‘Tis when the moon is at its zenith that the allure and beauty of Equestria’s capital may be truly acknowledged. The city of Canterlot is by no means modest, but just as night secures its grip on the land, the true magic of the city dares to reveal itself.

‘Twas on this calm eve that thou dost find thyself walking through the streets of Canterlot. The city is quite a breathtaking sight at this time of night, and thou cannot help but marvel at the grand structures. The great spires stretch impossibly far into the sky, such that one could never hope to see the peaks lest aided by the light of Luna’s graceful moon.

The hour is late and the streets are silent. Upon the hour of twilight, the ponies of Equestria make haste for their beds. Whilst they may fear the darkness and shadows that stalk walls and street corners, thou cannot help but appreciate the calm and cool night that they defy.

The wind is absent as thou walks through the lonely streets, and only the sound of enamel upon cobblestone roads accompanies thy midnight meander. The monotonous clops soothe thy weary mind. ‘Tis akin to thy craft.

Metalwork.

A blacksmith by name and by trade, the sound of metal upon metal never ceases to invade thy thoughts. The perpetual rhythm of the hammer strike is something that is always ticking at the back of thy mind, ticking like a clock reminding thee of thy weary eyes.

The sky has darkened, and thou should be asleep. But why would anypony wish to miss a beautiful evening such as this, when the moon glows and the stars twinkle? Surely nopony would be so foalish?

Alas, Equestrians are not so open-minded. They quiver in their quilts and shiver in their sheets. They do not understand the darkness—what does it mean? They question and question the purpose of the night because they do not understand.

They fear what they do not understand.

The clip-clop sounds of thy hooves cease prematurely. Thy thoughts interrupted, thou dost look down and see that the cobblestone road has conceded to orderly grass. Thou dost stand afore a great plaza: Canterlot park. It overlooks the distant hills. If one were to spare a glance, one may be able to be apprised of the forest edge of Everfree in the milky moonlight.

Thou dost rejoice: ‘tis thy silent sanctuary, thy hidden haven, a place where thou may tarry with no fear of interruption or judgement. By all means, a second homestead, and somewhere to rest thy weary mind, if not thy weary eyes. Thou dost tread delicately over the grass towards the center where the statue garden lies. The perfect sculptures are even more beautiful under starlight.

The Sinner