//------------------------------// // Chapter Ten 【Twilight】 // Story: A Sparkle-ling Perfection // by Cast-Iron Caryatid //------------------------------//   I take a moment to double-check the bandage on my face through the eyes of my new ‘father’ before I can declare myself ready to go. Satisfied that the bandages won't be coming loose anytime soon, I return my vision to what my own eyes are seeing and flinch a bit when the image of my own rather adorable face is replaced with that of a grim and stoic stallion. Most changelings would broadcast at least a bit of amusement over the hive mind at that, but there isn’t even a hint of it. He wastes no time at all in bending down so that I can climb on his back and we can set off for school. On one hoof, it is a little frustrating having to go back to school now that we have Sunset Shimmer and a ready source of love, but on the other hoof, it's more important now than ever for me to maintain an identity, and, contrary to what some might expect, the curriculum at Meadowview Elementary School actually is moderately informative to me. Not only does going there keep me up to date on what other children ‘my age’ knew, but it’s also a source of knowledge outside of the hive mind, which is entirely the point of my existence. The trip to school is short and uneventful with exactly zero interaction between me and my new father. While poor form from a disguise point of view, this suits me just fine as I’m able to keep myself quite preoccupied with more important matters, such as considering Sunset Shimmer's assertions about what is necessary to create a true magically-adept changeling. It was an interesting subject to investigate. If anyling has previously suggested separating the horn and chitin then there is no record of it, though that isn’t entirely unexpected as the hivemind does not exactly do ‘records.’ It would be more accurate to call information stored in the hive mind memories and it tended to forget unimportant things such as failed proposals. So, Sunset Shimmer’s assertion was interesting and had not been disproven, but was it correct? It might sound naïve of me, but I hadn’t really considered what qualities the breed that I hoped to eventually birth might have to give up in exchange for the increased magical aptitude that it was my purpose to develop. Sunset Shimmer was correct in suggesting that simply separating the horn from the chitin would be the most palatable option out of the obvious ones, but there were enough hidden issues with it that I wasn’t ruling out taking more drastic measures. The most obvious issue with separating the horn from the chitin was that if they were separate, any disguise a changeling takes might not extend to the horn question. It would be a bit of an issue if I rebirthed myself only to find myself unable to pass as a pony. Not for the first time I wish that I had a proper test subject for my experiments, but as much as recent events have given our household some legitimacy in the hive mind, my work doesn’t actually manage to fall under that auspice and my resources remain as constrained as ever. In fact, the limitations I'm under will no doubt increase as Shining Armor’s role becomes more pronounced, and there are some who believe my work should be put on hold or cut entirely in order to reduce the variables of what has suddenly become such a high-profile operation. I certainly won't be able to rebirth him quite as much as I had originally planned, as any undue absences would most certainly be noticed by somepony. It is unfortunate that Sunset Shimmer is so adamant in her desire to be immortal as she would have made the ideal test subject—especially considering that the current issue is based on her criticism to begin with. I don't believe that anyling has ever actually rebirthed a nymph in her situation, so it would be fascinating new ground to break on a number of levels if I could actually get her to do it. My musing is cut short by our arrival at school and I'm relieved to discover that ‘dad’ at least has the presence of mind to perform an adequate sending off before leaving. I have privately questioned his appointment, but saying that I was overruled would imply I have any say in the matter to begin with. I do understand the desire to have at least one combat-capable changeling in the household, of course, but one would think that an entire hive would be able to produce at least one such willing changeling better suited to the role of Night Light, yet apparently only retired war veterans were shortlisted for the position. Go figure. Well, so long as he doesn't choose to live up to the name ‘Night Light’ by putting foals to sleep in too permanent a fashion, he can do whatever he likes; I have much more important things to focus on—like roll call, which is the first sign that something is very, very wrong. A chill runs down my back as all eyes turn to me when my name is called, accompanied by a burst of chatter among the students. After that first reaction, I remember my injured face and assume that it must be the topic which everyone is interested in, but it’s quickly discounted. If that were the case I doubt that it would be my name that would draw everypony’s attention, nor does their attention remain focused on my bandages any more than that of the ponies on the street. Nevertheless, I take the situation in stride, maintaining a stoic façade without succumbing to undue panic. The hive mind requests that I stop screaming over the link. “Present,” I announce and teacher moves on. The rest of the students are not so easily dissuaded and continue to feed me what I now recognize as admiration and curiosity, resulting in the next few students who are called requiring several attempts from the teacher in order to get their attention. Things finally become clear as soon as roll call is finished and the teacher's attention is diverted. The colt behind me nearly scares me out of my chitin when he leans close and whispers, “Is it true that you were foal-sat by the princess?” “What was it like?” the one to my left adds before I can even answer, and I'm saved from doing so to either of them by the teacher, who silences the entire class with little more than a stern glare and a rap of her yardstick on her desk. Ah, well that explains a lot and does allow me a measure of relaxation. From there, class is uneventful. I’m grateful for my habit of sitting front and center in the classroom as nopony will blame me for being on my best behavior and I can safely ignore any ongoing attempts to catch my attention. Instead, I'm able to split said attention evenly between the lesson at hoof and the more urgent question of what exactly to tell the rest of the students clamouring for a story when they inevitably corner me during recess. I eventually decide at length that I may be overthinking things in my panic. It should be simple enough to simply tell the truth insofar as the Princess Cadance knows it, the sole concern being whether or not to mention Sunset Shimmer. I would really rather not complicate matters by mentioning a relative who will inevitably cease to exist in a short while, but I don't think I have a choice given I have no idea what my audience knows, who their source of gossip is or who they'll disseminate any additional information to. As recess approaches I grow a little disgruntled that I have essentially spent two class periods deciding to do nothing in particular out of the ordinary and probably what the hive mind would have told me to do anyway. Nevertheless, I tell myself that there is value in going through the process myself and to do otherwise would be to betray my mission. I do wish that I could have instead spent the time on more important matters such as the horn-chitin separation issue, but I also admit that I would likely have been too distracted to concentrate on it anyway. As it is, even with more immediate matters on my mind, the recess bell startles me and I feel a gnawing nervousness as I start to gather attention once more. It’s minty with a dash of honey. Oh, wait, no, that’s not my nervousness. I wouldn't normally mistake the two, but distraction and a lack of attention have a way of confusing things and I have to admit that it is remarkably like my own. I remain distracted as the class shuffles out the door, jostling me as I search for the source of that strong emotion. I am surrounded by strong emotions, of course, but the vast majority of them—even the anticipation and curiosity I've been feeling all day—are not so strong or focused on me. The herd of ponies around me seems to naturally gravitate towards the old oak tree out in front of the school without the direction of any single individual, least of all me. Frustrated and unable to locate the source of the emotion other than to confirm that it's nopony in the immediate crowd, I'm forced to give up on the search and begin acting like I'm just as excited to tell my story as everypony else is to hear it. “Well?” says the same colt who had gotten to me before class, now practically vibrating with anticipation. “Is it true? Is it?” I match him with a bubbling joy which, as it turns out, is very much like I’ve forgotten to go to the bathroom. “Yes!” I beam, all teeth and smiles. “They didn't even tell us who they were sending; mom just opened the door and bam—there she was, standing right on the stoop!” “Was she wearing her crown?” one filly asked, while another jumped on the end of her question. “Wait—who didn’t tell you who they were sending?” I wave my hooves at them to calm them down, halting the flow of questions. “No, she didn't wear her crown, it was much more casual than that,” I tell the first filly. “And the foalsitting service who else?” “So, what, Princess Celestia just randomly goes to ponies’ houses to foalsit for them?” a colt asks, incredulous. “That's sooo weird!” “What?” I ask, cocking my head to the side in question. “No, no,” I say, filling myself back up with the pride of having done something even more rare and special. “It was Princess Cadance!” The synchronized wave of confusion and disappointment from the entire crowd nearly makes me nauseated, and it's a single colt in the back who asks, “Who?” My smile on my face falters a little. This is, of course, entirely the appropriate expression for the situation and not a sign of my own disheartenment. “Wha…? Princess Cadence!” I reiterate and clarify, “The princess of love!” but fillies and colts are already leaving, wandering off to make better use of the rest of recess after the revelation that it was a false alarm. Soon enough, only the usual fillies and colts that I hang out with are left. I'm honestly feeling kind of bad for Princess Cadence at this point—wait, no, it tastes like salt and watercress, meaning it’s my mysterious voyeur again—or would they be considered a stalker by now? That seems like something the hive mind should know, but I don’t bother, instead glancing around, searching for anypony out of the ordinary, coming up empty-hoofed. “So, uhh,” says Wind Tone, a scrawny white and green pegasus colt, grinding his hoof into the grass. “This Princess Cadence, she's like that Prince Blueblood, then? His sister or cousin or something?” “No!” I whine, making my face flush in frustration. “She’s an alicorn, just like Princess Celestia. She’s got a pink coat with a violet, magenta and gold mane—and yes, she has a wings and a horn just like a real princess!” The group all shares a round of uncertain looks accompanied by shrugs. “So she’s… Princess Celestia’s long lost sister or something?” asks Opal Drop, a calm, milk-colored unicorn filly with a multicolored mane who at least seems willing to give my story a chance. “No, I don’t think she’s related to Princess Celestia, and she’s definitely not long lost anything,” I explain, my irritation ratcheting up… because that’s how Twilight Sparkle the filly unicorn would act, clearly. “It hasn’t even been a year since she became an alicorn. She's only about my brother's age—that's why she's foalsitting. It’s not weird!” The look on their faces implies they think it is, in fact, weird. “So, what did you guys do, then?” Opal Drop asks. I stand there blinking. I should have expected that question, shouldn’t I have? “Foalsitting stuff?” I tell her, considering how to word the events of the night. “All we did was play board games and she cooked us onion rings to go with my mom’s peatloaf.” “‘Us?’” asks Silverwire, a slightly chubby mare who was the only earth pony in the group—and almost the entire grade. “Like, your brother was there too? That doesn't sound much like foalsitting…” “Oh, believe me, it sounds exactly like the foalsitting my sister does,” Opal Drop chimes in, making a gagging sound to make her opinion on it clear. “Usually she brings the colt, but if the job already came with one like Twilight’s brother, I guarantee she wouldn’t turn him down.” Sometimes I wonder about Opal Drop’s home life—then I remember that changelings in glass houses should not live in glass houses, because that’s dumb and prevents you from throwing stones, which is a basic form of defense. “Oh for—no, my brother was not there,” I say, officially perturbed. Well, he was there, but he was in the basement so it doesn’t count. “No, it was my mom’s sister who was with us; her name’s Whitewash ‘cause of her albinism—she’s got a white coat and white mane. She’s nnnnnn… okay, she’s not nice but she’s okay." “So your aunt was there…?” Silverwire asks, clearly confused. “That makes even less sense than the brother thing.” She looks at Opal Drop to see if she has anything to add, but the other filly just shrugs. “Well, I guess she’s technically my aunt, but she’s also five,” I point out. “So, you and your five-year-old albino aunt spent the night playing board games and eating peatloaf with the pink, violet, magenta and gold alicorn princess of love?” asks Opal Drop. “Twilight, um, we’re not saying we don’t believe you, but your story… could be more believable? Um, maybe if the alicorn princess didn’t sound like a cheap foal’s toy? Pink is really overused and nopony has that many colors in their mane.” What? “Opal, your mane is teal, orange, green and violet,” I inform her, as it is apparent that she is as adverse to mirrors as changelings are. “You have that many colors in your mane—and you’re pink, too!” She gapes at me. “You take that back!” she says, petulant. “I am not pink! I’m white!” “Technically, you're off white with a leaning to red,” I explain, matter-of-factly. “So yes, you actually are pink.” “‘Leaning to red?’” she repeats in a mocking tone. “That is such ponyfeathers and you know it; it's only ‘leaning to red’ if you use that stupid prism spell the teacher has that splits light into red green and blue—and even then it’s only by a few percentage points. Even if you’re going to be ridiculously pedantic, it should still be yellow or gold!” I don’t have time for a retort as that's when the bell rings for the end of recess. The bitter disappointment from my stalker is like sucking on a poison toad, but thankfully the emotion is not directed at me so I only get a whiff of it before it and the pony broadcasting it are gone. Well, that happened. The truth, I decide, is overrated.   I decide on my way back to class that the pony ‘Twilight Sparkle’ will be sulking for however long it takes the rest of her age group to eventually forget this little disaster ever occurred. Honestly, I’m at a bit of a loss to explain exactly how it came to pass. I'm aware that changelings are much more familiar with our leaders—such as we have them—than ponies are, but given how obsessed ponies seem to be with their first alicorn ruler, you would think that a second one would not have escaped public notice. I mean, there was a coronation and everything! I wasn't even there and I remember it! On a completely unrelated note, I admit the hive mind is useful for some things. That said, as the changeling Twilight Sparkle, I can only consider this a satisfactory—perhaps even beneficial result. While classes retain some value and I do need to maintain an identity, the requirements for that identity have changed; my need for friends has diminished and it won't hurt for me to be seen withdrawing and focusing more on schoolwork if I plan to get scouted as the princess’ next student without raising too many flags. Yes, that seems to fit together quite nicely; Twilight Sparkle is a nice, sometimes awkward filly who had a chance meeting with both princesses and gained their interest. Outcast when her friends don’t believe her about her encounter, she would feed her resentment back into trying to impress the princesses, gain official recognition and show her peers just how wrong they were. I was caught off guard recess, but this is something that I can work with… though maybe a little villain-y. It’s a work in progress. With that settled, I put it out of my mind and concentrate on class, finally getting back to spending occasional thoughts on the horn-chitin separation issue. As far as being unable to disguise my horn if it were separated from chitin goes, I suppose it wouldn't be difficult for my undisguised horn to simply have the appearance of a unicorn horn to begin with. It isn’t the perfect solution, of course. Even if a changeling’s horn could pass as a unicorn horn, it would still not be part of the disguise, and thus, would only ever be one color. This wouldn't be a problem for me personally, as I only need the one appearance, but I'm pretty sure that the hive would reject such a limitation being included in a caste as a whole. Correction, then; it’s not a solution at all. Ironically, it might yet be possible to convince the hive to allow changelings with no chitin whatsoever; changelings like me, who have a single appearance written into their genes and no ability to disguise themselves. It’s not that the hive mind requires a single baseline set of abilities, but that it is uniformly against imperfect and incomplete solutions. Even if chitinless changelings are an option, though, I think I can do better than that. Chitin, as it’s in use now, is quite over-engineered for the modern changeling. I might be able to reduce its profile and thus the magical drain that Sunset Shimmer mentioned. Doing so might allow precision without sacrificing the ability to disguise oneself, or it might be another incomplete solution that would be rejected. Alternatively, it might be possible to keep the chitin as is but disconnect or dampen it while a disguise is active, though this last possibility is more a wish for the future than anything I can actually work towards now since it would involve changing the disguise ability, which I'm doubtful I can do with the knowledge available to me. Time and time again in my brainstorming I come up against the roadblock that is my lack of somepony to experiment on. I suppose that before there was Shining Armor I had planned to experiment on myself, but I'm under almost as much scrutiny as Shining Armor is, and if Sunset Shimmer is correct, I wouldn't know what to look for in a proper horn anyway. I really, really need another pony, but I don't think the hive mind will let me have one. Would it be possible for me to make do with Sunset Shimmer? Well, yes, absolutely—but could I do it without going back on all the trust I’ve built with her thus far? I could delay things, certainly; ask her for another month or two just until I can get things ready for my first rebirth, but I don't need someone for just my first rebirth and I would sooner cut her loose than lead her on like that. I've gotten as far as considering the relative benefits of rebirthing my new parents while taking notes on equestrian history when class lets out for lunch. The minty nervousness returns a taste more muted than last time and I distract myself looking for its source just long enough to trip on my way out of the classroom. Pain splits down the crack in my face and I curl up on myself, trying not to scream—mostly to avoid letting any un-foal-like words out, because I’m definitely thinking them. Even so, the muted keening coming from my throat as I curl up into myself communicates well enough the pain I'm in. I'm not able to pay any attention to the crowd gathering around me for the second time today so I miss the adults taking charge and instructions being hoofed out. At some point, a snowball wrapped in a towel is pressed to my injury and I feel somepony my height leading me out of the room with a second set of hoofsteps on the other side of me. The second set of hoofsteps is no doubt Neon Delight, the singular unicorn teacher on staff. He’s a young, energetic dandy saddled with teaching the magical curriculum to the entire school and the only pony who could have conjured the snowball cooling my face. The pony my age opposite him, however, is the source of the minty nervousness—now stronger than ever under a heavy dose of strawberry concern. It was almost worth it going through this—almost—to find out who this pony actually is now rather than later. Now if only I could open my eyes to do so. I scrunch my face up harder as another stab of pain shoots through me—wait, no, stop that. Scrunching up my face in pain is exactly what I’m not suppose to be doing. Instead, I force myself to take slow, steady breaths in an attempt to calm myself down and relax the tension in my face. I mostly succeed, suffering only a few stabs of pain as my breath hitches beyond my control. As my face relaxes, I let my jaw go slack and move the snowball a little lower to ease the stress on my injury. Once that’s settled, I'm able to brace myself and open my eyes, immediately recognizing what would have been obvious if I had even thought to ask—I’m being taken to the nurse’s office. In fact, we’re just about there already. “Aha! Thank you for your assistance with Twilight Sparkle, Moon Dancer,” Neon Delight says, almost bouncing the final few steps to open the door to the nurse’s office. “Oh, hum, she doesn't seem to be in at the moment, would you like to stay here with Twilight while I check the teacher’s lounge? And is that alright with you, Twilight? How are you doing? Oh, don't try to answer that; just nod once it's okay.” I nod more enthusiastically than I probably should, and as Neon Delight walks away with a “Very well, then!” I finally get a good look of my stalker and stare, fearing I might have taken a stronger blow to the head than I thought. The pony standing beside me is me. Well, no, her colors are entirely different. Instead of my dusky colors, hers are more daylight-oriented, contrary to her name—a buttercream coat and a cinnabar mane with lavender and violet streaks through it. Colors, aside, though, she looks exactly like me in face and build all the way down to somehow possessing the exact same haircut as I have. If I hadn't been feeding on her emotions all day, I would have been sure she was another changeling making fun of me… or one from another hive making a move on my position with the princesses. “So, um, sorry—ah—t—this isn't how I wanted to do this, b—but I take it you've noticed?” she asks, stuttering as she self-consciously brushes a bit of her mane back out of her eyes. I have so many questions that I want to ask her, but all I can do right now is nod and see where she's going with this—find out what her angle is. “Ah—right, sorry,” she says, standing straighter. “I forgot—I mean—I didn't forget forget, it just slipped my mind since I've been wanting to talk to you all day I'm rambling now aren’t I? Sorry, this is just really awkward for me because there was already that whole stupid thing during recess and no one was even asking you about your injury which just seems really callous but that's not really why I wanted to talk to you and I don't want to be callous but I really really really really really kind of want to know if we're related because if we are, uh, I mean you wouldn't have to, but if you are actually family somehow… and… maybe you could… do something… about my situation…?” her voice trails off squeaky awkward mumbling and I feel a headache coming on. This is not what I need right now. Just… how could this have even happened? I personally created this appearance from whole cloth—or, well, strips of it anyway. There's always a chance that any random selection could be duplicated somewhere else, but the number of things that would have had to go wrong for me to run into some random pony who looks exactly like me attending the same class is mind-boggling, almost eclipsing the number of problems that this would cause me. Our records are immaculate, of course, with the princesses looking into our situation, but the hive would not appreciate it if it had to run interference for me over this on top of the mess we already have. I have to try very hard to not clench my jaw and cause myself more pain, and I don't entirely succeed. Okay, calm down, this sort of thing does happen from time to time. It's not unusual for ponies to suspect a relationship to a changeling’s disguise or for them to want something because of it; money, influence, an intervention in family affairs—it could be anything. The mistaken family member is not usually an identical pony, but I remind myself that that isn’t what's actually important here. What's important here is that I get this dealt with as quickly and quietly as possible so that I can go back to looking for some way to… to… I am an idiot. “Ohmygosh!” Moon Dancer shouts, rushing to my side to help pick my face up off the floor again. “Are you okay?” she asks, more than slightly panicked. “I'm so sorry! I just looked away for a second and then something happened and you were on the floor. I’ve been rambling on about my problems when I should have been helping you inside so you could sit down.” This is actually exactly what I need right now—Moon Dancer, that is; not the additional facial trauma that I just inflicted on myself. My karma is squeaky clean, so there's no way I deserved that. If… if I could keep this pony and get her into a nymph like Sunset Shimmer, then I would have a neurospast that could look just like me with a little effort. I could rebirth myself whenever I want without interfering with the rest of my life or bringing suspicion on my disguise. This is… it couldn’t be more perfect—assuming it’s not some trick, but how could it be? Nopony and noling outside of the hive should even know about my mission, let alone the complications that have come up. No, this has to be just the stupidest coincidence in the history of changelings; clearly the universe itself is rewarding me for my excellent, virtuous behavior. Now I just need to figure out how to convince this vulnerable filly to become my willing sla—err—voluntary test subject. As Moon Dancer makes good on her rambling and directs me to to a cushion in the nurse's office for me to sit on, I carefully work my jaw left and right a little to test my range of movement for additional injuries. Satisfied that I haven’t done anything permanent, I hold up my hoof to get her attention and raise an eyebrow to give her a questioning look. “Your situation?” I ask, minimizing the amount of talking I need to do, though it’s no longer terrible. “Oh Celestia, I'm doing this all wrong,” she mumbles, taking a seat next to me and withdrawing in on herself. “A—actually, could we just not talk about that? I shouldn't have said anything; I don't want you to think that I'm only interested because of that… and if you aren’t actually related to me, then it doesn't matter anyway.” She seems about to cry, so I shake my head and let it go for now. We sit quietly with Moon Dancer’s occasional sniffle breaking the silence and me… just sitting there slowly realizing that she isn’t going to stop. Inwardly groaning at the things I do for my mission, I scoot over next to her and wrap her in an awkward hug. This just causes her to cry openly, but apparently that's what she desires, as earthy emotions of thankfulness and relief wash over me. Ponies are weird. There is some confusion when the nurse finally arrives and immediately assumes that Moon Dancer is the one that needs medical attention. Privately, I think this is closer to the mark than the ponies will admit, but I know enough not to voice such an opinion; she certainly desires the attention, at least, medical or not. As for my own examination, the nurse is an earth pony, so all she can actually do is confirm that I'm not dying, give me a lollipop and send my ‘sister’ and I home with a doctor’s note. I try to object, insisting that I'm not too injured to attend my afternoon classes, but apparently my fall has begun another hairline crack at the corner of my eye socket and she thinks my parents should take me to see a real doctor as soon as possible. In other words, it's above her pay grade and she wants to take the path of least responsibility. I forget, initially, to also object to Moon Dancer being called my sister, but once it's clear that the nurse is sending me home and trusting Moon Dancer to get me there, I keep quiet, judging this turn of events to be the simplest solution which wastes the least amount of my time. Hive forbid they have to actually send somepony to get my ‘mom.’ Moon Dancer, too, does not object for reasons which I cannot guess. Presumably she is upset—as evidenced by the excessive crying—or perhaps she’ll just take any chance to get out of school like the rest of the useless wastes of space that clutter up my classes. Hopefully I can train that out of—err—enlighten Moon Dancer to the vast importance of education and learning. Regardless, we are soon on our way home with not one, but two lollipops between us, further convincing me that something is medically wrong with the incomprehensible filly—because why else would she have been given one? I cannot envision a medical professional violating the sacred ritual of treatment for candy. Candy for treatment? Whatever; it’s something like that. It only occurs to me after opening the front door of the house to find a soaking wet Sunset Shimmer, Sunset Shimmer's half-bleached neurospast and Twilight Velvet wearing a watermelon rind around her neck that I realize I probably should have included the hive mind in some part of the events since lunch period had started. Moon Dancer and I stare at them. They stare back at Moon Dancer and me. No one moves. I glance over at Moon Dancer, then back at the collected ponies with my best puppy-dog eyes. “She followed me home; can I keep her?”