Author's Notes:

Contains: Masturbation, Anthros with four hooves, and word-porn

Written by: Ashi

My beach, at last!

Okay, so it technically doesn't belong to me, but the important thing to keep in mind is that no pony knows of its existence but me; when I need to get away from it all – which is becoming a regular occurrence these days – this is the one place in Equestria that I know is for me and me alone, and I treasure the few hours of respite this refuge affords me. It's nothing more than a small inlet located at one extreme of Canterlot, and it had gone overlooked for years because of its distance from … well, anywhere, really.

Equestria has become a much smaller place over the years; thanks to the efforts of my faithful student and the Elements of Harmony, most of the neighbouring lands around us have become united in friendship with only a few stubborn holdouts resisting the hoof of peace. They'll come around, eventually, I hope.

My work as a teacher, diplomat and strategist feels never-ending at times; where I am able to do so, I delegate tasks to my sister, Twilight Sparkle and her friends, but there is an old family saying that I live my life by: the Maker gave you four hooves; one for helping yourself, three for helping your neighbour. And all four of my hooves are worn to the bone. As soon as I return to Canterlot, I'm making an appointment with my personal pedicurist.

Not that I think of myself as vain, but I do like to keep myself well-groomed. Plus, appearance is nine-tenths of diplomacy; you'd be amazed at what you can get ambassadors to agree to just by leaning over in a low-cut dress at the right moment, and as vulgar as it sounds, I don't half mind the attention either.

Princess, I may be, but I'm still a pony. Don't judge me.

It's funny, though; I control the sun, but I so rarely take the time to appreciate everything that it offers me and my little ponies. Its light illuminates my path, its warmth radiates throughout my body, its ties to both myself and Equestria give me a greater sense of connectedness to the many beings which choose to reside here. Though she was nervous about taking on the responsibility, Luna graciously agreed to take custody of the sun for the rest of the day, allowing me this opportunity to properly relax. Ever since she returned from the moon, she's been a trifle skittish about making any kind of mistake, but I have the utmost faith in her. She just needs to have more faith in herself and her abilities, and she will one day make a fine ruler in her own right.

The narrow dirt road to the beach is far off the beaten bath, and I discovered it quite by accident while having a leisurely stroll one day; the cove is about a mile away, and though I could just teleport straight there if I wanted to, the point of the exercise is to savour the journey as much as the destination. Shards of intense orange light filter through the canopy formed by the tall oak trees, and I can hear the tweets of exotic birds ringing out splendidly. It would be nice to have Fluttershy's ability to understand animals, I suppose, but one does not need to understand the words of a song in order to find the melody beautiful

Soon, a new sound fills my sensitive ears: the distant lap of ocean waves crashing against the shore; coupled with the increasingly salty tang of the air, I know that my destination is close at hoof.

The walk serves a secondary purpose; teleporting straight to the beach from whatever mind-numbing function I was previously involved in would leave me too tense to really enjoy myself, and I would feel as though I had to cram everything in to compensate. Taking the slow path allows my body and mind a chance to relax, to unwind, to let go of all the minutiae. Sometimes, I don't even realise how tense my muscles are until somepony points it out to me.

A simple duffel bag is strapped around my withers, holding only the most essential of items: a cream-coloured beach towel that has my cutie mark emblazoned upon it in golden relief – a sardonic gift from my sister, I'm not that self-aggrandizing – which is large enough to comfortably hold two, though I haven't had occasion to test that out … yet; a book that Twilight Sparkle had loaned to me, about some kind of grave-robber who steals important cultural artefacts from ancient civilisations; finally, snacks!

When your face ends up in a newspaper because of one small slice of cake you ate a party, you learn to hide your junk food habit.

My shoes are the first thing to go when I come to the end of the path; I don't want to miss a single inch of that soft, glistening sand on my hooves, and I toss the golden sandals aside carelessly. Undoubtedly, had he been here, the royal cordwainer would've thrown a conniption fit over this, but, well, he isn't here. Even if he had been here, I would've been too busy feeling my hooves sink into the fine powder below, enjoying that slightly abrasive texture on my tired flesh, to worry too much about his views on my appalling treatment of incredibly expensive footwear.

I'm slightly more reverent when it comes to the crown, however; not just because it marks out my status, but because it is an Equestrian heirloom going back generations before I was even born. Whatever exotic metals it was fashioned out of, it was built to last. I place it atop a convenient rock.

For a long moment, I stand there with my forelegs stretched wide, simply basking in the moment; the only sounds I can hear are seagulls crying out, crabs scurrying to and fro, and restless waves continuing their assault against the embankment. Which reminds me …

One of the great loves of my life is swimming; when I was a filly, when I was just plain old Celestia, no pond, river or canal was safe from my rudimentary splashing technique. Age brings with it other pleasures, such as luxuriating in a marble bathtub with a plethora of scented oils designed with the sole purpose of getting you outside of your head for an hour, but it wasn't quite the same. Nor was visiting one of the many bathhouses in Canterlot.

As much as I love my little ponies, the fact that I can't go anywhere in public without them bowing and scraping to me is a little bit wearisome. Everypony is so polite and scrupulous, and I long for one of them to tell an off-colour joke, or make an inappropriate remark about a faded celebrity, but no. They see royalty and assume that they must be treated like fine china.

My pale flesh is not slow to break out in goosebumps as I enter the cold water; my shimmering, multi-hued tail swishes about agitatedly, acting with a will all of its own. As I press forth, my mind repeats the same unhelpful phrase to me over and over again: Tartarus, this is freezing! For some reason, the ocean has chosen this moment to send a particularly tall wave toward the beach, and it has to get through a barricade consisting of me first. It almost knocks me flat on my flank when it impacts, but I manage to remain somewhat upright, though I'm now shivering in place, prematurely soaked from head to hoof, my long hair plastered against my body.

Well, being sodden through to the bone does at least have the benefit of stopping you from thinking too much about anything else.

Though my swimming skills aren't as sharp as they could be – so little opportunity do I have to actively indulge them – I'm at least able to maintain a decent pace using a modified doggy paddle, but I am kicking up a lot of spray in the process thanks to my long legs not quite understanding that they're meant to remain under the surface. If alicorns had a little bit of seapony in their magical make-up, we might be better swimmers, but they don't and it doesn't take long for my legs to go from gently cajoling me to return to the bank to outright dissent. Giving in, I return my drenched carcass to dry land and surrender myself to the embrace of the plush, oversized towel.

Not before shaking myself partially dry, of course, but no one wants to know about me behaving like a common mutt, do they?

Lazing on my back as I absorb the effulgent rays of the sun, I am struck by two things: 1) how strange it would be if anypony could see me right now, legs stretched out, all sense of royal decorum abandoned; and 2) letting the heat wash over me as the ocean's waves had done just moments before was a vastly different experience to the one I'm used to. Always at the forefront of my mind is my connection to the sun, so I tend to take it for granted. While I can still feel its greatly-diminished pull, I am no longer fully conscious of it and it gives me an incredible sensation of lightness. That constant, nagging pressure is gone – or at least it is banished to the level of mere white noise – and I can reflect dispassionately on the fact that much of my life is spent carrying that terrible burden overhead on my withers.

Probably it's a defence mechanism of sorts: if I thought this way all the time, I'd probably have a freak out. One false move, and I'd toast all of Equestria.

I try not to let that thought disturb my peacefulness, however; really, the only minor irritant is the fact that my leg muscles have knotted themselves up into huffy little balls of pain. I try to ignore them, try to find a more comfortable position in which to lie, but they're having none of it. When you travel everywhere by teleportation or chariot, you forget what merry havoc it can play on your body when you start – gasp – doing things for yourself again. Pretty much the only walking I do is from wing of the castle to the other, or around the buffet table at one of the many diplomatic events that I'm forced to attend by dint of my position.

Uttering a most unladylike groan of irritation, I pull myself up into a sitting position and gently massage my hindlegs; what I said before about not doing things for myself goes double when it comes to things that I don't even know how to do, and I'm sure that my personal masseuse would cringe in dismay at my meager efforts. Her expertise would be invaluable right now.

Soon, however, my body begins to relax once more and I splay myself out to catch as many of the sun's rays as possible; I find my hooves doing something that you couldn't pay any masseuse to do – even the friendliest, most open-minded sort – unless you found yourself in a certain district of Canterlot after hours, with a bag full of bits and a cheerful disregard for what it might do for your reputation if anypony happens to spot you.

Not that I've ever done that, of course.

That said, my thoughts quickly turn from the dull ache in my legs to … the dull ache that grows in between them; a deeper, altogether more intimate sort of agony.

Now don't misunderstand me; I love my life, and there is no part of it that I would willingly trade for anything. Caring for my little ponies may involve vast amounts of bureaucracy – mundane paperwork, countless hours spent signing off on inventories of the castle's stationary, and making sure that certain minor royals don't offend visiting statesbeings – but I know in my heart that I am doing what I was put on this planet to do. The days have plenty of work to keep me occupied, but it's the nights which are the real struggle. My social life beyond galas, state events and the like is practically non-existent. I yearn for something a little bit more exotic than an international crisis whenever something decides to escape Tartarus' walls.

In short, I want – crave – a partner, an equal, somepony that I could be open with in every way possible; unfortunately, being a princess with many duties doesn't allow me too much free time for dating, thus I am cursed with having to take care of my needs with my own hooves.

Almost as if they are operating of their own accord, my hooves roam across my body; I let them do what they will, content to enjoy the sensations that wash over me as they cup my large breasts before sliding down my stomach to my firm thighs. The tip of my hoof finds my centre and lingers there, a warmth spreading throughout my body that has nothing to do with the sun. I close my eyes, offering the flocking seagulls a soft moan as my hooftip explores the folds of flesh underneath my coat.

Before my arousal can build too far, I take a moment to listen keenly to my surroundings; the tall bluffs that surround the beach act as natural barricades, and it is unlikely that anypony is secretly observing me, but you can never be too certain. Assured of my solitude, I continue.

My hooves return to my breasts, the tips rubbing lazy circles around my nipples, drawing them out until they are fully erect and eliciting another contented sigh from my throat. Opening my eyes, I spy the nub of enlarged flesh and a devilish idea occurs to me; bringing the nipple to my mouth, I suck on it gently, a slight flush colouring my cheeks as I do so. I have one of those out of body moments where I see what I am doing as if I am witnessing it from above, but my ardour outranks the embarrassment so I press on. I roll it between my teeth, biting down gently, then applying additional pressure until a pleasant note of pain rings out in harmony with the melody of enjoyment.

The sound of the incoming tide gives me another idea; padding softly to the edge of the embankment, my body facing the ocean, I slowly spread my legs. Languidly, the tip of my hoof traces delicate little motions around my hardening clitoris, and my breathing becomes much more intense. The thin digit slips in between my lips and I feel a wetness there that has nothing to do with the oncoming sea.

Small waves hit me; cold water mixing with the heat of my body sends a surge of adrenaline thrilling through me, and I brace myself with one hoof back against the sand as the other continues to rub my pussy. The tip plunges in deep, as deep as I can get it, and increasingly urgent pants are torn from my mouth. The piquancy of the ocean's scent mingles with my own aroma.

I lie back on the sand, curling the hooves of my hindlegs into the rough earth; another wave hits me, washing over my aching core. It drives me closer to the edge, and my hooftip teases my clit faster and harder than before. With my other hoof, I pull on my nipples, the combination of feelings sending an exquisite surge along my spine. The water flowing around me is very sensual, and the tip of my hoof moves faster as I pump my hips in time to its strokes. I can't silence – nor do I want to – the fervent moans erupting from me. As an enormous wave crashes into me, I am pushed over the precipice and I cry out in ecstasy as I add my own fluids to that of the ocean.

A subdued pitter-patter of approaching hoofsteps on shifting sand makes me sit up, the dying embers of orgasm still burning within me; my ears, sensitive though they are – and heightened by alicorn magic – are twitching spasmodically, trying to pin down their source; no pony is supposed to know about this little retreat but me, but it's always possible that somepony will find it in exactly the same manner as I did. I am alert, on guard. It's probably unnecessary, but I fill my long, slender horn with magic just in case. If it turns out to be an enemy intent on doing me harm, then I don't wish to gift them precious seconds whilst preparing an attack spell.

I turn around, my eyes narrowed in concentration, and a soft gasp escapes my lips as I alight upon probably the last pony in Equestria that I expected to see here. Well, maybe not the last, but certainly somepony occupying somewhere down the southern end of the list, anyway. Despite the intrusion, I cannot say that I am truly irked by this turn of events either. The possibilities could have been so much worse: Discord, Queen Chrysalis, King Sombra, or most vexatious of all, Prince Blueblood.

“Twilight,” I say to the lavender-coated newcomer, and despite my many years as a diplomat, I am having to strain to keep the tinge of surprise out of my voice. Pleased though I always am to see her, I aim to brief in my dealings with the newly-crowned Princess of Friendship. “What brings you out this way? And more to the point, how did you even find me here?”

Weirdly, the notion that she might have caught the tail-end – no pun intended – of my little show doesn't even occur to me; my royal duties might require that I keep a certain distance from my subjects, but what I do on my own time, in what I have meticulously ensured to be a location of utmost privacy, is my own business. Anypony who has issues with that … well, then, that's their own problem, isn't it? I'm too old to go scurrying behind a large rock just because somepony's a bit prudish. She doesn't give me any indication that she noticed, however.

Twilight's mulberry eyes are half-closed and she has the sort of smile on her face that is often deployed whenever Spike does something particularly foolish and/or ridiculous in order to impress Rarity. I never thought that I'd be on the receiving end of it. “I managed,” she eventually replies, cocking her head to one side as if hoping that the wind would choose that moment to dramatically billow her indigo mane.

My initial response is to stifle the giggle that rises up from my chest as a result of her cute attempt at being mysterious; Twilight's face is too open, too expressive, and is palpably not built to be sneaky. I suppose it doesn't really matter how she found me. There are at least half a dozen ways of tracking an alicorn's magical signature if you're clever enough, and Twilight is more than clever. She's tenacious. All that remains is to find out what she wants and send her on her way so that I can return to my, ahem, massage. “Is there a problem back home? Something that you need me for?”

“No,” she says, approaching closer, her smile broadening. “No problems.”

“Twilight,” I say, anxiety bleeding into my voice at her unusual behaviour, “what's-”

My question is cut short by a muzzle pressing against my own; at first, I am so startled by what has happened that I'm still trying to form the words inside of her mouth. So unexpected is this development that I am unable to either push her away or kiss her back – which is what my body is telling me to do – but the decision is quickly taken out of my hooves entirely when her tongue finds mine. It is nothing more than a playful poke at the tip, but a sharp, sweet flavour is left to linger on my taste buds after she withdraws her tongue.

This is just a preview of things to come, she seems to be telling me.

One of her forelegs encircles my neck and she pulls me in for a longer, deeper kiss; despite my obvious enjoyment of the embrace, two warring facts fight for dominance in my mind: 1) this is an unusually-forward attitude for the socially-awkward Twilight Sparkle, and maybe I ought to be a bit concerned about this; and 2) for somepony who hasn't done much kissing – as far as I know – she's very, very good at it.

Before I know what's happening, I'm looking into a pair of coy eyes the colour of amethyst. Twilight waggles her eyebrows playfully at me, and yet again I find myself wondering who this impostor is.

This sexy impostor.

I would know if it was a Changeling, or some other form of mimic; after what happened at my niece's wedding, I made sure that we all brushed up on our divulging spells so that we would not have a repeat of that unfortunate incident. While Discord's trickery would be harder to unmask, this is not his typical modus operandi.

“You look perturbed, Princess,” says Twilight, her voice the texture of honey and just as delicious to my ears. “Was it something I said?”

I'm not even aware that I'm holding my breath until my chest begins to ache and I release it slowly, questions clamouring for dominance in my mind. Finally, I ask the one that seems most pertinent: “Twilight, what's gotten into you? You're, ah, not normally this gregarious, are you?”

Twilight gives me a thoughtful look, and a moment her eyes lid over and a sullen expression creases the delicate contours of her muzzle. “No, you're absolutely right. This is not me at all, is it?” She lets out a soft sigh, no longer able to meet my curious gaze. “I've let too many opportunities slip through my hooves because I was too shy, or too scared, to take them. I didn't want to let that happen again, Princess. I … I wanted to tell you that-”

“-It's okay,” I tell her, my forelegs sliding around her waist protectively. “Just take your time.”

Her eyes are impossibly big and soulful, and I feel myself becoming lost in their soft, wet gaze; once upon a time, she had been a precocious little filly, always looking for my approval, but now she is something else: a grown mare. An exceptionally beautiful grown mare, but one can't help seeing the shades of the past which help colour the present.

“I'm in love with you,” she says in a hesitant, trembling voice, her eyes fixed firmly on the sand below us. “I've loved you for so long, and I've wanted to tell you for ages, but I always talked myself out of it at the last minute.” Her head sank into my bosom and I felt wetness dampen my coat. “I'm so sorry. You must think that I'm such an idiot.”

I hug her tightly. “I don't think that you're an idiot at all. In fact-” I push her away gently in order to get a better look at her, though I keep a gentle, comforting grip on her withers with the hooves of my forelegs “-you're the smartest pony I know, Twilight. It takes a great deal of courage to do what you just did.”

“Courage? A barrel of the Apple family's finest?” Using a foreleg, she wipes away the snot and tears from her muzzle. “Same thing,” she concludes, kicking gently at the sand with a hindleg. She turns her gaze to me, giving me an expectant look. I have been involved in any number of negotiations, and I know what is coming from long experience. I am about to be given a decision to make. One that could forever alter my life.
“So?”

Do I love Twilight Sparkle? That's easy: yes. Smart, beautiful, funny, and so delectably innocent. She's just so innately loveable, yet because of my long history with her there's also a – perhaps slightly condescending – desire to protect her.

Am I, however, in love with her? Hm. That's more difficult.

Other than my dear sister, Luna, Twilight is the pony that I am closest to in the world; I would trust her with my very life, and have done so, in fact, on a number of occasions. I've had the pleasure of watching her grow from a confused, eager-to-please filly to a brilliant, talented mare that has – quite literally – saved Equestria more times than I can comfortably count. In addition to that, she is gorgeous, with alluring eyes, a mane and tail as soft as spun silk, a figure that is delicate and feminine yet also strong and vital from the powerful magic that courses through it. To those able to see such things, the lively aura which surrounds her speaks volumes of the mighty forces which she can call upon if needed.

If she were to ever fall to the darkness, as Luna once did, not even the combined power of the Elements of Harmony could stop her.

After several eternities have passed, I finally give Twilight my considered response: my hoof lifts up her chin and I press my lips softly against hers; she seems surprised by this action – I can't say I blame her either, given that she had been studiously staring at the ground up until now – but she quickly relaxes, so much so that her spine practically becomes a liquid as my hooves glide smoothly down her back to alight upon her curvaceous flank. I sense her blush as I grope her firm flesh. A stray strand of indigo brushes against my nostrils and I catch a whiff of a warm, spicy scent that is every bit as intoxicating as Twilight's body. Our mouths part and we both sucks in great lungfuls of air.

“Twilight, are you sure that this is what you want?” I ask her quietly. There will be many complications if we go down this road, but I'm sure that we can face them together.

She nods primly. “I'm sure, Pr-”

“-Celestia.”

“I'm sure, Celestia,” she says, correcting herself smoothly, shooting me a wry smile.

Again, I push her away, but this time because I want to look at all of her; I can't deny the fact that I've snuck a peek at her whenever I thought I could get away with it, but those aside glances are nothing compared to having her before me now. Her breasts are smaller than mine, but no less appealing for that. Her muzzle turns cherry red as she registers my scrutiny.

“Princ-”

“-Celestia.”

“Celestia, are you just going to stand there and stare at me?”

Talk about the agony of choice. I would be more than happy to spend the rest of the day hungrily gazing at the perfect form before me. Reluctantly, I step back into her personal space, my forelegs snaking around her waist in order to pull her close, our bosoms colliding; before she has the time to utter more than a strangled squeak, I lock lips with her again, sending tiny pleasurable shocks through me. And her, too, judging by the way she is shuddering in my grasp.

My hooves rove across her body; I find her breasts and caress them, her nipples hardening under my ministrations. Unable to contain myself, I bring my hoof lower, enjoying her sweet, tremulous breathing in my ear as I do so, and brush the tip gently across her pelvis. Twilight lets out a gasp as I oh, so teasingly press against her clit, stroking it until it swells to its full size. With one hoof on her hip, I lower her down on to the towel, my lips still entwined with hers.

She doesn't quite know what to do with her hooves, and she clumsily paws at my chest; I give her a patient smile, content to merely allow her to explore and learn at her own pace. Mimicking my actions from earlier, her hooftip finds my already-wet pussy and she slides the tip of her hoof along my moist lips, coating it with my slick juices.

“Am I doing okay?” Twilight asks in a soft voice.

“You're doing just fine, dear,” I reply.

With Twilight unsure as to how to proceed, I take the opportunity to push her – softly – on to her back; I plant a trail of butterfly kisses along her neck and chest, my hooftip still sliding up and down her damp lips. I slowly begin to kiss down her stomach to the patch of darker hair that lies between her legs. With my tongue poised tantalisingly on her engorged clit, the tip of my hoof slips inside her now dripping pussy. I look up at her face, enjoying the deep crimson that tints her lavender coat, to say nothing of the delightful pants that she is uttering. “Are you ready?” I ask, my tongue flicking out in snake-like fashion to brush against her clit.

“Ready for-?”

Before she can finish that question, I lower my lips to Twilight's clit and suck it, rolling the hard bud between my teeth; an involuntary cry escapes her throat and she bucks her hips in response to what I am doing, while her thighs clamp around my head. I continue to tease and nibble on her clit while I thrust my hooftip in and out of her dripping honeypot. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy her pulling on her nipples whilst moaning and grinding her pussy into my muzzle.

After a few minutes of this, I feel Twilight's pelvic muscles begin to tighten and I sense that she is close; I quicken my pace, the tip of my hoof alternating between rubbing and applying pressure to her g-spot, forcing yet more plaintive cries from her. One final suck on her clit is enough to make her explode, and her tangy juices flood out of her faster than I can lap them up. So powerful are her spasms, in fact, that my hooftip is pushed out of her gushing pussy. Her scent is musky and fragrant, and I lower my nose to her in order to inhale deeply. My nose brushes against her clit and her whole body shakes underneath me.

She just lies there for a moment, unmoving, and I start to get a little bit worried.

“Twilight-” is as far as I get before I'm seized in a powerful magical grip.

She sits up, looking at me with a cocky grin splitting her muzzle. “That was an interesting lesson, Celestia,” she says. “Now-” she licks her lips suggestively “-I'd like to try applying what you've just taught me.”

I find myself being manipulated through her telekinetic power on to my back; the heat from the sand quickly warms it up, and I can hear the sound of the ocean mixing with that of the seagulls overhead. For a moment, all I can see is blue sky before it is replaced by a vision in purple.

Her muzzle finds mine and I close my eyes, savouring the kiss; there isn't a whole lot else that I can do, since Twilight still has me held in her magical grasp. I'm given little time to ponder whether or not this is her fetish before her tongue finds its way into my mouth, and she cleans it up of her juices. Hooves pull and knead at my breasts, and the combination of that plus the wet appendage exploring every nook and cranny of my insides causes me to moan around her eager tongue.

What Twilight lacks in finesse, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm; within seconds of breaking our kiss, she slides down my body to attack my clit with her tongue, teeth and lips. I'll have to teach her to pace herself in the future, but for now I don't want to break the spell that she has me under, literally and figuratively. Her youthful energy and aggression has me close to the edge once more, and the addition of her hooftip into my most intimate area makes me whine for more. I want to pump my hips into her muzzle, I want to grab her hair and force her muzzle into me, but alas I am unable to do any of these things.

Probably what she had in mind.

The pressure the tip of her hoof exerts on my g-spot causes a convulsion to shudder through me; my pussy squeezes her hooftip as I feel wave after wave of orgasmic surge over my body, but still Twilight continues her assault on both my clit and g-spot until I'm afraid that I can take no more. My head shakes back and forth, and I let out a loud cry. In that moment, she is on me, and I taste the stronger flavour of myself on her lips. One of her legs comes up in between my own, and she grinds her knee against my clit, forcing another orgasm out of me as our muzzles remain locked together. My impassioned whimper ends up somewhere in Twilight's throat.

Time, which I'm barely conscious of, passes.

“So,” Twilight says, fighting for breath as she frees me from her grasp, “is that what I've been missing for all this time?”

“Yes,” I reply, equally as spent, “and more besides. I must confess, I've often fantasised about this moment.”

“And how did it compare?” she asks, looking at me as some of her old filly reserve returns. She's still looking for my approval.

I slide across the sand to her, lying down in front of her; our legs become a tangle, and our eyes meet. The tip of my hoof runs along her side, stroking her breast, coming to a rest on her cheek. I smile at her. “There is no comparison, Twilight.”

With nothing further to say, she buries her head in my chest once more; my eyes linger on her exquisite form, and I briefly contemplate what our future will entail.

But those worries are for another time; for now, I rest my chin gently on top of her head, enjoying the scent of her hair. In a matter of moments, I hear light snoring – muffled slightly by my bosom – and I chuckle to myself.

Yes, it's going to be a lot of playing teacher to Twilight Sparkle once more.