-- one.

It was late. The observatory she now resided in, Canterlot central out of the side of a mountain, was dusty and unpacked. It had been a while since Asteria had moved in, yet the majority of the old items that came with the abandoned Observatory she’d gained custody of. The aura of her horn lit the singular, circular room up. Her eyes rested upon the glint of a reflection. Mirrors. Asteria’s eyes widened, a step backwards, one forwards. Her eyes closed, counting to ten, before she pulled the dust-infected tarp off the mirror. Her eyes trained on her mane, her eyes...lost in what they’d hold for her… . . . -- -- -- Head up straight, mane placed in the most delicate of curls. Perfect. Asteria was itchy. She’d stepped on her tail twice already, the appendage growing at a faster rate than the rest of her body. Nobody knew how to deal with dragons here — but hopefully, Asteria would grow into her tail. Who knew what would happen to the youngest sister’s ‘perfect’ appearance if it were all for naught — for growing pains she didn’t ask for. Her back as straight as it could be, her leathery wings tucked tightly against the white drapes she so wore — Mother said she was doing this for her. For her sake, so nobody saw her as the ferocity of a dragon, the danger of a half of her she did not wish to have. Oh, how she wished — no. Snap out of it. She had to be perfect, or else who knew what could happen to her? She needed to match her sister, do everything she could to be like her. She had to. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Nothing more, nothing less. She looked towards her mother from beside her sister Aphrodite, tuning in from her previous zoning. She needed to get it under control. She needed to move, needed to do something to get this itch out of her system. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Jeweled Harp’s eyes — her mother’s eyes, beauty in something sinister, focused on her adoptive mother’s voice, a harmonic, beautiful melody. Not as beautiful as her sister’s. Their mother definitely had favorites. Asteria didn’t resent that. She knew her place, Aphrodite knew her’s. At the end of the day, the daughters were nothing more than a means to keep the perfect family Jeweled Harp had worked so hard to craft. “Asteria darling, your mane,” she boomed. Turning towards the youngest daughter, hooves ‘clack clack clacking’ towards the hybrid, reaching up and pulling out a twig from the curly mane. “How can you be so certain you will meet the expectations of the Crystalline Empire, when you cannot even pick out a twig the size of your tail?” “I—“ A protest. The young one looked away, before her eyes closed again. “It won’t happen again, Mother,” she finally said, a long beat after her protest. “I swear on it.” Approval, she’d always sought approval. “With the appearance of new ponies outside our walls, it is imperative you look good for me so our strength in the Crystalline Empire is noticed! We cannot have some pony mistaken you for your other half! I need this to be perfect, you understand me, child? Your imperfections will not bring me shame! I will not have it!” She shouted, stomping a delicate hoof against the equally delicate floor. Asteria bowed her head in acceptance. Jeweled Harp’s eyes softened after her momentary lapse, the cracks in her porcelain being sealed with gold. “Asteria,” she paused, placing one hoof under her chin, tilting the young hybrid’s head up. “I don’t want ponies to hurt you, that’s why I push you so hard. We must convince them that you’re a pony, not someone who could be a threat to our Kingdom. You’re my daughter, but only that can do so much.” Jeweled Harp ran the softest, tenderest of hoof down the side of her face. “You know I just want to look out for you.” Asteria knew. Seafoam-colored eyes, one natural and one manicured, looked back at her mother, yearning and caution hidden within them. “Oh, sweetheart, Aphrodite and yourself look so pretty. Your eyes look so much better when they’re the same hue. I’m proud of you both,” she had her tender, beautifully crafted smile back on her face. “I love my perfect little dolls so much.” -- -- -- . . . She reeled back, shrieking in agony. Her head hurt, her heart hurt. Everything was in pain and agony, any and all the words which could describe this feeling were reasonable answers for her. Her hooves reeled back, stomping down on the mirror, shattering it. Stepping and stomping and stepping, until there was nothing left except little fragments of mirror. There would be no mirrors in this house. None.