Princess Celestia’s ear twitched towards her private chambers’ main door. Hoofsteps. Another calling from a castle runner, most likely. Her own hooves sprang to life, swiping her trashy romance novel off from its place atop the textbook-like ledger that a more responsible ruler might have been studying and into her writing desk’s bottom right drawer. It slid shut and Celestia’s magic winked out not a moment before the doorknocker rapped against the doors’ iron frame. 