The Conversion Bureau
HUMAN
in Equestria
By Chatoyance
15. The Six New Mornings: Ghosts And Flowers, Part One
Special thanks to my spouse Aedina for her assistance with historically accurate Elizabethan speech.
Isla looked in the bedroom. Her father wasn't there.
She had looked in the kitchen. Daddy wasn't in the kitchen. Isla had looked in the bathroom, but he wasn't there either. She had even checked the servant's quarters, but there wasn't a daddy in there at all. Spots and Whitepaw weren't there either. Isla called out for anyone. But nobody answered.
Isla didn't feel scared. That made her feel strange. She really should feel scared, with nobody at all around, but she didn't. It made her feel puzzled. Why didn't she feel afraid? She always felt afraid when there was nobody at all. That was because of the No-ghosts.
The No-ghosts were scary Nothings that her daddy was always upset about. He didn't want anybody else to know he was afraid of the No-ghosts, so he only talked about them when he was home. Daddy had realized that all of his talk about the No-ghosts was making Isla afraid. So he said he was sorry, and never talked about them again. Much.
But that didn't make the No-ghosts vanish. It was obvious that daddy was still afraid of them. So Isla was too.
Isla tried the front door of the Two-Door Mansion. She had always thought that was a silly name, because the Tudor Mansion had many more doors than just two. But that was what it was called. Isla opened the front door and stepped out onto the wide path. She looked to the left. There was the Bertarelli mansion. There was nobody there. Usually the dog servants worked on the lawn over there. Mr. Bertarelli was very fussy about his lawn. He was mean to his dogs about it. That was what Spots said.
Isla looked to the right. Down that way was the Hollande mansion. Sometimes Sara would talk to Isla. Not very often, and not very much, but sometimes. Once Sara had given her a cookie. It was a good cookie, with chocolate chips in it and everything. Sara's real name was 'Seraphina', but that was a long name, so she had said that Isla could just call her 'Sara'.
Sara wasn't there. Isla looked all around. Nobody was there. Where was everyone?
This made Isla have to sit down on the stones in the path. She traced her finger over the little gems in the stone. They sparkled in the sun. The more Isla thought about things, the more she felt strange about not feeling afraid. If there was ever a time the no-ghosts would get her, this would have to be it. She was as alone as alone could get. Yet she did not feel scared. Not even a little bit. She felt calm, like everything was okay. It just didn't make sense.
Isla looked up at the sun. She stared at it for a while. It didn't hurt to stare at it. Daddy had said that back on earth, staring at the sun would burn your eyes. But the sun in Equestria didn't do that. It was okay to stare at it all day long, and it wouldn't hurt at all. It was very, very bright.
Supposedly one of the princesses owned the sun. Her name was Celestia, and she was big and tall and had glowy stuff for hair. She wore a golden crown, too, just like a real princess. But daddy said she couldn't be a real princess because she was a pony. Only people could be princesses, not ponies. But secretly, Isla didn't agree. There were a lot of things Isla didn't ever tell daddy, because daddy would just talk and talk. If she wore a crown, and her name was princess Celestia, then she was a princess. It only made sense!
Daddy was not as smart as he thought he was, sometimes.
The other kids had gotten to see Celestia. The princess had even been their nanny and sung to them and told them stories and made them brush their teeth. Isla had never met either princess, except once. That was the day that all the Families got fixed. Everyone had to be fixed to go to Equestria. That was when Isla had met Celestia, the day she was fixed.
It didn't hurt or anything. The princess was really, really tall and she sat on a golden throne. She was so a princess! The princess had smiled at Isla. Isla thought she was very, very pretty and wanted to hug her. Daddy made her stop and stand very still.
The princess had a horn and it started to glow. Then Isla found herself glowing too. For a little while she even floated in the air. She kind of went to sleep, floating in the air. Then she was on her feet again, and she was fixed. Isla waved bye-bye to the princess, and then they went to the big boat.
The other kids were so lucky. The princess had been so pretty, and she seemed really nice. Isla envied the other kids for getting to have Celestia be their nanny. Isla hadn't been born yet. It just wasn't fair!
Daddy and mommy had decided to have Isla right after the princess left all the kids and the adults. She had been a nanny for half a year, and then left. Daddy said that the No-ghosts made him feel bad, and so he wanted to have a little girl to make him feel better. Isla was daddy's feel better girl. But mommy didn't feel better.
Isla couldn't remember her mommy. She had seen pictures of mommy. Mommy was very pretty. About a year after Isla was born, mommy had to go away. Daddy said the No-ghosts made her feel so bad that she couldn't stay anymore. Not even having Isla had helped. Mommy just felt sadder and sadder, and so she went away.
Isla had felt afraid that daddy might get sad too, but he had told her that would not happen. He was strong and he would always be there. But daddy was sad a lot of the time, so Isla had just felt more and more afraid, at least until they had moved to Equestria.
Equestria seemed a lot happier than the old place they had lived. It was filled with happy ponies. Isla really liked the few ponies she had met, but then daddy and the others made them not visit anymore. But Spots and Whitepaw had told her all about the ponies. They were nice. Whitepaw had even got her some books with pictures of the ponies in them. He had to sneak the books in, under all the groceries in the cart. But he had gotten her the books, and so she had her own pictures of ponies.
Isla had shown her books to Sara, once. Sara had said she wished to be a pony, like most people had gotten to be. Isla had gotten very excited, and told Sara that she wanted to be a pony too! It was very exciting to have another kid who wanted to be a pony just like her! Isla started going to see Sara every day! But then Sara had stopped talking to her. She had said Isla was talking too much about ponies, and the adults would get mad. So Sara said to please stop coming over.
That had made Isla very sad... until... until what? Isla had seen Sara again. Seraphina. They had been together! They had gone to... to a mansion. Petra. It was Petra's mansion. Petra had come over and invited Isla to go to her mansion. Isla had been invited because Sara had remembered what Isla had told her. Sara had told Petra that Isla wanted to be a pony too!
Isla stood up. That was where everyone had to be, she decided. They had to be at Petra's mansion. Petra and Seraphina and... Oliver! Oliver was nice. She was a very nice girl who looked like a boy. Oliver had become Isla's friend when they had gone into the forest. What forest? No. There was a room first.
It was like waking from a dream. A lot of kids in Petra's room. And a pony! There had been a real live pony, and a bunny and...
"Hello, Isla! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to find all the kids. They're at Petra's house!" Isla stopped walking and turned around. There was somebody here after all!
Isla stared and stared. It was princess Celestia! She was very, very big, even bigger than when she was sitting down. She had pretty wings, and the sun made her crown sparkle. Isla had to bend her neck to look at the princess's face, so Celestia lowered her head. Celestia had really big eyes. They were violet, and Isla could see herself in them.
"Isla, do you know where you are?" The princess had such a nice voice.
"I'm in the Masada. But there's nobody here!" Isla looked down and admired the golden shoes the princess wore. She also had a golden collar too. Princesses always wore a lot of gold in stories. Real princesses did too, it seemed.
"No, not exactly. You are in a kind of dream right now. You aren't really in the Masada at all. This is just a dream Masada."
Isla looked around. Everything looked solid. "It looks real."
"This is a very special dream, Isla. A magic dream. In magic dreams, things can seem as real as real life." The princess allowed Isla to touch her muzzle. Isla pet the princess's muzzle for a bit. It was soft and warm.
"You feel real, too." Isla stood back.
"I am real. I am real, and you are real, but everything else is a dream."
"Oh." Isla sat down on the grass and ran her hands through it. It felt real. Everything felt real. Magic dreams were pretty neat. "Can I fly?" Isla had once had a dream where she had flown around the Masada. It had been a really great dream.
"If you became a pegasus, then you could fly." The princess carefully lay down on the grass in front of Isla. "Would you like to be a pegasus?"
Isla smiled very wide. "Could you make me a pony? I want to be a pony in this dream. I want to be a pony and fly!" This was becoming the very bestest dream ever!
"I can do better than that, Isla. I could make you a pony for real, not just in this dream. Would you like to be my little pony for real?" As soon as the princess finished speaking, more memories came back to Isla. Running away. The forest. Something very, very scary. Scarier than all the No-ghosts that could ever, ever be. And... Oliver. Something bad about Oliver. And cold. So very cold.
"Something happened." Isla tried to remember more, but it was too scary. Her mind didn't want to remember, no matter how hard she tried. It was bad though. Really, really bad. And Oliver had done something to try to save her. Oliver! "Princess, can you make Oliver a pony too? Oliver is in trouble. I can't remember how, but she's in trouble. Can you make us both ponies?"
"I can. I can make you into a pony right now. You will wake up inside my castle, with all of your friends around."
Isla remembered more. Petra and Plantain and Crème. Seraphina and Milo. And that mean Asher too. That was why they had run away. To be ponies! That was it! They must have made it! Except for the bad thing. "Yes. Please. Can you make me a pony that can fly?"
The princess laughed. "Yes, I can make you a pegasus pony. One day, you will be able to fly, because you will have wings. But you will need to go to school to learn how to use them."
Isla considered this. "That's okay. I always wanted to go to school." She hadn't liked her tutors much. Isla had seen old shows about kids going to school. It seemed like so much fun, to get to be with other kids and play and stuff. "Can I be a pony forever?"
"Forever and ever." The princess smiled. She was so pretty.
"What about Oliver?" Isla kept feeling bad about Oliver. Something was very, very wrong. Something... she could feel it. Something was wrong, right now. "Something is wrong. I can tell. Something bad, about Oliver!"
The princess seemed surprised. "Astonishing. You truly have a strong connection to her. Perhaps..."
"I want to see Oliver!" Something bad was going on. Isla could feel it. She wasn't sure what it was, but her friend was in trouble. Isla had never had many friends. Not for long anyway, and she really liked Oliver. "Princess? Let me see Oliver!"
Princess Celestia stood up, rising far above where Isla sat in the grass. "Isla, your friend Oliver is indeed in danger. I think you could help her. Would you be willing to help me save Oliver?"
There was no thought needed. "Yes! Let me see Oliver!"
"I need you to be a pony first. Are you ready? Being a pony will help you help your friend."
Isla stood up and stared right into the princess's eyes. "Make me a pony! I want to help Oliver!"
The princess of the sun nodded, with a serious look on her muzzle. "You are already one of my little ponies in your heart, Isla Draghi. I welcome you to the herd."
Isla wasn't sure how it happened, but she found herself marveling at her new wings. She lifted her left forehoof and moved it about, before setting it down on the grass. Everything felt completely normal, only she was a pony now. Isla swished her tail, feeling it sweep across her hocks. She spread her wings wide and then folded them again. She wanted to run, to go play, to fly in the sky - but then she remembered. "We need to help Oliver now. Princess."
Celestia lowered her head and nuzzled Isla. "You're one of the special ones, aren't you?"
Isla shook her head, her mane flowing around her neck. "No, I'm just Isla."
Celestia laughed.
The door opened into a large, dimly lit chamber. Celestia ushered her new little pegasus in. Isla looked around, her new pony eyes adjusting instantly. The chamber was a vast dome, at the center of which was an empty chair. The chair was very ornate, a fantastically imaginative interpretation of a Louis XIV throne, upholstered in a bright red velvet. The chair stood on a tiered stone dais, and faced a gigantic holoscreen that covered almost half of the surface of the dome.
Behind the dais and the chair, was a tumble of partially wrecked theater seats, rising up on a steep slope, with aisle stairs. There was a flat wall against the dome, with a window in it. Inside the window were three holoprojectors, one red, one blue, and one green.
Across the pit in front of the holoscreen was another door. Standing next to it was princess Luna. Celestia shrugged with her ears at her sister.
"Direct thine eyes thusly." A dark blue hoof gestured to the upper left of the mountain of ragged theater chairs that rose behind the empty throne.
In the corner, where the back wall that hid the holoprojectors met the curve of the dome, was a barricade of plascrete blocks. They formed a little chamber, a small room, which had only one opening, a small window no larger than one single block. It was a tiny fortress, cemented together, with no door. The minute peephole was angled so that it could see the vast holoscreen.
Isla looked at the screen. A holomovie played continuously on it.
The viewpoint of the movie was first-person, from the eyes of someone moving through a house. The view shifted constantly, sometimes looking at feet walking, or at a hand reaching out to open a door. Always the view was as if the camera had replaced the head of a person going about their daily life.
The person was walking down a long corridor inside a large house. The house wasn't quite a mansion, rather it was smaller, and had only one or two servants. The view passed a maid, who towered high. She smiled as the protagonist of the movie could be heard saying how pretty she looked.
The stairs leading up caused the three dimensional scene to move and jiggle unpleasantly. Briefly, feet and a hand on the rail could be seen. At the top of the stairs, the screen panned from left to right, until finally entering a large bedroom. At this point, the protagonist could be heard breathing, almost panting, as if in fear.
The view went by a large, silken white bed, and a balcony that opened out into a vision of old earth. The balcony was covered in a faceted geodesic dome of glass panes, shielding it from the smog outside. The screen rapidly turned and focused on the double doors of a large closet. Two small hands reached out and tugged at the golden handles, carefully opening them.
Inside the closet, far above the viewpoint of the camera, hung a large number of dresses and coats and silken slips. Below, as the view tilted down, were delicate shoes, some with high heels, others with beautiful buckles and other designs.
The hands reached out and brought a mass of silky slip towards the screen. It appeared the protagonist of the movie was burying their face in the translucent fabric. The sound of long sniffs of what was likely perfume clinging to the material could be heard.
Suddenly, the view shifted, as the camera followed a hunt through the back of the closet. There, in a box, pudgy hands trembled as they worked to open the container. Inside was a very pink, long-sleeved, old-fashioned flannel nightgown. It hadn't apparently seen much use, stuffed as it was away and under a small pile of shoes.
The screen showed movement as the viewpoint left the closet, occasional glances down at the hands holding the pink gown. A flurry of confused images followed as the gown was hastily slipped over the camera's viewpoint. Then a clumsy, tripping stumble, as the protagonist apparently climbed up onto the white, shining comforter of the bed.
The view focused on arms held out, the fabric of the old nightgown overwhelming the small size of the subject of the movie. Tiny hands tilted left, then right, to show off the lace around the ends of the oversized sleeves. The view tilted to show small legs lost in the long flow of the pink fabric. They kicked on the bed, bouncing to make the material flutter and wave like a flag.
A hand and sleeve came up, and wiped across the screen. Left behind, on the pink sleeve, were wet spots, tears. Sniffling could be heard from the soundtrack, and gentle weeping.
"Oliver? Oliver! I'm home!"
A sudden, jerking, spastic flurry of briefly glimpsed scenes made a dizzy mess of the image on the holoscreen. The gown was hastily removed, tiny hands prowling through the floor of the closet, then stuffing the pink mass back into the box. Shoes were piled on the box, and then panting as the scene fled the closet altogether.
Suddenly the image spun, back to the closet. Two small, pudgy hands darted out as the screen was filled with the two closet doors being closed as quickly - and as silently as possible. Again the view spun, and in an instant, the little hands were smoothing the comforter on the bed, trying desperately to remove any wrinkle.
As the camera moved in jerky steps towards the bedroom door, the screen encompassed a full length mirror, in passing. In the mirror was the unmistakable reflection of five-year old Oliver, so much smaller, just a tiny thing. This was Oliver long before the growth spurt that had made her larger than the older Seraphina.
The view on the screen jerked and jumbled with swirling images of running down stairs too large for small legs. Near the bottom of the sweeping staircase the scene twisted and spun, everything turning around the view, legs and arms flashing by the screen, sometimes flailing out into space, other times being crushed in darkened impact against stair and finally, floor.
Screams were heard, the sound of heavy, adult footfalls drawing near. "Oh god! Oliver! Oliver! Are you alright? NO! Don't move him, Marie! Stand back! Dammit!"
The view on the screen rippled with wetness, tears. One arm was clutching the other, as the view rolled side to side and shrieking, agonized wails came from a child's throat, from Oliver's throat. "It hurts! Mommy! It hurts!"
"Let's see, oh god, it's broken. Marie! Call the services! Now!" A face filled the distorted, tear rippled view on the holoscreen. It was that of a woman, Ophelia Sachs, Oliver's mother. "Ollie... help is coming, momma's here, momma's here... what were you doing running down the stairs? I've told you never to run on the stairs!" The face loomed and kisses were planted on what must be a forehead, above the camera. "Boys will be boys, I suppose."
"But I'm not!" The voice was weak but adamant. "I'm not a boy!"
"Shhh... shhh..." The woman filling the view began checking the eye of the camera. "Did you hit your head, sweety? Of course you're a boy, you're mommy's little man, and everything is going to be okay."
The screen went dark. Then, after a few seconds, the vast holoscreen brightened again. Once more, the view displayed the process of walking down the hall. The movie was repeating itself from the beginning. How many times had it run, over and over and over?
"Cognaculum." Celestia took in the semi-spherical chamber. "The seat of the soul. Throne of consciousness, view of reality, doors of perception to enter. All from the mind of a ten year old foal." The princess seemed impressed for some reason that Isla could not understand. "Your little friend is quite bright, Isla."
"Where's Oliver?" Isla didn't like the big theater.
"Thy companion is ensconced in yon fortress, methinks. She doth observe her life as from a distant shore, her own true life having been thieved from her by impropitious form and unhearing ears." Luna started carefully climbing the pile of theater chairs that appeared to have been dumped into the otherwise empty chamber.
"You cannot reach the filly, sister. She cannot be extricated simply by the removal of her fortress walls. This is her mind in which we walk, and she is everywhere and nowhere within it." Celestia turned to the velvet throne in the center of the dome. "Come forth, my little pony. Do you not remember my love for you, my precious Peony?"
In the velvet throne, a shimmer appeared, like heat rising from a baked road. The shimmer took color and substance, and the transparent form of a very little girl appeared. She was a ghost, a spectre, and Isla could see right through her to the velvet she sat on. "Celestia?"
The princess lay down on the wide, round dais, beside the chair. "Here I am. Remember our time together, before? I told you stories and sang to you? I told you that one day we could meet again. That day has come."
The spirit in the chair faded, almost to nothing. Her voice became faint. "You're not alone!"
"This is my sister, Luna. She and I share in everything. Do you remember the stories I told you about how much I cared for her?" The princess stared intently at the faint wisp in the chair. The apparition began to solidify again, growing in color and definition.
"Luna. I remember. Luna is nice. Luna is your nice sister who loves you. She would like me, you said."
Celestia nodded. "Yes, she wanted to meet you. I told her about the wonderful filly I met, and how much I liked her. It's alright, Peony. Did you remember that Luna is the protector of all little foals? I told you about that before. She is the guardian of dreams and the protector of foals."
"Spain." The ghost in the throne became more solid. "When mommy and I lived in Spain. By the coast. You came. You came and stayed with me for a long time." The ghost had long, flowing hair, and wore a delicate, embroidered, Tudor-styled gown. She looked like a girl from a time of castles and knights.
"That's right. You remember. We had such fun together, didn't we?" The smile on Celestia's muzzle was matched by the ghost who became almost opaque. It was difficult to see through her now.
"You're Celestia!" It was as if the spirit in the chair was regaining herself as she became more solid. "Oh... Celestia!"
The delicate girl was off the throne now, her arms wrapped tightly around the neck of the princess of the sun. "Celestia!" Tears fell now on the royal coat, as tiny, thin fingers dug into the princess, clinging to her as if to a raft in a very stormy sea.
"Little Peony. I have missed you." Celestia pressed her head to the bulk of the frail girl, unable to properly nuzzle her because of the tight grasp.
After some time, Peony looked up, and wiped her eyes. Shyly, she waved tiny fingers at the diarch of the night. "Hello... Luna!"
Luna smiled and gave a quick pony bow. "We are pleased to make thy acquaintance, dear friend of our sister." A dark hoof gestured to the side. "Hark, for another dear friend is here for thee as well. Good Isla would bid thee greeting I'd warrant."
Isla stepped carefully on her new hooves around Celestia, and showed herself completely. She had been afraid, before, when there had seemed to be a ghost in the chair. But the ghost was solid now. "Is that you, Oliver?"
The little girl in the Tudor gown pulled herself away from Celestia in terror. The look on her face was fear and shame. She half stumbled to the great throne, and clambered onto it. As she did so she began to fade, becoming more and more translucent.
"Wait! Please wait!" Isla moved towards the chair, no longer thinking about ghosts. She was sure that the little girl was Oliver. "It's okay! I like you that way! I like you that way!"
Isla stopped a short distance from the fancy throne. The vague outline in the chair turned around and sat down. It gradually took on color and substance again. "Really?"
"Really, really, Oliver. You're way better that way." The spectre in the chair seemed doubtful. "Honestly! You're really pretty, and I think you're much better now!"
The ghost was nearly solid again. "I... my name is Peony. It's a flower." She barely whispered the words, ready for any rejection, ready to run once more.
"Peony. Okay." Isla nodded, very serious. "Are you still my friend?"
The ghost in the chair became completely solid. "Of course I am!"
"Celestia said you were in danger." Isla didn't understand this place they were in, and she didn't like how it felt. It felt like fear and hurt. "I came to save you. So did they!"
The royal pony sisters glanced at each other, and refrained from chuckling.
"I'm... okay." Peony straightened her gown. She didn't sound okay.
"The princesses are here to make us ponies, Peony. That's why we ran away, remember?"
Peony looked startled, as if she had suddenly rediscovered something. "You... you look great, Isla. As a pony, I mean. I could tell it was you the moment I saw you. You make a great pony."
Isla unconsciously wagged her tail. "It's fun, too. I have wings, see?" Isla opened her wings wide and flexed them. Then she folded them back. "I'm gonna fly someday!"
"You make a really neat pony." Peony looked sad, sitting in the chair.
"That is why we are here, Peony. You were badly hurt saving your friend. I can tell you have remembered that now. I can help you by turning you into a pony, like your friend Isla here. Would you like that Peony?" Celestia slowly stood up, preparing herself.
"I... can't." Peony faded away into nothing, and the chair was suddenly empty.
Well. Swirl. of all the muffin things that could have happened...
Personal experience considered, of course that's how a hero(ine) is rewarded...
Oh, dear me.
BwwWHAAAAAt? Dangit,
BobbyPeony! Er, no, I mean... What's wrong, Peony? Take your time.So close, though... I wonder what - Ohhhhhh, I bet it's that she's too ashamed to admit that this is who she was this whole time, since it's been a shameful secret her entire life, instead of just one of those goofs like a cleft palate or crappy heart valve she's just going to have corrected.
Much respect for writing something so personal, though; I remember you describing this alienated "Cartesian Theater" experience in a comment before. Speaking of which -
That's the word I've been looking for! Boy, ain't it the truth?... (Thanks for the new, much-improved title for this painting)
Ironic, n'est-ce pas? Still, no afterlife whatsoever sure beats an eternity of nothingness.
Really looking forward to the next chapter - This is all of the kids now, right? Oliver/Peony was the one I was looking forward to the most, seeing how it would play out with the families and they other kids, especially Asher. Only Isla knew, though, right?
That throne in the illustration is gorgeous, by the way, especially with the softer, lighter shapes of Peony, but with the trim on the dress still anchoring it to the rest of the drawing. I wish I had the patience for ornamentation like that - I had to draw the Oval Office desk recently and it felt like the withdrawal scene in Trainspotting.
3005240
Cognaculum - yeah! In my family, that has been a word for a loooong time. I love words, and I love making words.
Want another Jenniword? How about a particular favorite of mine: Anacosmism!
That made me -actually- laugh out loud. Goddess, but I know what you mean. That chair was... I wanted to gnaw my own neck off. But I got it done.
Any praise by you for my art really makes me feel happy, Balthasar. I consider you a much better artist than myself, so... thank you for making me feel glad about that picture. To me, everything I do sucks, so... anything positive is like rain on parched ground. Thank you.
3005240
What does the word "no-ghosts" actually mean? I've been racking my brains trying to figure it out, but the pun I'm expecting hasn't clicked so far.
You know the bit that upsets me? That there are these loving diamond dogs out there who see the humans as their pack, and they've been seperated from the puppies. They must be hurting too, but nobody who matters (other than the children) seems to care about them.
3005303
I think this is one of the best chapters in this story, with the whole feel of it being told from first Isla's childish viewpoint and then Oliver's very frightened, withdrawn and shame-ridden hideaway. Very poignant. I can feel the tension, even if I don't understand the draw.
I'd question the apparent assumption of cross dressing equalling cross-gender, but I'm guessing that's more an assumption made by me, the reader, not having more of a direct line into Oliver's head. That might be the only thing missing, but then the "movie" was presented as such, rather than as that hotline to Oliver's "true feelings". Interesting that even inside his head, we the viewer are kept out. Was that intentional?
3005554
Celestia forced the adults to see the fact that earthly biology had no thaumatic component - no souls, no spirits, no ghosts. Mechanical universe. This is what bothered Isla's father, but she was too young to understand what he meant by being terrified of there being No Ghosts. This is also what drove her mommy to suicide.
While crossdressers and transsexuals are two very different beasts, the fact is that many transsexuals often try to ease their torture by dressing appropriately to who they are. The key is in the age - Oliver/Peony is doing this at age five (as we see in the mirror) long before any sexuality has developed, long before puberty.
Crossdressers have a fetish. It's sexual, and it has nothing to do with identity. Transsexuals are forced to dress and act as what they are not all the time (until they transition). For them, wearing the clothing of what is - for them - their correct sex is finally feeling normal for a short period. It starts young, well before puberty, and has no sexual component. It's just the wish to not look awful and weird to themselves for a while. This is why Peony simply sits on the bed and cries. It's relief... and sorrow that the moment of feeling correct is only a brief illusion and cannot last.
In telling a story, though, it is something identifiable that the average reader can grasp or comprehend. Gender identity is difficult to demonstrate except through actions and behaviors without diving into the mind of a character and hearing them wail about how miserable they are. This was not what I wanted to do with Peony, so I chose something that could be grasped easily.
The concept of being so distanced from life is something I personally experienced. Before my transition, I felt always as if I were sitting in the back of a theater, watching someone else's life go by. I felt detached from life, and everything felt unreal and distant. Transition put me front row, first person, living now and here. That experience is represented here in the metaphoric construction of Peony's cognaculum.
By making everything in Peony's life so faint, so far away, so detached, I am expressing what I felt, what many transsexuals feel, in their childhoods, where they are driven by shame and guilt and horror (at existing at all) into a psychological separation from life just to cope. Numbness doesn't suffice, it is derealization, it is being trapped in a life that has nothing to do with one's self. To express that nightmare was my goal with this, and I based some parts of it on my own experience.
3005601
Ah, that makes a lot more sense. Isla latched onto the phrase, and created a noun of it. Made me wince when it said it made her mommy "go away". Made me wince again when she has such love for her daddy, too. I hope he's there, or that someone is able to hold her up should he not be.
Thanks for that piece. It confirmed what I've learned. The interesting thing was that seperation which made that internal world less visible than it could have been.
And I'm still waiting for the cuddly diamond dog scenes.
Years of rewatching her most traumatic memories a la A Clockwork Orange... No wonder Peony is so hesitant. She may not believe she deserves happiness. Poor thing. I just hope Isla can reach her before her decision is final...
On a lighter note, cognaculum is my word of the day. I love a good neologism.
3005749
At the risk of sounding incredibly offensive...
Her most traumatic memory is falling down the stairs? She didn't even get caught in that particular memory. We should all be so lucky to suffer memories as traumatic as that.
I feel like there has to be more going on here than just what we've seen, and the serious cliffhanger has really got me curious as to what that might be.
3005303
That is a good word. I like it.
It is perhaps telling that your chief use of it does not directly relate to errors in fantasy literature, though. :x
Edit: I made you a gift!
http://i.imgur.com/65DsW4X.jpg
>.>; You did it again, Chat... Unless you're intentionally having Isla misspell Seraphina's name because she's a little kid?
And until I read the comment thread, I was ready to say, "I ain't afraid of No-ghosts", but then I realized... yes, yes I am.
3006006>>3006032
The picture - that's funny, thank you for that!
As for the repeating memory - falling down the stairs isn't the horror for Peony. The horror is that because of the pain and shock, she has blurted out to her mommy that she is really a girl inside, and in that moment, that vulnerable moment when she is so hurt and scared...
Her mother won't hear, and denies her very soul.
THAT is what Peony is fixated on. In that moment the little child was afraid, and risked telling her truth to the one person she loved most - and she was denied and rejected and ignored without thought. She probably thought she was going to die - children get scared that way - yet her mommy couldn't truly see who she was and denied her honesty.
People can become trapped by little moments like that. Moments that encapsulate their largest problem, that symbolize the greater issue they have in some tiny thing, some tiny event, that hurt them more than anyone outside their heart can easily comprehend.
Ever have a stupid, tiny embarrassment from your childhood still come back to haunt you years after the fact? Similar problem. Only for a person with gender issues, one moment can sometimes capsulize not embarrassment, but a lifetime of agony.
3006163
GRRR, Fixed! Thank you!
3007165
I'm familiar with the situation. It's kinda similar to me being in Elementary School and 'accidentally' standing in the wrong line when sorted by gender, and everyone could see it. Or curtsying instead of bowing after some project. Powerfully embarrassing things from childhood that still leave me kicking myself at night.
But those are far from the worst of my memories, and I'm really just surprised that the worst that Peony suffered at the hands of the Good Families was that. I hurt for her, but she is very very lucky that she didn't get something closer to what Asher suffered.
It makes me sad that she is damaging herself far more than her old family ever did, but I suppose that's why her friend is instrumental here.
Oh... poor girl... oh, Peony...
I was glad for Seraphina and Petra. I was heartbroken for Asher. I was gleeful for Milo and Isla. Peony? All I want to do is hug her and cry, and tell her it's all right.
Welp I'm all caught up. And on what a cliffhanger too!
This is definitely one of my favorite Chatoyance book so far.
Out of all of the current "wake up" chapters, Peony's sent chills down my spine because, except for the specific tech, I have felt and visualized the same thing: seeing my life as but a detached video on a screen and rejecting life, as it was, to even become formless in my own mind. Her words/choice at the end, however, make no sense to me. o.o
3005601
Hmmm... I thought it was primarily Postpartum Depression that claimed Isla's mother. The no-ghosts merely being a catalyst. I've heard more than a few news stories of mothers killing themselves, and sometimes their children too, while under its influence. I suppose Isla is lucky that she didn't fall into that latter category.
The concept and possibility that a mother could - due to chemicals in her brain - turn into something she is not, a miserable creature which lashes out at the single greatest gift: a child, is highly perturbing. This is why I felt more keenly for Isla's circumstance than Peony's.
3005240
I think what she'd be more afraid of is that Celestia would treat her transsexuality as one of those problems to be fixed, and so transform her into a cisgendered male pony, instead of fixing her form into a filly, so her physicality would finally fit.
But with the phrasing of the last line, that might not be so.
3005601
This was a very good chapter. I recognised the sitting in a theatre watching life go by on a screen aspect from other writings of yours almost immediately. Very good set design. Thank you.
Another awesome chapter. You truly are a master writer.
3009622
post partum depression is a pernicious beast at the best of times. I think it's a case of having "no ghosts" that depressed Isla's mother well before being pregnant, and made her that much more susceptible to post partum depression afterwards.
Interestingly, I wonder if Oliver's father saw the "no ghosts" as a catalyst to reproduce - nothing else will survive his death but offspring... so the fact that they might become ponies probably was either never fully addressed thanks to cognitive dissonance on his part, or ulterior motive. If such a catalyst could be part of his nature, then seeing his two-legged son become a daughter with four hooves might not be such an impossibility. We all have points at which deeply held, cherished beliefs fail. Being party to a rebirth of his own flesh and blood, however misunderstood from his end, may be enough to send his world-view crashing down, meaning that offspring is the only rock in an otherwise entirely inconstant world.
He might go completely off the rails - he may wish to "die" by becoming a pony specifically to escape. That'd be quite a shock, for him to throw away as much as possible in one go, to move from power human male to seemingly powerless, equestrian mare, and then... to wake up with all the little memetic tweaks that such a change entails.
3007171
I wonder if at this point she's spelled it wrong more often than she's spelled it right! If so...
3016406
I know! I have had so damn much trouble with that name! DERP!
3016402
That was exactly what I was trying to imply - I have observed that humans, when faced with mortality, seem to feel a need to reproduce. I've just seen it recently, in a family I know. For some time now, they have said 'no more kids!' but then all sorts of trouble and bam - they just up and have another kid. As if to defy the horror of existence. I was quite surprised.
3018839
Peony... I need you to be the mare you were born to be. Not tomorrow, not a few years from now, today.
That is quite the cliffhanger to be going to bed with! Perhaps I should not have read this chapter just yet XD oh well, made my bed now it's time to lie in it and go to sleep. Good night until tomorrow! *hug*
Peony is terribly broken. I wonder why she feels she can't go pony?