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                                            > Anon tries to waifu Twilight

                                            > There is a test.

                                            > A high end mathematics and science test

                                            > Fails hard, but Twilight takes pity.

                                            > "You can be my student!"

                                            > You glimpse unholy enthusiasm in those perfect eyes.

                                            > Years pass, and you slowly progress in your studies.

                                            > You still have that failed test.

                                            > You have read it so many times, you could recite the questions from memory.

                                            > You spend most of your day in the treebrary.

                                            > Things she would do to keep you going, oh so platonic.

                                            > A kind word here

                                            > A whispered correction in your ear

                                            > Rubbing your shoulders in between tests.

                                            > The day finally comes.

                                            > "I have taught you all you need to know. Pass the test, Anonymous."

                                            > You stare at the paper in front of you.

                                            > It is an old friend, a hated enemy, and an ancient prophecy.

                                            > Words that once meant nothing are now keys to understanding.

                                            > Your quill shakes as you write your work, your answers, your devotion.

                                            > It feels like sacrilege, it feels like sex, it is holy prostitution.

                                            > The quill is broken, the ink well barren, your hand cramped.

                                            > You are done.

                                            > You set your magnum opus before her, reverently, in awe of what you have become, and the one who sculpted you from the basest of clays.

                                            > As her eyes caress your writings, a change comes over her.

                                            > Her cheeks bloom in delicate rose.

                                            > Her eyes widen, drawing in your essence.

                                            > Pages later, she is shaking.

                                            > When the last answer passes before her eyes, she shudders, and you hear her juices splatter on the floor.

                                            > She meets your eyes and says,

                                            > "Yes, a thousand times yes!"

                                            > You are wed in the holiest of spaces, the Canterlot Royal Library.

                                            > Wedding night is spent on a pile of books, reading, reciting, couplets and coupling.

                                            > She has sought long for one to share her lofty heights.

                                            > You had thought you had loved her, but until you shared her lover you had not.

                                            > Together, you have bedded knowledge, and tasted of its sweetness.

                                            > In so doing, you have become one, and it is glorious.