To Her Royal Highness Princess Twilight Sparkle,

Your Majesty, I wish to lodge an official complaint! In your absence I have been attempting, both as your dear friend and as your duly appointed Royal Tailor (for which see the enclosed proclamation which I believe you will find is in good order, needing only your Highness' signature), to update your woefully inadequate Royal wardrobe. Why, the utter lack of variety and flair in your dress selection alone - it's positively scandalous, darling. It's most possible to have pizzazz in one's garments and accessories and that certain je ne sais quoi in comport without appearing like some jewel-bedecked Camel Sultan, sweltering in the desert heat under one too many Royal robes.

Apologies, darling, where was I? Oh, yes - you see, I was rather rudely ejected from your castle by your appointed stewards as they hurled at my person a series of most ignoble epithets. In contrast to their boorish behavior, I of course comported myself in a manner befitting a Lady. I assured them politely that I needed access to your wardrobe in order to review your Royal fashion selections, and that it was most inconveniently located inside your locked personal quarters, and that I was most assuredly not 'snooping' about the castle while attempting to force certain locks on your Highness’ walk-in closets. The nerve!

This, you see, is what I get into when I find myself unengaged. “Idle hooves are Tartarus’ playthings,” as they say.

And that, my dear Twilight, has been the extent of the week’s excitement. You and the girls have been out of town but a scant few days and already a pall of normalcy has descended on Ponyville, attempted break-ins to see your saddle collection notwithstanding. You do have a not insignificant reputation as a - well, there’s no other phrase for it, is there? – a ‘trouble magnet’. Before you arrived in Ponyville a few short years ago, the occasional marriage or birth counted as a seminal event. Now we hardly go a moon without meeting what the tavern-going crowd (of which I report only third-hoof accounts, a Lady never finding herself in such establishments) lovingly calls the ‘monster of the week’.

It’s thrilling, it’s exciting, it’s the sort of stunning revelation that makes the society set gasp in horror and elation when some enterprising designer upends tradition during Fashion Week, and it’s missing. It’s not that we haven’t all been apart before, but this time it feels different, rather like an omen. I have an unsettled feeling about it. I’m not sure what’s more worrisome: that we’re apart and that one day we may not come back together (as overdramatic as that sounds), or that we six may be quite fine being apart, and might someday drift apart for perfectly good reasons. It’s certainly and suddenly quieter now, and I don’t know if I can go back to uneventful and quaint and quiet for an entire summer.

Do forgive my prattling on, dear. You have enough on your Royal plate without my waxing lonely. It’s barely been a week, after all, and I’m sure something will crop up, no?

Be well and be safe, dear Twilight. I shall miss you.

Yours,

Rarity

[Letter arrives on the back of a postcard, the front of which is a painting of a palatial estate labeled “TAJ PALACE, MAREAKECH, MOROCCOLT.”]

HRH Princess Twilight,

Forgive me, darling, but I do love writing that title! Realize you have your hooves full with Griffons, wanted to drop a friendly note. Neither seen nor heard from you in nearly a month; miss you and worry about you. Your lovely marefriend does too; seemed fine last I heard from her, if a bit stir crazy. Remember we’re here for you if negotiations get rough, dear. Shoulders to cry on, willing ears to vent to, wine cellars stocked and ready! Do keep in touch. Mail ponies will courier your messages to my room here in Moroccolt. Surprise! If inspiration will not come to moi, then I shall go to it - booked a cruise to the Mediterrhaynean coast! Architecture here is breathtaking, place oozes exotic flair. Locals very friendly - you’d love it. Mareakech a tad touristy but cosmopolitan. Must go, city’s open-air market opens at dawn. Write when you can, and be well.

Yours,
Rarity