Your bones ache and throb, but more than that, they give out a chorus of snaps, each with a blinding flash of pain. You collapse under the pony's power as it only grows worse by the moment. Try as you might, the magic refuses to be cast aside. Your hands ball in fists as hooves form over them. You can feel your bones reshaping under the hardening cap, but it hardly matters, you don't have hands anymore. You scramble at the ground, trying to get at the pony, or get away. You're not sure which way you're trying to go at that point, the agony only growing worse.
A tail slips free of your bottom in a fresh stab of pain and you can't help but let out a call of pain. The mare's eyes dart off as footsteps are heard in the distance. "Sorry," she repeats, bowing her head, then scrambling away, but her magic remains, changing you.
Your hair begins spreading, becoming short fuzzy in a hail of little prin-pricks as you grow a pelt of your very own. Your legs become shorter, matching your arms an your torso begins to balloon out into a barrel, losing all other definition. You are becoming a horse rapidly, no, a pony. Even your sight, narrowed as it might be in pain, changes as your eyes expand to fill your altered face. Your fuzzy ears twitch, which is a new sensation, turning to home in on an incoming sound.
Someone is sliding down the same ditch you are in. It's a police officer. He has a gun out, and it's pointed at you. "Easy there, little horse. Let's not do anything rash."
Little horse? You look back at yourself and see that that is exactly what you've become. The pain is starting to ebb, but that is what you are. You are a pony, an exact duplicate of the pony that made you that way, in the torn remnants of your human clothing.
"I've got the target," spoke the police officer into his radio as he kept his gun trained on you.
It seemed you were about to find out what it was like to be a captured pony.
Would you like to try again?