Fragment the Second

Something’s changing. I can feel it. A rumbling deep under my hooves.

I put my wrench down and wipe the grease off my cheek. The pipes can wait a little longer, I think.

I head for home, turning left at the corridor that usually leads to my bedroom — and I stop short. What was my bedroom door four hours earlier is now an elegant spiral staircase, carved from white Canterlot marble. As I peer upward, I can hear the distant grind and click of stone. It’s still growing.

I feel the smile spreading across my face. Alright, old girl. What’ve you got in mind this time?

And I start the long climb upward toward the newest floor.