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// Prerequisites - Doubts and Royalty 
// Story: The Student of Sun and Shadow 
// by Journey Blue 
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Twilight sits in her bedroom chamber at the top of Canterlot Palace's third highest spire. All is dark, save for the silver light of the moon that streams through her window and the crystal lamp that glows with a pale blue fluorescence. The lamp itself is a gift from Princess Cadence. Its base is a heart of aquamarine and the light's source a six-pointed star cut from pink quartz. The lamp is enchanted, as Cadence described in her letter, with her magic and would glow with the light in Twilight's heart. As Twilight understands, it is like a mood-bracelet, but one that she could read by at night.

Before her is a rather elegant vanity mirror. It was a coronation gift from the Pegasus Princess Emira Cloudia: The Heart of Coltstantinople. While Twilight had received many a coronation gift from various royalty loyal to Equestria—original copies of fables and tales from The Lady Song and Prince Knight Light of Canterbury, among her favorite—Cloudia’s is by far the most exquisite, and excessive.

The mirror is as much a reflection of the Princess Cloudia's eccentric tastes as it is of the marvels of her empire's craftponyship. The table upon which the mirror stands, and the frame and backing in which it is mounted, bear the ornate signature of Coltstantinople woodworking. Little space is left between the intricate flowing symbols and iconic images of flora and fauna: a two-headed pegasus—an ancient emblem for the empire—peacocks with curled tails and pavonine feathers blooming into floral designs, and grapevines that neither tremble nor sway.

The wood itself is of equal quality—Amaranth: a hardwood, extremely dense, naturally resistant to water and rot, and more commonly called Purpleheart. Beneath the smooth lacquer finish, the wavy grains and thick growth rings are a testament to Coltstaninople’s lush coastal climate. It is called Purpleheart because, once cut, its light brown wood reacts with the air and becomes a rich aubergine.

The mirror too bears the pegasus’ mark. The frosted edges of the float glass were embroidered pink, to both match Twilight's cutie mark, and to give each reflection a rose-tint. The mirror’s silver backing is whiter and more lustrous than it should be were it made of silver. Having scanned the mirror for enchantments, and finding none, Twilight concluded that the mirror was, in fact, backed with platinum. Which, if true, was an absurd expense that clashed with Twilight's more pragmatic and utilitarian mindset. Yet allied itself so perfectly with Cloudia’s.

Yet now, in the dark of the night, the pale light leeches the color from Twilight as she stares at herself in her mirror.  The room’s various furnishings, with their vibrant colors and elaborate designs—dressers, bookshelves, a writing desk, a sitting table, all courtesy of Cloudia—are reduced to their most basic geometries. Above her, the height of the room disappears into darkness.

This has been her bedroom in the past, when she was simply Celestia’s protégé. Now it is her bedroom once again, but as Equestria’s newest princess. After almost three years, she is back in Canterlot.

She has returned home.

Twilight had spent this day, as well as several previous days, learning about her duties as a princess. Being educated in the ways of royalty, Luna would joke. Initially, the lectures in Equestrian Law, Foreign Affairs, Trade Regulations—even the ones in Politics and Tax Reforms—were interesting and rather enjoyable. Her enthusiasm making it more so. Twilight might be a princess now, but she’d never lose her love of learning. Or so she had thought.

Now, she found herself spacing out during lectures, and meetings, looking onwards with glassy eyes and disinterest—her mind elsewhere. It had been two months since her coronation as Princess, and its glamour had tarnished.
 
She has returned home to Canterlot. But it is not her home. Not anymore. If home is where the heart is, then it certainly isn’t here. Her heart hasn't come with her; it has stayed behind, in Ponyville.
 
Spike had also stayed behind in Ponyville, on Twilight’s request, to take care of the library until a new librarian could be found. He and her friends come to visit as often as they can, but their visits are too few and far between, and this leaves her in want.

She is no stranger to solitude. She had spent so many nights, and so many days, in this very room, alone. For her life as Celestia’s most faithful student, this had been a requirement, even if self-imposed. Her studies had been the most important thing to her. They were what gave her purpose. All else was secondary. The solitude never bothered Twilight then. It had been peaceful, even comfortable. In this high spire, its personal library: her Ivory Tower.

But then she made friends.
 
Now, studying didn't seem as important anymore, and solitude no longer brought her peace. Twilight had changed; her time in Ponyville had changed her, having friends had changed her.
 
She just hadn't realized how much.
 
Now, as Twilight stares at herself in the gilded mirror, she is staring at a stranger. Twilight looks into the eyes of a mare with violet eyes much like her own, yet these eyes do not sparkle. Twilight’s crystal lamp used to glow soft pink, the purple wood and her lavender coat vibrant in its light.

Now, the mare’s coat is gray in the pale lamplight, drained of its color. The color that Twilight associates with joy and vitality is replaced with one more solemn—the mirror’s playful metaphor falling flat. It stands in stark contrast to the mare’s extravagant attire: a hot-pink dress adorned with gold embroidery that the bleaching light can not diminish and a diadem inlaid with a star-shaped tourmaline—the Element of Magic—that mirrors the dress’ color. Then there are her wings tucked to her side, appendages that look unnatural in her eyes and feel awkward on her back.

It is strange, not recognizing your own reflection.
 
In Twilight’s mind, she is still the lavender unicorn, diligent in her studies, with dreams of becoming one amongst the greatest mages of Equestria, like the fabled Starswirl.
 
In her mind, she is not a Princess.
 
That is her title, yes, a title she knows she has earned. It is just that it has yet to stick.
 
Princess Twilight Sparkle.
 
The name feels foreign. Not unlike the first time she had been addressed as Miss Sparkle. Being called Miss made her think of her mother: an older, wiser mare that knew how to take care of herself, and how to take care of others. Being called Miss didn't feel right. Yet, unlike this more mundane title, Princess carries a far greater weight. She is expected to not only to act more mature, but to be a leader. She is expected to be like Luna and Cadence, or like Celestia.
 
It is a unwelcome weight upon her shoulders. Made all the heavier by her desire for her friends to be by her side.
 
Solitude may not be a stranger, but it is no friend. Now that she is alone, Twilight feels neither peace nor comfort. What she feels is a quiet sensation, one that is not in her head but in her chest, gnawing at her and leaving a void. An emptiness that shows in the eyes of the mare in the mirror—longing eyes that speak a quiet sadness.  

Loneliness whispers in the softest of voices, deafening in the silence of solitude. In its light, Purpleheart looks very much like ebony.

Twilight has begun to miss being Celestia’s student. Being just a student. Things had been so clear, so simple. It was her duty to learn, not lead; to follow and to be guided by Celestia. It was not that Twilight lacked aspiration, it was because she had had a clear purpose. She knew her goals and knew what she wanted. For that, she was content.
 
But Twilight is a student no more—gone are the days of the studious little unicorn. Now she has earned her wings and has been given a much greater responsibility, greater purpose, than she could have ever imagined. Being an Archmage, a High Magister, a researcher in the Canterlot Laboratories, a Professor at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, or even just a simple librarian in the Canterlot Archives or libraries elsewhere—she could have imagined—but not a princess. It was something she was not ready to imagine. Nor ready to be.
 
Could she do it? Could she really become the princess the Celestia hoped her to be? Twilight knows she can. Though doubts may chip at the foundation of her confidence with a well-forged pick, she is certain she is qualified and more than capable; and her heart falls at the thought. Her head and wings hang low. The question she should truly ask herself: did she even want to be a princess?

Lavender wings, lavender coat, a gold crown, a pink dress, Purpleheart, purple furniture. Purple, purple. Purple is the color of royalty, and has been since ancient times. Purple dye was once made from the washed up shells of sea-snails, and the process of making them into dye was once long, tedious, and expensive. Making it a color only in the reach of the ruling and the wealthy.

In ancient times, the Ponycians, the famed “purple ponies”, were among the greatest traders of their time, excelling in shipbuilding and monopolizing in the manufacture of the precious purple dye. It is said the the Ponycians would color the sails of their flagships purple to intimidate pirates in times of peace, and enemies in times of war—quailing at the sight of such grandeur. Today, what remains of Ponycia is part of the Coltstantinople Empire. 

Cloudia finished her little history lesson to Twilight by commenting on how her own flagship, The Needle, also bore the traditional sails, and on how she always thought the color was more lavender, than purple. Eyeing Twilight and smiling wily as she turned to leave, her golden mane flowing like rivers of sunlight around wings of vibrant peach and toga of perfect white silk, Cloudia added, “One would think you were destined, with colors such as yours.”

Twilight, still unfamiliar with the games nobles played, at first mistook Princess Cloudia’s gifts as an attempt to gain her favor—as several nobleponies had done before. Only now does she realize that Cloudia’s gifts are more akin to the empurpled sails of the Ponycians: to leave Twilight overwhelmed—quailing at the sight of such grandeur. Pearls so beautiful that they made you feel like swine.

Cloudia came to Canterlot under the pretense of diplomatic interests and wanting to verify that her gifts to Twilight had arrived intact. In truth, she was curious about Princess Twilight and wanted to meet her. Wanted to see her. In her piercing sapphire eyes, Twilight saw curiosity—the kind of curiosity that makes a snake look into a bird’s nest. In Cloudia’s eyes, Twilight was transparent, and she was able to voice the thoughts that Twilight did not yet realize, and that now plague her.

Was this her destiny, to become a princess? Was this something beyond her control? Could she not deny what she was  becoming? At some point would she have to accept her fate?

If only her friends could be with her now, maybe then she could accept her role as a princess. It is certain her friends would support her. But now that she is royalty, would things between them remain the same? With a sinking feeling, she knows they won’t. Even now, Twilight is aware of the distance growing between her and her friends—the physical distance of being in Canterlot dwarfing in comparison to the distance created by her newly acquired authority. She intimidates them, just as Cloudia intimidated her, and there is nothing she can do about it.
 
Why did things have to change? Why does it feel like she has no control over anything going on around her? Why does being a Princess have to feel so lonely?
 
The sigh that escapes her lips is warped into a growl by her frustration. But it lacks energy and sounds hopeless and hollow. In the quiet of the late night hours it sounds loud but quickly fades into silence. Nopony would know a sound was ever made. Only the light of the moon and the shadows cast about are there to listen.
 
 
The moon is indifferent, but the shadows take heed.