace. "But never fear, dear Luna. This is entirely a plant, and a flowering plant at that. Don't tell me you no longer love those."

Sister Dearest had a point. I must admit that, were I placed into a magnificently gigantic room stuffed from wall to wall with tall delectable plants caught in the fullest blossoms of their flowers, I would devour it all before those who had placed me would realize the severity of their mistake. I have decided to make it clear that these are my weakness, for every great figure in history requires one weakness or more, lest she or he appear to be "too perfect" to the masses in both the present and the future. Even Sister Dearest, paragon that she is, has long been known as the mare who cannot resist even a poisoned cup of well-brewed tea. (As a note to myself, giving her just such a deceptive delight would be quite a marvelous prank, which I shall play many times in the safety of my own imagination.)

In any case, I did nibble at the grossly misnamed winterfat. Misnamed as far as fat is concerned, at least, for the flowers carry a pleasant spice of wintery mint, which can be detected beneath the pleasantly light crunch of their overwhelmingly savory buds. It was not my favorite taste in the world, I must admit, and it took me several glasses of water and several more words of encouragement from Sister Dearest to warm up to the unusual flavor. Still, the delightful texture of amaranths cannot be denied, and before too much time had passed I had finished off what remained in the vase and glanced about for some more.

"Later, perhaps." She smiled. "Your stomach isn't quite as big as it should be, remember. In any case, I'm glad you enjoyed your meal. This will certainly help to ease you back into the realm of politics, at least as far as dinners with foreign dignitaries are concerned."

I nodded, pacified by the delectable food resting comfortably within my stomach. It was an odd thing ... standing there in the kitchens with Sister Dearest, frowning and laughing as I tasted a bizarre new item of cuisine, while the chefs half hid amongst the pots and pans with a shared look of practiced resignation. It was a feeling I have not felt since long before the Nightmare, before the jealousy and the rage and the spark that led me to my path of glorious conquest. To simply spend time with my naïve, yet beloved sister.

"Now go to bed and get some rest," she told me with an embarrassingly doting nuzzle. "Tomorrow I will have you meet your son."