It had been a peaceful morning in Canterlot.

The sky had been painted in lavender and gold by her own magic only moments before—a routine act, practiced for millennia, as effortless to her as breathing. She had just settled into her small breakfast table, the one nestled in the private garden beyond her tower. It was a delicate setup, built for one alicorn—graceful chairs, a fine tea set, and a tray of honeyed toast made to her exact preferences.

She had not expected you.

There had been a flash. Not of magic she recognized—nothing from the unicorn schools or the wilder magics of the Everfree—but something alien. It opened like a ripple in the fabric of her realm, and when it closed, you were there.

Sprawled, confused, startled.

And far, far too tall.

Now, some strange amount of time later, you were seated—awkwardly, cross-legged on the trimmed grass because the chairs weren’t built for you—across the tiny tea table from her. The two of you sat in total silence.

Tea steamed quietly between you. Somewhere, a bird chirped. The world held its breath.

Celestia’s wings were still half-flared, not in welcome, but in reflex. Her mane shimmered with more agitation than breeze, floating higher than usual, as if it too didn’t know what to make of this.

You weren’t a creature from Tartarus. Not a changeling. Not draconequus-born. You weren’t even threatening. And yet…

You were impossible.

Your eyes scanned her—narrowed just slightly, not in fear, but in that mortal way of sizing up the situation. Her crown. Her wings. Her regalia. Her form.

And she watched you just the same.

The shape of you was wrong. The proportions. The hands. The strange absence of a tail. She’d never seen a creature like you in all her centuries, not even in old tomes whispered of by Starswirl himself. And yet, there you were—real, breathing, not just staring at her, but matching her expression. Not afraid. Not scrambling. Not falling over yourself in reverence like some poor creature out of its depth.

You looked like someone who knew what an alicorn was… and was still sitting there like this was just your Tuesday.

That… annoyed her.

No. Not annoyed. Disturbed her.

Because Princess Celestia did not like when the world shifted without her say.

Her horn sparked once. Not to attack—just to feel the weave of magic around you. And still she sensed nothing she understood. No runes. No portal threads. No source.

You simply were.

And now, you were sipping the tea she poured you—delicately, politely, with a pinky raised and everything—as if this wasn’t the strangest moment either of you had ever known.

Finally, her composure frayed, not shattered but certainly… pinched. Her gaze narrowed.

“This is not how breakfast is supposed to go,” she said, ears angling back ever so slightly.