Log, Entry 13:
I am broken.
Surely I must be. I have been studying Lyra intently for the past few days, trying to understand what it is about her that must be my purpose. I have confronted her on waking, standing close to her, watching her while she moves and speaks. I have tried to understand the things she says beyond their words, and responded as best I am able, to keep her interest. I have even tried sharing a meal with her, though I turned my head and spit the disgusting green mush she served me out into the potted plant behind our table.
Today, she hugged me.
I felt nothing.
That’s not true. I did feel something, but it was not right. I know, regardless of what platonic feelings she may have had for my host body before I arrived, that there would be some degree of love in her. All ponies have it in them. It’s akin to the reminiscence of companionship I wrote on yesterday: they exude it like a sickening sweet fog, so much sometimes that the air is hard to navigate. I have contented myself with rations for fear that feeding openly would expose me.
But when Lyra hugged me, I had my chance. I could have fed. There should have been energy on her, like a perfume.
I felt sick instead.
When her limbs wrapped around me, they reminded me of my exterior—the veneer coating my shell. I could feel the skin and organs shift around my skeleton again, and it made me ill. I had to pull myself from her to run, and only just made it to a closed room before I expelled a hefty volume of biomass. Even then, Lyra lingered. She said to me that she was concerned. She was sorry. She made a joke as I hurled a sluice of green liquid into the cool porcelain bowl that I was resting my head on.
Even then, her words should have been a portion of sustenance. The affection in them should have carried in the air between us.
It did not feel the way it should have.
It felt like something my body wanted, but I did not. I felt a sweetness in my frame’s response, but inside, only revulsion.
I am worried this may prove a critical failure in my mission. If I am reacting to affection the way that ponies react to it, it seems that my proper form is rejecting my acceptance thereof, and rejecting it in a quite literal fashion. I am not sure how much closer I can get to Lyra if this is the nature of my response. She will catch on... but then, she has already caught on, hasn’t she? She never commented on the changing of my voice. Once or twice I have slipped into different registers around her, faltering because it’s her who I speak around the most, and still she has never said anything. Today, afterwards, was when she hugged me, and I was sick.
I am hoping my plea will reach someone. More than ever, I need guidance. Tell me, because I am unsure.
I will await a response.