//------------------------------//
// Princess Luna 
// Story: Cake 
// by Pathos14489 
//------------------------------//

	Celestia slammed her head against the back of the Throne of Friendship. "Luna! Luna help me!" She screeched. Nothing responded, the room was quiet. ...Too quiet. She cracked an eye and looked around the court, from the petrified noble mare, to the shocked guards. "I said, Heyeayeayea! Hey-"

"No more!" The doors flew opened, slamming into the guards on either side. "Neigh, sister! I said neigh! No more shall thee torture us with this music from the depths of the darkest pit! Neigh!" Luna righteously stomped across the court, "Ye, creature of the bleakest womb, being of the darkest creation; What say you, Monster?!" She pointed her fabulous hoof at the white cake monger. "I beseech you now!"

"Nyaah!" She gaffed, leaning back in her throne. "Luna! Whatever are you talking about my lovely sister?"

Luna, the brave and powerful, fluffed her mane, and scowled. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, 'Sister'!" She pointed her hoof at Celestia again.

Celestia cried, "Noooo!" and felled to her knees aside the throne, "Alas, dear sister, you are correct! I am a monster of true horrible-ness!" She curled in on herself and slapped her hoof on the floor, "I'm so sorry, sister! You should take the throne as the ruling sister!"

I stomped my hooves, standing out of the chair. "No! No no no!"

Celestia and Luna froze and looked over at me. "What?" Celestia asked quietly.

I sighed, flapping my wings and soaring down to the stage. "Are you suggesting that was a spectacular performance? Are you displaying to me your view of my dear, beloved sister, is that of a crying push over?" I questioned, gesturing to 'Celestia' with a subtle gest of the hoof.

"N-No, Princess Luna. But the script say-"

I brought a hoof up to my horn and sighed, drawing my head back as I groaned in agony. "I know what the script says!" I crouched down and gave the mare a look. "But that doesn't excuse you falling on the floor and acting like a crying foal." 

Her horn lit as she levitated as she brought the script over from the edge of the stage. "B-But you drew a sketch here on the corner that shows this scene and she's crying on the floor!"


«♦»


"I'm not a playwright."
—Bob Dylan