by AdamThePony
***
Waxy paper rustled, flapped, and crinkled in the bindings of a well-worn, oil-clothed tome the size of a large sandwich. Beside it laid a half-filled scroll with an inkwell and quill off to the side, sharing space with the tome on a mahogany table. Beside the writing implements was a glass of iced tea, garnished with a lemon wedge and chilled with several chilled stones.
Before it all sat Twilight Sparkle, firmly furrowing her brow upon a fuschia comforter.
This was a situation that to her was all too common. To a pony as particular as our purple princess, proper placement of punctuation and words were of utmost importance. Naturally, this would lead to a particularly puzzling problem whenever there was a particular phrase that she couldn't find. Oftentimes, there'd be a concept she'd want to describe, but couldn't quite confine to a concise term. To a studious sort like herself, this lead to but one recourse: consulting the dictionary.
Twilight had been attempting to prepare a speech for sometime now, regarding the state of affairs in Ponyville in light of the recent addition of the Rainbow Friendship Castle. As many residents had reported, during the day, the castle would often take in ghastly amounts of sunlight, which refracted around town, causing sporadic spouts of temporary blindness in some ponies. The structure couldn't be taken down, of course; what remained of the Golden Oak's Library had been placed in the new castle, and the castle was now her official home, not to mention a royal estate. However, something had to be done to mitigate the amount of light being indiscriminately distributed to unsuspecting ponies, and it had to be done sooner rather than later.
The problem was trying to convey the potential solution. While the ponies down in Ponyville are far from simple, what Twilight had in mind would require some clever linguistics to explain. Being that she was especially skilled at working out exacting, precise answers to even the simplest of problems, she wanted to make sure there was no room for error.
But, several minutes into scanning both her densest dictionary and thickest thesaurus, Twilight was horn-first into a wordy wall, which she plomped into trying to meet that one measly word she needed.
"There has to be something here," she muttered to herself, rubbing her temple with her left hoof as she wiped the sweat off her brow with the right. "This is the fifth edition of the Oxherd Common Dictionary! I should be able to find at least one stinking sentence that sounds even vaguely similar to the one I want!"
A loud thud sounds from outside as something lands on the platform on one of the tree castle's wider branches. The weight of the noise was too large to confuse; it was very probably Princess Celestia, come to check in on things.
"Good afternoon, Twilight," cooed the solar sage. "Hard at work in your new castle, I see. What seems to be the problem?"
Twilight stood up, regarding her mentor with a worn, but welcome gaze, frowning slightly as she gave a brief hug of greeting.
"That's just it," she said straightly. "The castle itself's what's giving me trouble."
"Oh?" The older princess leaned in to glance at the scroll. "Whatever for, dear?"
"Well, for one, the crystalline structure's been scattering light all across the town. The way it's structured causes some crazy refractions that are shining just about anywhere there's strong light. I'm trying to write a plan up for some sort of prism-y, mirror-based system to try to redirect the flow back into the tree--you know, so it can heat the place up a little easier during the summer and winter--but I'm having trouble finding the right words to get what I'm trying to say across."
Celestia nodded her head. "It seems simple enough." she replied, looking to the dictionary. "Could you perhaps describe it to me as best you can? Maybe I can find it?"
"You would do that?" Twilight stepped back, allowing Celestia to sit down. "Please, be my guest!"
"I'd do anything for you, Twilight," said the princess with a gentle smirk. "We're not just student and teacher anymore; we're friends and partners in royalty. We have to look after each other if we want to ensure the realm is working as it should be."
"I'm in your debt, Princess!" Twilight told the taller alicorn.
"Don't be silly, Twilight," chided Celestia. "You know you owe me little more than that darling little smile of yours."
Twilight shrunk away, cheeks aflush with warm blood as she tittered on to herself. "It's not that adorable."
"Nonsense." Celestia nuzzled the purple princess, touching noses with her like she was stealing away a kiss. "There's nothing as adorable as that smile you hear my praises."
Twilight wanted to curl up in a little ball and hide away from the warm fuzzies Celestia was sticking to her like tiny little bubbles. She was familiar with Celestia's glowing reviews of her, but even now, just hearing her mentor constantly speak so highly of her made Twilight melt so gradually with every word. It was only her superior's sterling white hoof that keep her good and solid.
"Twilight? That description?"
Twilight shook away her white-hot embarrassment and snapped herself back into reality. "Right, right! I was looking for a word to for the way sunlight heats up glass structures when it's focused through a lens, like in a greenhouse."
Celestia nodded her head and smiled. "Sounds simple enough for me. I'll see what I can find."
This said, Celestia swiftly set to work. She hummed to herself the bars of an eerily familiar song. Twilight was especially acquainted to it some time ago, and its tone made her wings twitch at the pinions.
She looked to her reflection in the mirror, "It's hard to believe that it's almost been a year since...well, you know."
"Well, one year, three months, eight weeks and seven days," corrected Celestia with a chuckle. "But who's counting?"
Twilight blinked in earnest surprise. "You actually know how long it's been?"
"Well, when you've lived as long as I have, while most events in life are often a blur," said the mighty mare as she lazily shrugged her wings. "But when there comes a moment that worms itself deep inside your heart--one of those very special moments that you played a particularly important part in--it sticks in your head about as well as a favorite song."
Celestia chuckled to herself for a moment.
"It's funny, isn't it?" she asked Twilight, craning her head around. "How just before that fateful moment, I sang that song to you. I didn't compose it; neither did Luna or Cadence or even Raven. That entire aria was born of its own, deep in my heart of hearts. I felt such a pride for you on that day that my heart was lifted into song.
"That, dear Twilight, is the kind of exacting precision only a precious few ponies in my life have in my memories."
Twilight bit her lip, half between pride and guilt from the princess' wording. "Who were the others?"
"Well, let's see," said the princess, putting a hoof to her chin. "Well, there was Sunset Shimmer, back when she was my student. Princess Luna, of course. I think the only pony who could compare to you, however, was Starswirl the Bearded. Even then, I only place him so high for the contributions he made for the realm's sake."
"You mean when he--"
"Yes," Celestia said snappily. "He did things few ponies have the power or will to. Even at the cost of his health, he tried to keep the world moving when no one else could."
Twilight hung her head. "So what makes me any better than him?"
Celestia stopped her search and turned to Twilight, holding her chin up with a demure smile.
"What makes you special, dear?" she asked rhetorically. "Is that where Starswirl had taught me that the right pony in the right place can work wonders, you taught me that when the right ponies come together in the right place, they can make miracles."
The heavenly mare drew her wings open, draping them against her purple protégée. She kept quiet as a mouse, focused on the moment as she tried to keep herself reigned in. But there was always something about Twilight. The way she saw her grow from such a promising young student into one of the finest mares of her age, the effervescent curiosity she had for her talent, and the exacting lengths to which she'd go, just for her teacher's approval. The way that time had turned for them both made that imperious mask of hers slip away, little by little, with the sweat and tears serving helping it on its way off.
"My dear little pony," she shuddered, "If you want to know precision, than look in the mirror."
Twilight saw her reflection in Celestia's eyes, awestruck by way it seemed to glisten in her magenta eyes.
"If precision were ever a pony, you would be its spitting image."