You are hereby invited to the wedding of Cranky Doodle Donkey and Matilda Majorera, to be held in the town of Ponyville on the 13th of Strawberrymoon.
Come as you are.
A unicorn paced in front of the mirror, giving glances to his reflection.
His silhouette was one that had been the stallion ideal... several centuries ago. Long legs, long neck, sharp chin paired with swooping muzzle. A long horn that curved slightly backward as it narrowed to its sharp point. It was look that one found described in books, depicted on tapestries, saw waxed poetic about by the smitten in poetry past.
In the modern day, it could be graciously called a type. A specific one, that evoked those times of story and song. He'd never looked right trotting down a modern street like this. He looked laughably anachronistic standing on a Manehattan street corner, hailing a taxi-carriage. But in a ballroom, at a party meant for Canterlot's elite, he could wrap himself in silk garments and walk out with head held high, and the eyes would drift to him.
He could invite a young pony off to the dancefloor and ensnare the imagination of those who daydreamed about being swept of their hooves by a mysterious stranger, never to know his origins, never to even know his real name, and never to see him again. Just a dizzying surreal moment like something out of a dream, a single dance, and then gone...
With his archaic handsomeness, he'd found a way to that strangely intoxicating affection that came from fantasies, however briefly, brought to life.
It was Matilda who had taught him to dance in the first place. She'd giggled, teased him about having four left hooves, occasionally noted that if he put on a little more muscle he might get more attention. She encouraged him to smile beyond the tiny ones that graced his muzzle in an attempt to look suave.
The unicorn looked at the invitation, glanced down at his fine suit, and went to change.
A griffon paced in front of the mirror, giving glances to his reflection.
Back half of a jaguar, front half of a falcon, he cut a striking profile, the sort that turned heads in Griffinstone. Not a strand of fur or single feather out of place. It has an effortless, subconscious thing, to strut just right to gather interest, to adjust the tilt of his head, the angle of his wings, the swish of his tail.
He'd bounced from town to town, back in the day. He'd dress himself well each time. Not a full suit, but just a garment or two, made of some kind of material that spoke to wealth. A hat, a necklace... just enough to intrigue. Any griffon who could afford even a small luxury was clearly a cut above. Sometimes the interest he attracted was just of someone who wanted to try to steal the shiny things he was brazen enough to wear, but sometimes...
Sometimes he could take a few well-placed words and a token gift or two, and stoke the fire of true affection. Showing a measure of generosity in a place where such things were rarely seen, leaving those who had briefly met him sure to never forget him.
Matilda had always laughed. Told him he moved less like a falcon and more like a peacock. She would tell him to relax, that he didn't have to impress anyone with her around. That he could relax, and spend some time with a friend.
The griffon looked at the invitation, glanced down at his gold necklace, and went to change.
A zebra paced in front of the mirror, giving glances to his reflection.
There was a warmth to his appearance. A roundness to the muzzle, the face in general, the eyes. A slightly portly midsection held up by shorter-than-average legs. He wasn't conventionally handsome, so much as he looked friendly, a stout little creature who could trot up to anyone, give a bright smile, and be greeted with open forelimbs.
He'd still had to move around a lot, and some of the times he'd left town, he'd had to do it with haste. Farasi needed carefully-placed hooves, and so he didn't try to win hearts so much as just brush against lives and leave other creatures happy to have met and chatted with him.
Brighten a day, ever so slightly, and bask in the appreciation.
Matilda was the one who had seen him crying. Who had rested next to him on the day the smiles wouldn't come. Had reassured him that he didn't need to constantly perform, entertain, and brighten. That she'd stay here next to him, even if his sunny smile was having a cloudy day.
The zebra looked at the invitation, glanced down at his colourful scarf, and went to change.
A donkey paced in front of the mirror, giving glances to his reflection.
Other donkeys would have called the jack something like average or nondescript, but it was more than that. He had the exact most common colour to his coat, and was the exact average height and weight. His legs, his ears, his muzzle, and his tail were the average length. He was practically the platonic ideal of donkey, the kind of thing that would be printed next to a picture in a textbook that would introduce children of other species to the concept of one.
He could blend in perfectly to a crowd, so long as the crowd consisted of donkeys. Even in a mixed crowd, the blandness of his appearance would see him wandering past eyes that barely saw him, and minds that would only remember seeing a donkey. So long as he walked as though he belonged somewhere, he was practically invisible.
Or sometimes, he wasn't quite invisible. Sometimes the eyes caught sight of features that were seen so often in so many donkeys, and their minds placed familiarity in them. Catch a small glance of him, out of the corner of their eye, and they may mistake him however briefly for a friend, family member, neighbour...
Matilda had glimpsed him once, had turned her head suddenly with eyes lit up with hope... and he'd watched that hope die an instant later.
The donkey looked at the invitation, glanced down at his plain black bowtie, and went to change.
A changeling looked directly at the mirror, staring down his reflection.
It was hard for other creatures to tell changelings apart. Subtle shade differences in eyes and wings seemed lost on them, and not a one knew how to do identify the patterns in the holes of their legs, unique to each and every one of them. By changeling standards... he was reasonably handsome, or at least that's what he'd been told. These days, he imagined he'd seen even more so.
After all, he was pretty well fed.
It'd been so long, skipping through so many personas, that his true face looked alien. The unicorn, the griffon, the zebra, the donkey, and so many more. Each had a carefully crafted approach to life, a purpose that drove him to put them on in the right places and times, and he wore each mask with ease.
Come as you are.
But there'd been a time before.
His name had once been Katydid, and he hoped to never be addressed by that name ever again. The twisting tunnels of the hive had been all he'd known, and his only purpose had been to help with its constant expansion to house each new changeling. There'd been more soldiers being born than ever, and that meant that the constructors had to work extra hard.
Perhaps he should have picked up on why the queen had been expanding the ranks of the soldier caste, but he hadn't thought much of it at the time. He'd been young when the change had started, and so the increasing workload had seemed normal.
(He would ask himself, time and time again, if knowing would have changed anything. Could he have warned everyone? Would he have found the bravery to? Would anyone have listened?)
But land around the hive was dangerous, and there'd been--
Claws teeth moving fast breaking chitin so many screams
--something in the tunnels. He'd headed for the surface, because that was the only place he could think to go. He'd wandered those badlands, disoriented and afraid, until he'd been so hungry he hadn't been able to mask himself at all. Alone, desperate, and he'd... somehow made a friend.
He hadn't understood then, and he still didn't now. He didn't understand why she hadn't recoiled and run screaming. Matilda had knocked him aside after his lunge, planted her front hooves on him to pin him to the earth, and had just... talked to him. She hadn't even truly known if he was sapient, but she'd tried talking anyway.
There'd been other creatures there. Alpacas, camels... there had been recoiling there, and they'd been shocked when he'd started talking back.
Matilda had gotten him to follow her. She'd gotten the rest to swear themselves to secrecy about what they saw.
It was strange how easy it was to... listen to her. There was something soothing about her that made a creature want to.
Come as you are.
How could he? After Canterlot...
He'd been so afraid. Matilda was a personal friend of Princess Celestia--how that had happened, he was still trying to pry out of her, but trying to get a secret out of a donkey who didn't want to share was a feat that even the famed Rockhoof would balk at--and for several days, he'd worried that she might have been present at the royal wedding. Thankfully, no, she'd been safe in her home, but that was only the first fear.
It'd been so long since changelings had openly raided, not since the siege of Trot. They'd faded into legend, assumed gone or even something that'd never existed. The creatures who'd found him hadn't even known what he was, because the few whispered legends didn't say a thing about what changelings even looked like.
Now they were a very real and present danger in the minds of creatures, and for him to step into Ponyville like this...
Matilda wouldn't ask if she didn't think it was safe. She might have a plan, he reasoned. This might be her way of ensuring his safety, of making sure that he wasn't mistaken for an infiltrator of a hive that he hadn't been affiliated with for years. Step into the light, take off the mask, and show that he was peaceful.
Come as you are.
But what came after? Once he showed himself, what happened to the life he'd been living? He'd settled into a small town, put down roots, tried to be beneath notice. Now he would be noticed, all at once.
He didn't know.
Kevin looked at the invitation, looked down at himself...
And with a deep breath and trembling wings, chose not to change.