The Princess herself had broken her character.
She had yelled at some of her most loyal subjects, and had even fought with her own personal protege.

All because of that one, insignificant being, who had escaped from a world of chaos and a World War.

Deep within the Canterlot Royal Garden, in a sepulchral clearing, there sat a single, strange statue, of a creature with strange limbs, vines already descending from the dark trees, mist obscuring the statues' foundation.
A small thud accompanied an even smaller pebble falling onto the ground the clearing, making contact with the hard topsoil through the layer of decaying leaves and moss, its sound heard by nothing, but felt by everything.
As the small, insignificant pebble rested atop the layer of decay and moss, the sea of mist stretched itself thin, its roiling waves of gas calming. The statue remained still, apparently not affected by the pebble.
However, if anypony had been watching that night, they could have sworn that the statue's eyes had moved as the pebble struck the ground, its immortalized, blind pupils directed to Ponyville.