//------------------------------// // 19. What I Want // Story: Dear Small Pony Book // by Carapace //------------------------------// Dear Small Pony Book, I am afraid I can offer no real apology for my absence of late. I know it has been a couple weeks. Nearly a month, actually. But I should think it acceptable given the … weight? Gravity? Gravity, yes. I like that word and how it sums up the situation. I like gravity. You know. Until it tries to bring me down. Anyway. The gravity of the situation was not lost upon me, even though I am nowhere near the smartest changeling in the hive. And it was that situation which has plagued my mind since that morning. Since my hosts told me they felt it beneficial to my development both in terms of intellect and social life to attend a pony school in my natural form. I trust I need not go into too much of an explanation as to why the mere thought made my instincts shriek in terror and demand that I run and run far and fast until the glittering tips of the Crystal Palace were naught but pinpricks fading in the distance. Just … consider, if you will, for a moment what it might be like if you were among some kind that feared and likely hated you. And not among those in Ponyville who either accepted you on word of their heroines or held you at length with a bit of unease  worn plain upon their features. And remember that you were raised knowing that ponies would consider you a monster the instant they saw your face, but now you were asked to— Er. Forgive me. I had a bit of an episode as I wrote that. Unfortunately, it seems that while my dreams are—as Princess Luna and Shining Armor said—lovely and fanciful and a wonderful thing to imagine and fight for, considering the actual notion of … er … you know. It’s enough to render even a fool of a changeling such as myself a panicked mess. One of our few natural fears save for an enraged dragon, a kirin, or the bat ponies’ hunts. It is that fear which has gripped my heart and mind every waking moment since, as well as having crept its way into my dreams. Not to mention, it sent me searching for somewhere to hide and retreat into the shadows high in the rafters and archways of the Crystal Palace to find some sense of familiarity in my surroundings. Being hidden is natural and good for a changeling. Being the center of attention, stuck in the middle of a crowd of ponies is, most certainly, not. So that is why you and I are currently hanging upside down from the ceiling right above the archway, in case you were wondering. I do not think this will be too much of a problem, as I am quite versed in drawing and writing in this position. Pharynx made certain of that, as it made scouting easier. And, as said, it is a familiar position. One of comfort, oddly enough. I could stay up here all day and barely move, no one would notice unless I didn’t show up for dinner. The perfect way to mull over my options. I could hardly say no. My hosts had clearly put a lot of time, thought, and effort into this. And not just they. I was quite certain they’d enlisted Princess Twilight, given that I could rather distinctly recall seeing that accursed folder on the train to Ponyville and on her table. It would be rude and ungrateful, what with all they’ve done for me since Spike brought me out of my cave. Yet … I had to rest you on the arch for a moment, I hope it wasn’t too cold. I did not want to drop you when I felt my hooves beginning to tremble. Thank you for your patience once more. You are ever the excellent listener, my silent friend. I love my hosts. I love them so much. That, I feel, is important to note before I say that they simply don’t understand about us. About me. Truly, I feel terrible for saying such, as it’s not at all their fault. They’re trying. They’ve been trying harder than most ponies would. Still, they don’t understand what they’ve asked me to do here. What going to school as myself would entail. Just what sort of reactions would that garner, I wondered? Would they be like the foals in Ponyville? Curious, eager to surround and appraise me, and full of wonder? Or perhaps like the adults, who watched me from afar with plastic smiles and ears perked to listen out for any terrified shrieks of their town’s young which were sure to come. Or would they hide beneath their desks, quivering in terror? Or might they simply run screaming? All possibilities. All too likely. Frankly, I was fortunate in Ponyville and in my interactions with the staffponies at Canterlot Castle. In reality, they should have been horrified at my presence. More importantly, I remembered the fear which swept through the city when they learned of my presence. The First Mother knows how much trouble that was. And how much it would trouble me now. Just how might it feel, I wonder, to be rejected and forced to flee back to the comfort of the palace? Rejected by a bunch of ponies my age? Do you hear the sound of tiny wings flapping or is that just me? “Tora!” Tiny hooves wrapped around the back of my neck before I could turn and swivel my head about. Flurry Heart giggled and squealed, clinging to me as she hung and kicked her little hooves as she flapped to keep herself aloft. “Hang with! Hang with, Tora!” I had been discovered by my overlady, in case that had not been made clear. So, now, I sit here with her showing me how to properly rule over her domain of tiny plush ponies as I write what transpired while we hung from my hiding place. That she was even able to locate me came as quite the surprise. Her parents had failed in that endeavor for weeks, mostly because they did not think to check the ceilings or within the actual branches of trees outside. They underestimated my sneakiness. Yet my overlady knew me well. Or, rather, the way she looked about at random because of her lack of any real attention span served her well in finding anything, no matter whether or not she should find it. Like hot oatmeal. I set you down upon the arch once more and caught Flurry around the waist before she could slip and fall, then tugged her up to sit upon my belly. “You do like hanging with me, don’t you?” I asked with the tiniest of smiles. Who ever could resist that face? She giggled and leaned forward to plant a sloppy kiss on my nose. “Yes, hang! Hand ‘n hide, Tora!” Indeed, my overlady knows me well. Sighing fondly, I ran a hoof through her lovely, bouncy mane and drew in a little sip from the endless fount of love residing in the little filly. She giggled and squealed, delighting in the tingling sensations the filled her chest and squirming belly. It’s almost funny how she’s come to enjoy the feeling. Were I to feed upon a normal pony as I have her or her parents, I would have left them utterly exhausted, barely able to move a muscle. A little sip like this, though, would’ve been fine, but that the Royal Family had grown so accustomed to it that they likened it to tickling was quite surreal. Especially knowing what happened to those who were drained dry. They loved me so. She loved me. Me. Not Crystal Hoof or any of my old disguises. Their love was for me. Thorax. For that, I must count myself lucky. I closed my eyes and let my smile falter. Days spent fretting, worrying over all the possible ways this school idea could go wrong weighed heavy upon my mind. Enough to persist through even the sweet taste of cotton candy, caramel, and bubbly foalish laughter Flurry’s love always brought. “What do I do, Flurry?” I asked softly, hugging the filly close to my chest. “Everything I know tells me this won’t end well—this can’t end well.” Alas, wise though she was, Flurry held no answers for me on the matter. Though, she did consider that gravity I’d mentioned with a solemn frown which displayed a sense of magnanimous contemplation beyond her years. Then, she mushed my cheeks with her hooves and blew a raspberry, giggling at how my face must have looked. Truly, she would be a wonderful leader someday, just like her parents. For she, like they, did not simply give me the answer I desired. She did not tell me the way things were or were to be, as my mother would have. I would have to fret just a bit more before the answer would come to me. That way, it would be my decision and mine alone. I subtly shifted my facial structure to allow my overlady to smush and mould it as she saw fit, drawing a sudden gasp of wonder as she set to work exploring the new game I, her favorite changeling, had given. Anything to make her smile. Yes. That was what I wanted. Not just her. Someone to see my face—my real face—and my smile, and be willing to come close all on their own and sit with me. And hug me. And smile back. I had my hosts, of course. But changelings are greedy, Small Pony Book. We’re always hungry. We always long for more. I, too, long for more love. I, like any changeling, like any pony, long for someone to be at my side. Sadly, I don’t see how that or my  dream will ever be feasible. No matter how lovely either might be. It will remain in my dreams. Where it belongs. Where I shall cherish it as my own treasure.