There sits a letter on a bedside table in High Canterlot, in a bedroom beneath the palace observatory and the newly-dubbed Twilight Sparkle wing of the Canterlot Archives. The writing is florid, all perfect, rounded and precise—it is, of course, written to convey a sense of self, and that Self is at her best an aesthetic creature.
The room is not bare or spartan, but neither does it match the easy luxury of the rest of Canterlot’s palatial glory. No, this is not the sort of room where one finds silk and gold in abundance. It is homely. It feels “lived-in” as some might call it. Twilight would have called it “Sensible” and left it at that.
When she had moved to Ponyville, the room had been cleaned but never emptied. Celestia had left it unused and open for her student to occupy again at any time. Perhaps there had always been nothing more than mere politeness in the gesture, born out of a general affection for such a student as Twilight Sparkle had always been. Perhaps there had been something else to it.
The letter has a companion, and had been detached. The box sat on the bed, neatly laid with its contents already given their due.
The letter reads thus:
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
I do hope that you waited until you were in Canterlot before reading this, as you promised! I shan’t know either way, of course, unless you tell me. But I trust you to understand the propriety of such a thing. Promises are important!
But I digress. You have probably already found it, but I had Spike smuggle a surprise into your luggage. He is such a dear, and he is a fine co-conspirator. I daresay a natural! But do open your present. Shoo, go! I’ll wait.
I hope you like it. I know that you said that you would have no need for formal wear whilst you were in Canterlot, but I also know that it is better to have and not need than to lack and be caught unprepared! And I say this in love Twilight, but you desperately need to become more comfortable with such things as fine dress and Society. Whatever the character of the latter and the occasional inconvenience of the former, they are both a part of your life now and you must master them. Equestria has high hopes for you! And I do as well. I have all faith that you shall prove yourself a fine statesmare and more besides.
It is also something of a more general gift to celebrate not only your new romance but also your first steps towards being a princess in your own right! Which, yes, has been an ongoing process but not a properly celebrated one. It was high-time I expressed how proud I am of you in a tangible way.
Now, with that out of the way: Twilight, I am so torn! On the first hoof, I do understand why you never told us anything about your affections for Princess Celestia before your announcement. I can imagine what it would be like, what pressure there might be, perhaps even a sense that it may never happen. And besides, we never really asked, did we? I wonder why we did not, why I did not. Did I? Perhaps I did. But I do not remember asking!
On the other hoof… Oh, Twilight, I wish I had known! What fun it would have been to share in this affair’s first inception? To have gossiped with you over wine and been privy to such intimacies would have been delightful. I daresay that must seem silly.
I hope not to offend, but I was surprised to learn that of all of us you were the first to rush headlong into love and by all accounts succeed. (Much could be said of my own attempts, though I know you are a dear and would surely not bring them up!) I suppose I had expected… well. Who first? Perhaps myself or Applejack. Yes, Applejack. Deep down, she is more of a romantic then you would suspect! Fluttershy next, and then perhaps you or Rainbow, and then Pinkie, always so full of life and going too fast for anyone to keep pace… until one day someone does.
This is of course between the two of us, but more and more I think that I shall be the last. It is something of a sad thought for me, who dreamt often and so grandly of romance, but it tastes of truth. I am so very busy, and so very—it pains to say—unromantic in the day to day. Rainbow is so dashing (ha!), Fluttershy demure and more or less perfection, Applejack has good prospects and a honest heart, and I? Well, I have little time and a devotion to my work which pushes out serious aspirations of romantic entanglement.
Still, a mare can dream. I am still Fluttershy’s appointed first reader, after all (a note: do remember to ask her about her newest work. It is marvelous and you simply must find the time. You shall thank me later!) and occasionally, when I am on a business trip to Canterlot or Manehattan, Coco and I attend some of the refined soirees that mark the industry’s successful. There is an aesthetic pleasure in it, to catch the eye of a stallion or a fine young mare, to talk with pretense of art—with savage wit of some local scandal—with a firm, fiery tambor of some aspect of philosophic inquiry. There is an aesthetic pleasure, I repeat, in the sort of play-pretend that goes on at such affairs, where one can imagine with alarming clarity how conversation might deepen, how a companion of the moment in conversation might perhaps by art or by mystery become more than merely a passing glance, but in truth a suitor. How one might receive a letter in the mail waiting at home from the ardent, earnest admirer who wishes to know the Rarity beneath the regrettable falsehood of the cocktail lounge.
But it is merely an aesthetic pleasure, and of the most fleeting sort. There is no letter waiting, and I often never see these souls again. Or, if I do, then they often seem so much more vapid and shallow then before, or I find to my dismay that they are perhaps not such at all and it is I who seems thus to them.
I would wish to hear everything. Not because I am nosy, but because I am simply dying to know. What is it like, to be in love? To be not alone at the end of the day, if you would allow me to be a bit melodramatic.
I’m sorry, I’ve been so morose, haven’t I? I start again with all of this, but I should be off soon to meet Fluttershy for our weekly appointment. You know, I think we might be close to finally convincing Applejack to join us? It’s been something of a project for the last two months, and I’m quite happy to report that our victory is well at hoof.
Do have a splendid time, Twilight. And remember that we have dinner together when you return! I have some designs for the upcoming ball that you need to look over. And if you forget, well, I do happen to personally know your seneschal, and he is very dependable.
Truly yours,
Rarity