I run my hoof slowly across the word. "Crepuscular," it reads. "1. of, relating to, or resembling twilight." I move my hoof down to the next line, tracing it just as slow. "2. [i]Zoology.[/i] appearing or active in the twilight, as certain bats and insects."

Leaning back in my chair, I let the word roll off my tongue a few times. "Crepuscular," I say. "Crepuscular!" I try again, louder. It was one of those words on the bathtub curve. That is to say that if you graphed how weird it sounded to the ear, over the number of times you repeated it, the resulting line on a graph looked like a tub. It starts strange, nearly alien to all but the most academic of ears, but quickly sounds normal. Repeated enough however, the strangeness multiplies exponentially, and a mare will likely drive herself insane long before the trend gives up.

I grin. It fits me to a tee. [i]Nomen est omen[/i], as the ancient Roanan's used to say. I've never been a huge believer in predictive nomenclature, but sometimes... well, a pony's mind just sees patterns, doesn't it?

My parents, somehow, long before I'd shown any sign of self awareness, named me Twilight Sparkle. They had no way of knowing I'd grow up favoring those hours of dawn and dusk, did they? Or did something, somehow or someway, tell them that I'd shine brightest in the between-times?

No, of course not. It's just coincidence. Plenty of ponies have odd sleep schedules. But I don't just favor those hours, do I? I love them! Nearly all my good memories are cast in high-angled, diffuse light from the horizon. The exceptions, such as the Summer Sun Celebration, or Nightmare Night, seem just frequent enough to prove the rule.

I think on it more. Now I'm a princess as well. And yes, "of friendship" is the official title, but it is hard to ignore the symbolism of two diarchs, holding power over both sun and moon, night and day, and then finding myself thrust suddenly onto the same stage with a name like mine. Well, it beggars the question, surely.

Okay, so maybe no pony really thinks of me on the same level as the Two Sisters. But that's fine. Dusk and Dawn were always the more humble times, times when ponies woke, transitioned from dream to day, or vice versa. Some might say it is when we are weakest, but to me, I think it's when we're at our most true. It's the way we scratch ourselves at dawn, or drop all pretense, makeup, or other facades after a long day. High noon is for the brave and the bold. Dark night is for the daring and the romantic. But dusk and dawn belong to our true selves, all pretense removed.

It is, I realize also, the time I've always felt at my best, always felt... strongest. Pulling an all-nighter is always a bit of a challenge, if I'm honest, but when the first rays of dawn creep over the horizon, there is this incredible sense of renewed energy. Likewise, waking in the late afternoon, it's literally painful to drag myself from bed, and I'll self-medicate with coffee and dark teas just to survive. But as soon as the sun dips below the far peaks, and the first evening stars made their light known, it's like a weight is lifted from my soul and I am once again myself.

It's not just in my head, is it? I really do feel more alive at dusk and dawn. But am I this way because I made myself in the image of my name? Or, do parents somehow see a child in ways no others can, and name them true? I'm not sure I can answer that.

In either case, I feel content as any mare can be. I live my life, on my terms, and more importantly, my schedule. Either I fit it, or it fits me, but regardless, I am ever so grateful that there is a fit at all.