Sanity terminated at the border, and it would be a while before Linchpin truly understood that. The majority for what remained of a lifetime, minus a few precious days of renewed thought.
Lucidity died when you crossed the shield: the dividing line between community and world. That which guaranteed the isolation of the experiment, because its creator would evenly state -- never insisting, because there was very little need to prove she was right -- that the madness was on the outside. Therefore, the best way to assist others towards true thought was to remove them from the lunacy for a while.
The unicorn...
...she'd said something once. Not directly to him, because she seldom spoke directly to anypony. To truly speak with somepony suggested that you were willing to think about the viewpoint expressed in their replies, and that meant Starlight didn't have a lot of actual conversations. Most of what she said turned into sounds which had been projected in the general direction of where a pony happened to be.
But the words would stay with Linchpin until his death. Perhaps because they hadn't been hers.
She'd read them once. She'd admitted that fairly early in the speech. Starlight did a lot of reading, because the mare wanted to learn. It was just that the majority of what she wanted to learn consisted of information which didn't exist. ('Shouldn't' was a significant subcategory.) Still, it left her rummaging through endless reams of scholarly studies: typically, she would be looking for whatever everypony else had gotten wrong, or the place where they'd made the wise decision to stop. Those were her starting points.
Starlight read a lot. (It was impossible to tell if she enjoyed it.) But it was just about all journals and studies and thesis papers --
-- with one exception.
The mare read thaumic fiction.
She didn't have much interest in the plots, and dredging up the names of multiple characters might have required a level of effort beyond that which Starlight generally reserved for committing casual atrocities. But she had some respect for the genre as a whole. Because the storytelling in thaumic fiction centered around taking the rules which governed magic and pushing at least one. step. further. And wasn't that exactly what Starlight was trying to do?
You never knew where a good idea might arise. And anypony who wanted to find one needed to be willing to look.
So she went through novels at high speed, searching for the new. (She didn't do a lot with fantasy, because that was where the rules had typically been fully discarded -- but she did turn pages now and again, because inspiration and madness were two sprigs off the same branch.) And she did locate concepts which she found interesting. That which didn't exist in reality yet, and obviously it was going to be somepony's responsibility to fix that.
Typically, she searched for innovation. Dreams of thaumaturgical advancements. But the creation of the community had required some degree of acknowledgement for the social sciences. And with Starlight, that was very much like having somepony who'd been deaf since birth taking an interest in orchestral composition. She could measure the vibratory rate of each note as it resonated across her fur. Studying the patterns made by dancers was a simple matter. But when it came to understanding how it all felt, when the core of the information arrived via a sense which had never been hers --
-- she'd found the concept in a published tetralogy of books (out of an announced seven, and the other three weren't coming) about alien invasion. Something which happened on the environmental level, triggered by a force which was trying to remake the world in an outsider's image, and Linchpin would eventually decide she'd missed that bit of commonality. And there had been propositions for thaumic advances in those books, here and there -- but it was the social bit which had gotten her attention. Because the ponies in those books were being trained to fight the invasion. Something which required teaching them to think in new ways. And once she'd read about it...
(She'd credited the author at the start of the talk. To do otherwise was to demonstrate some rather poor standards.)
Picture a fish, she'd said. (There were always a few fish in the community's shield-sliced section of lake.) It's born in water. It will swim there for the whole of its life. Existence in a constant, fully-surrounding medium. And given that the water is always there, has been present since birth and, for many forms of ocean-based demise, will still be there at the moment of death -- does the fish even recognize that the water exists?
It's like ponies and air. The atmospheric ocean is present at all times. You breathe it in. You must, in order to exist at all. But how often do you acknowledge its weight? At sea level, it's a fifth of a bale across every strand of fur. Forever. Ponies push against that mass every day, and do so without truly experiencing the pressure.
Because some things can only be recognized after they've been taken away.
The metaphor, as described in the book, was to grasp a fish by a tailfin. Lift it above the water. Make sure it can look down.
And then, if you theorized a fish who possessed the sapience level of a pony -- that piscine would see.
(The author had proposed that if you looked closely, at exactly the right moment, you would see a very surprised fish. Starlight hadn't believed that part. A fish's skull and muscular anatomy clearly didn't have the combined capacity for facial expressions.)
Drop the fish back into the water.
And, the author had said, what you'd get would be an enlightened fish. One whom, from the perspective of the perpetual swimmers, would appear to be crazy. Going around yelling about how this was water, they were swimming in water and there was something beyond it, something different... well, clearly that fish was mad.
No. It just understood one extra fact. The only way to make anyone else understand, to teach, to bring enlightenment -- was to take them out of the water.
And that was the community. The shoreline at the edge of an ocean of madness.
Linchpin, in the scant days he had before his death, the precious hours when the spackle had filled in some portion of the hole which had borne the name of 'Gez'... had considered that Starlight might not have told them the whole of it. And during his brief time in her -- workshop -- he'd risked a glance at the actual book. It had been easy to find, and she'd labeled the page with a color-coded piece of marker tape. The mare liked to check her references.
The author had, in fact, used that metaphor -- and kept going from there. Because there was an additional point to make.
You had to drop the fish back in the water.
Removal from the dominant environment, in order to finally see what that environment was? Yes. But that environment kept those within it alive. Permanent extraction would teach the fish any number of things, but most of them were going to be centered around what it felt like to stop breathing.
It could be argued that the community lifted ponies out of society's ocean. Let them see a few things from the outside. But by the time it did so, those residents frequently existed in a condition where they weren't thinking about much of anything. Or rather, they weren't doing so while using their own brain. Starlight believed that the surest sign of a pony who was thinking for themselves was their near-mindless agreement with anything she said. Perhaps those moments were a point of pride for her, if she was capable of feeling it. Knowing that she'd won a tiny skirmish in what amounted to a global war.
Still... perhaps the community lifted them out.
And then it kept them out.
So what died?
The jewels had flashed, and then...
Linchpin had never been teleported before. A sane earth pony would spend their lives trying to avoid it, because uprooting was one of the known ways to temporarily disrupt their connection with the land. Additionally, the duration of that severance was directly proportionate to the distance traveled, as were the accompanying nausea and disorientation. And to cross hemispheres...
He'd spent his first minutes within a new land in retching, collapsed onto verdant ground while strange scents filled his snout, the too-moist summer heat soaked into his fur, and he tried to think of a reason not to wish for death. Fortunately, one was close to hoof. His friend, who was going through just about the exact same thing, over and over, only while aiming the results away from Linchpin because that was just common courtesy.
His friend was a reason not to die, because Linchpin had to survive long enough to recover from the uprooting, get back on his hooves again, and then charge the big stallion down because seriously, nopony could have warned him?
Most of that had wound up being choked out. Eventually. The actual charge was put on hold.
They'd arrived within a relative clearing within the rainforest: still plenty of plants around, but there was nothing so dense that the force of exiting from the between couldn't push it aside. There had been no risk of recoil, and Linchpin was fully familiar with that. Abjura liked to talk about any number of things and the stallion had eventually started up a number of journal subscriptions because as responses went, smiling and nodding had started to feel rather faked.
The group arrived safely, and did so after Linchpin had gained more personal experience with the between than any earth pony ever wanted to acquire. But the two stallions had emerged in front of witnesses, and...
Sugar Belle, who had desperately been trying to render what little medical assistance could be offered by desperately panic-dressaging around the clearing while trying to make sure none of the vomit was being swallowed back, readily accepted the usual explanation: that there was a percentage of the population who just had bad reactions to teleports. (Having that percentage work out to roughly one-third never came up.) It was the same old story, and it held up just as well until the retching ended.
The pegasus, who was used to seeing the reaction, just monitored her spouse until he was ready to move again.
There had been questions. About where they were, why they'd just traveled that way, and Linchpin had even managed to get one in regarding device operation. Just about nothing had been answered. Excuses had been made, and the most frequently repeated was that they had to get moving. The reason for their journey was still some distance away, and they had to cross the remaining distance. Quickly.
So they'd traveled. And the world was strange, the season was wrong, familiar animals possessed odd colors...
The herd exists for a reason. Because any given pony will possess some degree of magic and if something happens, can potentially try to fight back -- but a single pony is vulnerable. There's strength in numbers. In unity. Work as one, fight as one. Win.
Most ponies don't think about that. They're born into an environment where the herd is, at most, a constant aspect of the background environment. That which creates the conditions for survival. And they grow up within the tiny pockets of safety represented by the settled zones, places so organized as to have the weather scheduled and leaves falling by calendar appointment. The vast majority will never leave the sheltered areas, and those thrust beyond the artificial borders will almost inevitably see the new domain as unnatural.
A single pony, lost within the unknown, may turn into a trembling, fear-paralyzed future victim. A weak, terrified member of a prey species which can do nothing more than wait for the fangs to descend. But the herd is a force. And when multiple ponies find themselves disoriented, lost within a world they never knew... they will turn to each other. Four traveling together through strangeness are much more likely to survive. To hold together.
Two Equestrians who'd just been pulled away from everything they'd ever known, in the company of a couple who'd done it all before.
The miniherd instantly sorted itself out.
The newcomers turned to the tall stallion and mare. Took their cues from that couple, took their strength. Listening to them, and them alone. That last had actually been going on for some time.
And it was all part of the trap.
Linchpin, in the last days of his life, would think about that arrival. The long trot through strange shadows and scents.
(It would take time before he remembered stepping over the carved-out thin circular ditch in the dirt. After all, any safe arrival point for a teleport had to be kept relatively empty.)
The community was an experiment. (A trial phase, the most advanced of its kind.) This indicated a certain need for -- adjustments.
Not everypony will be brought in exactly the same way. But there are certain commonalities. Isolate the experiment in all aspects, large and small. When it comes to new subjects? Put them in a state where they'll be willing to isolate themselves. And then...
They could have teleported directly into the community. But the fear is part of it. This is another level of uprooting. Take away everything the new arrivals have ever known, everything. Place them in a completely strange environment. Nothing familiar at all, where colors and scents and seasons are wrong. Only two (or, perhaps for some arrivals, one) ponies to rely on. A sole beacon of light, one buoy in the churning ocean. And watch as they cling tightly, hope not to drown...
Start in a place which brings terror. Force the new arrivals to travel through it. Make sure there's nopony else they can truly trust. You've already taken them out of settled zone and nation and so much of the environment which keeps them alive. Make sure the fear stays high. A few stories along the way can do it. Here's what we had to deal with before, but don't worry: we're almost sure it won't be coming back again.
Don't worry about keeping them out there overnight. They won't be sleeping well, but... when it comes to what the experiment is trying to accomplish, a touch of sleep deprivation helps. And having the experienced pair serving carefully-prepared food doesn't exactly hurt.
(His friend took the scarf back, on that first night in the rainforest. The climate was much too warm for it.)
Still, there's company, and that keeps the whole thing moving. But the new arrivals are going to be longing for community. For the sanctuary which can only come from the presence of a true herd.
And when they approach the true shield, when they see happy, smiling ponies coming out to meet them, with so many laughing in the joy which arises from a pure welcome... when they recognize that such contentment can only come from a place of safety, and this is the only place to find that protection...
Acclimation starts with the recognition of that safety.
Followed by the removal of all other options.
It should have felt stranger, shouldn't it?
It... did feel strange. So much of it did. But it was strange at the level of 'different' or 'a little bit off', when he clearly should have recognized 'abomination' from the start. Anypony who was thinking clearly --
-- but that category didn't include him. Linchpin had been prepared. Marinated in the liquid warmth of poison words, carefully planted within him by his last friend in the world. Somepony who trusted this, who felt it was good for him. And when the last pony he trusted spoke...
And perhaps there had been a spell.
...was there?
It would have been so much easier to accept that part of his fall, if there had been a working involved. Several workings. But he can't be sure. Maybe she cast something, and maybe she didn't. It's possible that there was something in his food. Dissolved into drinks. She might have tried that with a few, discarded the tactic with others. Adjusting.
He met her early.
He'd been told that she was in charge. More or less. That... she was the reason they were there. The reason they stayed, why it all worked.
She asked him to think of her as a friend.
At one point, she'd smiled. Something which had arrived on her face as a single unit, because she'd had a lot of practice with that particular smile.
And he hadn't thought of her as a friend. He'd seen her as somepony who was -- awkward. (Perhaps an overly-generous description, but generosity was a virtue.) A mare who had visible trouble in social situations had been installed as the effective head of the community: there was more than a touch of irony in that piece of design. But she seemed to be making an effort.
...if he hadn't been so disoriented... so desperate for stability... would more have felt wrong?
What had he thought of her, on first meeting?
He'd seen her as one of the more normal residents.
...she hadn't been dressed.
She wasn't his friend. Once true thought had returned, he'd started to wonder if she'd ever been anypony's friend. Friendship suggested the capacity for connection. Equality between participants wasn't mandatory, but there seemed to be a need to have something in common. Like sanity. Or species. Think about Starlight long enough and the question of 'species' would start to arise. There was a pulling void at the center of the community. Its false gravity held everything together and if he was going to describe it, then 'unicorn-shaped' was as far as he was willing to go.
Starlight wasn't his friend.
Everypony else tried to fill in the gaps.
Constantly.
Looking back near the end, thinking about that first night...
He'd had some questions, right from the start. And because he'd been relieved to find himself among ponies, to learn that his friend had brought him to something real... he'd kept most of them to himself. Basic courtesy.
Which hadn't kept him from bringing a few up with his friend -- once they'd reached the house. Because there had been an empty house, just waiting for him.
(It looked as if it might have had a previous occupant.)
...for them. His friend was going to stay with him for a while. Make sure he settled in. There were a few jokes about how their relationship might have to advance somewhat because Linchpin was now the main factor standing between the big stallion and sex with his spouse.
That brought out a laugh. But once that was done and the straw ticking of the twin mattresses had been thoroughly inspected for ticks, it had been time for questions.
"Clothists?" was one of the first, and the laughter had renewed.
"Maybe a few," the big stallion had told him. "Trying it out, here and there. You can try out whatever you want. Dressing up included. Make an outfit and go model it in the street."
The half-finished, improperly-built streets...
It was a new settled zone. Was this how they opened? Linchpin didn't know. Ponyville had been started before his birth, the first desert settlement wasn't quite ready to go... Maybe streets just needed some time. And not just that: it was a new settled zone on a different continent. Even with the miraculous teleport devices in play, delivery of supplies was going to be an effort. A full supply of something so basic as paving stones could be a year down the road.
(The government had to know ponies were here.)
Maybe that was why they were waiting to bring in children. Even with the shield, things weren't safe enough yet. The adults had to pave the way.
"I can't sew."
"Ever try?"
Clothing could be viewed as building a drastically-weakened structure layered over an ever-flexing foundation. Linchpin didn't think he could design for that lack of stability.
"I probably couldn't do worse --" was meant as a joke.
The big stallion's expression had calcified. Instantly locked into offense.
"Don't make fun of what they make," he said. "They're trying. It's more than what most are ever going to do."
As tones went, "Trying new things," carried more than half a note of apology.
"You can try anything you want," a fast-defrosting stallion told him: the little grin came in at the end. "Anything and everything."
"Everything?"
"As long as it doesn't hurt somepony else. And you should probably try to avoid getting hurt yourself." A light shrug. "I don't recommend cliff-diving off the tepui. But if you're really in the mood..."
The next words felt as if they'd emerged on instinct.
"I could fix up some of the buildings,"
Softly, "Don't."
"I saw them," Linchpin instantly protested. "I know it's not your mark, but some of it was so blatant... I'm surprised everypony can't see it! They're holding up, but if you really want to make sure that --"
"-- who's talking right now?" his friend quietly asked. "You, or your mark?"
Linchpin, half-curled on the uneven mattress, had briefly gone silent.
"...I'm not sure."
"Which answers the question."
He'd winced. Managed half of an abashed nod.
"I know what you're seeing," the big stallion had placidly told him. "Little faults. You know what that's called? Honest effort. It says that ponies are trying.' A little more quietly, "Trying anything and everything, just like when we were kids. Seeing what fits, what's fun. Doing more than some pattern in our fur says we should do. So let them try."
He'd thought about that.
...all right: he could keep silent for a while. Unless he saw something potentially fatal. Or very directly and personally uncomfortable. There were things which could be done with the bedroom, and most of them needed to be finished in a hurry.
Try everything...
"I heard somepony call out to you earlier," Linchpin finally said.
"I'm in and out."
"Only they used two names," the smaller stallion added. "Yours, and then after you didn't turn immediately --"
"-- nickname." His friend grinned. "I did say something about not having to bring your name, remember? You'll get one eventually. Stick around long enough, and it'll be more or less inevitable."
The new arrival nodded. Carefully examined the next question, turning it over in his head a few times.
It would be a query made of an earth pony. His friend would understand...
Very softly, "I didn't hear the orchestra."
Silence briefly radiated from the neighboring bed.
"No. You wouldn't have."
"I didn't hear you. Not once we were inside the shield. I couldn't find your instrument --"
"-- I shut it down," the big stallion calmly said. "The Effect. The whole thing. I was going to wait a little while before I asked you to do the same."
Carefully, "Why? We passed the farms. The crops are coming along, but a little passive help --"
"-- did you see any pegasi flying today?"
He'd frowned. Thought about it.
"No."
"Any coronas? Did one horn ignite?"
Immediately, "Sugar tried to unpack a few things at their house before we came over here. And Starlight --"
"Sugar's new," his friend told him, "and Starlight has to manage a few things. But for the everyday stuff... we're trying to participate as equals. The pegasi here... they find out what it's like to have soil under their hooves, and the unicorns remember what their mouths are for. So when it comes to the farming? We don't show them up. We all try. Take away the magic, raise the effort. Level ground."
He was trying to picture it...
But they could fix things --
-- I could fix --
-- who had that thought?
Quietly, "What's it like? To work without it?"
With a soft chuckle, "I won't lie to you. Trying to solve some of the little problems without using magic? It's the most frustrating fun you'll ever have. Charging into a wall headfirst and when the pain starts to be too much -- you'll look around. You'll spot the community, all charging at your side. Once we all hit it together, the wall goes down. And the answers we get -- they work for everypony."
His friend fully faced him. Large forehooves pressed against each other.
"Answer me something?" the big stallion asked.
"If I can."
"Who's Linchpin?"
The tones had been so serious...
"An earth pony --"
"-- yeah, welcome to the club. What else?"
"Canterlot's least-eligible bachelor --"
"-- who ain't in Canterlot and might not have to worry about the rest of it for very long. Keep going."
"...an architect."
Silence, set off by a smile so thin as to approach a frown from the other side.
"You were just waiting for me to say that."
"To see how long you'd stall on it," his friend admitted. "So answer me this. Who's Linchpin when he doesn't have to be an architect?" The forelegs spread out to the sides, hooves shifting away from each other. Opening possibilities. "Comes down to it -- who's Linchpin, when he doesn't have to be Linchpin any more?"
And there was only one answer to that.
"I don't know."
With a sudden, huge grin, "Want to find out?"
"Yes."
Perhaps the raw enthusiasm of the answer should have surprised him.
If he'd been thinking...
But there were ways in which he hadn't truly thought for himself for some time.
"You sounded just like a colt there," his friend grinned. "You know that, right?"
"Um," was the best an abashed new arrival could offer.
"Good. That's the goal," the warm voice clarified. "Let's try to stay there for a while. So get some sleep, young colt. Dream about tomorrow. About doing anything. And when you wake up -- that's when the dream becomes real."
They both settled in to sleep. It took longer for Linchpin. The little wriggles wouldn't stop.
"And when it's time to go back?"
"Trying to sleep here..." came the soft mutter.
"What happens when it's time to go back?"
"If you don't decide to stay?" Sleepily, "You can leave whenever you want to. Tomorrow, comes down to it. Or the day after that. The one after that. But I'm hoping you'll give it a full chance. It took a lot to get you here. Don't..." The big stallion yawned. "Don't waste it..."
In time, the soft snoring began.
The new arrival didn't sleep for a while. Colts waiting for a Hearth's Warming present generally didn't.
Try it.
Try anything.
If I don't like it, I can leave tomorrow.
He'd been prepared. Carefully, because it could take a lot to bring a pony so far. But... true conversion -- full belief -- that took time. Starlight might have even recognized that. It was part of why there was a community in the first place. For support. Because she wanted ponies to think in a new way. Hers. And thought patterns, repeated over and over, formed a groove. A rut. Somepony had to pull the new arrivals out of it.
So there was always somepony around.
He had the first night with his friend. And after that... well, the big stallion stayed in the house for a while. But not too long, because he hadn't spent time with his spouse and Linchpin didn't want to get in the way of that. So there were nights away, then days, and then...
...there were other friends.
Or at least, there were always ponies around. Constantly. Checking on him, asking him to join in on some bit of community effort or another. They chatted with him, tried to find out how he was adjusting, brought him food and made sure he stayed hydrated and just looked after him. The community kept themselves so busy with looking after him that at one point, he found himself standing over a toilet trench and suddenly realized it was the first time he'd been alone in a week.
...he thought it had been a week. He hadn't been sleeping much. Because the community was trying to create something new, and all they asked of new arrivals was that they join in the work. Whenever such was asked for, regardless of who was doing the asking. And they worked hours which had no permanent allegiance to Solar or Lunar shifts. If somepony decided to check on the crops at night, then somepony else needed to carry the light. It wasn't very much to request...
...he wasn't sure he'd slept more than two hours at a time in...
...the food was -- not good. Leave it at that. But it was free, and working on the farms meant he got to nibble at the raw stuff. That was clearly the best option. Anything he was given tended to be a little too high in sugar, low on real vitamins. Food which kept ponies awake and moving until they fell over, all at once. It wasn't the sort of food which was good for thought.
His friend still made sure to mix him a few special drinks.
(There were times when Linchpin saw somepony approach the big stallion, with what felt like the familiarity of an old acquaintance. Those contacts tended to be short.)
He was kept busy. But none of his work was on buildings. And when he thought about that too deeply, his hips would twinge. He wasn't cooperating. Working, but not the right kind of work, and his mark didn't --
-- there were always ponies to speak with. Certain topics of conversation were raised more than others, and he was no longer shocked that a few were coming up at all.
They always seemed to know when the hip pains were starting.
They would approach. Slowly, almost timidly. Ask how he was doing.
If the other voice was trying to talk.
To hurt him.
They cared, when the mark did not.
He learned a number of names. Initially, every last one of them felt odd. He tried to work a few out, asked some of their bearers what they meant, and always got the same answer. A name didn't mean a thing. It meant a pony. Wasn't that better?
He began to accept that.
He seldom saw Sugar and when he did, she was with somepony from the community. Not always his friend's spouse, who was spending a decreasing amount of time in the young unicorn's vicinity. Letting the community take over. Because the community looked out for ponies. For new arrivals, and each other.
Everypony was so happy. Friendly. It wasn't the same as 'kind', but...
His friend wasn't around as much. There was a new source of external bracing. Something which was meant to be mutual, because it was a community and they all held each other up. Hooves pushing against each other with equal force.
They were... supportive.
They were happy.
They were different in some way. Something deep in him understood that. But they were happy. Whatever the difference was, it made them smile. And they tried things and they encouraged him to join them and there were always ponies around to speak with to the point where he barely had a moment for hearing an internal voice. His or any other.
They... loved being here.
They seemed to love just being.
The last thing he'd loved on that level was a blueprint.
Imperfection was everywhere. It showed that ponies were trying. Ponies. Doing whatever they felt like, instead of what the other voice wanted. Imperfection started to feel... precious. Books were self-published (and Starlight's were dry, purely academic, with no attempt at reader connection), concerts amateurish, and he didn't laugh at the results. He just wondered how he would go about doing it.
The tomorrows began to blur.
Ponies, as a prey species, can find it easy to fear the different. The unnatural, or whatever they choose to see as such. They're sapient, and anypony who can think is generally going to wind up thinking about how many problems they have and how difficult it is to actually solve them.
What does a cult do?
It gives the problems a source.
It tells you that everything wrong in your life comes from that which the community can control. That the community has the answers, and they'll be happy to tell you about them because they know you need somepony to speak with. They speak with you all the time. It's not as if you're going to hear anypony else.
They're supportive. They look out for those who might not believe yet, because there's a part of every pony which wants to believe the herd is right and if these are the only ponies around you, then this has to be your herd. It's similar to the way a dictatorship's citizens talk up the laws of their country, only with more smiles.
There's no real crime here. They police themselves. If they see anything happening, they report each other. They betray each other, for the benefit of the community.
They know their new arrivals are, on the deepest level, confused. It's a tragedy. Much of the world suffers from that confusion, and those victims don't even know how badly they've been hurt. A good portion of the planet has been taught to believe pain is normal. But everypony here was confused once, and then they learned how to think. Or how to let somepony else think for them.
A cult offers to solve all of your problems. Because everything in your life comes from something which the community can control. A cult is about fear of the other, and once they both define what that is and how to escape it...
...except that this other is lurking within. Forever waiting for a chance to strike, to think for you or worse, instead. A second voice, a potential enemy, a parasite which you have to carry with you forever, where there's only one escape...
...
...two.
How long do they wait before the overalls begin to come off? Something over a week. Time filled with talking about possibilities and explorations of self and the adventures which come from treating life as an endless opportunity to try out the new. They wait until they're sure the fresh arrivals are ready for it, and they also wait until after Linchpin and Sugar have been given some exceptionally strong drinks. And once they're sure it's time, that first sight of bare fur --
The concoctions do their work. Both ponies manage to stagger back to their respective groups after a mere ten minutes, having rinsed away most of the bile.
Neither runs. Asks to leave, because they're free to leave at any time, just as long as they never actually do. The shield closed behind them. Perhaps if they tried to head out, it would close around their necks. Or... hips. Instead, they think about the ponies they've met since their arrival. Ponies who are living -- differently. And what's happened to them -- been done -- so many would see that as a waking eternal nightmare, but --
-- they smile.
Why wouldn't they smile?
They're happy.
They're a herd.
And now it's the new arrivals who don't match.
Peer pressure. Silent, subtle, and insidious. The pony mind wants to be part of a group. That's where the safety is.
The -- love...
The stallion of the two new arrivals... when he first came here, he'd asked himself some questions. 'Why is everypony dressed?' was on the list. Now he has part of the answer, and...
...he tried to adjust another's blueprint the other day, on instinct, and the look of pity...
...hauling more weight at the farms than a unicorn would? Just gets him a unicorn at his side, trying to pull the burden. He shouldn't have to do it alone.
He's seen part of the answer. It leads to another, perfectly natural question: one which he manages to get out without gagging. How was it done?
They tell him.
And one of the first things he's told is that it's reversible. (He'll get to see that for himself, when his last friend goes into the world to meet somepony new.)
If he wants to just try it... to go back...
...any time he wants... any time...
...maybe even tomorrow...
And they talk about all of it with him, deep into a sleepless night.
Nopony asks for a decision immediately.
...on the bright side, now that the clothing is off, sex is available. Almost free for the asking. However, it's understood that the true commitment is the community. And if a stallion and mare want to be together, they need to say so. To each other, and then to Starlight. The unicorn provides the herbs. It's not time for children yet.
Also, everypony can splash around in the lake again. He apologies for having held that up. Especially in summer.
But when he's with a mare... with anypony at all, at work or out in the streets or trying something new... he doesn't match. He doesn't fit in. Easiest stallion in the community to identify: he's the one with the mark.
(His friend, with nothing currently left to hide, has put the burden down for a while.)
He's... different.
If he wants to try...
It's not stepping down to their level in the name of equality, because there are ways in which the community is starting to feel superior. It's an invitation to taste true freedom. To learn what he could be, if he had the chance to make a new decision.
The decision not to have a mark.
(For a little while.)
(The last stage of the fall starts when he tells himself it's for a little while.)
But even with all of the talks, all of the caring -- he's hesitant. Unsure --
-- Sugar is going to do it.
There's a ceremony of Freedom. Starlight acts. Sugar cries, then she laughs, the others crowd around her, and then she's Nira.
Nira is happy.
Nira is loved.
They've kept him away from working on buildings. On the architectural level, some of the structures are little chambers of horrors, and they're chambers which need better support beams. But nopony wants an overseer whipping at their work. These are hobbyists operating on a life-sized scale. He's trying things too. Farming has a certain appeal. Making outfits is still beyond him, but he's pieced out how a loom works. And...
...he's been trying to get away from himself. That's why he came here.
The mark insists. He tries to ignore it. And it feels like the urges are weaker -- but they're still present. Waiting for their chance.
He can make them go away. (For a while.)
Take a vacation from himself.
If anypony truly knew... they would understand, wouldn't they? To just see what it's like, to effectively possess the soul of a child with the experience of an adult. Exploring a new way of life.
Starting over.
No limits.
A new path.
(So much of it was built on lies.)
He wants to be different. Somepony other than himself.
They're different and they're happy.
They do what they love.
What does he love now?
...he doesn't know.
He wants to love something.
Somepony.
And if he can change that most fundamental thing...
It's a decision which might lead to love.
...may have already led to love.
The community wants to truly love him. He knows that.
If he wants to take the final hoofstep towards acceptance...
Family...
Starlight asks him the question.
He says yes.
One of his last living thoughts came to him when he was trying to push his way into concealment within the bush.
Some of them must have said no.
It takes a lot of work to bring a pony so far. It certainly did for him. And even after all of that effort, he still recoiled. Was sick for a time. But then he listened. And nopony ever blamed him for the initial reaction, because Starlight said it was how society had taught ponies to react.
He was asked to think it over. See how those who had shed the burden lived, and then... make a decision.
It was presented as a choice.
What happened to the ones who said no?
It might have been a rhetorical question. He'd already been within the workshop.
But he suspected that very few had made that decision. The herd was strong. Powerful. Insidious. And the experiment had been running for some time. Galloping down the answers to so many of Starlight's endless questions -- but he represented a query which had already been solved.
How do you shred a soul?
When it came to the actual act, the answer was built around an eldritch, unnatural core. That wasn't going to change. But when it came to the full process... Starlight had worked out a rather simple solution to Step One.
You get the victim to volunteer.