Foreshadowing

May 2nd, 2020.

Salem, MA

It’s my birthday, and I’m selling people colorful rocks.

We’ve labeled and relabeled the containers of gemstones, and yet they keep asking. Amethyst is for calming the mind, turquoise is for communication. No, green jade is for the heart chakra, you’re thinking of fluorite, that’s for the third eye chakra. Lapis lazuli promotes self-awareness and insight. No, ma’am, we don’t have any goldstone, those aren’t formed naturally. If you need to boost your fertility, you can use rose quartz.

Well, at least, that’s what we get paid to say. Really, it’s a load of bullshit. All of it. They’re stones. Colorful minerals that come out of the ground. Any actual healing or other rejuvenating properties you get out of putting them in a necklace or under your pillow is entirely a placebo. But no one says that out loud- especially not in Salem. The economy relies on the kayfabe.

River Styx Stones and Gifts doesn’t just sell crystals, of course. No self-respecting shop on the North Shore ever sold one thing. ‘and Gifts’ includes tarot decks, candles, smudge sticks, incense, books, and figurines for every pagan god under the sun. Oh, and don’t forget the ubiquitous Salem paraphernalia! Whether it’s magnets, shirts, mugs, coasters, or hats, anything you can slap the city’s name on alongside a flying witch silhouette practically prints money. And thank goodness for that. Massachusetts rent hasn’t been cheap since I was in elementary school, and since we live above the store, we can’t exactly afford to shirk our work.

My latest customer walks out the door with their bag of books and tarot, and I sneak a quick look at my phone. 4:02. A little under two hours until we close. Thank god. The others are coming at seven for our D&D / birthday party combo, and I still need to get that set up. I know we probably should have rescheduled once we realized our Saturday sessions would bump up against the celebration, but getting Isabelle to reschedule once she had something written down was about as easy as teaching a fish to ride a bike. Besides, D&D nights were always full of pizza and goofing off. Add the presents, and it’s a birthday party. No extra planning required.

“How are we doing?” a familiar voice calls. It’s my mother, emerging from one of the back rooms. She’s got a box full of assorted stones tucked under her arm.

I shrug, rocking back on my heels. God, my feet are killing me. Mom insists she and I stand up while at the register, because I guess she thinks sitting down makes us look lazy or unprofessional. In reality, my glum-looking resting face does that all on its own. “Fine,” I reply. “Sold another couple packs of the Thoth tarot we got last week.”

She brightens at the news, moving to the shelves of crystals to replenish our stock. “Oh! That’s great!”

Unlike me, my mom actually believes in all the witchy, spiritual mumbo-jumbo. She knows we don’t see eye to eye on the belief ever since I was loud about it in middle school, but so long as I work hard at the store, she doesn’t care what I think.

The bell above the door tinkles, and in comes a new customer. She’s a young, slightly chunky woman, maybe a couple years older than me. Her black hair hang in two big pigtails, and a orange knit shawl that’s designed to mimic the pattern of a spiderweb falls over her shoulders. I’m positive she has business cards for her Etsy page in her purse.

“Hello!” I chime, forcing as much joviality into my voice as I can manage.

She stops in the doorway at my greeting, lips creased like she’s just sucked on a lemon.

“Is something the matter?” I dare to inquire.

The woman doesn’t respond, quickly gathering her composure and shuffling into the store. She disappears behind one of the displays, checking out god knows what.

Eventually, she finishes her search, approaching the counter with several bundles of incense sticks. I spy a few of the labels- dragon’s blood, sandalwood, and something merely labeled ‘Wizard’. “Are you aware of the dark energies in your establishment?” she asks, deathly serious.

My smile trembles at the corners as I ring up her items, my pleasant, practiced expression threatening to shatter like glass. Oohhhh no. I didn’t think I was due for one of these customers for at least another week. Then again, it was the beginning of May. The warmer months tended to inject some more... eccentric folks into the Salem ecosystem. They were nothing compared to the people that showed up for Halloween, obviously, but that didn’t mean I didn’t dread putting up with them. “Oh?” I finally respond.

“I’m sensing a lot of pain here,” she elaborates. She indicates the incense I’ve just picked up to scan. “Have you ever actually used these before?”

“I mean, we like to try our products before investing,” I say.

She looks down her glasses at me. “Mmmm.”

“Will that be all?” I digress curtly, slipping the last bundle into the plastic bag. Oh, please, say yes.

“That’s it,” she says, and it’s all I can do not to sigh with relief.

I ring her up her card and hand her her bag. She walks out the door, and the breath leaves my body so quickly I practically deflate. Thank fuck that’s over. Hopeful, I look back at the clock on my phone. Surely that must have taken some time out of the remaining work day-

4:10.

I clench my jaw so tight it hurts. 6pm can’t come fast enough.

* * *

At long last, we usher the last customer out, tally up the day’s funds, close the register, and lock up for the night. I turn off the lights in the store and hurry upstairs, not wanting to waste any time preparing for the session. The party’s set to go on a dungeon crawl tonight, and I’ve spent way too many hours drafting up floorplans to half-ass the presentation.

Winslow weaves in between my feet as I walk into the game room. I swear, for all his sweetness, that cat secretly yearns for my death. I think the only thing that’s stopping him is the knowledge that he won’t get nearly as many ear scritches if he trips me down the stairs headfirst.

Crouching down, I remove the lid from the plastic tub full of miniatures. Winslow unhelpfully leaps onto my back as I rifle through my supplies, ascending to rest on my shoulders as I grab a fistful of skeleton and zombie figures. I stuff my arm deeper into the vat, searching for the figure I bought for the potential surprise encounter I’ve included in my dungeon construction.

I think I started DMing around 2015. Shit, that was half a decade ago, now that I think of it. Jeesh. Time sure does fly, even if I feel like I’m not moving at all. Anyway, my friend Natasha had gotten into watching Critical Role during her sophomore year of college and desperately wanted to play D&D. Since the newest edition of the game had come out the year prior, I figured it was as good a time as any to learn how to run a campaign for her.

My first oneshot went pretty well, all things considered; I’d come up with a short, homebrewed scenario where Nat and her girlfriend Bree’s characters were summoned to save a seaside village from a siren attack. Nat played a tiefling rogue named Crazy Cherry, while Bree played an elf bard named Earl who owned a pet squirrel named Squearl. Once I’d gotten a taste, I was hooked, and soon that oneshot turned into a full-fledged campaign. A month later, I invited our other friend Isabelle to join the party with the rest of us, though she was stuck playing via video chat for the first couple years as she was studying out of state at the time. With no higher education and a full-time job working for your mom ever since I graduated high school, D&D’s become the bright spot of my life amidst a whole lot of shadows.

I unroll the battlemat and spread it over the table, smoothing it out until it lays flat, then hide my mountain of campaign notes behind my DM screen. Most D&D players lament the idea of being a forever DM like me, but honestly, it’s not as bad as it sounds. With a life as dull and listless as mine, punctuated only by the oddness of witchy weirdoes and clueless tourists, DMing provides some genuinely appreciated sense of control. Sure, I wish I could be the one playing hero for once, but coming up with new, weird adventures for other people to go on has its perks. There’s nothing quite like watching your players’ faces shift when you reveal a plot twist, or their gasps of despair when you have a monster land a particularly devastating blow on their character.

My phone buzzes on the table. Isabelle.

[Here!]

I hurry downstairs, greeting her at the back door.

She’s overdressed as always. Even in May, she’s wearing multiple layers- a periwinkle blazer over a soft white top and slacks. Her lips are a subdued, but still painted pink, and her lashes are thick with expertly applied mascara. I’ll never understand why she chooses to get all dressed up just to slave over a sewing machine for hours on end.

“Hope I’m not too late,” she says, heels clicking on the wooden floor as she slides past me.

I snort, shaking my head. “God no. You know those two are never on time.”

“I suppose,” she sighs. “But a girl can always hope.”

“How’s work been?” I ask.

Isabelle tips her head back, a low groan spilling from her lips. “Exhausting! Frozen Jr’s a little over two weeks away, and we’ve got a whole week of performances lined up! Honestly, I’m shocked I even left the costume shop tonight. Do you have any idea how sick I am of looking at that godforsaken snowman costume?”

“Very?” I guess.

“Very, Persephone,” she affirms.

“You didn’t forget the presents, did you?” I ask, hoping to distract her from her Olaf trauma.

“Oh, shoot,” she hisses. “They’re in the car. I’ll be right back- hold this.” Without another word, she thrusts her styrofoam Dunkin cup into my hand and marches back to her vehicle. Soon enough, she’s back, a massive bag under her arm.

I used to find it weird that Isabelle and I almost had the exact same birthday- mine on May 2nd and hers on May 3rd. It got even weirder when Natasha started dating Bree, and then her birthday turned out to be the 3rd as well. Then, I learned that, in a big enough group, there’s a 50% chance of two people sharing a birthday, so it’s probably not all that uncommon. Regardless of the statistics behind it, though, I was always a little grateful for the closeness. When most of your friends have birthdays the literal day following yours, you can’t exactly forget to get them gifts. Plus, since ours are so close together, it means we just smush the celebrations into one thing. It certainly saves money on decorations, that’s for sure.

“Where should I put this?” Isabelle asks, lifting the arm still holding the bag.

I gesture to the stairs. “In the game room.”

As Isabelle is ascending to the second floor, a familiar, boxy food truck swings into the parking lot behind River Styx. The Cheese Whiz is as blinding yellow as ever, the metal sides marked over with elbow pasta-shaped markings, gooey sandwiches, and the logo of a block of cheese wearing taped-up nerd glasses.

The truck slows to a stop just before it can crash into the parking curb, and the passenger door slides open. Bree practically flies out as soon as she can fit her skinny frame through the widening gap, wrapped boxes of presents under each arm.

“Hey birthday girl!” Bree calls. She attempts to wave, but with the presents taking up space, she can really only greet me with a strange, awkward chicken dance movement.

“Hey, other birthday girl,” I reply, a small smile on my face despite the minimal enthusiasm in my voice. “Third birthday girl’s already upstairs.”

“Who’s ready for ca-ake?” Nat asks in a sing-song voice. She carefully emerges from the driver’s side, holding out a large sheet cake covered in sprinkles and white icing.

“Me, me!” Bree cheers, practically bouncing at the promise of sugar. God, I love her to bits, but I swear, her energy drains my social battery like no other.

“After the session,” I say. “Otherwise we’ll never start.”

Bree deflates. “Aw man.”

Once everyone’s upstairs in the game room, I order some pizza and we get started.

Previously, Crazy Cherry, Earl, and Isabelle’s elf cleric, Leilora, were pointed in the direction of a cave that the locals of the nearby village had abandoned after too many mining accidents. People from the village were going missing, and many of the locals thought that a monster potentially living in the cave was responsible.

They proceed through the cave as planned, killing whatever crosses their path- mostly skeletons and giant spiders, along with the occasional mimic. I can’t not include mimics. Somehow, Bree falls for them every damn time. I don’t even think she’s doing it on purpose like Nat enjoys doing.

Eventually, thanks to an unusually high perception check from Crazy Cherry, the group come across my special encounter room. My toes tap anxiously beneath the table. I thank my autism for my resting bitch face- I don’t want to spoil the surprise I have planned.

“Alright, Crazy Cherry, as you enter the room, you immediately notice something out of the ordinary,” I begin to narrate, “about ten feet ahead of you, there are several different weapons frozen in midair. Among them, you can see a halberd, a dagger, a battle axe, and a sword.”

“Oh, that’s a trap if I’ve ever seen one,” Isabelle says.

“Hey! No metagaming!” Bree counters, holding a finger to her lips in a shushing motion.

“That’s not metagaming, Bree,” Isabelle says, waving a hand. “I mean, seriously, just a bunch of weapons hovering there, out in the open? It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that’s dangerous. That’s obvious to anyone with half a brain!”

Bree glances to her girlfriend’s character sheet. “I dunno, Crazy Cherry’s intelligence is pretty low…”

“You mentioned a sword, right?” Nat asks through her mouthful of Mandee’s Pizza. “How cool does it look?”

I raise a brow. “How cool?”

“Yeah, does it look like an ordinary sword or is it, like… fancy and magical?”

I shrug. “Roll for, uh, perception, I guess?”

Nat’s d20 rattles on the table. “That’s a 15.”

“You can’t tell if it’s magic, but it does look very fancy,” I tell her. “The pommel is shaped like a gladiator’s helmet, and there’s a beautiful, green gem set into the hilt.”

A crooked smirk pulls at her lips. “I’m going in.”

I resist the urge to mimic her expression. “So what do you do?”

“Crazy Cherry is gonna rush in there and grab that sword so she can show it off to the rest of the party,” she replies.

Bingo. I grab a small, transparent, cube-shaped object from behind my DM screen, beginning to narrate the ensuing turn of events.

“As you hurry in and snatch up the sword, you suddenly find that you can no longer move. The air is thick around you, holding you in place.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nat grimacing. I continue, “then, you feel this burning sensation all over your skin, making a-” I hiss, drawing out the sibilant sound “-and as you do, you see that what you thought was empty air was actually a giant mass of thick, slightly transparent slime.”

“Oh shiiiiit,”

With that, I place the plastic cube atop of Crazy Cherry’s mini figure, trapping it in the fake gelatinous cube.

Seeing what’s happened, the other members of the party swarm the room, and I have them roll initiative. Since Bree rolled the highest, Earl gets to go first.

“Okay, so, I gotta ask- as an action… is it possible…” Bree starts.

“Oh boy,” Isabelle sighs.

I hold up a hand. “No, let her talk. I wanna see where she’s going with this.”

“Is it possible for me to use my action to tie a rope to my arrow and then shoot it into the cube?” she asks. “Y’know, so CC can grab onto it and we can pull her out?”

I squint, letting the thought roll around. “Well, each round is only six seconds, so I think you can only tie it in that time, not shoot it. You can shoot it in your next turn, though,” I decide.

“Then I do that!”

“Alright, Leilora, your turn,” I say, turning to Isabelle.

She looks up from her spell sheet and grabs her dice. “I’m going to ca-”

It’s like a brick slammed into my chest. My vision fills with stars, dizzying blackness pulled over my eyes. I can’t see. I can only hear.

“He’s too strong!”

My hooves thunder the dirt, legs trembling.

“Rockhoof, please-!”

The world whips past me. I’m falling.

“No!”

Impact. I drag myself down the path. I have to get there. I need to make it to the-

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

“Percy!”

I snap back to reality, suddenly aware of Nat waving her hand in my face. Oh, god, what the fuck? What happened? “Muh? What?” I manage.

“Are you alright?” Isabelle asks, lips pressed in a concerned pout.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” I say. I wrinkle my nose. “Just. Zoned out, I guess.”

“I’ll say,” Bree chimes in, giggling. “It looked like you were having a staring contest with the wall.”

“You lost, by the way,” Natasha adds.

Face red, I sit back in my chair and try to piece together my thoughts. What the hell was I thinking about just then? Why did that happen? I shake my head, like the motion will manually dispel the confusing thoughts. It had been a long day. I’m probably just tired. “Ugh. Whatever- where was I?”

“I hit the gelatinous cube with my Guiding Bolt,” Isabelle helpfully informs.

I peek behind my screen to look at the creature’s stats. “Yeah! Yeah, uh- what’d you roll again?”

Thankfully, they manage free Crazy Cherry and kill the thing, and the rest of the campaign session passes without incident.

After the run-in with the gelatinous cube, the group continued their descent into the dungeon. Eventually, they reached the innermost part of the cave, where they discovered a cult worshipping Cyric, the god of trickery and lies. There, it was revealed that the cultists were the ones kidnapping villagers, using them as sacrifices to curry favor with the god.

Obviously, battle ensued, and though there were a couple close calls, Earl’s bardic inspiration and a well-planned use of the Mirror Image spell by Leilora came in clutch. Soon enough, there were a dozen or so dead cultists, three rescued villagers that had yet to be sacrificed, and loot to give out. For their troubles, the party received a decent amount of gold, precious gems, and a strange artifact that I created as a plot hook for a new story arc. Plus, Crazy Cherry got to keep the cool sword from the gelatinous cube, which turned out to be magic.

“But wait, there’s more,” I exclaim, putting on my best guy-in-an-infomercial impression. With that, I reach under the table and produce the presents I had wrapped for each of them. Yes, each of them. Even though it’s not Nat’s birthday, I felt bad making her watch everyone else have fun with their gifts. It’s not her fault she was born in January.

“Present time?” Bree asks. She sits up like someone’s lit a fire under her, her eyes sparkling with gleeful anticipation.

I nod. “Present time.”

With the affirmation, everyone else piles their gifts onto the table. I pick out Bree’s immediately- her wrapping skills have always left a lot to be desired. Her gift’s ten percent paper, ninety percent tape.

Since we’re in my house, I get to open my gifts first. Grabbing Bree’s taped-up mess, I bring it to my ear and give it a little shake. Something inside rattles around, and I grin. Sounds promising.

I pull open one end of the package and my gift spills into my hand. It’s a plastic flask filled with black, glittering polyhedral dice. The dark, multi-sided pieces glint in the light as I turn the vessel back and forth, the dice swirling like a starry galaxy in my palm.

“Whoa,” I whisper.

“Open mine next,” Nat urges, pushing her wrapped box towards me.

I do. It’s a flat rectangle- clearly a book. I tear it open, revealing Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount. Another D&D thing. I guess when you’ve really only got one hobby, you’re easy to buy gifts for. I’m not complaining, though. There’s nothing worse than a vague present that makes it clear the person giving it doesn’t know what you like.

Finally, I get to Isabelle’s bag. I feel her eyes lock onto me as I stuff my hand into the bag, groping past the tissue paper until my fingers brush against something soft. I pull it out, revealing the gift to be a handmade scarf. It’s a long, knitted thing, striped with blue and white yarn. At one of the ends, she’s embroidered the symbol of a d20 in green thread.

“Oh jeez, Isabelle,” I breathe. “When did you have time to make this?”

She laughs. “I didn’t. I worked on it in between shifts. Made my own time.”

“Well, it’s gorgeous,” I say. After a bit of fumbling, I get it around my neck to test it out. I’m not usually a scarf person- weird textures anywhere against my skin are a sensory nightmare- but this is actually super soft. Shit, if it wasn’t May, I might be tempted to wear this around. Then again, the weather never seemed to bother Isabelle. She’ll wear four layers out in July if she’s got a good enough outfit.

“Can I go next?” Bree asks, eyes wide and pleading as she raises a hand.

I chuckle. “Go ahead.” It’s clear if I say no she might explode.

“Girlfriend dibs,” Nat declares, plopping the tall, covered box in front of Bree.

Her partner only pulls back an inch from the front of the wrapping before stopping to gasp. The gasp somehow turns into a teakettle squeal, punctuated by “ohmygosh. Nat! No way!”

Beside her, Nat’s face splits into a wide, knowing grin.

Bree quickly tears through the rest of it, planting the unearthed box on the cleared battlemat. It’s a sealed figure of an anime girl version of Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. She’s wearing a headband with pony ears atop her big, pink hair, a blue jacket, white shirt, and a tiered pink skirt with the character’s cutie mark on the side. She’s got one arm lifted and one leg kicked up into the air behind her in a display of jubilation, and a smaller version of the pony she’s based on stands in front of her, face frozen mid laugh. Even through the plastic, I can tell the figure inside is just as detailed as the box art.

“She’s perfect! Thank you, babe!” She leans over, planting a noisy kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Best hundred bucks I’ve ever spent,” Nat says, arms folded and smile smug.

None of us are quite able to top the hundred dollar anime figure, as it turns out. Natasha gets a pair of goofy, cheese wedge-shaped earrings from Isabelle and an MLP-themed baking book from me, the cover bearing an image of her favorite pink pony. Isabelle gets fabric shears, a blue makeup palette, and a mug labeled ‘Costume Designer – piss me off and you go on stage naked’ with a Dunkin Donuts gift card stuffed inside. Meanwhile, the unbirthday girl receives a marshmallow-scented candle as a pity gift from me. She loves it. Hell yeah.

Then, we move on to dessert. Natasha brings out the sheet cake with provided fanfare from Bree. Winslow attempts to stamp his paws into the cake, but I pull him away into my lap before the fuzzy idiot can cover himself in buttercream.

I grab a plate and carve myself a slice of the marble cake, immediately digging in. I’m glad you don’t need two hands to eat cake, because while one hand’s busy with the fork, the other is desperately trying to stop my cat from attempting a second assault.

“Sho,” Bree manages through her mouthful, “how’ve you guysh been?”

Isabelle empties her lungs with a sigh. “Hanging on. Getting ready for Frozen Jr.”

Bree’s eyes glimmer. “Oh, yeah!” She swallows. “When is that again?”

“Oh, no-” Isabelle shakes her head “-I don’t expect you to go or anything.”

Nat chuckles. “C’mon, dude, we wanna support you.”

“Besides,” I chime in, “you weren’t the only theater kid in high school. A single performance isn’t gonna kill us.”

“Okay,” Isabelle concedes, “but it’s your funeral if you can’t get ‘Let it Go’ out of your head for a week.”

Bree’s expression hardened with determination, and she puffed her chest. “I can take it.”

“What about you two?” I ask, spearing another piece of cake with my fork. “How’s The Whiz?”

“Oh, it’s been great!” Bree said. “Business is booming. Summer’s coming, so, y’know, peak season and all that.”

“We’ve been thinking about adding a few more menu items,” Nat added. “And maybe having a few rotating ones- like, holiday specials.”

“Nat really wants to add a cheesesteak,” Bree says.

The mention of it gets the two babbling even more, each of them talking over one another to mention a new thing about their food truck. My smile slowly fades, and I sink back into my seat. Nat, Isabelle, Bree- they’re all doing the things they love, and I’m just selling rocks and counting down the days between each Dungeons and Dragons game. Have I always been this boring? God, I hope not.

My toes get to tapping again, the rhythmic repetition easing me somewhat. I let the three babble, finishing my cake in contemplative silence.

Things wind down after cake. My mom pauses her after work HGTV binging in her room long enough to greet the almost-birthday kids, but that doesn’t inject any more excitement into the evening. Maybe we’re partied out, or maybe we’re too stuffed for any further conversation. Or both. Either way, I see them all off, Isabelle heading out to get some ‘birthday beauty sleep’ while Bree and Nat leave an hour later. Bree leans out the passenger window of The Cheese Whiz, singing the happy birthday song in my direction until distance silences her.

I sigh, shutting the door and ascending the stairs. I submit myself to the monotony of cleaning duty, clearing away the plates, pizza boxes, and plastic utensils. Natasha said I could keep the last few slices of cake, so I’ve got that to look forward to, at least. I fold up the DM screen and put the minifigs back into storage, careful to check every inch of the room to make sure I haven’t left any for Winslow to chew on.

Eventually, I traverse the obstacle course that is my cluttered room and collapse onto my bed. The mattress and blankets welcome me with open arms, and I groan contentedly into my pillow. I worm my way under the covers, relishing the thought of my day off tomorrow. No work, just cake. Yeah. That’s nice.

Unlike the end of my shift earlier today, sleep comes quickly.

* * *

“You want to be a Pillar? Now’s your chance.”

Those had been the first words out of Star Swirl’s mouth. My door lay on the floor beneath him, dented and ripped off its hinges courtesy of a profusely apologetic Rockhoof.

What started as an awkward reunion rapidly shifted into a call to action. News had gotten out- Discord had betrayed Celestia, and Luna was nowhere to be found either. To make matters even worse, no one had heard from any of the Element bearers since last night. Flash Magnus was only able to escape Discord’s siege on Canterlot because Shining Armor had ordered him to find us after Celestia failed to return from her trip to the volcano. Mistmane, on the other hoof… we haven’t heard from her.

With the remaining Pillars and I together, we set out in the direction of Ponyville immediately. Star Swirl had planned to teleport us all there, but I insisted otherwise. A creature as magical as Discord would undoubtedly be able to sense the powerful surge of energy such a spell required to complete and be upon us in moments. While getting there on foot was tedious and time-consuming, it was far more effective strategically.

We’re close now, I know it. Though the millennia between our absence has shifted the terrain somewhat, some larger landmarks remain. As we descend the Foal Mountain cliffside, Somnambula and Flash Magnus take to the skies to scout ahead.

I watch the pair soar over the treetops, sharp pines at the base of the mountain giving way to softer oaks. Canterlot, or what’s left of it, shines in the distance atop its purplish peak, and the ruined cottages of Ponyville below belch tongues of thick, rising smoke. So many ponies must be suffering- I can’t even begin to think how many might be dead.

What happened? Discord- he wasn’t good by any stretch of the word, but he was at least friendly! Reformed, from what I’d heard, courtesy of the Element of Kindness! Had he changed his mind? Been corrupted? Gotten bored of his nice guy act? Some combination thereof? The possibilities twist my stomach in knots.

Then, an unfamiliar voice shouts “pull!”

A clay pigeon bursts out from the treetops in the forest below at blinding speed, careening toward the airborne pegasi.

My chest lurches and my ears flatten, tail clamped tight between my legs. “Look out!” I shriek, but it’s far too late- the words come out broken and quiet, silenced by distance.

Flash only has enough time to look before the clay pigeon slams into his snout. The projectile bursts into pieces, the shrapnel melting into a spray of multicolored confetti. His head snaps back at the impact, his wings flaring once before going slack. The pegasus drops like a stone and Somnambula watches him fall, rigid in horror.

Meadowbrook clamps a hoof over her mouth. “No!”

“Somnambula!” Star Swirl shouts, eyes wide. “Get back!”

The draconequus rises out from the mess of trees, grinning wickedly as he levitates before the Pillar of Hope. He holds Flash Magnus’s motionless body by the tail in his leonine paw, lifting the dangling stallion like he’s showing off an impressively sized fish.

“The Pillars! There you are! Y’know, I was wondering when you were going to show up. You certainly took your time,” he teased, tossing the stallion’s body carelessly over his shoulder.

Somnambula twists in the air to retreat, hooves pressed in front of her as she zooms back toward us. Discord merely laughs, his clawed lizard hand snatching her up by one of her hind legs.

“Let her go!” Rockhoof bellows, tail lashing.

Discord clicks his tongue. “You didn’t say please.”

The peach-colored mare struggles and strains, wings beating so fast they practically blur, but Discord’s grip remains firm. His yellow and red eyes flick in her direction and she screams in pain, like his gaze burns. A white light erupts from her body, completely engulfing her. It’s like I blink or something- one moment she’s there, and the next she’s gone, taking the light with her.

I don’t have time to contemplate where he’s sent her. With another white flash Discord vanishes, reappearing in a burst of light before us. His tall, serpentine body looms over us, sending my legs trembling and my heart galloping laps in my chest.

It’s only Star Swirl’s presence beside me that keeps me upright. I can’t afford to give up now- not when he’s trusted me to help him. Not when we may be all that’s standing in between Equestria and its chaotic destruction.

“Now,” Discord growls, an excited purr edging his voice, “who’s next?”

* * *

My eyes crack open, blinking slowly. Ugh. What a weird ass dream. I blame Bree and her Pinkie figure.

Grumbling, I pull myself out of bed and scrub my hands over my face. Though the strange nightmare is already fading from my mind, my pulse races in my fingertips and hammers within my ears. Jesus, am I always this shaken up after a nightmare? I haven’t had one in a while, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.

I sluggishly walk into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, I fish my Lexapro out of my pill case. For all my mother's eccentricities, she at least believes in modern medicine. She has the "name your daughter Persephone Gaia Blake" strain of New Age-ism, not the "try and cure your daughter's autism with crystals and essential oils" strain of New Age-ism. Small victories, I suppose.

I fill a cup and wash the pill down, snatching a fistful of water from the faucet to give my still tired face a splash. I pause as the water dribbles off my cheeks, something in my reflection catching my eye. What’s that? I glance up, confused- a confusion that only deepens once I get a closer look at what startled me.

Why the fuck is my hair blue?

In the Dark

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The air leaves me slowly, like from a leaky balloon. I can’t do anything but stare- I can’t think to do anything but stare.

Finally, the first clear thoughts break past the dam in my brain. Is it the light making it look this way? I mean, that’s probably why my eyes look a little lighter blue than normal. But the hair? I tilt my head, gaze trained on the locks as they react to the gravity. No, can’t be. My hair is usually dark brown. At most, lighting or extended exposure to the sun might make it look a little lighter, but that’s not anything close to what I’m seeing.

Not only is my hair usually dark brown, it’s also a wild, wavy, shoulder-length mess of locks only tamed by frequent sweeps of a paddle brush. Now, though? The hair around my crown looks like someone took a flat iron to it.

I huff. Okay. Think, Percy. There’s clearly no natural explanation for this, at least as far as normal human genetics are concerned. The only way my hair could get this color is if someone dyed it. But I certainly didn’t do it. I don’t have hair dye lying around, nor do I have the desire to dye my hair in the first place!

So, someone else has to have done it. But that doesn’t make sense either! Isabelle, Nat, and Bree all left before I went to bed, and I seriously doubt any of them were the type of person to break into a person’s house and dye their hair. Hell, I don’t think anyone is the type of person to do that.

Blue or not, I take my brush and run it through. It’s just a change of color, I reassure myself. People dye their hair all the time nowadays. Even my mom tried out some pink streaks a couple years back. When you cater to tourists in Salem, looking a little strange is practically mandatory. If it doesn’t go away on its own, I’ll just re-dye it my natural color. I’m just glad the store isn’t open on Sunday. The most public interaction I need to worry about today is running some errands later, and everyone usually minds their business there.

I’m in the middle of rinsing toothpaste out of my mouth when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I wipe my face and return to my bedroom, unlocking my screen.

[please tell me you weren’t the one who convinced bree to get mlp tattoos last night]

My brows furrow. What? Mlp? Like My Little Pony? I open my messages and quickly type out a reply.

[????]

Nat’s response is immediate. [hold on]

I do. Soon enough, a new message arrives, picture attached.

[here. it’s on both thighs!]

Above the message is a photo taken of what I can barely recognize as Bree’s thigh. A vivid image of a grilled cheese sandwich in the middle of being pulled apart marked the skin.

“Oh Christ,” I whisper. That’s a cutie mark alright. Whose is that again? The uh… the Weird Al pony, right? Cheese something? I guess it fits her profession, but still! Jesus, what on earth was Bree thinking, getting a tattoo like that? And on both thighs? Good god. Well, at least it isn’t somewhere visible.

My phone lights up with another message. Shit, I was so surprised at the tattoo that I forgot to reply.

[well?]

Not wanting to type out a whole block of text, I hit the call button.

Nat picks up immediately. “Dude, what the hell?”

The words come out in a defensive rush of breath. “It wasn’t me,” I preface. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Well it can’t have been Isabelle, she never watched the show!”

“Hey, I never liked it nearly as much as you guys did!” I point out. I mean, sure, it was good, but there were plenty of other above average children’s shows out there. “Besides, why don’t you just ask Bree who put her up to it?”

Bree shouts something in the background, but I can’t make out the words. Nat sighs. “She says they just showed up this morning.”

“Just showed up?” I echo.

Bree shouts something again- I think ‘they did!’

“Yeah, not her best lie.” Nat sighs. “C’mon, Percy. I’m not mad if you told her to do it, dude, I just need a straight answer.”

I frown. “I gave you my answer. I had nothing to do with it! And besides…,” I trail off, realizing my mind is running away with a thought I’m not sure my mouth is ready to say.

“Besides? Besides what?”

Shit. I chew the inside of my cheek. Well, here goes nothing. “Besides,” I continue, “are you sure she just got them? They don’t look recent.” I’d never gotten a tattoo before- I’m way too squeamish with needles- but I know that freshly inked skin is red and swollen. The images Nat sent me are way too clear to be something done last night.

Nat falls silent on the other end of the line. For a moment, all I can make out is her soft, stressed breathing. “I’ll call you back,” she finally says.

“Uh, sure. Good luck with your um… thing,” I tell her.

“Yeah. Seeya.”

The call ends, and I sigh. First my hair, now Bree getting a surprise My Little Pony tattoo- and after that abysmal finale, no less. Ugh. I’ve barely woken up and the universe is slinging weird shit in my direction.

As I remove my pajamas to put on normal people clothes, I can’t help but look at my own thighs. There’s no tattoo there, thank god. Just a light layer of short hair. That’s hardly surprising, though. I never bother shaving above my knees. I run my fingers over the otherwise blank space, like I’ll uncover my own weird marking if I press hard enough. It seems like such an awkward place to get a tattoo…

Once dressed, I find a beanie in my closet and pull it on. I can’t fit all my hair inside it, but I can at least hide the weird, straightened bits. Better than nothing, at least. I just hope mom isn’t around to ask about it when I head out later.

With nothing better to do in the meantime, I open YouTube on my phone and scroll mindlessly, curious as to what the algorithm wants to me watch today. Unsurprisingly, most of it is about Dungeons and Dragons- some worldbuilding tips, a collection of RPG horror stories, the latest rando trying to make their actual play podcast happen…

An overproduced thumbnail catches my eye amidst my typical recommendations. It’s an image of Lauren Faust sitting at some convention panel beside a handful of other creatives. The video creator’s circled her in red, adding an arrow just for good measure. ‘NOT THE END!’ stretches across the bottom of the thumbnail in white impact font. The video’s title reads: ‘MLP Finale Movie Confirmed? New Con Footage Revealed!’

I roll my eyes. Just more bronies trying to cope after such a dumb, ridiculous ending episode. I might not have been the show’s biggest fan or anything, especially considering I’m friends with Nat and Bree, but that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize a series shitting the bed when I see one. With both MLP and Game of Thrones ending like they did within a five month span, 2019 was the year of terrible finales.

Now that I’ve been reminded of ponies twice, I figure I might as well watch an episode or two before I head out. I grab my laptop and open up Netflix, typing the show into the search bar. It comes up immediately, and I skim through the available seasons to find a classic.

Curiously, while they have the rest of them, season nine still isn’t available. I faintly recall Bree sending me screenshots of fanatical, desperate bronies on Reddit using its absence as proof that the finale ‘wasn’t legit’ or something. But it’s been over half a year- what’s taking them so long? Maybe they don’t want to offer such a controversial episode on their platform, but if that’s the case, why not offer the entire season except the finale? Eh, I’m not a marketing expert. This stuff is beyond me.

Eventually, I settle on an old favorite- “Luna Eclipsed”- and press play. I’d never found a favorite in the main cast, but I’ve always had a soft spot for the princess. We were both the weird kid who spoke too loud, talked funny, and wanted to be respected by her peers.

As the episode starts up, I’m surprised by how much I remember, even though it’s probably been years since I watched it last. Twilight arrives on the scene, revealing her Star Swirl costume and confusing Spike.

“I’m Star Swirl the Bearded!” the purple unicorn exclaims. “Father of the amniomorphic spell? Did you even read that book I gave you about obscure unicorn history?”

I snort. Obscure my foot- by the end of the show, that unicorn had his hoof in every important lore event. Guess the writers hadn’t figured that part out yet. Then again, I think, there’s plenty of people in the real world who don’t know anything about historical events and figures, so it’s not entirely unrealistic.

The episode goes on, with Luna arriving and frightening the ponies despite her best attempts at friendliness. It’s a children’s show, though, so it all works out in the end, and “Luna Eclipsed” leads to “Sisterhooves Special” leads to “The Cutie Pox” leads to “May the Best Pet Win” leads to-

Buzz.

Glancing down, I find Isabelle’s sent me a text.

[Percy! Hey! You wanna get lunch in a bit? Craving some togetherness]

I grimace. Damn it, I’ve told Isabelle time and time again how I don’t like it when people spring same-day plans on me, especially when I have other things to do. I draft a polite decline, but a welling feeling of guilt prevents me from pressing ‘send’. She’s so busy with work that we rarely get to hang out outside of sessions anymore. Hell, I think this is the first time she’s texted me on a day other than Saturday in months.

Pressing backspace, I shoot her a thumb’s up, followed by a [where were u thinking]

While she’s typing up a response, I close my laptop and hurry into the kitchen to grab the shopping list. No sense in making two trips.

“I’m headed to Stop & Shop!” I call out in the direction of my mother’s room. “Be back later!”

“Have fun,” her muffled voice teases.

“I’ll try!”

I vanish downstairs and leave out the back door. My 2010 Camry is waiting for me, and I climb inside, looking into the rearview mirror to prepare to pull out of the space-

Oh, fuck, my hair. I totally forgot. Well, at least I have the beanie on. Actually, now that I look at it, I’d managed to fit more of my oddly-colored hair under the hat then I remember. It’s all almost entirely under the beanie! Maybe I was fiddling with it while watching the show. Sounds like something I’d do.

Stop & Shop proves uneventful, and the next thing I know a hostess is leading Isabelle and I to a seat by the window in the Witch’s Brew Café. Isabelle is her typically overdressed self- a burgundy blouse, white slacks, a sun hat, and sunglasses. I can’t help but wonder why she’s wearing the latter indoors, but I don’t think I have it in me to fight Isabelle Logic, especially after the way my day started.

The hostess tells us someone will be with us shortly, and I pull out a chair to sit down.

“Why are you walking like that?” Isabelle asks. “Do your feet hurt or something?”

I raise a brow, hovering over the chair. “Like what?”

“You’re like… tiptoeing around.”

I look to my feet. Sure enough, I’m standing on the balls of each one. “Oh.” I chuckle. “I just… do that sometimes. Autism thing, y’know? I’ve done it since I was little.” Toe walking, it’s called. Apparently it’s common for people on the spectrum. I looked up the explanation at some point, but I can’t recall what it was. I settle down in the chair, sitting back. “So, what’s up? Why the sudden meeting?”

“Oh, you know,” Isabelle starts. She tucks a black lock of hair behind her ear, scooting a little closer in her chair. “I just needed a change of scenery. There’s only so much time I can spend backstage before I start going stir-crazy.”

“You could have fooled me,” I say, peering over the menu.

“Everyone’s got their limits, Persephone,” Isabelle points out, “theater just happens to be full of people with thick skin. At least, that’s how it is with established people. There’s plenty of newcomers who’ll wash out as soon as they get their first rejection.” She scoffs. “They’re a dime a dozen, honestly. Entertainment is a revolving door of people thinking it’ll be all fun and games until they hit tech week.”

A waitress finally arrives and takes our orders- a black tea and grilled cheese for me, and a macchiato and veggie burger for Isabelle.

“A grilled cheese?” Isabelle observes as the woman walks away. “And not from The Cheese Whiz? I don’t think Nat and Bree’ll like that.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure they’ll get over it.” Besides, I think, they’ve got weird tattoos to worry about. A part of me wonders whether Nat told her, but I can’t imagine why she would. After all, Isabelle knows nothing about the show. Either way, I elect not to bring it up.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask… what’s with the beanie?”

My eyes shoot toward my headwear, and I pray my cheeks don’t look as pink as they feel. “Oh, well. I forgot to wash it yesterday,” I lie. Shit, is that a good enough excuse? I’ve never really cared about appearing anything past ‘decent’ in public, especially when compared to her. “What’s with the uh. Sunglasses?” I digress.

“Oh!” Her fingers rise to the eyewear, like she’s forgotten she’s wearing them. She pushes them hurriedly up her nose, practically fusing them to her face. It takes her a few moments to reply. “Well- I had an appointment with my optometrist this morning, so they’re all dilated and sensitive.”

I blink. “I thought you were in the costume shop this morning.” That’s why she wanted me to come over, right?

Isabelle shifts in her seat, fumbling with her words. “Oh, well, no- because of the optometrist! When I said I was ‘craving togetherness’ earlier, I meant… it was meant more as a general thing. I’ll be headed there right after this.”

My brow cocks, but I let it go. She’s clearly got theater stuff to worry about, and I’m not about to pry on the off-chance it upsets her. Her stuff isn’t any of my business- just like my weird, Sudden Onset Blue Hair isn’t any of hers.

Our entrees arrive, I dig in, and holy shit, this grilled cheese is amazing. I mean, I guess it’s kind of hard to fuck up grilled cheese given that there’s very few ingredients involved, but this stuff is incredible. It’s not The Cheese Whiz-tier, but it’s up there.

It only strikes me then that I haven’t had anything to eat since last night. Oh Jesus, no wonder why I’m tearing into this thing.

Despite the deliciousness of my sandwich, however, my mind continues to wander- back to me and my weird, changing hair. Should I tell Isabelle? I know I decided I shouldn’t pry earlier, but it’s not prying to admit something about yourself. Hell, that’s practically like… anti-prying.

Then again, what kind of reaction am I even looking for? What do I expect her to say? She’s not a medical professional- would she even believe me if I told her it happened on its own? Would she think I’m pulling some kind of prank? No, that can’t be it. I’ve never pulled a prank in my life. I’m too much of a goody two-shoes. Maybe she’ll think I’ve lost a bet? Humiliation roils in my gut just thinking about it. God no, the last thing I want is to feel embarrassed on top of all this confusion.

So I say nothing, and we finish the rest of our meal in relative silence.

Sitting back down in the driver’s seat, I instinctively check my face in the rear-view mirror. My hair hasn’t slipped out from its beanie sanctuary, thank goodness. Wait… what’s that? Shit, my eyes still look lighter than usual. I thought it was just the bathroom lighting, but…

I shove the thoughts aside, adjusting the mirror so I can’t see my reflection. Maybe I’m just freaking myself out, and that’s making me see things that aren’t there. If you look at anything too long your brain is bound to start bullshitting. People’s minds love making sinister shapes in the dark, or stringing together a pattern from nothing. Yeah. That’s it. I just think my eyes look lighter because I’m comparing them to the vividly blue hair still trapped under my hat.

Satisfied with my internal logic, I start the car and put it in drive. I’m just about to pull out of my parking spot when I catch sight of Isabelle walking out of the café. She walks past the car parallel parked in front of mine, and opens the door of her own.

My eyes stare, unblinking as I watch her turn out of her spot and drive off into the distance. Didn’t she say she just came from an optometrist appointment? That’s why she was wearing the sunglasses, right? Why did she drive herself here if she’d just gotten her eyes dilated? How did she parallel park with her eyes dilated?

I get back home and begin unloading the groceries from the trunk. I put the bags on the counter of our kitchen on the second floor, beginning to pull out the supplies I’d gathered. Bread, a couple boxes of cereal, those roasted edamame snacks mom’s obsessed with for whatever reason, apples-

Apples? The sight of the fruit stops me in my tracks. Why’d I buy apples? I turn the red thing I’ve grabbed over in my hand a few times, like I’m expecting it to suddenly transform into something else. I haven’t had straight-up apples in ages. I don’t have anything against them or anything, they’re just not my go-to fruit. Maybe they were on sale or something and I forgot I grabbed them. Wouldn’t surprise me. I leave them in a bowl on the counter and quickly put the rest of the food away. Random apple purchases are low on my list of concerns at the moment. I still need to deal with my hair.

I march out of the kitchen and into my bathroom. Might as well rip the beanie bandaid off and assess the damage. Reaching out carefully, I grab the top of my beanie and give it a tug and

Oh Jesus, what the fuck? My once brown, shoulder-length wavy locks have shortened and straightened between my errands and lunch, now only long enough to flop out into a dweeby, flat blue bowlcut. But that positively pales in comparison to what’s sitting atop my hair.

Ears. Animal ears. Pointed, fuzzy, gray animal ears. Equine ears. Pony ears, my brain corrects, much to my horror. They swivel as my eyes make contact, like they’re trying to hide in shame from my gaze.

I want to scream. I need to scream, but it’s like the sound is trapped in my throat sideways, choking me, and no matter how much I try to force it, nothing comes out. I just stand there, staring, eyes growing wider and wider and wider. I try to pull the beanie back on in a desperate attempt to hide the development, but my ears splay at the confinement, the sounds of my breathing muffled. I take it back off. Those are my ears. My ears. I have pony ears.

My legs give out beneath me, and I tumble to the floor. The polished tile collides with my tailbone, and through the haze of sharp pain and confusion, it occurs to me that there’s so much more of it than usual.

Fingers scrabble along the floor, groping behind me until I find the source of the feeling. Hair. Hair? Why is there hair? I grab a fistful of the stuff, only to feel something beneath it- something long, thin, and connected. I pull it closer, dragging it into view.

A tail. My blood runs cold. That’s a tail. An equine tail, maybe a foot long, covered in the same straight blue hair on the top of my head. The appendage writhes in my shaking grip like a snake, still aching from the impact with the floor.

My racing brain gallops faster in the confines of my skull. How long has that been there? Was it there when I was driving? Before? No, Isabelle would have mentioned if I had a fucking tail. Between the café and here? Oh fuck, did anyone see it when I got out of my car? Oh my god. Oh Jesus.

Finally, a single thought breaks through the thrashing tempest of my brain, coming to surface for air.

Mom.

Mom. Mom. I have to tell mom. The hair was one thing- I can’t hide this. I shouldn’t hide this.

I fight myself to get to my feet, my legs limp and sliding under me like a fawn on a sheet of ice. My feet refuse to stay flat on the ground, heels still tilted upward. Despite my body’s best efforts, I get myself vertical and scramble the short distance out of the bathroom to her bedroom.

I stop short at the entrance, every inch of my body rigid with dread. Standing outside her door, I feel microscopic. It’s like I’m a little kid again, come to tell my mother I got sick and threw up in the middle of the night.

Gathering my courage, I open the door and step inside.

She’s already sitting up by the time I pass the threshold, stirring from the nap I’ve interrupted. “Mmmh? Percy?” she blurbles.

“Mom.” I barely choke it out. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Chasing Shadows

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My mother’s face drains of all color at the sight of my ears and tail. “Percy,” she breathes. “Oh my god, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” I whimper. My eyes sting, and I blink away the threat of tears. “It just- I don’t know. It just started happening and now it’s…”

“It’s okay, baby,” she says, quick to rise. She moves to the nightstand, reaching for her phone. “We can just call urgent care and-”

I’m all too aware of the way my ears swivel back. “No,” I beg, voice quavering. “No, I don’t- I can’t.”

The thought of going to the doctor’s rockets me back to the near-constant visits with specialists, each of them trying answer my mother’s burning, fearful question- why I wasn’t like the other kids. She wanted to know why the loud noises hurt me- why I wouldn’t look at her when she talked, why my words never came out right. I think about the hospital, and I think about session after endless session of being prompted and stared at, every little movement and word I said jotted down, while I wondered what I’d done wrong and how I could fix it.

Of course, I didn’t know what they were doing- didn’t know that they were just trying to help. There was no way I could have. They don’t teach seven-year-olds that they might be born different, and they sure as hell don’t teach seven-year-olds that the other kids will know you’re different before you even have a name for what’s wrong with you.

I don’t want that again. I can’t do that again. I don’t want the hours of confusion, the burning stares, the judgmental gazes. I don’t want to give them another reason to put me under a microscope.

“No?” Mom echoes, voice careful and quiet. Her hand hovers over the cell.

“I… I don’t know how the hospital can fix this,” I mumble, voice as small as I feel. My tail slides between my legs. “This is… look at me.”

She looks me up and down, frowning. “What would you rather we do, then?” she asks.

I chew the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know. I just. I needed you to know.”

A nod. “Do you feel sick at all?” she asks. She presses the back of her hand against my forehead, searching for a fever.

“No, I feel fine.”

Her brow quirks. “Totally fine?”

Another nod. I don’t blame her surprise. I would have expected some discomfort to come with these changes, but aside from the slight strangeness I felt wearing the beanie over my new ears… nothing. My ears just feel like ears- only higher. And the tail? Sure, it’s weird to look down and see it attached to me, but as far I’m concerned, it feels like it’s always been there. Now that I’m over the initial shock of it, they feel like any other part of my body. I can’t say I’m annoyed my body feels so used to it, though. I’d rather be strangely comfortable than in pain.

“Well,” she says at last, “doctor or not, I’m certainly not making you work looking like that.”

I almost protest, outrage flaring in my chest. I know she’s right- I can’t work the register and stock shelves without people seeing me and my uh, situation, but aside from D&D, working is the only thing I do. Now I can’t even do the one thing that makes me contribute around here? The one thing that makes me feel like a normal human being? I look down at the floor, sighing. “Yeah. I should probably… I don’t know… rest, or something?” I weakly suggest. What else can I do? There’s no easily googleable treatment for growing horse parts. Wryly, I wonder what my middle school nurse might have done in this situation. A packet of crackers and a plastic cup of ginger ale doesn’t seem like it’ll fix this.

“Rest won’t hurt,” my mother agrees. “Take it easy for now. Don’t move too much.” Her brows meet above her nose, her already concerned voice dipping even deeper into Mother Mode. “Are you hungry? I could make you something.”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“I figured,” she mumbles, shoulders slumping. “Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” I reassure. “I promise.”

It takes all my strength to walk away. I want to run to her, to hug my mother and cry like I fell down at the playground and need her to kiss my scrape better. But I’m not a helpless little baby anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.

And yet, when I turn to head to my room, my vision of the hallway blurs with my tears.

I collapse onto my bed facefirst, my pillow soaking up my budding sadness. I groan in frustration into the pillow, the anguished, aggravated sound muffled by cloth fabric and memory foam.

Finished releasing my frustration, I turn over and pull the covers over myself, obscuring my new tail from view. I squirm this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position. I try lying on my back first, but my tail immediately protests, a wave of claustrophobia surging through me. I try my side instead, but that only serves to rub my pony ear awkwardly against my pillow. I’m only somewhat comfortable when I lie on my stomach, my face aimed forward toward the headboard so I can still breathe.

Ugh.

A soft ‘mrrrp?’ fills the air, alerting me to Winslow’s presence. I must not have shut the door behind me all the way. His collar jingles, and he leaps onto the bed, padding up beside me.

“Hey, Winny,” I mumble. Turning in bed, I reach out my hand for the feline, and he responds by bumping the top of his head against my palm. My fingers trace lines through his fur, traveling down his neck to stroke his back while he purrs.

Grimly, I wonder how much longer I might have fingers. If I have pony ears and a tail now, who’s to say it’ll stop there? What if I grow fur? What if my hands a feet become hooves? What if the changes keep going until I’m 100% equine?

But what kind of horse has blue hair, especially one in…. a… bowl cut…?

My thought stumbles awkwardly past the finish line. I stop petting Winslow and snatch my phone off my bedside table, opening up Google. I know exactly what kind of horse has blue hair. Rather, I know what kind of pony.

‘Mlp fim blue hair gray fur’.

Search.

…

Nothing.

… okay, how about ‘Mlp fim blue hair gray fur bowl cut’?

Search.

… still nothing.

I grumble. Alright, let’s just go to the wiki then. They’ve got to have a list of ponies there I can check. One look at the site confirms as much. Unfortunately for me, however, there’s no single list to check. They’re sorted by pony type- earth pony, pegasus, unicorn. Hell, there are even lists for characters only mentioned in chapter books. Damn it. Leave it to annoyingly thorough bronies to complicate things.

Sighing, I open up the three main lists and begin my search. There’s nothing resembling my hairdo and color in the earth pony list, and a look through the pegasi results in the same disappointment. By the time I’m looking through the alphabetical list of every single unicorn that’s appeared on a nine-season show, I feel like my brain’s going to leak out of my ponified ears.

Cinnamon Chai, Clear Sky, Coriander Cumin…

No, no, no…

Moon Dancer, Party Favor, Prince Blueblood…

Still no…

Star Swirl, Starlight Glimmer, Stellar Flare-

Stygian.

The image of the thin-limbed unicorn stallion practically jumps out at me as I stop scrolling, like he’s an old friend I’ve spotted in a crowded photo. The gray fur, squared features, and the blue, nerdy-looking mane burst the dam in my brain, sending a surge of recognition in the wake of its destruction. Yeah, now I remember! He was the villain of the season seven two-part finale, Shadow Play. He’d been corrupted by this dark force and turned into the ‘Pony of Shadows’, only to be sealed away in Limbo by Star Swirl and the rest of the Pillars of Equestria for centuries before finally being inadvertently released by Twilight. With the help of Starlight Glimmer, Twilight, and the also released Pillars, Stygian escaped the darkness’s influence, patched things up with a remorseful Star Swirl, and all was well.

No wonder why I didn’t recognize which pony my changes reminded me of. While the freed Pillars reappeared every so often after the two-parter, Stygian never showed up again. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hasbro straight up forgot he existed despite his pivotal role in the episodes he appeared in.

I look the unicorn’s static image up and down like I’m trying to find some message hidden between the pixels. Okay, well, this was illuminating and all, but this still doesn’t give me any actual answers. Why Stygian? Hell, why any pony? Was it because of my dreams last night? I don’t recall much of the specifics, but I had dreamed about the Pillars, and, now that I think about it, the events were from Stygian’s point of view. But why would that translate to what’s happening now? Dreams don’t cause people to start growing the features of talking cartoon animals!

My ears twitch, and I wrinkle my nose. Maybe I’m not approaching it in the right direction. Perhaps it isn’t the dream that caused the changes, but the changes that caused the dream. It’s possible that, subconsciously, my body understood that it was beginning to undergo this weird transformation, and it tried to prepare me for the results of it with that bizarre dream about the Pillars, Stygian, and Discord.

Okay, well, that sounds more coherent than the theory that the dream caused the changes, but there’s still a big, glaring, pony-shaped issue here- that being people’s bodies don’t fucking change like this! Our bones fuse as we progress past our first years, our brain is constantly developing, there’s the hormonal mess of puberty, hell, we might even shrink a little as we reach our later decades, but humans can’t spontaneously develop physical characteristics of other animals, fictional or otherwise!

So if science can’t do it, what caused this in the first place? Magic?

I make a face at the unbidden thought. God no. Absolutely not. There are things I’m willing to accept are real, provided there’s sufficient proof available, that’s how science works, but magic isn’t one of them. Maybe at one point I might have been disappointed that real life wasn’t as exciting as a D&D game, but I’ve long since outgrown that mindset. The world is complicated enough as it is without adding that to the mix. Magic, sorcery, whatever you want to call it- it resides firmly in the world of fiction, along with technicolor ponies from a children’s cartoon.

The tail beneath the covers twitches as if protesting my comment.

My eyes wander to the stallion’s image once again, zeroing to the pointed cone of a horn poking out from the mane covering his forehead. I reach up, rubbing at the same spot with my free hand. Oh god, if this keeps going, am I going to have a horn too?

My stomach drops, a new thought emerging from its descent. Forget the horn, Stygian’s a stallion! If this keeps going, am I going to…?

Nope. Nope- focus on something else, Percy.

I close the wiki tab, opting for ol’ reliable- Twitter.

The usual memes, personal gripes, and pet images pass me by as I scroll, but for the most part, people on my timeline are all abuzz about some explosion that happened at a bookstore in Seattle late last night. It was some small, boutique place selling first and limited edition stuff related to TV shows, movies, and other entertainment-related media Hell, I think I even stumbled upon their website a while back when looking for decent copies of the earlier editions of D&D rulebooks for my collection. Police haven’t determined a motive yet, but people are already screaming ‘terrorism’. I understand their perspective, but personally, I don’t buy it. What kind of terrorist blows up a super-niche bookstore in the Pacific Northwest while no one is there? I mean, I’m glad no one was injured, obviously, but terrorists don’t usually care about preventing deaths if it means their point gets across. Eh, maybe in the coming days someone will claim responsibility, likely alongside some lengthy manifesto explaining their goals. Like my condition, it’s an up in the air ‘wait and see’ thing.

Someone’s shared a link to the store’s GoFundMe, and I click on it. Donations have come pouring in since the morning, charitable individuals leaving messages wishing the owners the best of luck in rebuilding and recouping losses. They’re well on their way to reaching their set goal, which is good, because according to the campaign’s description, they apparently lost some incredibly valuable stuff in the blast. Some of the missing or ruined pieces include an autographed Wicked playbook, a first edition printing of Dune, a signed copy of the pilot script for Breaking Bad-

And a My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic show bible, complete with annotations and supplementals by Lauren Faust.

I scoff. Now that’s just mean, universe. Even potential terrorist attacks have to bring it up? Can’t I go five minutes without being reminded about that damn children’s television show? That Baader–Meinhof phenomenon is a real bitch.

I return to Twitter, but whatever enjoyment I typically get from scrolling the site just isn’t there. The words blur together on the small cell phone screen, boredom melting the images together into unrecognizability. Nothing feels interesting when your body is slowly betraying you.

Eventually, I give up on scrolling and put my phone on the nightstand. I try to nap instead, just to pass the time, but my body won’t let me. Every occasional twitch of my tail rips me back into consciousness. Its infrequent motions remind me that it’s still there, still connected to me, still mine. It’s just as restless as I feel, like it’s trying to expend all the nervous energy in my brain through its infrequent lashing. I can feel how it plays under the sheets, the hair-covered thing twisting and shifting under its soft, fabric confinement. The blankets rub against the thin limb, sliding against the unfamiliar and yet not quite alien appendage.

I don’t know how long I lay there, trying and failing to bring myself to do anything. I only know it must be hours by the way the sky’s hues warp beyond the windowpanes, overcast grays flaring into oranges and pinks before deepening into inky black. Shadows creep along the wall, stretching wider and taller until they engulf the room in their encompassing darkness.

I can’t bring myself to get up and turn the light on. In the embrace of the shadows, where I can’t see my tail wriggling under the covers, I can almost convince myself I still look normal.

At long last, my body surrenders to sleep, and I dream.

* * *

Star Swirl stomps his hoof. “Your reign of terror ends here, Discord!”

Discord yawns, fanning his mouth with a paw. “Bo-ring. Honestly, do you know how many times I’ve heard that in the past twenty four ho-”

The bearded stallion snarls, a beam of light lancing from the tip of his horn. The magic blast strikes the draconequus in the face, and he yelps, lifting a hand to shield himself. “Agh! I wasn’t done my speech!”

I bound up beside the unicorn, eyes narrowed. A blue light engulfs my horn, and I fire my own surge of magical energy towards the beast.

Discord begins to giggle as the light strikes him, hand still aloft in defense. “Stop! No! That tickles!” he wails. He writhes in place, feigning discomfort before dropping the act. “You seriously think your little light show is going to do anything? Not only am I immortal, but you don’t have the Elements of Harmony- without those, you’re useless!”

Star Swirl steps closer, the aged pony’s horn glowing brighter. “You forget yourself, Discord. Our magic predates the Elements that turned you to stone!”

Discord stops laughing, his amused smile twisting into something wry, derisive. “And yet it seems those thousand or so years in Limbo have made you rusty. It took me no time at all to deal with your crystal gardener friend.”

Before anyone can ask what he’s talking about, he places his lion paw under his chin. A cloud leaks out from his ears, forming a fluffy white thought bubble. “Ah- here we go. Watch!”

A scene forms on the surface of the thought bubble, playing out in vivid detail. The Crystal Empire’s gardens lay in ruins, the gorgeous, ornate sculptures Mistmane prided herself on creating shattered and strewn about. Cackling, Discord smashes a particularly large blossom made of quartz with a conjured baseball bat.

“Discord! What are you doing?!” Mistmane’s familiar voice demands. The unicorn mare trots onto the scene, furious.

“Who, me?” Discord asks. He holds the bat behind him, putting on an innocent face. “Oh, I was just redecorating, that’s all! Some of these crystal formations are sooo last season, y’know?”

“You put them back this instant!” the Pillar of Beauty orders, eyes narrowed.

Ther draconequus exhales histrionically and tosses the baseball bat aside. “Alright, fine. I’ll fix it,” he says. “Here. I know just where to put that big one I broke!”

With a snap of his claws, the massive quartz flower reappears above Mistmane’s head. She only has time to look up and gasp before the crystal sculpture crushes her.

The light from Star Swirl’s horn flickers, then gutters out. “Mistmane!” he cries. His voice is fractured and frail. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that shaken before- not even before he sent us all into Limbo.

Discord’s lips press into a pout, and he waves the cloud away with a rake of his lizard fingers. “Oh, don’t be so glum, Mr. The Bearded. She didn’t have much left in her anyway.” A chuckle rumbles in his throat. “And, let’s be honest, neither do you. After all, aren’t you ponies several centuries past your expiration dates?”

A scream tears out of my throat, and I push my magic to its limits. Beside me, the gray unicorn joins me once again, the bells of his hat jingling as the force of his firing magic whips up a gale. My head pounds as the blue light surges brighter out of my horn, my hooves straining to keep myself upright.

Discord waves, an umbrella spawning in his grasp. He holds it out in front of him and spreads it open, our beams bouncing off upon contact. The draconequus hums to himself as the attacks reflect, inspecting his nails with his free hand. One of the beams fires back at me, and I duck just in time to hear it hiss over my head.

My heart plummets into my stomach. Oh, Tartarus, what have we gotten ourselves into? He hasn’t even broken a sweat!

“He’s too strong!” I despair. “Our magic isn’t doing anything!”

“Aye,” Rockhoof growls, “But I don’t need magic to batter em!” He bursts forward into a full gallop, head down as he charges toward the monster.

Discord snaps his fingers, suddenly clad in a flashy matador outfit. He tosses the umbrella, replacing it with a materializing red cape that he waves about wildly. Nostrils flared, Rockhoof chases the cape, spun in circle after circle as Discord twirls around.

Star Swirl nudges my barrel with his hoof. “Meadowbrook and I will go left. Stygian, you go right,” he instructs. “We must attack him from all angles.”

My horn finally dims, and I nod.

The three of us gallop toward the occupied draconequus, forking around him. Discord can’t focus on attacking all of us at once, and he definitely won’t be paying attention to me. I need to get at him from a different angle- see if there’s a gap in his defenses. As we flank the chimeric monster, I let loose another blast of magic from my horn. Out of the corner of my eye I see Star Swirl doing the same. Meadowbrook, on the other hand, pulls potions out of her saddlebag, hurling them at the menace.

I’m giving everything I’ve got, another skull-shaking salvo of magic bursting from my horn. I can do this. I have to do this. Star Swirl and the others are counting on me. I can be the hero I’ve always wanted to be. I can avenge Flash Magnus. I can avenge Mistmane. I can avenge Somnamb-

Visibly bored of the constant spinning, Discord drops the cape over Rockhoof’s head. Blinded, the massive stallion cries out, galloping blindly until he trips over his own hooves-

Towards me.

Though my horn lights up again, I’m too exhausted from my previous magic assault to soften the impact with strategic telekinesis. Rockhoof bowls into me, sending us both tumbling. I squeeze my eyes tight, but it does me no good; I can still feel the world whirling, up and down, up and down.

The rapid somersaulting only stops once we collide with a tree. With the rate we were going, I’m surprised Rockhoof didn’t knock the thing over entirely. I open my eyes with a groan, pine needles raining down onto us both. A few sneak their way into my nostrils, and I sneeze.

I roll off the larger pony, my hooves shaking. It still feels like I’m spinning. I can faintly make out the sound of Star Swirl crying out in a panic for Meadowbrook.

“Stygian,” Rockhoof rumbles behind me. I turn in time to see him rising to his hooves and shaking off the red cape. “You’ve got to get out of here. Get as far as you can. Warn the others. We’ll hold him off for you.”

Betrayal strikes me like a hoof to the face. They still don’t trust me to help them. The divide between us deepens like an opening wound, just as painful. They still don’t think I’m cut out for this. They still don’t think I’m good enough.

I shake my head and stomp my hoof. “No! You came asking for my help- I can help, let me help just this on-”

He doesn’t let me finish. With a rough shove of his head, he pushes me back in the direction we’d come. Then, he forces me onto his massive snout, jerking his head upward to launch me into the air.

“Rockhoof, please-!”

By the time the words leave me he’s already shrunken dozens of feet beneath me- and getting smaller. I soar over the evergreen treetops as the battle rages further and further behind me. The world whips past me, tearing the air from my weary lungs. My hooves kick and flail but find no purchase.

Finally, my forceful ascent stops, and the descent begins. My stomach flips as I lose altitude, like it’s plummeting slower than the rest of me. I curl myself up tight in preparation for imminent impact, my hooves clamped tight over my eyes.

I’m falling.

I’m-

The ground rises to meet me, and darkness engulfs my vision.

* * *

My eyes snap open, greeted by a similar blackness.

Another dream. Another Stygian dream. I rack my brains for the specifics. I wasn’t one to rewatch episodes, but I feel like I’d remember a scene like that from the show. Was that a bit from the finale, maybe? I haven’t watched it since it first premiered, and other stuff has pushed the specifics out of my brain, but I swear I recalled something about the Pillars happening after Twilight was blasted by Discord. Stygian was probably there too, just so the creators could say they didn’t forget about him.

I glance to the window. It’s still dark- either it’s late at night, or early enough in the morning that the sun hasn’t risen. How long was I out?

I grope awkwardly over the surface of my nightstand before my fingers find my phone. I pull it over, blinding myself with the screen as I turn it on. I wince, ears swiveling. Ow. I stare at the lock screen in a still-sleepy haze, vaguely registering the presence of the time- 4:53 - and several missed text messages. I unlock the phone to check.

Sure enough, they’re all from mom. Just a few texts hoping for me to check in, then another text asking if I got the first few, before a final concession opting to let me rest instead, but not without reminding me to send her a message if I need anything.

I put my phone back on the nightstand before turning on my lamp. It’s been a while; I should probably check to see if anything else has changed. Sitting up, I scoot to the edge of the bed and let my feet dangle over the side. I feel myself over, beginning to survey my form. When I go to check on my ears and hair, my fingers brush over a new obstruction, situated squarely in the center of my forehead.

I have a horn.

My digit prods the conical protrusion, and I’m surprised at just how solid it feels. I give it a light tug and wince. I knew it was going to be connected, and yet the firmness of the object still manages to stun me.

With the horn in mind, I feel over the rest of my face for a snout. Nothing. Check my arms for fur. Nothing. A peek inside my shirt reveals my breasts have vanished, taking the nipples with them. My chest looks bizarre without either, like I’m some living Ken doll. Fuck me, that’s weird. Aside from that and the horn, though, nothing else appears to have been ponified.

Maybe I’ll get a fuller picture if I’m standing.

Dismounting the bed, my hooves hit the ground with a clop.

My body goes rigid. Am I hearing things, or did my hooves just- wait, hooves? Why am I thinking about them as hooves? I don’t have hooves, I have-

I look down, swiftly greeted by evidence to the contrary. A pair of dark gray hooves present themselves at the ends of my legs- legs that look far less human than they did yesterday afternoon. My ankles have risen higher, as have my knees. To top it all off, the entire lower half of each leg is covered in a coat of light gray hair.

A coat. The realization pulls my new hooves out from under me and drops me back onto the bed. Oh my god, I’m growing a fucking fur coat. Like an animal. Like a pony.

My once sluggish brain kicks into overdrive. If I didn’t notice the fur and hooves at first, what else have I missed? I already have a tail, is there anything I could possibly-

I stare just below my waist, at the slight lump at the front of my shorts. The blue hair on the back of my neck stands up, my skin tightening with a wave of goosebumps. Oh, please, don’t tell me.

My hand takes an eternity to reach down. Slowly, I lift the waistband of my shorts and

and

Maybe it’s a self-defense mechanism, like my brain’s desperate to sleep off the shock of what I’ve just seen, or maybe the changes have sapped my energy in general. Either way, my head slams into the pillow, and darkness takes me again.

Five Score, Divided by Four: Salem's Lot

by Chicken Waffles

Foreshadowing

In the Dark

Chasing Shadows