>Anon, the local human, slowly walks through the darkened halls of Canterlot Castle.
>The crisp night air floats along outside the towering stained glass windows.
>The position of the sleepy moon hanging quietly in the pitch gently coaxes Anon to return to his guest chambers from his nightly walks.
>Anon's shoulders sag ever so slightly, mirroring his half lidded eyes in relaxation.
>The pace of his steps slows to match that of his thoughtless mind.
>The lavender hanging from the walls pulls Anon by his nose, leading him to bed like a mother, wishing goodnight to his soul.
>His tired eyes close almost fully as his already slow-motion steps come to a stop.
>His ear twitches. A noise emanates from behind the door not too far down the hall. His eyes open again underneath a furrowed brow.
>Anon strains his ears to listen for the noise again. It's no louder than the sound of the blood circulating through his ears, but he tries anyways, eyes squinting as if that somehow turns up the volume.
>There it is again. Just barely discernible from the whistle of the cold mountain-top air.
>Anon steps closer to the door. Above it is the insignia of a radiant sun.
>Princess Celestia's private bed chambers.
>He presses his warm ear against the cold oak, and listens once more.
>Finally, he recognizes it.
>It's the heart-wrenching sound of a dry, breathy sob.
>Anon raises a shaky hand and quietly taps the wood with the back of his knuckles.
"Princess?" He gently calls through the door.
>Nearly a minute goes by before Anon raises his hand again. This time, however, his knuckles don't touch the wood. Instead, the hand carefully lowers down to the golden handle.
>The mechanism under Anon's thumb softly clicks open with well-oiled precision as the hinges fill in the lack of imperfection with a subtle creak.
>The heavy shield from the public world gives way to the dark and somber tone sealed away inside like a tomb.
>Anon hesitates for a moment before stepping in. His heart hesitates to beat as his brain hesitates to accept what his eyes are hesitant to show it.
>There, under the well cared for silk linens, is Princess Celestia. Her back faces the room as her ribs and shoulders rise and fall in short, sharp hitches of breath.
>The air inside feels thicker than normal as Anon's shoes push down the luxury carpeting with every reluctant step forward.
>The closer Anon gets, the more clear her quiet sobbing is.
"Celestia?" Anon whispers.
>Celestia's ears twitch as her shoulders flinch.
>Anon breathes in a deep breath of Lavender and exhales quietly. He moves forward once again, and sits down on the edge of the bed, shifting the weight of Celestia's body slightly.
>She still doesnt dare turn to face him. Not yet.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Anon whispers once more.
>The clock on the wall quietly counts the minutes of inner contemplation.
>Eventually, she speaks. Her voice barely above the volume of a tired breath.
>"I hate being immortal."
>Anon blinks.

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