If there was one thing that Twilight realized upon becoming an alicorn, it was that she was now basically a character from one of Spike’s comic books. Every sense she had had been amplified nearly tenfold. She could see dust mites below her as clearly as she could see the hoof in front of her face. Her ears pricked up at the sound of a pin dropping ten rooms away. She could taste each individual chemical in every single one of Pinkie’s cupcakes. For the first time in her life she was at an acceptable BMI level.

However, as she had also discovered, there were many things that becoming an alicorn did not affect. One of these was her imagination.

Twilight glared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. It stared back silently. Provocatively. She took in a breath and scribbled a few words—[i]Clean Slate woke up from sleeping[/i]—but soon released the breath and crossed out what she had. With a spark of her horn, the paper crumpled up and threw itself into a nearby wastebasket. It hit Reject Mountain with a plat before tumbling to the floor.

She sighed and let her head slam onto the desk. “Oh, I hate writing fiction! Why did I have to sign up for this writing competition…?”

“Because you wanted the grand prize?” Spike suggested, hauling the wastebasket onto his back. It was his third trip that hour.

A thick blush crossed through Twilight’s face as she thought of the full-size plush replica of Princess Celestia offered as a prize. She managed to lift her eyes up a few inches. “You’re right. I’ve just never had writer’s block this bad. How am I supposed to write a short-story good enough? There are actual, legitimate writers entering this competition! I’m not creative!”

Spike stopped to pick up a few paper scraps that had tumbled to the floor. “Yeah. It’s too bad you haven’t been writing fiction since you were a foal like some of those guys. Right, Twilight?” He paused, but no response came. “Twilight?”

Twilight shook. If she had been blushing before, now she looked like she was ready to explode. Wings twitching, Twilight rose from her chair. It clattered to the floor behind her. Shadows covered her face. “Spike,” she murmured into her desk, “where is the journal I got for my sixteenth birthday?”

“Huh? What jour… Oh.” Spike took a step back. “Oh. Twilight, a-are you sure? You told me that you never wanted to see that book again!”

“I’m desperate, Spike! This could mean the difference between life and death! I’m going all in!” Twilight leaped up to a nearby bookshelf and began tearing books out, stacking them into a wall behind her. Spike struggled to haul his stubby legs over the wall before it closed him out. Twilight’s eyes moved a lightyear-a-second. But soon, she broke out into a massive grin. “Aha! Got ya!” She snatched a small notebook from the back of the shelf and landed softly near her desk.

The notebook was a bright pink, and covered with glittery sprinkles. She had gotten it from Princess Celestia years ago. The front read: “For a future princess.” [i]Huh,[/i] Twilight thought. [i]Maybe I should have picked up on that earlier.[/i]

Her grin spread wider than any grin Spike had ever seen. Wings slowly stiffening, she flipped through the notebook. Her breath seemed to catch with every other page. By the time she had reached the end, she was nearly hyperventilating. Spike could see her chest thumping.

“Perfect,” Twilight whispered into the worn pages. “Perfect.”

She spun around to her desk and grabbed a new sheet of paper. Setting the quill to paper, she began: [i]Starswirl’s broad shoulders swayed with each wide step. His flanks glistened with sweat.[/i]

[hr]

[i]Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle of Ponyville,

We are sorry to report that your story has been disqualified from competition for containing mature content not permitted by the official rules. Furthermore, your use of the phrase, “She reached towards his protractor,” caused not a few judges to faint and/or vomit. We suggest that you think long and hard before entering another competition of ours.

Sincerely,
Page Turner
Vice President of the Ponyville Writer’s Society

P.S.: President Bookmare has requested a full version of your story to be sent in ASAP. She did not respond when queried as to the nature of her request, but hopes that you will understand.[/i]