King Sombra sat down at the crystal slab of his office desk, sorting through paperwork as the palace vibrated. This latest pile of printed bureaucracy was deeply worrying to the King of Shadows; scarcely anypony lived who remembered a time before his reign, and yet the tax department still took time out of feeding the royal treasury to devise forms for their unquestionable ruler to fill out. It was enough to make a less level-headed dictator order the execution of all those involved. But not for nothing was 'Sombra the Calm' one of his titles, so the evil unicorn set to the task of rearranging the disorganized tax forms.

It took about an hour of sifting, sorting, and frequent sighing for Sombra to build a single organized pile out of the chaos. He levitated the last of the papers into his IN tray, then leaned back in his impressive chair and listened to the sluggish clip-clop and clink-clank of his slaves moving around the growing hallways. It was an eerily serene sound to the tyrant's ears, and the perfect way to calm down after a long hour of mounting frustration. If not for the constant vibrations of the castle's renovation process, he might have fallen asleep at his desk.

A particularly large tremor shook the palace, and the mountain that was Sombra's IN tray leaned threateningly over the edge of his desk. He sighed and enveloped the stack of paper in the crimson glow of his magic; he would have to deal with this monumental fire hazard sooner rather than later, and there was no time like the present. He pulled the first of far too many forms towards him, and wet a quill with obsidian ink. He looked at the first question on the form.

"If you live in a council flat beside a river, but are not blind..." The rest of the question died on Sombra's tongue as he tried not to laugh. Oh, where to begin with this? There hadn't been such a thing as a municipality in the Crystal Empire since long before the reign of Sombra. There wasn't an apartment complex in the entire empire, he had made sure of that: even when draped in chains with eternally downcast eyes, Sombra allowed his subjects their own homes. As for rivers, the empire got all of its water from glaciers. Blindness, though, that was a legitimate thing to point out. He alone knew how many workplace accidents there were every day. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what city the original forms came from.

His mind sufficiently wrapped around the utter pointlessness of the question, Sombra checked the most appropriate box and moved on to the next question. "What was your mother's maiden name?"

Now, this was a little easier not to laugh at. Clearly, the taxponies were trying their hooves at espionage, using a grueling questionnaire to wear down his defenses so they could learn his weaknesses with innocuous questions like this. With a grin that put witnesses in mind of a dragon about to feast, Sombra took up his quill and signed 'N/A' in florid letters.

"Did your non-returnable outgoings for the first half of the year exceed your deductions for quarterly VAT returns?" For the first time since the pile of paperwork had been deposited on his desk, Sombra had to sit still and seriously think about this. He slid open a drawer of his crystal desk, drawing out a blank piece of parchment for him to scribble on. The King of Shadows had an impeccable memory for expenditure, a good thing too if the taxponies were willing to stoop to spying.

But for all his memories of cast bits and impeccable grasp of crystal calligraphy, it was less than ten minutes before Sombra was staring at his parchment with all the comprehension of a grey rock. He looked back at the tax paperwork, as though hoping to glean some new meaning from the question.

"Did your non-returnable outgoings for the first half of the year exceed your deductions for quarterly VAT returns?" On the edge of his hearing, Sombra heard something like the fluttering of tiny wings.

"Well, one door closed," he muttered to himself. "Let's open another." Sombra looked up from his desk, and smiled a distinctly unnerving smile at the nearest pony. A cursory glance at the mark on their rump and a trip through the palace of his mind later, Sombra's predatory grin widened and he called out. "Rare Rook! Come here!"

The sullen sapphire stallion shivered where he stood, before cantering over to the king's side with much clanking of his chains. "What is it, Your Majesty?" he asked, his head bowing low and his voice dropping lower in utterly broken submission. Were Sombra not so distracted by his paperwork, he might have laughed at the gesture.

"I was hoping you might be able to help me with some paperwork."

Rare Rook perked up at the mention of 'paperwork', and his head raised by the tiniest of inches. "But of course, Your Majesty. What seems to be the trouble?" Sombra levitated the tax paper over to the stallion's face, and tapped his quill against the offending question. "Did your non-returnable outgoings for the first half of the year exceed your deductions for quarterly VAT returns?"

There was another fluttering of wings, this time much closer. Sombra looked around, but saw nopony or anything else with the wings to make such a sound. How curious. In any case, he turned his attention back to his taxes.

"Now, when it says non-returnable outgoings, is that referring to my personal expenditure, or the outgoings of my empire as a whole?"

Rare Rook took a moment to answer, seeming to revel in examining the document. "Well, based on what I can see here, these forms are for your personal taxes. I don't think they'd ask you to fill out paperwork for the entire empire."

"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised." Sombra snorted, and inhaled the curious scent of feathers. Where was that coming from? "Now, when you say my personal outgoings, would that include the Imperial Treasury?"

That seemed to be a bit of a puzzler to Rare Rook. "Well, I suppose that depends on whether you count the treasury as your own funds, or the empire's funds."

Sombra hummed and hahhed over that for a few moments, returning the slip of paper to his desk as he did. "Well, I don't think I've ever really thought of the treasury as my own. Then again, I am the only one with authorization to circulate those funds, so..." Silence reigned between the two stallions for a moment or two. "For the sake of simplicity, we'll say that the treasury and its contents are my property as Crystal Emperor."

Rare Rook nodded, his desire to stand up for equality long ago crushed beneath Sombra's hoof. "I-is that all the assistance you require, sire?"

"For the moment, I believe so." As he wet his quill once again, Sombra spared a moment to give the stallion a genuine smile. "Your help is appreciated. I think you've earned a five-minute break."

"Oh, thank you, sire!"

"After which, you will report to your new position as Imperial Financial Advisor. Never let it be said that I do not reward ingenuity and distinction."

"I have never heard any rumors to the contrary, sire," Rare Rook brown-nosed shamelessly as he backed out of the office. Sombra hardly paid him any attention, already focused on his paperwork once more. A few simple calculations, and he would be able to move on to the next question.

"Did your non-returnable outgoings..." Sombra stopped reading the question aloud as he felt a change in the air. There was a sudden gathering of magical energies, which normally precluded a teleportation. He braced for sudden battle, but when he heard the traditional *POOF!* of teleportation, he simply felt a sudden weight upon his head.

Sombra looked up, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull in confusion. There, perched atop his head, was a fat aquamarine bird with stubby little wings. Its enormous purple eyes were mismatched and facing opposite directions, and a tongue far too small for its enormous beak stuck out like a strawberry stuck in a mussel. If that wasn't odd enough, its butt ended in a tuft of fur like the tail of a pony, which was a vibrant pink.

"What." There were no other words for what was happening. Then the bird began to squawk, and everything made sense.

"Hey, Somby! You free on Thursday? Hey, Somby! You free on Thursday?" it parroted in a perfect imitation of Princess Celestia's voice. Sombra sighed in growing comprehension, and pulled out another piece of blank parchment.

Dearest Princess Celestia,

For the last time, I am not your boyfriend. I will not lie, I enjoyed our time together as much as any stallion would, but this is just getting creepy. And that's coming from the guy openly running a slave nation.

Please stop sending magical creatures to beg for my attention. The sheer fact that you have forced me to write this sentence should be proof enough that this relationship is built on something dramatically more fragile than affection. I do not want you in that way. Please stop calling me.

Or at the very least, start sending ponies. I can always use new slaves.

Never, ever, ever yours in a million years,
Sombra the Increasingly Frustrated

Author's Notes:

Bonus points to anyone who can name the British television reference!