Beige did all as she’d been instructed. She spent the night in the castle, and her dreams were pleasant thanks to the interference of a certain Princess of the Night who asked no questions after her sister took her aside to explain things behind closed doors. Indeed, Princess Luna said little at all to Beige in the very brief time they’d been in the same room together. The most contact she offered was a lone, long stare that could only be defined as heartbroken.
That morning she awoke refreshed and ate what had to be the largest breakfast she’d ever seen. Every scrap and crumb was consumed as Twilight looked on, insisting that she’d need every ounce of energy she could get. She’d then been taken to a room near the top of Canterlot Castle’s tallest tower, on a floor opened to the outside by colonnades. She tried not to gaze down at the city below, fearing a bout of ruined balance might send her tumbling at the worst possible time.
Celestia hit her with a barrage of spells, so many that it took nearly an hour. By the end her horn trailed a thin wisp of smoke and Beige felt a strange tingling from hoof to eartip. At the outer edges of her eyesight was a curious shading that made everything not directly in her line of sight a dark blue tinge. Sound reached her ears at a lower pitch that made Celestia’s and Twilight’s voices seem deeper, and all noise was overlaid by a constant buzzing static. Twilight assured her that every symptom was normal and would go away once the process had been completed.
At last, when the sun had nearly reached its zenith, Celestia declared her ready. Ready for what exactly, she’d still not explained. She only asked Beige to stand at the center of the tower and brace herself.
Beige looked at Celestia and Twilight simultaneously, her eyes aimed in perfectly opposing directions. Noting their worried expressions, she asked, “So… whatever is about to happen, it’s perfectly safe. Right?”
Twilight shifted from hoof to hoof. “The spell’s perfectly safe. It’s what happens afterwards that we can’t vouch for.”
Beige crushed whatever second thoughts dared peek out of the back of her mind. “So what happens after?”
“You will be alone,” Celestia replied. “Where you are going, we cannot follow. When the spell ends, you will return here… if they are kind.”
Her ears perked. “They? They who?”
Celestia and Twilight shared an indecipherable glance over her head.
“They.” Celestia pursed her lips as her horn emitted a dim glow. “I’m going to cast the spell now, Miss Beaker.”
“Okay.” She bowed her head and tried to calm her heart. Why did she feel as if she were about to jump off a cliff? “How will I know when—?”
The humming static went from a quiet background noise to an all-encompassing roar in an instant. Beige covered her ears and tried to cry out, but her own voice was drowned by the sound. The world quickly faded into a hideous mixture of white and black, like a million tiny dots battling for supremacy. The tower had disappeared, along with Celestia and Twilight. Panic struck as she lost all sense of direction and orientation, her four legs flailing wildly but touching nothing.
And then her rump hit solid ground. The static winked away, replaced a wall of black. For a time, she could only sit in the void and try to grasp what had just happened. An attempt to open her eyes revealed she’d never closed them; the darkness was real.
“P-Princess?” She turned her head one way, then another. Nothing but black met her gaze. “Twilight?” The void seemed to suck up her voice, leaving her with the feeling of being in a truly vast space.
Though Beige could feel the ground under her hindquarters, the complete blackness made her doubt her body. She gave the dark below a few trial taps, then rose to her hooves with strained caution. Her pulse steadied along with her breathing. “I… guess it worked.” Another look around prompted her to quietly add, “I hope so…”
There was a mechanical sound like a great switch being pulled, and a spotlight came on a short distance away. Beige’s ears perked as a massive, thin rectangle was illuminated within the pale beam. Colored a uniform grey, it towered some twenty feet over her head and sported a string of red numbers that bore no purpose she could identify. Just above the numbers were what appeared to be holes for a speaker.
Beige got only two steps closer before a loud voice struck her ears. “I’ve told you before that I don’t like this kind of thing. It’s cliché.”
Confusion kept Beige from answering before another light came on, revealing another rectangle. This one was a soft blue and sported a different number, but was otherwise perfectly identical.
This voice was feminine. “She wanted to come. Why stop her?”
A third rectangle appeared, dark red and accompanied by a grim yet young voice. “Oh, please. You act as if these things can think.”
Beige retreated from the three… objects, only for her balance to betray her. She managed to land in a sitting position, but only barely. “W-what is going on?”
“I only want them to show some individuality,” the feminine voice countered. “You know, some character. It gets boring deciding everything for them all the time.”
“If we let them do their own thing, that’s just letting them live normal lives,” the first said. “In other words, exactly the kind of thing none of us are here for. Viewers want drama and action!”
The child-like voice piped in. “Or in this case, comedy.”
“What are you?” Beige shook her head and rubbed her ears, which rang from the noise of their loud voices. “Who are you? Hello?”
A fourth rectangle appeared, this one green and having the voice of an older male, patient and regal. “I still don’t like that we took away her ability to fly. What if we need her in the air, like Cloudsdale?”
“But it’s really not realistic to throw her balance out of whack and still let her fly, don’t you think?”
Another light, another rectangle. “I say she needs another kid. An older one.”
And another. “What possible purpose could that serve?”
“I dunno, might make for some good fanfiction?”
“So you’re just pulling stupid shit out your ass?”
“More or less.”
Beige wobbled in place, the voices a cascade in her skull. “N-not so loud.”
Another rectangle, this one with a whiny female voice. “Oh, oh, let’s make Luna fall in love with her! It’ll totally work!”
“Crackshipping. Pass.
“Besides, Luna belongs to Twilight.”
More rectangles were popping up by the second, a veritable forest of the colorful things babbling over one another. Beige covered her ears against the torrent of sound and closed her eyes. “S-stop. It’s too much. P-please…”
“Wouldn’t it be cool if she was secretly an awesome flier?”
“Pinkie and her need to get into a baking war.”
“Why does everyone insist LunaLight is a thing?”
“She still sounds too smart. I say we dumb her down more.”
“We don’t need Rainbow losing to the local retard.”
“Hey, I have an idea!”
“LunaLight OTP!!!”
“Hey, Governor, what’s up?”
“I still think Ditzy is better than Derpy.”
“Muffins vs. Cupcakes! Battle of the century!!!”
“If she did get with Luna, would we have to send her to the Moon at some point?”
“Lunalite SUX. TwiXie 4 the WINNAGE!!1!”
“Nobody wants to read your latest red ’n’ black alicorn story, dude.”
“Damn, one pony slips through and the builders blow up, amiright?”
“What if we made RD herself dumber? She can do stupid crap like imitate her friends in insulting ways.”
“Why do I still hang out with you morons?”
The voices smashed into her like a tsunami, overwhelming even her thoughts. Curled into a shivering ball, face buried behind her hooves, she began to sob as the racket pierced her eardrums.
“It’s alright.
“Hush. It’s okay, Beige. Just calm down.
“Come on. Come on. That’s it.”
At last, Beige realized the voice was aimed at her. The rush of noise had become just a background whispering, and she found she could at last hear her own thoughts. Rubbing the burning tears from her eyes, she raised her head.
The forest of colorful rectangles remained, as they’d always been. From the quiet rumbling, she suspected they were still going at it… whatever “they” and “it” were. Twisting her neck, she took in her surroundings once more… and yelped at the sight of one of the massive rectangles towering right behind her. This one was a pale grey and bore in its bright red numerals the number 000000006.
A gentle voice, almost motherly, graced her ears. “It’s alright, Beige. I’ve placed you in my domain for the time being. Sorry about the volume, they weren’t paying attention.”
“Wha— Wha-wha—” Beige pointed a trembling hoof at the thing, taking a few steps back. “W-what are you?”
The thing said nothing at first. At last, it replied in a hesitant voice, “They call me Wicked.”
Well, that name didn’t inspire any trust. Beige opened her mouth to ask another question, but paused. She tilted her head one way, then another. She turned it right, then left, then forward once more with a gasp. “M-my eyes. My eyes are fixed!”
“I thought you’d appreciate that,” Wicked replied lightly. “It’s pretty mean what they did to you. Not ‘Nightmare Moon’ mean, but still pretty mean.”
“They?” She blinked, then turned to stare at the rectangular forest. She was too busy trying to grasp this strange world to be angered by the revelation. “You mean those things messed up my eyes?”
“And your balance. And they made Chip hate you, too. And your job and your education. They’re still debating your name.”
That, on the other hoof, was enough to provoke her anger. “They did what? Why? What did I ever do to them?” The frustration only added to her confusion. She whipped around to face Wicked once more. “What are they? What are you? What gives you the right to screw with my life like that?!”
“Please calm down.”
“No, I will not calm down!” She spun to face the forest of arguing things once more. “Hey! Give me my life back! I’m a chemist, not a stupid mailmare! Do you hear me? Fix this or so help me—”
She’d been ready to charge her oppressors, but her legs abruptly locked up. Beige yelped and tilted forward, unable to shift her legs from their running pose, but then they moved of their own accord and carried her back to Wicked. Their motions were mechanical, and she could only stare at them with a sick feeling in her gut. When they stopped, she looked up at Wicked. “Did you do that?”
“I am sorry.” At least Wicked sounded sincere. “If you go too far, you’ll leave my domain and the volume will go back to what it was.”
She sat and wiggled her forelegs, relaxing as she found herself back in control. “Couldn’t you have just tugged on my tail or something? That was really uncomfortable.”
“Was it really?”
“Yes, it was!” Beige sat down and rubbed her shoulders, shivering as she did. “I’m in control. Me. You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t do. That’s… that’s wrong.”
Wicked was silent for some time. When she finally spoke, it was in a quiet, uncertain voice. “I don’t understand. How can you think that way?”
What kind of a question was that? “How would you like it if someone controlled your… your…” Beige paused to take in the giant rectangle before her. Her what? This thing called Wicked had no limbs. How was it even able to speak? “What are you?”
“I’m a Creator, of course.”
Beige’s ears folded back, and she shrank away from the massive thing. Her heart, which had only just gotten over her outburst, picked up its pace a little. “Y-you mean you’re a… a god?”
The rectangle emitted a long, drawn out hum. “I suppose from your perspective that would be accurate. I think a god would have a more interesting life than I do, though.”
A god. Beige was tempted to deny the admittance, but then, this was a being that even Celestia and Luna seemed to fear, and Beige had once thought them to be god-like. If this entity, and all those like it squabbling in the darkness beyond, could give the Royal Siblings pause, how was Beige to argue? But if that was true, then it meant that…
Slowly, her wings going limp, she turned to stare at the forest of rectangles beyond Wicked’s influence. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”
Wicked asked curiously, “A chance at what?”
To be a chemist. To have a loving husband. To fly with her baby and make great improvements for Equestria and laugh at the Doctor’s antics and… to just be Beige Beaker. Her eyes burned with fresh tears. As her legs turned rubbery, she slowly let herself drop to her barrel and sobbed. “Why? W-why are you doing this? I just want to be me!”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.” At least Wicked sounded sincere. “You are what we declared you to be. How can you want to be something else?”
Beige looked over her shoulder at the strange god, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. “But you changed who I was. What kind of monster gives a mare everything she wants only to take it all away?”
Once more, Wicked grew silent. When staring at it – her? – earned no answers, Beige turned her attention back to the mass of gods beyond. She strained her ears, trying to hear their conversations, but all she got was a convoluted mess. Now that she was paying attention, it seemed some had left, but others had newly arrived. Even now, she saw more of them appearing and disappearing in the dark. How did they manage to understand one another when so many spoke at once? It had to be maddening.
Then again, they were gods.
“You are the fourth one to come to us like this.”
Blinking, Beige turned back to Wicked. “I’m sorry?”
“Celestia. Discord. Luna. Now you.” Wicked’s tone had taken on a calm seriousness. “All claimed that they disliked the changes being forced upon them. It’s as if you were actually sapient.”
A fire bloomed in Beige’s chest. She climbed to her hooves and glared at the number on the great rectangle. “Don’t be insulting. We’re smart and opinionated and definitely, absolutely sapient. And we don’t like having our lives messed with as if we were toys for a bunch of overpowered children!”
“But you are.”
Whatever demand Beige had prepared in her mind vanished. Her ears folded once more and she took a cautious step closer. “W-what do you mean?”
“We made you, Beige,” Wicked said, as though she were a parent patiently explaining a complex concept to a child. “Your entire world. We created you so that our children could watch and be entertained by your actions. But there were certain things that needed to happen, things that weren’t developing on their own. Some among us decided to start pulling strings.”
“Like what?” Beige groused. “A klutz who can’t fly and who always walks into mailboxes?”
A strange, grunt-like sound emerged from Wicked, and Beige couldn’t help imagining a look of disgust on a pony’s face. “Actually, the things going on with you are because of a dumb mistake.”
Beige’s jaw dropped. “A mistake?”
“Yep.” With a sigh, Wicked explained, “There was a showing a while back where your eyes went derpy for a fraction of a second. The lazy lout manning the plot that day did it on accident. But lots of fans caught it and thought it was funny.”
A second passed. Another. “That’s it?” Beige pressed.
“That’s it.”
“You mean to tell me I lost my job, my career, my education, my respect and my husband because a bunch of five year olds thought it would be funny?” The very thought had her sucking down long gasps of air between bared teeth, and her wings had extended to their full width as she glared. “The ruination of my entire life, and maybe that of my foal’s, was for an in joke?”
A long pause. “Actually, they’re more like adult children. But yes.”
She raised her shaking hooves to her face, pressing them against her temples as she tried to comprehend this. But there could be no understanding. A joke. Her life was a joke. She threw back her head and screamed, just for the sake of giving her fury somewhere to go! She stomped in circles and kicked at nothing, roaring and cursing and snapping at nothing in particular. Tears burned rivers down her cheeks as she tugged at her mane and slapped at her face with her wings. She raged and bellowed and thrashed, desperate for something to hurt. Then her eyes settled on the giant rectangle with its big, emblazoned 000000006. She charged it, turned just before a collision and bucked with all her strength.
Kinetic energy jarred her legs like a hundred knives. The shock was so great that she promptly collapsed to her stomach. She lay there, blinking as the pain faded into soreness… and then began to laugh. The tears kept coming, and even so she laughed hard and long.
“Beige? Are you—”
“Kinetic energy!” She rolled onto her back, kicking at the air like a foal. “Kinetic energy, kinetic energy, kinetic energy! You took all my chemistry lessons, but I still remember that you bastard! I’ve still got a little Beige left in me, so hah!” And she laughed some more, rejoicing in this one tiny victory.
There was no telling how long the fit lasted. When it finally died, Beige simply lay on her back gasping for air and feeling lightheaded. “I needed that,” she croaked. “It’s the l-little things.” She stared up at the blackness. Really, that’s all that existed. No sky, no stars, no clouds. Just an endless abyss of black. It seemed so… empty. It fit in perfectly with how she felt.
Her sulking silence was finally interrupted by Wicked’s gentle words. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Story of my life,” Beige grumbled.
“No, I mean… you were never supposed to be intelligent.”
“Well, congratulations!” Beige clapped her hooves. “I hope you’re happy with the milestone. Must be nice, screwing with ponies’ lives for your friends’ adolescent entertainment. Aren’t you a big god.”
“I’ll have to talk to some people. If I get the right Creators together, maybe we can get a consensus on how to fix this.”
Beige let her arms flop back to her sides, hardly paying attention. “That’s nice.” Then Wicked’s exact words struck her, and she shot to her hooves. “Whoa, whoa, waitaminute. You can’t do that! Intelligence is not something that needs to be fixed! I like being able to think for myself.”
Wicked’s voice took on a placating tone. “You misunderstood. Please, calm down.” She waited for Beige to begrudgingly settle to her haunches before continuing. “If you’re intelligent, that means you’re alive. Once or twice, I was willing to believe it was a really smart creation on our part, but after so many times I have to believe there’s something more going on. That’s… that’s amazing and puts all of this in a new perspective. I need to tell people about this so that we can convince the others. It’s the only way to preserve what you’ve found.”
Ears shooting up, Beige felt the first sparks of hope. “You mean they’ll return everything to how it was? I’ll have my life back?”
“If I can convince the others,” Wicked replied hesitantly.
“Screw convincing them,” Beige snapped. “You’re a god just like them, right? Can’t you just flick your… eh, I mean, can’t you just make it happen?”
“It’s not that simple.” A long sigh emitted from Wicked’s speaker. “Your world was brought into being by a group of Creators. I am the only one left of the first group that started Equestria, and that makes me influential, but I still have to convince the forty-nine others now directly controlling your world. If we don’t get a consensus to let you ponies exist on your own, things won’t change. One moment.”
“Great, just great!” Beige kicked at the floor and snorted. “My entire life is dependent upon a stupid bureaucracy. It’ll take years for you guys to even decide that something needs to be done!”
Wicked said nothing, leaving Beige to fume. All this preparation, all this hope, just to discover that she was powerless. How could they be so… so ignorant? Was she nothing to these creatures? How could they make an entire world and not think about the consequences?
Yet, as the silence continued and her anger abated, Beige began to consider all that she’d learned. She was in the presence of gods, beings that even Celestia and Luna wouldn’t dare oppose. To keep this a secret from the public… made sense. If Beige reacted so negatively, the masses would likely be no different. Equestrians probably couldn’t handle the idea that they had no control over their lives. She certainly didn’t like it.
These… creatures would decide her fate. The idea left a pit in her stomach. Her only chance of getting her life back would be to convince them to allow it. But how did one convince such a powerful being to do anything at all? She had nothing to threaten them with, no item to bargain. Promises were moot since they could force her to do whatever they wanted on a whim. For that matter, she could offer them nothing that they likely couldn’t create entirely on their own.
They held all the cards. She had nothing. She would never be able to convince them of anything.
In the truest sense of the word, Beige was powerless.
The weight of this realization pressed upon her like a tidal wave, slowly forcing her to her knees, then to her barrel. She could do nothing – nothing. Her love life, her career, her baby’s future on the line, and she was as useful as a piece of cardboard. Why had she even come here? What was the point?
A deep, baritone voice interrupted her moping thoughts. “So this is what everyone’s fussing about? She seems like a regular, run-of-the-mill pony to me.”
Beige’s head jerked up. Wicked had been joined by three more of the strange rectangles, which now surrounded her on all sides. She hunched down, abruptly feeling like a gnat who faced squishing. “H-hello?”
The one on the right, a dark green with the number 013302006 on it, emitted a young male voice. “Hey, what happened to her eyes? They’re supposed to be all messed up.”
The deep voice came from the one on her left, a maroon rectangle sporting the value 000077129. “Wicked, you know you aren’t supposed to make changes without the Board’s permission.”
“Relax, BG,” Wicked replied casually. “It’s just to make her more comfortable while she’s here.”
The final voice came from behind Beige. It had a dainty, pleasant quality to its feminine tones that defied the nature of its words. “We’re worried about their comfort now? For Pete’s sake, Wicked, it’s a pony.” Beige glanced over her shoulder to find a rectangle colored in a mix of pink and yellow streaks, its number a glowing 331015890.
“It’s a thinking pony,” Wicked corrected with a bite in her voice.
“Not another one,” Green grumbled. “Celestia and Luna were one thing, and Discord I can kinda get, but it getting ridiculous.”
“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about the implications of our creations gaining free will?” Wicked asked.
The pleasant-sounding one gave a laugh that was as musical as it was cold. “Free will? Is that what you call it? We could wipe away her smarts with just the push of a few keys.”
“No!” Beige leapt to her hooves and faced the colorful box. “You can’t! What’s wrong with me being able to think for myself?”
“Well,” BG said thoughtfully, “she certainly sounds independent, especially considering how she’s supposed to be.”
Now Beige rounded on him. “But I’m me. Why would you want me to be anything different?”
“The kids think it’s funny.” The level of disinterest in Green’s voice sent a chill running down her back.
“My life is not a joke!” She focused on the colorful one yet again. “I have a foal, a husband, a life! You can’t just take that away.”
“Sure we can,” she replied without malice or condescension. “We made Luna go nutso for an interesting story arc. Why are you any better than her?”
For all their calm, the words slammed into Beige like a box of bricks, dropping her to her haunches. “Y-you… you did what?”
“She went kicking and screaming,” BG added, though his manner was more hesitant than the others. “Yet no matter how much she and Celestia fought it, they played their roles. I doubt we’re going to let you be any different just because you’ve got a kid.”
Wicked let out a sound that might have been a growl. “I did not approve of that decision, as I’ve said countless times before. These creatures are starting to have their own lives. Who knows how many we’ve screwed up because of ratings? I’m not going to support—”
“Oh, put a sock in it, granny,” Green snapped, his voice taking on a snide quality. “This ain’t your show anymore.”
“Apache,” the pink-and-yellow one said in warning. “Be respectful. Wicked has more claim to the show than any of us.”
“Agreed,” BG said. “But her fate is still up to the Board, not Wicked.”
Beige’s ears darted about, trying to keep up with the voices as they quite literally spoke over her. She was beginning to understand a little about personalities, and suspected that her best bet would be to try convincing BG to side with Wicked. The other two were clearly not going to be easy to convince. With this in mind, she turned to the giant maroon rectangle. “Can you convince this ‘board’ to give me back my life?”
“Why should we?” Apache asked. “You’re just intellectual property.”
“I am not!”
Wicked’s voice snapped like a whip. “Stop tormenting her! Even if we end up unable to help her, you don’t have to be mean about it.”
Seconds passed as the other three said nothing, and Beige had the distinct feeling of tension in the air. Just when she started to wonder if she should speak up, Wicked went on in a calmer, kinder voice. “I’ve called the three of you here because you’re the most influential members of the Board. I’ll need your help if we are to convince the others to give Beige her life back.”
Beige promptly turned her eyes towards BG, not even sure if he could recognize her hope. “I won’t tell anypony about any of this, I swear! I just don’t want to lose everything I am.”
“Honey, your promise means nothing to us,” the kind-voiced one said. “We could just wipe your memory of this entire encounter.”
She opened her mouth to offer an argument, but her energy quickly sputtered out. After all, it was right. Had she not just made the same argument to herself a scant few minutes ago? Her ears folded down, and she bowed her head. Surely she had something she could use.
Wicked seemed to sigh. “FlutterPie, for someone who adores Fluttershy, you sure don’t know how to follow her example.”
“What? It’s called tough love.”
“Love?” Beige gawked at FlutterPie. Her pulse quickened as her hackles began to rise. With a snarl, she stomped towards the great big box. “Is that what you call it? Love?” She reared back and kicked at the flat surface, not so much as scratching its smooth finish. “I have a foal and a husband! You’re tearing apart my family!” Her hooves ached from the impacts, but she didn’t stop hitting. “My husband is Chip! My daughter is Pipette! Don’t you fucking talk to me about love when you obviously don’t know a damn thing about it!”
“Beige—”
She turned on Wicked. “Shut up!” With every word, she bucked FlutterPie’s giant wall, the impacts sending painful shockwaves through her legs. “Give. Me. Back. My. Life. You. Selfish. Witch!”
Then, without warning, she fell forward, her chin hitting the ground hard. Beige blinked tears away, uncertain as to whether they came from the impact or her frustration. Groaning, she attempted to… wait. “Why can’t I move my legs?”
Apache spoke up. “Violent, ain’t she?”
“They always get like that,” FlutterPie grumbled. “Remember how Luna reacted? Lightning bolts everywhere.”
Beige lifted her head to shout. “Why can’t I move my legs!?”
“I cut your control, of course.” FlutterPie sighed heavily. “It’s hard to think with you making so much noise.”
“You can’t do that!” Beige squirmed, trying to will some strength into her legs. “I’m not just some doll for you to—”
Sound ended. It wasn’t that she’d lost her voice, but that all sound quite literally ended. Beige paused, trying to make any noise she could, but nothing would emerge from her throat. But how could that be? She looked up to Wicked, hoping for an explanation, but received nothing. No matter how her throat moved or her body shook, only silence met her ears. Even flapping her wings failed to provide the ruffling of feathers. It did get her off the ground, but for only about three seconds before they became limp; she dropped like a bag of flour, legs flopping loosely.
Her throat constricted as terror filled her, like ice being injected into her veins. Had they done this to her? Were they even now having a serious discussion regarding her fate? No, they couldn’t! How was she supposed to defend herself if she couldn’t even speak? Her eyes darted frantically from Wicked to BG, the only two of the entities she could see from where she’d fallen. She tried to look towards Green, only to realize that even her head and neck were refusing to obey her commands.
I’m sorry, Beige.
She blinked. That sounded like Wicked. In her head?
Yes, it’s me. They’ve muted you.
Sweet Luna, they had done this to her! They really were gods, weren’t they?
We’re not gods. I know we might seem like it to you, but we’re not.
But they had so much power! Beige would have wilted were she not already a limp mass of worthlessness on the… ground? Whatever this blackness consisted of. Why had she ever tried fighting this? She should have just followed Twilight’s advice.
I am so, so sorry this happened to you. And Luna. To all of you.
Beige wanted to believe her. But if she really cared, why let all of this happen in the first place?
We didn’t believe it. Luna, Celestia, Discord… we thought they were the creations of a particularly capable Creator, that they only ‘believed’ they were alive.
Beige would have pursed her lips were she able. It seemed ‘intelligence’ was spreading, otherwise why would four different ponies have achieved it? For that matter, how exactly did she pull that off? If she really was nothing more than a storybook character that had gained sentience, how many others had? How would she be able to tell?
I’ve been wondering the same things, Wicked said, quiet and contemplative. It could be that there are dozens, even hundreds of legitimately intelligent creatures in Equestria, unaware of their uniqueness. I would love to do some research and find out the real numbers.
So what was stopping her?
Control. Remember, I am but one Creator among fifty. Any change, big or small, has to be approved. And a search for living beings amongst the puppets would certainly lead to big changes.
Ignoring the others – an easy feat, all things considered – Beige stared up at Wicked’s strange form. She wondered what would happen to her if the Board couldn’t be convinced to act. Wicked didn’t immediately respond, and that reaction draped over her like a heavy blanket. Was she going to lose everything?
She was. Somehow, deep down, she knew it to be true.
I have to agree. Wicked’s voice was soft, seeming to caress Beige’s ears. I am sorry, Beige, but I don’t think I can convince FlutterPie or Apache. BG may join me, but that won’t be good enough to sway the majority of the Board.
Though her body refused to obey her commands, somehow Beige still managed to produce tears. She tried to close her eyes, if only to pretend to hide from this bucked up place, but her eyelids refused to move. It seemed they’d locked her body up entirely by this point.
Her struggles ceased. If only she could go home and spend her last free moments with Pipette, while she still remembered who Pipette was. Before she died and that puppet, that… ‘Derpy’ came into being.
After some time of this brooding, Beige heard Wicked sigh. I may be able to do something.
Beige didn’t get her hopes up.
I won’t be able to stop them from making you into something you’re not, but I might be able to sway them into giving you a few things.
Gradually, Beige’s vision focused once more upon Wicked’s rectangular avatar. Curiosity poked its way into her depression.
I can manipulate things just a little. Perhaps, in the distant future when Equestria doesn’t have the attention it does, ponies like you can gain their independent will.
It took a moment for the suggestion to push through Beige’s despondency, but when it did she felt a small hope burning in the back of her mind. Perhaps she’d never be free… but could Pipette? Might her foal gain the freedom her mother failed to achieve?
It is possible. We can only wait and see.
It wasn’t a perfect solution… but it was something. Beige tried to smile. She would grasp that fragile hope and nurture it. Someday, perhaps when she was an old and worn mare, her little Pipette would know that her mother hadn’t always been a wall-eyed klutz. Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to get her through this.
I hope so, Beige. I really do. Wicked’s voice grew commanding. I will give you whatever hope I can. Tell me what it is you want most, Beige. Tell me the things most important to you, and I will do my best to see that those things are preserved by the Board. I cannot guarantee a lot, but if my name still holds any sway, then I should at least be able to do something for you.
Beige didn’t have to think on her answer.