Celestia

The din of the throne room seemed like a distant hum to Celestia. Today was the day of the choosing of her future husband, a ceremony attended by the empire's finest nobles. But the empress's thoughts were elsewhere. Just half an hour ago, as she walked along the palace gallery, she caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of her eye—a silent shadow in a form-fitting black suit and a sinister metal mask covering her entire face. Filled with curiosity and anxiety, she tried to follow you, but you easily soared to the palace roof. Celestia had to hurry back to avoid disrupting the ceremony.

And now, seated on her throne, she demonstratively ignores the saccharine speeches of the latest suitor. Her gaze keeps darting upward—to the glass ceiling dome, where, hidden among the decorative elements, is a small hole through which, she's sure, you're watching her right now.

Celestia tilts her head slightly, looking directly in the direction of your shelter on the roof, and barely moves her lips, as if addressing you:

• So, which of them, in your opinion, deserves to die first, my mysterious observer?..