The truffles, after all, are stale and cold, but I try to enjoy them as best as I can. In the end, one has to make faces accordingly. And no face is better suited for a wedding than a bride's wonderful smile.

Fluttershy is speaking in front, just beside me. It is not important to hear what she says or how she says it.

What is important is that she is delivering this speech as the best mare of my wedding. She speaks of my generosity, of how we first met, of our weekly get togethers at the spa; things that bears little to no significance to me anymore.

My table is placed on a dais for all the audience to see. Tonight is my night, and it is important that I am much more distinguished than my guests.

Me, the Golden Mare. The cover mare. The mare next door. The mare of princes and castles. The mare of stories and fables, who climbed from rags to riches. Who knows not my story?

I have been profiled, reported, covered, revealed, and gossiped; everypony knows of me: where I eat, what I dress, whom I know, where I was and where I am going. Time has been good to me. Equestria goes where I go. My name passes from ear to ear, all dripping with envy with each passing syllable. My name echoes and resounds throughout Canterlot’s walls; it is a social sin not to know me.

On this evening, I own the night.

On my table towers the wedding cake, chocolate with vanilla layers and frosting that seems too sweet for my tongue. The white, lush color makes it almost invisible against the backdrop of my dress. Light pink flowers climb every tier, each adorned by the thousand twinkling sparkles of infinitesimal rubies. I take a knife and cut out a slice for my husband.

He shakes his head.

I look on, admiring the setting of what is perhaps the grandest wedding Equestria has and ever would see. The tables are covered in linen that shine luster and class beneath the pristine silverware and fine china. Several of these tables carry bronze statuettes of me and my groom, resting on a nest of Casaflanka Lilies and Hydrangeas. A solid ice sculpture of me stands proudly atop the centerpiece fountain, around which the majority of the tables are arranged. Snow-white curtains of silk taffeta, held together by cerulean pearls, cover the windows, occasionally flipping in the air to beckon in the moonlight. Fastened on pillars of marble are lanterns made of vermeil and polished glass; each lights the room with further luminescence. To the anterior, just behind the altar, the window has been replaced by an iridescent stained glass artwork of me and my cutie mark.

And watching over us all, at the heart of the great hall, like the very eye of the sun, lay suspended a giant chandelier made of ormolu and rhinestones.

My eyes settles still to that pendent for a moment, and how it swings almost imperceptibly. The ornate prisms hanging from its arms bounce and tinkle against one another, like the chimes of whispering bells. Whispers and murmurs of a snitch, that, although inaudible to the oblivious, ring painfully to those whose heart are as guilty as mine.

I tear my eyes away from the furniture.

But no ornamentation can best those decorations which appreciates its own, and my, presonal beauty: the guests, esteemed members of the Canterlot high society, all express their exorbitant, and perfectly justified, enthusiasm and interest. Their eyes, too, pass to that suspended pendulum to express their silent judgement.

They do it to torture me, I know.

They come here, not to share with my victory, but to be recognized in it. Only the fairest of the fair could come, and those who had not risked a social black mark on their reputation. To be here was not an act of gratitude, but a token of popularity. But it is to these furnitures and their pale comedic smiles that I dedicate this night.

One table stands apart from the rest. It is a distinguished table placed at the very front, exclusively awarded with greater space. The ponies sitting there are what the socialites believe to be my closest of friends. They are the most honest ponies I know, offering neither celebration nor congratulation.

Twilight Sparkle is the first among them, never tearing her eyes from mine in the slightest. She still holds that wide-eyed disbelief, as though she is watching something apart from the rest of us: a masquerade of plastic smiles, or an unfolding tragic melodrama. She waits, in vain hope, for somepony to climb onto my platform to shout, to yell, to scream the words she is begging to hear: “None of this is real.” She waits because she does not know whether it is I on the stage that is surreal, or if it’s the audience that applauds me from their seats.

Rainbow Dash's expression is more apparent. She grits her teeth at me, hoof pressed firmly against the tablecloth. Her magenta eyes burn bloodshot with rage.

I do not worry about her.

Applejack is avoiding my eyes at all cost, burying them instead on an empty bottle of Calvados she cradles in her hooves. I could no longer tell whether she is still capable of hearing or listening at this point. The grandeur around her seems immaterial, nothing exists and matters except for her drink. Pinkie Pie offers a glass of water to her. The cowpony looks at the glass, and then to Pinkamena, as if the pink pony just offered her poison. Applejack leans forward on the table and grabs her fifth bottle.

Pinkamena Diane Pie sighs and put the glass down. She is dressed quite presentably, with her mane neatly combed, flowing down like a blood-red waterfall. Our eyes make contact for a second, and her lips part in a very big smile as she waves her hoof to me.

I tear my eyes from her and turn towards the canary pegasus.

Fluttershy, having covered in rigorous detail her gratitude, nostalgia and best wishes, finally concludes her speech. "...A-and that is why Rarity is my best friend. Congr-Congratulations... I am so happy... for you both."

I stomp my hoof on the ground, initiating the applause. The guests follow my gesture.

Fluttershy holds her head down and draws back, trying to hide behind her bangs. She looks from one corner to another, eagerly looking for an escape from the prying eyes all around. I think she would have cried if not for an enthusiastic Pinkie Pie taking the burden from her hooves.

Fluttershy slumps back into her seat in the table while the pink pony takes her place on the dais beside me.

"Good evening, everypony!" she practically shouts into the microphone, her high pitches reverberating throughout. "How's everypony doing tonight? I dunno about you but I'm feeling fantaseriffic! First of all, a big congratulations to my dear friend Rarity and her new husband, Shining Armor. I know I speak for everypony when I say that we couldn't be happier for you. Now, best mare speech... best mare speech... I’ve read somewhere that a best mare speech should be as long as the time it takes for the bride to make love. In that case I think I’ll be here till sunrise. But since Fluttershy had already said everything there is to say, I’ll probably only last as long as Shining Armor.”

Pinkamena jokes. At least the guests were quick to respond with boisterous laughter. It became apparent that the delivery of her speech is more fitting for a stand-up comedian than a best mare.

She continues.

“So, anyway, a best mare is supposed to be the pony who will make the most awkward and embarrassing speech for the bride. But I can’t do that since Rarity has nothing to be embarrassed about. And I also have a problem with the term ‘best mare,’ since if there’s anypony who’s the best mare around here, it’s Rarity, and I’m just the Pretty-Good Mare; which is better than Okay Mare and the Kinda-Alright Mare.

“I first met Rarity when I first came to Ponyville; and we haven’t able to get rid of each other ever since. She’s super duper nice to me and told me how beautiful I am the first time we met and how I would look even more beautifuler in her dresses. She always takes care of me and dresses me with the best she can give! Like this dress I’m wearing, she gave it to me just for this occasion. She’s always so, so generous and that’s why she became my bestest friend. Which still makes me wonder why she chose Shining Armor over me. Anywho, she always makes it a point to say that dressing up is the best way to make us shine like diamonds, and I can see why this crowd is like a long buried treasure chest with what everypony is wearing. That’s why Rarity dreams to belong in castles and kingdoms and Canterlot, since these are the most beautiful places there are. Just a few hours ago, she was crying because all her dreams had come true... though I wouldn’t know why ponies cry if they’re happy, but that’s Rarity for you. Like this one time, she forgot to bring plates to our picnic and she goes all ‘this is the worst, possible, thing’ before swooning over a drama couch.”

Pinkie Pie imitates the gesture with utmost exaggeration. She falls over and lands on her flank with a honk. The audience hollers with laughter. She lets the moment pass and speaks again.

“But seriously, Shining Armor, since I know Rarity more than anypony else, I’ll give you tips on how to live with her. I suggest you write this down and hang it on a wall since it’s good ol’advice from aunt Pinkie Pie... ehem... Husbands are always wrong. Yup. That’s the truth. Whatever the wife says is always right since the wife always gets the last word in any argument. Whatever the stallion says after that is the start of a new argument. Don’t bother consulting the books, too. Encyclopedia’s are useless now that you’re married. Just ask Rarity; the wife knows everything except for what she wants. Just make sure you always keep a good stock of gems and diamonds and chocolates and sweets and you can bring her down from any tantrum. She has a habit of making dramatic moments for every little thing. You need to get used to it, fast. I know we did.

"But Rarity is always more than what she is and what she says she is. She may not look like it, but she always thinks of others before herself. Even though she tends to make faces, she toughens up when the tough gets tougher and she’s not afraid to get her hooves dirty. She’s filled with determination and she'll do anything and everything to get what she wants. Believe me when I say that a mare like that is one of a kind.

“So, on behalf of the Elements of Harmony, we welcome you as a part of our circle of pony friends forever! That’s why I believe this wedding is not an end, but a new beginning. Chocolate toasts for everypony! To Rarity and Shining Armor: forever and ever and happily ever after!”

Pinkie Pie grabs a glass of chocolate syrup seemingly from nowhere and downs the entire thing. As she finishes, the crowd once again erupts into a storm of applause and standing ovation, toasting in my honor with glasses of cognac and champagne.

Fluttershy is idly playing with her food, pretending not to listen. Rainbow Dash breathes deeply and painfully, as though the air stings her lungs. Applejack shakes her head and takes another swig of her bottle. Twilight Sparkle, still with that dazed expression, blinks once or twice.

But only I could see through and between the jokes and humor. The blood drains from my face and tears struggle to breach my eyes.

“And for the wedding’s closing speech,” Pinkamena was saying, “who better to give it than the bride herself!”

Two dozen photographers dart, sit and squat just below the stage. Flashbulbs from the cameras pop and sparkle from every direction. The brightness painfully shocks my eyes and my vision blurs.

As reality congeals itself again to a whole, I see Pinkamena standing in front of me.

“Take it away, Rarity!” she says.

The pink pony looks at me and winks. I look at the microphone, then to her, then to the microphone again. Her smile stiffens and it makes me clear my throat.

My whole body shaking, I take the microphone from her hooves to deliver the night’s closing toast.