//------------------------------//
// Chapter 10: Children of Worlds 
// Story: Sisters of Willowbrook 
// by Starscribe 
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The strange horse carried Derek from the room, the way she might carry a child. That was just as well—apparently that was all she had become. She couldn't read, couldn't describe her home, couldn't even say her own name. Maybe the rest of her memories were lies too.

The warmth and motion was enough that she stopped crying, eventually. Her legs stretched out along the pony's back, and she let the rocking soothe her. Not to sleep, though it might've done if they went much further.

It was only minutes until they reached another door, and the mare opened it. She didn't wait for servants this time, but instead twisted the knob along the wall. More oil lamps flared to life overhead, where previously they'd only been a dull glow. Was that even safe?

She found she didn't care just now. Old-timey houses couldn't have been that dangerous, or everyone in the past would've died. It only made sense.

"I can't imagine the stress you must be going through," Iris said. Suddenly Derek was lifting through the air, with forces bearing her up from all sides. The power was irresistible, but also only lasted for a second. It settled her gently on the floor in the center of the room. "Understand that my family are all faithful servants. Anything we can do to help you, we will."

I understand the words. But nothing else. She forced herself to nod anyway. She had to keep her head up. Derek wasn't a kid!

It would be hard to convince anyone of that, given a room like this.

The bedroom was easily as large as some apartments she had lived in, with an attached bathroom door already open to one side. Its walls were all the pink and purple of sunset, with stars and little flying animals painted on the ceiling. A four-poster bed was tucked against one wall, with fluffy pink blankets and steps beside it that would let even someone as small as Derek actually reach.

Everything else she might've expected from a period child's bedroom was here. Huge wardrobe, stacked toyboxes, little bookshelf of thick, squat volumes. She couldn't read the text on their spines, any more than she'd been able to read the text inside the library.

She caught herself hyperventilating, then looked away, back at Iris. 

The mare nodded once to her, gesturing around. "I hope you can make yourself at home here. I was always hoping somepony would come to live here, eventually. Can you think of anything you need?"

She twitched, glancing nervously at the dress on her shoulders. It wasn't just the plain brown fabric—it hardly matched the elegance of this fine home. But Iris wasn't wearing anything. Charlie had been right about clothes, not her. "Can you help me get this off?"

"Certainly." The mare didn't give it a second's thought, didn't delay awkwardly while she made up her mind. Derek felt a wisp of pressure against her back, a little like the one that lifted her off Iris. Then the dress slid to the ground around her, off her back and shoulders. She blushed, tucking her tail firmly between her legs. But that was mostly a reflex at this point.

"It wouldn't be safe to give you the vestments you deserve," she said, walking past her to the wardrobe. The doors opened of their own accord, and she gestured inside. There were tons of outfits hanging within, along with a standing-sized mirror attached to one of the walls.

The array of different colors and fabrics was almost enough to make her forget what had her so upset. Derek hurried over, then realized she was getting excited about dresses and stopped in place, a short distance from the open cabinet.

"Something like this might suit you, for the moment." Iris reached in, and something flew out from an open drawer inside. A bright bow, one in yellow to contrast with her mane. The fabric glittered like silk, and a few little white stones were set into the base. Were those diamonds? "This should help the servants realize who you are, even if they haven't been introduced yet. I'm sorry it's such an ill substitute for a crown. But it should work decently well at keeping that mane tied up."

Derek sat in place, silent as Iris worked it into her mane. After a few minutes of care, she finished by tying it up in a simple bun, with the bow to anchor everything together. "How's that?"

She tilted her head to either side, and no longer found the strands smacking up against her neck. She smiled weakly. "Better. Is this really all I need to wear?"

Iris titled her head slightly to the side. "Unless there's some occasion requiring otherwise," she said. "Perhaps there will be, when my husband arrives. But that could be weeks."

Weeks. Could she be trapped here that long? They’d think she was dead; they'd close her practice... everything would be ruined! 

She took a deep breath, as slowly and deliberately as she could. Her whole body was still shaking, on the verge of crying all over again. She took every motion carefully. "Do you think I'm going to be here that long?"

That was an innocent enough way to ask, right? She wasn't revealing her real intentions. Or anything about herself, for that matter.

Iris's expression was unreadable then. She straightened, then separated from Derek. "I don't know how quickly my sisters will move, Purple. But isn't this where you wanted to be?"

She froze, mouth twitching. The way she asked, obviously the answer was supposed to be yes. But if she lied now, Iris might not help her later. "I... I don't remember," she lied.

"Maybe you will." The mare retreated another few steps. "The servants will bring you evening meal in a few hours. I'm afraid I have other engagements that call me away. But we will speak again tomorrow afternoon."

Her friend's car was still sitting in the parking lot of a national park somewhere. She wondered if it had been booted by now, or maybe it was already towed. How long would it sit there before people started telling stories about them? 

Maybe I'll be a cautionary tale in the next version of that spellbook. I hope whoever finds it doesn't try to cast anything.

Before she could say another word, Iris backed away through the opening. She didn't look away, not even as the door shut behind her. Like she was leaving the throne room of a king.

Derek listened for the sound of a lock, but it didn't come. At least she wasn't being treated like a prisoner. Yet.

She circled slowly through the huge bedroom, taking in every detail. Any second now she should wake up, right? She'd be back in the real world, soaking wet beside a little waterfall in the middle of nowhere.

Charlie would ask if she'd shared the same hallucination about becoming a little horse, and she'd deny it. She'd throw the spellbook and all of her supplies into the water, or maybe burn them in dramatic fashion. And she'd never touch any of it again.

She stopped in the center, closing her eyes, and waiting for the dramatic transition. It didn't come. After a minute of standing there alone in the room, she finally opened her eyes. She was still on all fours, standing on a fine carpet in a huge room—and she was still a little horse.

She made it over to the bed, sticking her face as deep into the pillows as she could. "I'm not supposed to be this way!" she screamed. "I'm not a pony! I'm not a girl!"

She kicked and thrashed, turning the perfectly made little bed into a tangled mess of threads and pillows, barely even recognizable as a bed.

She was too weak to actually break anything. She could probably smash her head into the wall a few times if she wanted. But Derek resisted that urge. She was old enough to take her time with some healthy coping strategies.

After a while—she wasn't exactly sure how long—a pair of distant hoofsteps interrupted her isolation. Like it had in the library, the noise came from nowhere in particular, right through the wall.

There's another hidden door. She straightened hastily, sitting up in bed. There would be no concealing the mess she'd just made, but at least she could make herself a little more dignified. She reached up, straightening her mane with one hoof. Did horses even care about how she looked?

A second later, the wall opened, and a familiar figure stood in the doorway. A silver tray levitated in the air beside him. But he took one look at her in bed, and she could've sworn the little tray drooped on one end for a moment. Not enough to spill the glass of liquid atop it.

"I'm sorry!" he squealed, backing up a step from the doorway. "I didn't mean to wake you!"

Derek rolled her eyes, before flopping out of bed. She caught herself beside it, looking over at him. "I wasn't sleeping. I was having a tantrum."

"You were... what?" Little Risk froze in the doorway, before scurrying into the room. He ignored her this time, making his way over to the far wall, and the oversized table tucked there. He settled the tray, lifting its cover with another manifestation of impossible power.

There could be no doubt in Derek's mind that she’d found the source-world of magic here. Magic was so abundant that the aliens living here could use it as a substitute for hands!

"Your meal delivered," he said, nodding once to her. Unlike the deep bow he'd given to Iris, he barely even inclined his head for an instant before straightening up. He doesn't believe whatever Iris does about me, or maybe he doesn't even know.

That didn't exactly make him the perfect source of information, he still might report her questions back to Iris or someone else. But it also meant he might not know what he wasn't supposed to tell her.

“Can you answer some questions for me?" she asked.

He hesitated, glancing at the open hallway door. It led into the shadows, barely lit. There were no oil lamps beyond, or God-forbid electricity. Did he have a hidden flashlight somewhere? Or maybe he used more of that magic stuff to try and see things.

"Of course, miss..." He twitched. "What’s your name? Lady Vale didn’t say."

She tried to answer simply, by reflex. She was soon reminded of the things she wasn't allowed to say, coughing and choking painfully as the headache nearly toppled her over.

No, that wasn't a headache—that was a dagger shoved right into the back of her head, pressing until she gave up. This can't be natural. Something is trying to keep me from thinking things about Earth. Why?

"I don't have a name yet," she eventually said. It was easier to tell the truth to someone her own age, or at least it felt like he was. He wasn't much taller than she was. 

He dropped the metal cover onto the table beside him, mouth hanging open. "You don’t have a name? Come on, you don't have to lie! That can't be true!"

Since when did she care what little children thought of her? Yet Derek's ears flattened, her tail tucked firmly between her legs. She sniffed, and almost started crying again. But her defiance was too strong. She wouldn't give up the last of her dignity.

"Iris just called me 'purple'. But I don't think we'll keep it. I need something real. Something that sounds like..." She shuddered again, and this time didn't even get close to the forbidden territory.

The pain was so intense that she avoided it instinctively. Pavlovian conditioning took so little time. Even if there was a magical gun to her head, they wouldn't have to keep it there for long. Just enough to break her sanity.

"My old name. The one I... forgot."

"Well that's sad," he said. "What made that happen?"