Daring Do

by GaPJaxie


Heart's Desire, Part 2

Ice water feels different on bare skin. A coat may not be real fur, but it still offers some protection. The hair holds the water back—keeps it away. With a coat, a drop of ice water is dulled. Only a chill. Without that shield, it’s sharp. Precise. A single dot of frost, rolling its way down my neck, leaving the ghost of sensation in its wake. Like the edge of a knife. It works its way down my throat, until it catches right above my chest. It hangs there a moment, and finally tumbles away. The cold is gone, and only the scar is left in its wake.

I let things stay like that for a bit—wimping out I guess—but I finally press the washcloth into my face. It’s freezing, and I can feel all the skin in my face tighten up on contact. It’s a biting chill, a nasty cold that works its way down into my flesh. The droplets running down my bare neck make it even worse, but it’s okay. I needed that. I needed it to wake up.

I’m awake.

Mostly awake, anyway. The alertness the cold brought is already slipping away, drifting off into the haze around me. I try to hold onto it as best I can, dipping the washcloth back into the bowl and starting to scrub my face, rubbing the fabric up and down. I still have hair there, which is nice. I mean, it’s not a huge deal, but... yeah. It’s nice that I’m not completely bald. That would be bad.

I think I stare off into space for a little while, because I suddenly come to, and I realize I can’t remember what I was doing. It’s so tempting to put my head down and rest more, but I can’t. I bring the washcloth back up to my face once again and scrub hard, letting the icy water and harsh abrasion shock me back into sensibility. I’m sure the effect is only temporary, but I can feel it working. My skin tightens, and my thoughts clear. That’s good. I need to be awake. This isn’t a city that rewards complacency. So I press on with the cloth, moving down past my shoulders and starting on my barrel. No hair there either. I’m bare pretty much all over.

There’s no mirror, which is probably a good thing. I’m sure I look terrible—glassy-eyed, and sunken, and all those other things. My skin is freakishly pale, a fact that’s clearly visible since nearly every part of my body is shaved. The only color left is a bit of pink on my face, back, and flanks, but all that does it make it clear how pasty the rest of me is.

Of course, there’s not much doubt as to why I’m so pale. The scars on my barrel and ankles have gained some new friends. I’ve got little silver lines all up and down my shoulders, and one big surgical scar that runs all the way down my torso. Right along my undercarriage.

That scar is still red and angry, but it doesn’t hurt, and the nurse said it isn’t infected. All my other scars healed over into these little silver lines; maybe this one will too. It’s not that big a deal though. They’re not burn scars like my ankles, so the hair will grow back. And even if they don’t clean up, it’s only my appearance. I shouldn’t make a bigger deal out of this than... well. Than it is.

Right.

It’s not that my looks aren’t important to me. They are. They still are, I mean. That didn’t change. I can just put it in perspective. Yeah, I’m gorgeous, and it’s a shame that that’s probably ruined, but I’m alive. And when the last thing you remember is getting stabbed in the heart, being alive is... I don’t know. It’s a thing.

I probably shouldn't be so calm about that. Must be the exhaustion talking. I’ll freak out later or something. Or I won’t.

It’s like an irony, I guess? They shaved everything but my face and flanks, so for now, I’m Siren Song and Daring Do and nothing else. I know that the hair will grow back, but it still feels meaningful somehow. Or something. That counts, I think.

I spend a little while trying to puzzle that out, before I realize I’ve zoned out again. Dangit. Shaking my head makes the room spin a bit, but at least it snaps me out of it, and I raise a leg to start cleaning under my shoulders. All that philosophizing is a waste of time anyway.

Washing up will help me wake up, and besides, I need a good scrubbing. I had the most disturbing dreams when I was recovering from surgery. They weren’t ordinary nightmares, but these dark, sinister, perverse things, where sometimes I was me, and sometimes I was Green. I dreamed that a nurse gave me Rarity’s tea, and that Echo was playing the guitar, and that I licked Green’s ear and then bit it till it bled. The dreams weren't scary exactly—at the time, they were actually really sort of fun—but they left me feeling sickened and dirty. More to the point, they left me soaked with sweat, and now I’m disgusting. I had no idea sweat clings to bare skin. I’m actually sticky.

The water has warmed up a bit by now, but it’s still refreshingly cold, and the washcloth works well to scrub the sweat away. Nurse Tenderheart talked me through a lot of stuff for recovering from surgery. Part of that is not getting the scar wet until it’s fully healed, which means no baths or showers for at least a few weeks. There’s also a bunch of stuff about not exerting myself, talking walks every day, a high-iron diet to replace all the lost blood, that sort of thing. It’s all in this bundle of paper she gave me. I tucked it into my saddlebag. The one with all the apples.

My belt and that saddlebag are comforting. Even more comforting than my surroundings. Waking up in Doctor Stable’s office seems like a good thing, but it doesn’t make any sense. There was no way out of those tunnels that didn’t end with one of the Elements of Harmony. How did Echo get us out of there? The most obvious explanation is that he betrayed us, and that Doctor Stable is a double-agent, but... no. After what happened to me the last time I was here, I might believe that Stable is a traitor, but prisoners don’t get to keep their weapons. Not falling for that one twice.

It still doesn’t add up though. Like, how exactly did those knives end up back in my belt? I remember leaving one in a guard and the other on the floor. And it’s only weirder for how cagey the nurse was when I talked to her. She said my three friends were fine, but refused to give any details. She also said the doctor would be in soon to discharge me, so hopefully I’ll find out the truth soon.

Of course, she did reveal a little bit, if only incidentally. She said my three friends were fine, so Echo evidently got all of us out. She might have been hiding something about Berry or Trixie or Rarity or... something. But Green is here. Green is okay. She’s still a statue, but now I’ve got time to figure out how to fix that. I’ve got time to see if Rarity survived, and to make a plan for how to hide out if she did. There are still things left to do, but... I did good. I did good.

Right.

It’ll be good to see Green again, when we’re not pressed for time. Even if she is a statue. I’ll get a chance to hold her—to feel that she’s safe and out of Rarity’s grasp. I have so much to tell her. I’m not sure she can hear me when she’s petrified, but even if she can’t, it’ll be good to practice. To say those things to her now, so I know what to say when she wakes up again. I need to tell her that I made it all right again. That I saved her. That I know everything she’s done for me, and that I want to repay it all. I need to tell her that she doesn’t have to be alone in the world anymore.

She’ll like that.

Trixie has plans for us, no doubt. She needs me to pay off her debts to Celestia, and Green was always useful. I don’t mind that so much though. I’ll work something out. Trixie’s lead rival just got stabbed in the eye, so she’s probably busy taking advantage. I can spin something that keeps Green and me together. Trixie’s not the type to be grateful, but I’ve proven my worth to her. That’ll be enough.

Besides, it’s not like I’m asking her for much. All I really need is a job. Something to pay for an okay place. I could be a singer, or an assassin or something, or take a job in Neptune’s Bounty. If Rarity is dead, Green and I could move up to the nice part of town. Like, neighbors or splitting a flat or something. If she’s alive... I don’t know. That gets trickier. But I bet there’s something we can work out.

I never did get a really good map of the city in my head. We’ve been using the tram to get around so much, I don’t know where Artemis Suites is in relation to everything else. But it can’t be the only part of the city out of Rarity’s reach. And even if it is, it could be fixed up a little. Plug some of those leaks, clean out the dead plants. Get some salt-water resistant trees instead or something. Those might grow.

Green would probably be good at that. Growing plants. That’s farm stuff, sort of. I saw a bit of that, in my dream? Like, this messed up version of her life on the farm. I don’t think I’m going to mention that to her—telling another pony you were dreaming about them seems weird—but it did make me curious about what her life was actually like. Was she a real farmpony? Pulling plows and stuff? Or did they have her stay inside and tend the house? She mentioned something about apple bucking once, so it’s probably the first one. She is pretty big.

Not like muscle-bound earth pony big though. More tall and elegant. Lithe. Unicorns can be athletic too.

I roll over a little, so I can scrub my underside. I know that my thoughts are wandering, and that my time would be better spent planning, but it’s hard to make myself focus. My mind is too sluggish, my head is too heavy, and besides, even if Doctor Stable is a traitor, what am I going to do? Fight my way out? The only thing I can hope to do now is talk to Trixie, and that’ll all depend on how she opens the conversation. That ball is in her court now.

I’m still mulling that over when the door latch clicks. I’ve got barely enough time to sit up before it swings open and Doctor Stable steps inside. He hasn’t changed much: greying mane, professional shirt and tie, little glasses on the end of his nose. “Hello there, Siren,” he says, all friendly. Even his professional attitude is the same. I mean, I’m good enough to catch the little glint of hesitation in his eyes before he says it, but most ponies wouldn't have. It’s subtle. “How are we feeling?”

“Grateful to be alive,” I say, putting the washcloth away and turning off the tap. We’re in a patient recovery room, which is pretty much exactly like an exam room, except there’s a bed instead of a table and it has a small sink. I’m sitting lengthwise on the bed, facing the door, which gives me clear access to my knives if it comes to that. It won’t though. I can see that much. My focus should be on winning his favor, not on a physical confrontation. “I assume I have you to thank for that?”

“Well, I performed your surgery, but I can’t take all the credit,” he says, gesturing for me to roll over. I do, onto my side, so that he can get at the scar. He’s all business, leaning over to examine me. His tone is casual though. A bit too much. He’s using it to hide something. Stress, I think. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you were going to make it. You’ve got an incredible will to live.”

“Was I that bad off?” I ask. It’s already perfectly obvious, but it’ll make him feel better to tell me. And stuff. I don’t know what specifically I need to win his approval for, but it might be important, and it doesn’t cost me much to get.

“Young mare,” he says, taking a moment to adjust his glasses as he shifts into his doctor-lectures-patient voice. It’s a hair condescending, but that’s okay. It’ll make him feel important, which is what I wanted to accomplish. “When you arrived here, you’d been stabbed clear through the heart with a serrated knife and then dragged around the city, untreated, for the better part of an hour. You’d lost so much blood I had trouble finding your pulse. I’d like to say that my surgical skills brought you back, but frankly, the fact that we’re having this conversation is nothing short of a miracle.”

Oh. I didn’t realize... well. It’s no matter. “I still think some thanks are in order, Doctor,” I say a little quietly. Like I was shocked. Which I’m not. I felt Quick March stab me, so it shouldn't be any surprise.

“Well, I’ll make a note that you’re lucid enough to remember your courtesy, but really, Siren, it’s not necessary,” he assures me with a little waggle of his hoof. “Now,” he continues, back in that businesslike tone, ”tell me how you’re feeling. Are you in any pain?”

“No pain,” I say, holding a hoof over my chest to be sure. The scar is still red, but it’s not sensitive like it was infected, and there’s no burning or anything. “But I feel physically weak, my heart is pounding, and I keep zoning out mentally. Losing my train of thought.”

“Given what you’ve been through, that’s all perfectly normal,” Doctor Stable says, though he still takes the stethoscope out of his pocket and listens to my heart for a few seconds. “You’re out of danger, but your body has still been through a shock. You should allow another six to eight weeks for a full recovery.” He shifts the stethoscope to my side, and I take a deep breath like he expects. “Did Nurse Tenderheart explain what you’ll need to do during your convalescence?”

“Keep the scar dry,” I repeat her instructions. “Light walks, starting at ten minutes every day and working up as I can handle more. Stick to the diet described in the little packet. Come into the office immediately if the scar turns purple or starts to ooze.”

“Very good,” he says. And then he falls quiet. I glance down at him as he works, and I catch a frown. The stress showing. He looks back at me, sees me watching, but doesn’t know what to say. It’s an awkward moment, even if it doesn’t last a quarter of a second, and his eyes flick back to my scar at once. Stress, yes. But he’s not angry with me. It’s something else.

“Well, this seems to be healing fine,” he says, rising. I take that as my cue to sit up. “You have a long recovery ahead, but I think you’ll pull through.” Another pause. This is when he’s supposed to say he’s discharging me, but he’s hesitating. Why? What does he not want to say?

I jump in, before he can overcome that barrier. “Yes, I think so,” I say, glancing down at the floor and flicking my tail a bit. “Doctor? There was something else I needed to um... to tell you.”

“Yes?” he asks, adjusting his glasses as he refocuses his attention. I wait, staring at the floor and drawing it out long enough for him to add, “What is it?”

“Last time I was here...” I hesitate, and when he leans in closer, I shrink away. A slight widening of my eyes sells the uncertainty. Biting my lip is overdoing it a bit, but he’s not that perceptive, so it’s important I make sure he gets it. “Um.” I swallow, speaking more quickly now. “Well. I overheard you and Berry and... and I appreciate you sticking up for me. Even after I was rude to you. And I realize I... probably put you in a bad position. Doing what I did.” I’m watching him as I go, and the softening in his face signals that I’m on the right track. Sympathy—that’s why he hesitated. That’s why he’s stressed. Sympathy he can’t act on.

“So I’m, ah...” I turn my head down to the bed. “I’m sorry. Doctor.”

He pauses before he answers, using the time to pat my shoulder with a hoof. I think it’s the stiffest, most awkward pat I’ve ever received—not the physically affectionate type, Doc Stable. “It’s... quite alright, young mare. Siren.” He amends my name quickly. “It’s not the first time Trixie has yelled at me.”

He pauses again, and when he continues, he’s injected a little artificial cheer into his voice. “And you know, Daring Do’s addiction factor is very low. If you don’t take anything else, it should wear off on its own in about two weeks now.” Two weeks? That soon? I guess the bottle did say fifteen to forty days. “There’s a support group I could—”

“Thank you, Doctor, but it’s alright. You don’t have anything to be guilty about.” I shake my head. “I don’t know if she told you, but... Berry took your advice, in the end.” I highly doubt that Berry’s decision was actually motivated by any such thing, but that hardly matters now. “She didn’t... make me take it. She gave it to me, and explained that it would help keep me safe, and said it was my choice. And it was my choice.”

Right.

Anyway. That about melts his heart, so, yeah. Brownie points won. Mission accomplished and all that.

“Well, that’s ah... that’s good,” he says as he struggles to recover his wits—speaking just to have something to fill the silence. “I can still direct you to that support group, if you want.”

“Does that imply I’ll be in a position to attend such a support group?” I ask, as pointedly as I can without breaking this sad little character I’ve put together. He freezes. Tense body, tense tail, tense eyes. Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.

“I think that’s up to Trixie,” he finally says.

“Then can you tell me what’s happened with Trixie?” I ask. A little tilt of the ears shows attention, puts him on the spot. He won’t consciously notice it though. “And what’s going to happen to me?”

“I can’t really say what Trixie is planning, of course,” Doctor Stable says. Opening with a qualifier—not good news then. “But she’s asked me to prepare a round of tonics that you’ll be able to take in your weakened state. To ah.” He takes off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “Substantively alter your appearance.”

“What?” I ask, sitting up straighter. “Why? Why would she do that?”

“Well, it’s an irony, really,” he says, shaking his head and putting his glasses back. “When you first came into my office, Trixie was concerned you might be a criminal who changed her face to beat the rap. And now it seems the prophecy is fulfilled. You’re Vision’s Most Wanted, Siren. There’s half a million bits for whoever brings Rarity your head.”

So Rarity survived then. I let out a breath and slump my shoulders. I should have known. The knife was too level. It went through her face, not through her brain. Heck, other than her eye, the damage was probably only cosmetic. Now Green and I will have to... well. Go undercover. I guess I should be glad Trixie is about to help with that.

It is strange though. That Trixie would want to keep me. She’s playing some kind of game, and I don’t think I even know the rules, much less what this move means. But whatever. She can stuff her plans-within-plans. I don’t really care what she’s up to.

“What about Green?” I ask, shaking my head to clear it. I need to focus on what’s important. “Is there a price on her head too?”

“Ah, no. That is the one spot of good news in all this,” Doctor Stable says quickly, eager to be back on a positive note. “The first round of wanted posters did mention you stole a precious statue out of the Pavilion and that there was a reward for its return, but since then, there’s been no update listing Green as an active fugitive. It seems that Rarity is genuinely unaware that her assassination attempt failed.”

Her what? “Her what?” I ask, as quick as I can. What assassination attempt!?

“The nurse didn’t tell you?” Doctor Stable asks, because he is the dumbest pony to ever live! No, she told me and I’m asking for fun.

“No, she didn’t. Doctor, what happened to Green?” I demand, all my attention focused on him. I stare into his eyes and order him to tell me. Forget the act! He freezes again. “Doctor!”

“She ah...” he manages. He’s watching me closely, worried how I’ll take it. “Two days ago, she abruptly turned from stone back into living tissue, and immediately went into massive withdrawal. We didn’t know what was happening at the time, but Trixie later confirmed that Rarity had somehow negated her initial enchantment from a distance, evidently in an assassination attempt. It seems that whatever spell restored Green also purged all of the poison joke from her bloodstream, and well... she nearly died, Siren.”

What!? I scramble off the bed, coughing as my breath catches in my lungs. “Where is she?” I demand. “Is she okay?” He said she nearly died. As in didn’t. But then why is his expression so worried!? “Is there any permanent damage?” I ask, raising my voice so he’ll get the hint and answer me!

“Some, yes. But it was light under the circumstances,” he says, but he’s not leading me to the door. He’s not moving to let me see her. He’s prevaricating and his body is tense and he’s cleaning his glasses again to try to buy time! Oh no. “She experienced mutation of the epidermis, intestine, and liver, but in all three cases it seems to be benign. She further experienced mutation of the heart, which required immediate surgery, but I believe she will recover.” He rattles the symptoms off one at a time, trying to calm me with that stupid doctor voice!

“She also suffered an extreme deformation of the middle phalanx bone in her rear left hoof which necessitated amputation,” he continues, like that made any sense! He amputated her hoof and he calls it light damage!? “But that seems to be the extent of it.”

“What about mental damage?” I say quickly. “Is she okay? I want to see her. Now.”

“Mental damage is difficult to assess—”

“I said now, Doctor!” The strain of shouting makes me wheeze and cough, and the effort of standing up is already making my limbs feel weak. My body is so heavy, but I can walk. I can walk far enough anyway.

“Siren, I understand how you feel, but getting worked up will only...” I look into his eyes. I don’t... I don’t glare. Getting angry would only make him tell me to calm down and I don’t want to calm down! I want him to take me to Green, and I... I make him feel that. That’s what I do. That’s my thing. I look at him, and I use body language and stuff, and... and he gets it. I make him get it.

He pauses and adjusts his glasses again. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”

“I understand that, Doctor, but I want to see her.” I levitate my belt and saddlebag from across the room, dropping them over my back. It feels like they’re full of lead bars, and I’m struggling to stand wearing them, but I don’t let it show. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only a moment. Then he nods, opens the door, and we go together. We go out into the hall, into the white corridors with the fancy columns and the gold fittings. We go down the way and around the bend, past a big window overlooking the city, and up to another door. Another recovery room. Doctor Stable’s horn glows as he pulls the door open.

And there she is.

She’s lying in bed, on her back, legs held in place by metal bars so she can’t roll over. She’s surrounded by IVs and equipment—bottles full of water and drugs, tubes up her nose to give her oxygen. She’s shaved for surgery, exactly like I am. That beautiful emerald is gone except for bits of her face and flanks, and her skin is... waxy. Waxy like the markers in the wharf. There’s a shine to her, a glistening—sweat. She’s dripping sweat, even though the room is cold. The stink of poison joke is so strong. That disgusting, sweet odor. Her eyes are shut, so I glance at her back legs. There’s a stump and bandages where her left ankle should be.

Then I sense motion. She turns her head to look at me! Opens her eyes.

“Sweetheart?” she whispers.

“Green!” I shout, dashing across the space. Even those few steps make my legs cry out, and my scar starts to burn, but I don’t care! I try to leap up onto the bed beside her, but I can’t get off the ground. She’s reaching for me! My horn glows, and I toss off that stupid belt and saddlebags. Without the weight, I can get my forehooves up on the bedside, and lean in around all the tubes and wires and the bars. I can get my legs around her neck.

“Oh, Green,” I whisper to her. My vision is all blurry by now, but it’s okay. It’s okay. I know she doesn't like it when I cry, but just this once, she’ll forgive me. I know she will. She can’t hug me back with her legs bound up, but that doesn’t matter. I can feel her heartbeat, feel her nod her head to nuzzle against the top of mine. I can feel it all, and that’s enough. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” she whispers, and I can hear the strain in her voice. How tired she is. “It’ll take more’n that to kill me.” She sounds like herself! With her little smile and her reassurances and that stupid, stupid inconsistent accent. I never thought I’d love hearing it so much.

“I’ll give you two a little while,” Doctor Stable says. I don’t look back at him. “I’ll be up the hall. Call a nurse when you need me.” I hear the door click. Then we’re alone.

I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s because she’s tired or if she’s being patient, but she lets me cry myself out, and when the crying is done, I listen. With my ear against her neck, I can hear her heart, hear her breathe, feel her barrel rise and fall. Her heartbeats have fallen into time with the lights. Thump-thump, humm-buzz, about once a second. It makes it feel like the room is a part of her. Like I’m closer to her. She’s oily and she stinks, but I couldn’t care less.

“Yer legs are startin’ to shake there, Sweetheart,” she murmurs, briefly going full power on her accent. She’s right though. My back legs are shaking. Even without my saddlebags, I feel like I’m carrying a ton of weight. “You want to pull up a chair maybe?”

Heh. Yeah. That would make more sense, wouldn’t it? I pull my head back and smile at her, and she smiles at me and I blush a little at how stupid and emotional I’m being. It takes a bit of work for me to get my hooves back on the floor, and when I’m done, my heart is pounding. At least there’s a little mini-couch in the room, and my magic is strong enough to drag it up to the bedside.

“I heard you’re the one that saved me,” Green says, turning her head to the side to watch me. She’s weak, I can tell, but her eyes are alert. Focused. She’s not delirious or... or worse. “Didn’t believe it at first.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” I say, grinning a little as I sit down across from her. It’s hard not to, seeing her like that. Seeing us safe together. I’m downright giddy. “I got Echo, and Berry, and-and Trixie onboard as well, and we snuck in through this secret passage.” My voice gets faster the more I talk. I have so much to tell her! “And I think Echo had bombs because things started exploding and we blew up like half the Pavilion and when everything was flooding I jumped up and-and I stabbed Rarity right in the eye!”

I make a sharp little stabbing gesture to show what I mean, and Green nods. She knows I’m a hero! That little grin on my face is ear to ear now, and I keep right on going. “With the knife you gave me, even. You should have heard Rarity scream. It was brilliant! And it gets better, because Echo actually hanged Quick March. Right there from the rafters!” I bet she’s loving this. I know she is. “I took Rarity’s eye for you. I spilled her blood and hanged her dog and burned her house down! All because she wouldn’t let you go.”

Green wants to say something, but I cut her off before she can, reaching up to hold her hoof with mine. “And it’s better, Green. It’s better than that because Rarity thinks you’re dead. I’m so sorry about what happened to you. About your hoof.” I glance at the stump, but I press on. “But she thinks you’re dead, Green! She’ll never search for you again. You’re free! We’re free. I...” My horn glows, brushing the hair out of her face. “I fixed it, Green. I fixed it.”

“You sure did,” she says, pausing to take a breath. With her mane pulled away, I can see her face in full. It’s so easy to tune the rest of her out—to ignore the shaved patches and sweat. To just stare at her face, and watch her emerald eyes, and see how happy she is. She’s tired, but she’s happy. “...Sweetheart,” she finishes the sentence, once she’s recovered. “Earned your... happy ending.” Her words are broken up by slow breaths, so carefully drawn.

“I...” I start to tear up again, but no! No. Once is quite enough, and I force them away. “It’s okay, Green. You don’t have to talk. You’re tired. Rest now.” There’s so much I need to tell her, but she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. She doesn’t have a big conversation in her. I’m excited, but for her, I can wait. We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later.

She shuts her eyes and rolls her head back onto the pillow. I’m pretty tired as well, so I do the same thing—lower my head to the couch, shut my eyes. It’s nice to lie there. I haven’t felt this way...

I haven’t felt this way since Canterlot. There’s nothing wrong, there’s nothing amiss. I’m not hiding from the world under the covers or shoving away some existential dread. I’m just relaxing with a pony I care about. A pony who taught me so much. Sure, we’re both shaved and beaten and scarred, but when you get past all that, it’s... it’s like a lazy weekend with the Princess. Curled up under a blanket. Nothing I need to get up for.

Yeah. It’s exactly like that. I even levitate a spare blanket out from the shelf near Green’s bed. I’m not cold, but it feels fluffy. Like I’m all wrapped up.

“It’s good, Sweetheart,” Green suddenly says, though her voice is quiet, and her eyes remain closed. “It’s good things are gonna”—she takes a breath—“work out for you.” Her speech is slow and lazy, with long pauses between words. “When we first met, I thought you were like a younger me. Not real younger me, but the life I wished I’d had.” Her ear twitches, and she rolls her head my way, through her eyes stay closed. “A proper unicorn mare. Pretty, and classy, and magic. I always wanted to live in Canterlot.”

“I know, Green,” I say. She’s sweating like she was in an oven, and I can see an oily stain on the pillow from where she turned her head. I reach across the room with my horn and find a washcloth, levitating it over. I don’t want to wake her, so I’m gentle when I dab at her forehead. Wiping the sweat away. “That’s the first thing I ever said to you, isn’t it? That you should be a Canterlot model? That you’re the prettiest pony I’ve ever seen?”

“Yeah, but...” She chuckles faintly. “You were pretty high at the time.”

“Drugged or not, I have excellent taste.” A little superior twist sells it, and I up-play my Canterlot intonations a bit. “You’d have awed them all, Green. Grace, beauty, class, magic. Conviction. They’d have fawned over you.” I work the cloth back over her forehead, sliding it around her horn so I can push back her sweat-soaked mane. “I’m sorry you never got the chance, but you got me. I’ll be your biggest fan.”

“Makes it all worth it, Sweetheart,” she says. And I hear that she means it. That she’s really... warm inside. “But no creepy fan mail, okay?” We share a little laugh, then a moment later, she goes on.

“It’ll be rough for you, Siren. Goin’ back to that life,” she says. There’s a bit of her accent again. I wonder if that inconsistency is from mantles or if her elocution is odd for some other reason. I kind of like it. “You’ll feel like you’ve seen too much for it to mean anything. Like everypony around you is so petty. Like you need to fight. Need to yell. Need to keep secrets. Need your next fix.”

Her muzzle scrunches up, and she frowns. “But, you’re strong, Siren. You’ll get through it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. I hate Celestia, but... that’s no reason for you to suffer. I won’t be offended.”

“It’s okay, Green,” I assure her, using that washcloth to hold her cheek. She’s so sweet to be concerned. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

She pauses—frowns deeper. “What do you mean?”

“I’m staying, Green.” I lighten my tone a little to show that it’s good news. “I’m not going back to Equestria. I’ve been through so much with you. I can’t just... leave!” I take her forehoof with both of mine, letting the blanket slide off my shoulders as I rise up. “You’re my friend, Green. You’re my first real friend. And more than that, you taught me to be strong. You keep thinking I’m this amazing pony deep down when I’m not. When I wasn’t.” When I never was.

She’s opened her eyes now, and I smile at her. “But then I needed to be there for you.” I nod my head firmly, so she’ll know it’s alright! That we’re going to be together now. “I needed to be there for you like you were there for me. You were there for me when I never deserved it, Green. And now I can repay you! You don’t have to be all alone anymore.” I’m beaming when I say it.

But she isn’t smiling back.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Trixie’s going to ransom you home. That’s not up to you.”

“I was able to ah... persuade Trixie to reconsider,” I say, playing up my pride and adding a little flick of my mane for emphasis. It was pretty clever of me. Green will appreciate that. “I’m more valuable to her here.”

“Siren, that doesn’t work. You can’t live in Vision,” she says, her voice rising to normal speaking volume. It matches her new tone—insistent. She must be confused, or I didn’t explain it right or something. “You stabbed Rarity. Every security officer in the city will know your face.”

“Trixie took care of that,” I say, trying to keep her calm. She’s so nervous, though it is pretty neat that she figured that out so quickly—particularly since she’s exhausted. “She had Doctor Stable put together some tonics for me.”

“That’s not a solution!” Green insists, her brow furrowing as she glares. What’s wrong? Why is she getting this upset? “Siren, for that to work, you’d have to keep taking those tonics every month for your entire life. It would force you into becoming an addict.”

“I know, Green. I don’t want that either.” I actually hadn’t thought of that. I blame exhaustion. Still, it’s not a big deal. “But right now, we need time to think of a better solution and find a new place to hide. Trixie will—”

“Siren, you are already on a mantle,” Green says, but instead of calming down, she’s getting more agitated. More alert. I can see her eyes opening wide, tail flicking under her restraints. “You cannot have anything Poison-Joke-based until that wears off.”

“Well...” I pause, brush my cheek with a hoof. “Maybe I don’t want it to wear off. I mean... it let me save you. It let me be a... be a good pony. Would keeping it really be so bad?”

She’s staring at me. “I know addiction is a problem, but you’re in that boat,” I explain. “And I like you the way you—”

Nurse!” Green bellows. She doesn’t have the strength to scream, and it comes out more like a wheeze. The door opens a second later—a nurse checking to see what’s wrong. Red. Overweight. Earth pony. She doesn’t even have a chance to speak before Green fixes her with a stare. “Would you kindly go fetch a wiredoll? And a wiredoll token for Trixie. Doctor Stable should have one in his office.”

She’s mesmerized at once and rushes off to the task, but... I don’t understand. “Green, no!” I try to reassure her. “It’s okay. I’m not being pressured by Trixie or anything. This was my idea. I want to stay.”

“No, Sweetheart. No you don’t,” Green says. I can see how agitated she is under the blankets—how she’s twisting and turning. Oh no. I’ve upset her. She can barely talk—she’s too weak to get into an argument now. What if she tries to shout at me and hurts herself? “You really don’t.”

“It’s okay, Green. I’m not going to take anything today,” I say, doing my best to soothe her worry. Yeah, a nice soft tone is the right approach here. “You’re sick. It’s no time to be getting into an argument. You know how Trixie yells at you when—”

“To heck with Trixie!” Green snaps. She’s actually yelling now. It’s so much effort it’s making her hack and wheeze. Making her breathing scratchy and rough. “And to heck with her for thinkin’ she can do this to you. You’ve got a shot at a real life, Siren. She’s got no right to take that away.”

“Green, she’s not taking anything from me.” I keep my tone steady and even. I need to calm her down, not escalate things. “She’s—”

“Pushin’ a pile of addictive drugs in front of you and tellin’ you to help yourself?” Green asks, letting out a loud snort and rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like somepony who's got your best interests at heart.”

“I’m... Green.” I take a steady breath, shaking my head. It’s okay. No matter how stubborn she’s being, it’s only because she cares about me, and that makes her worry. “I’m not saying Trixie is my friend, but this was my choice, not hers. I needed this to save you.” I touch my cheek to emphasize the point. “She’s not making me stay, I persuaded her to—”

“You didn’t persuade her of anything,” Green scoffs. “You can’t play Trixie, Siren. You can’t play her any more than you can play her wiredolls. It’s clockwork all the way down, y’hear me?” she demands, breathless. “If she’s giving you tonics and mantles, it’s because she wants you to be an addict. It’s because she’s playing a long game that ends with you so desperate for a fix you’ll do anything.”

“Fine.” I draw a breath and shake my head. “Fine. She’s pure evil and every favor from her comes with a price. I know that. But that’s a deal I’m willing to accept, Green.” I reach out with the washcloth again, leaning in close to her face as I wipe the sweat away. “Green, I want to stay here. You’re my friend. You’re my only friend and I want to be near you!” I don’t raise my voice, exactly, but I’m close to her now, and I throw a little emphasis in. She needs to understand.
 
“I know, it’s a costly deal I’m making. All our debts come due eventually. You told me that, remember?” I perk my ears up. Gaze into her eyes. There’s not much in her expression, but I can see how much she cares about me. I can see it in how intently she’s staring. “But you took that deal too. Because there was something you needed so much it was worth it.”

“No, Siren, it wasn’t. I made a mistake,” Green says. Her voice is curt. Quick. Why? I don’t understand. She shuts her eyes, squeezing them tight. “And we aren’t friends.”

What?

“Before the Pavilion, Siren, I’d known you for all of two weeks,” Green says, giving a little shake of her head.  “And you spent most of that unconscious. I don’t think we’ve spent three full days together, and all the time I did spend with you, I was getting paid to take care of you. I’m not your friend, Siren.”

“What...?” It’s so absurd, but I get it. She’s trying to drive me away. She cares about me so much she’s willing to lie about our relationship to try to help me. “Horseapples, Green! Of course we’re friends. You think you can play the mercenary with me?” I actually have to smile a little bit. “Green, you sacrificed yourself to give me a chance at freedom. Remember that?”

“I didn’t do it because we’re friends, Siren,” Green insists, folding back her ears. Her voice is tight. Hurt. “I did it because I wanted to die.” What? What? “What did I give Rarity? A few years at most? I’ve already beaten the odds by staying together this long. And what sort of years would they be? Hiding in the slums? Killing ponies just to eat?” Her voice cracks as she goes on, scratchy and rough.

“My life is over, Sweetheart,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Not ending. Over. All my good years are behind me. I’ve got nothing left but slowly going mad, and eyeing that bottle of strychnine in my cabinet. I... traded Rarity, something worthless and broken, for something young and full of promise. You can have a real life, Siren. You can go home. You can be happy.”

“Yeah, keep talking about how you want me to have a good life,” I snap. I shouldn't take a tone but she’s getting to me! My throat is tight. “That’s really convincing me you don’t care about me.”

“So seeing a scared little filly who doesn’t know any better get stuffed full of drugs bothers me!” Her breaths are coming harder now, tail lashing back and forth. “That means I’ve got a soul, Siren. It ain’t a wedding announcement.”

She’s wheezing badly now, and she has to stop to draw a few deep breaths. The machines around her clink and beep, that tube in her nose blowing oxygen into her lungs from a tank. “And a scared little filly is what you are, Siren. You don’t really like me. You don’t want to stay. You’re just so frightened you’re latching on to the first pony who was nice to you and refusing to leave their side.”

“I’m not a filly, Green! I saved you!” I say. My ears are up, and my tail is alert. It’s not her fault! She’s getting to me, but I make myself remember it’s not her fault. She’s hurt and worried and lashing out. I know how she really feels.

“Siren, you don’t know what you saved.” She coughs. Takes a second to gather her breath. “You think I’m some hero. Siren, I kill ponies for a living. I’m a murderer, you understand that? Not self defense like that mugger.” She draws a weak breath. “You want to know how I came into Trixie’s service? I teamed up with a bunch of her thugs so they could cover me while I stabbed a mare to death. I cut a pony open, Siren. Just to watch.”

I blink. Stare. “That uh...” I swallow. That sounds a lot like what I saw in my dream. “That was your first kill?” I ask, dumbly. She nods. “What was her name?”

“Song Bird,” Green says.

Song Bird. That uh... that’s quite the coincidence. I must have heard it somewhere before. Somepony mentioned her or something. That’s gotta be it. Because yeah, I’ve had visions before, but that was in the Pavilion, not here. And besides! There were lots of other parts of that dream that clearly aren’t true! Like, I saw Green and Berry sharing a room, but this is a single. So that didn’t happen! And then there’s the bit with the flowers and... and her ear! Her ear is fine. Not a mark on it. Not a mark!

That’s... definitive. I’m looking at her ear really closely, and I don’t see anything wrong with it. It was her left ear, and that’s fine. Whole and unbroken. Not a bit of damage. Not even a scratch! That’s all the proof I need. But, for a second, I... well. It’s silly, and there’s no reason to, but I... I touch my tongue to my teeth. Run it over the points of my canines.

Green’s left ear folds back, and she twitches sharply. Winces on one side.

I don’t... I don’t. No. No, forget it. No. No! No no no no no no no. “No!” I shout, ignoring the burning in my chest. “I’m not getting... sidetracked by this! I can’t deal with this right now. And it doesn't matter! I’m a grown mare, Green! I can make my own decisions.”

“So this is your decision then?” Green demands, cracking her eyes open again. “Look at me, Siren. Really look.” She pauses, drawing a breath and squirming in her restraints. She’s leaving a stain on the sheets. A greasy mark. She’s waxy and... and the smell. Like a corpse wrapped up in flowers. “This is your future if you stay. This is what you’re gonna look like at thirty for the sake of some hitmare you knew for a week.” Her face is all twisted up. Glaring at me.

“That’s what I’m going to look like at thirty for the sake of a friend!” I snap. I shouldn’t yell and I’m tearing up again but she keeps not getting it! “A friend who sacrificed their life to save me. A friend who wants to kill themselves because they’ve got nopony to talk to. Of course your life seems empty, Green! You were tortured for weeks on end. You were tortured for weeks on end and I didn’t lift a hoof to help you! I stood by and let you suffer an-and betrayed you to Rarity, and after all that, you still stepped up and you saved me, Green!”

My vision is blurring now, but I force the tears away. Crying is for foals and whiners. Crying is what I did when I was waiting to be saved, but now I’m saving her. So I force them away and go on. “And even when you were free, you were alone in that awful apartment. I’d want to kill myself too, if I had nopony to talk to for years. I’m not letting you go back to that, which means I’m staying!”

“Oh, right.” She sneers. “You think that because—”

The door opens before she can finish her thought. We both fall silent and turn that way, right on time for the gleaming face of a wiredoll to roll through. It’s on a rolling stand, and the nurse is pushing it with her forehead, a waxcloth bundle of shiny tokens in her teeth. Green and I stare at her for a second, then back at each other. We both rush to speak, but I’m faster. “I’m staying, Green. You can talk to Trixie if you like, but I made her see my point of view before. You can’t force me to leave.”

“Shut up, Sweetheart,” Green says, growling the words out. The nurse kicks a little lever on the bottom of the stand, and the wheels move aside so the doll stand rests solidly on the floor. “Hey! Over here.” A whistle from Green gets the nurse’s attention, and she turns, making eye contact. “Would you kindly slot Trixie’s token in the doll and then get out? Shut the door behind you. And don’t let anypony else in.”

“I mean it, Green!” I’m yelling, but she’s not getting it, and it doesn’t help that the nurse is doing what she says. I’d get up and physically stop her if I was in any shape to do so. “Green, talk to me. Don’t act like I’m some foal who—”

The nurse slots the token into the doll’s flank. I hear that distinctive click, and the sound of gears spinning up. She scuttles out, and as the door shuts, the doll rises to the active resting position. It turns its head left, and then right, the room visible in the reflection of its glass eyes.

“Trixie!” Green says, as loud as she can, trying to sound strong and resolute even if the wheeze in her voice is more obvious now. “We need to talk. You’ve got no right to do this to Siren. You told me that she was going back to Equestria!”

“And I told you I’m staying!” I shout right over her. “Trixie, I want a favor. I already know you’re planning to keep me in Vision. Whatever you want me for, I’m yours, but in return I want an apartment near Green and—”

“Not now, Siren!” Green coughs, all the tubes around her shaking with the motion. “This is wrong, Trixie. Rarity has been a thorn in your side for years, and Siren took her down. You owe her better than this! She did you a service.”

“Yes, I did her a service!” I shout right back. The doll still hasn’t moved. “And now I’m asking for something in return. Stop trying to get in my way, Green!”

“I’m trying to save you, Siren!” she insists, glaring at me from her hospital bed. “I’m trying to stop you from throwing your life away. I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistake I made.”

“Well maybe I can make my own choices, did you think of that?” I yell. Why can’t she see that I’m trying to help her? “Maybe I care about you enough I can’t abandon you here and move on!”

“You don’t even know who I am, Siren!” Green shakes her head. In the corner of my eye, I see the doll lift its leg. “I’ve done things that you couldn’t forgive. That...” Green finally notices that the doll is moving. It’s reaching up with a hoof. To that hissing air tank that fuels the tube running up Green’s nose. Its hoof moves so smoothly, pushing down the release lever.

And the hissing of air stops.

“Trixie, what are you doing?” Green asks, but I can already hear that her wheeze is getting worse! She can talk, she’s breathing, but she’s acting like she’s not getting enough air. I shoot to my hooves. I’ve got to do something! I can see her drawing deeper and deeper breaths every time, but the doll doesn’t move. “Trixie,” she repeats, starting to cough. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Trixie!”

“Stop it!” I shout, my horn glowing. I grab the lever and try to push it back up, but the doll’s hoof is still on it, and it’s so much stronger than me. Fine! No problem. It’s not a combat doll. It’s on a stand. I can push it over! “I said let her go!” I yell, rushing the doll as fast as I can!

The doll’s leg lashes out like a striking snake, impossibly fast. All I see is a blur of motion, and then there’s a dull metal edge jamming into my eye. I think I scream, stumble back as I go blind on one side! Then the doll’s other hoof catches me in the throat.

Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe! I’m completely blind on my left side. I stumble backwards, and my rear legs hit the edge of the couch. I fall to a seated position, hacking and wheezing. Pain is exploding in my chest. The doll didn’t hit me that hard, but it didn’t need to. That was a perfect one-two strike, leaving me gasping for breath as I squeeze my eyes shut. My surgical scar is burning, but I gotta help Green! I try to force myself back up.

Then I hear a hiss. The air tank. I turn my head so my right side faces that way. The doll has turned the lever back up. Green is hacking uncontrollably, but she’s breathing again. I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on. But Green is out of danger and... oh stars, my chest hurts. I crawl back onto the couch, taking slow, deep breaths. My left eye is starting to clear, but it’s still all splotchy. She poked me so hard.

I don’t think... I don’t think she did any permanent damage. I’m in pain and my head is really... light. But nothing that feels serious. I take another deep breath. Wait for the wheezing to pass.

Eventually, over the sound of two ponies coughing and wheezing, I hear a metal clink. My good eye turns up, and I see the doll tapping its chest for our attention. Then its mechanical voicebox springs to life. Trixie’s voice.

“If the children are done arguing,” she says with her superior little twist, that verbal sneer, “mother is talking now.”

“You...” I try to speak, but the sound emerges as a raspy croak. You could have killed us, you crazy witch! “You...”

“Ah ah!” Trixie chides, waggling a hoof my way. “Children who talk back get sent to their rooms without oxygen. And you’re a good foal, aren’t you Siren?” I bet I could take that doll now. Now that I know what to expect. But I don’t know what she’ll do if I try again and fail, so I bite my tongue and glare at her. “Good foals say, ‘Yes, Trixie.’”

“Yes, Trixie,” I grumble.

“That’s good, Siren! Trixie is very proud of you!” she continues with that saccharine mockery. “Now sit down, and the nice doctor will be in soon to take care of you.”

I still need time to recover, and so does Green, so for now I do as Trixie says. At least Green seems okay. Her eyes are shut and she’s rasping a bit, but it’s getting less noticeable with every breath. I’m not even done clearing my throat by the time the door flies open. Doctor Stable is there, along with Nurse Tenderheart, and from how quickly he hurries in, he knew something was wrong before he saw us. He doesn’t even look at the active doll, moving up to me with a quick step.

“Young mare!” he belts out the words, drawing in a stiff breath. His jaw is clenched, and this time, his frustration and anger is directed at me. Right at me. “I leave you alone for half an hour and you—”

“Doctor,” Trixie says, but something’s wrong. Her voice is calm. Even-hooved. Mature. Even a little compassionate. She...

Oh that manipulative harpy.

I know what she’s about to say before she even finishes the first word. “It’s okay. The Great and Powerful Trixie knows this wasn’t your fault,” she says, practically giving him a verbal pat on the shoulder for all it matters! “But we’ll discuss this later,” she continues, elegantly shifting from a reassurance to an order. Asserting authority. “For now, make sure she didn’t injure herself.”

Stars! I used that trick on the matron when Rock and I beat up the other foals. How did I get outsmarted by a schoolyard bully? Trixie just destroyed all the bridge building I did with him earlier and then some, and there’s nothing I can say without—

“Roll over,” the doctor orders, his eyes narrowed at me as he reaches for his stethoscope. “I need to inspect your scar. Again.

Without making it worse. So I roll over. In every sense of the phrase.

The physical is at least mercifully short. I pretend to listen to Doctor Stable’s condescending lecture on taking care of myself and let him jab and prod me until he’s convinced I haven't ripped anything open. I’m only a little winded, and with two more bruises to show for my trouble. He inspects Green as well, and she’s also okay. I mostly watch Green and Trixie while this all happens. Trixie is playing the doll—keeping still so she doesn’t show the slightest hint of emotion. Green is easier to read. Her jaw is set like mine, her eyes shut. A grim acceptance. She knows we’ve been had.

It’s been a busy few days. I’d forgotten precisely how much reason I have to hate Trixie. Vile witch with her little wind-up toys.

“Good,” Trixie says, speaking up once the doctor pronounces us both fit. “If you would hold on for a moment, Doctor, this won’t take long.” It’s not really a request, and the doll turns back to us without waiting for the doctor’s confirmation.

“It’s good to see you again, Envy,” Trixie says, with a little twist on the nickname. Enough that Green will hear it but the doctor won’t. “Trixie would have been more pleased had you not endangered Siren’s life and your own with a pointless argument, but nopony is perfect.” Green doesn’t say a word. She just lies there and takes it.

“Trixie will, of course, pay for your full medical treatment,” the doll goes on, “and once you’re back on your hooves, you are always welcome at your old job.” It’s such a magnanimous tone she strikes, and so it’s little surprise that she wraps the ultimatum up with, “Trixie thinks that’s very fair, under the circumstances. Don’t you?”

“Yes, Trixie,” Green says. Her voice is flat. Not broken, but... flat.

“Very good.” Trixie makes a little wave with a hoof. “So there’s no need to fight anymore, is there?”

“No, Trixie,” Green says.

“Wonderful,” Trixie says. She says it too quickly though, making it perfectly clear it’s a dismissal. Then the doll turns to me, holding my gaze until I can see my reflection in its glass eyes. “Now, Siren.” The doll gestures at me. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has a question for you.” A question? What? “Do you wish to return to Equestria?”

What? She’s... asking me? Why? I glance at the Doctor, but his expression isn’t surprised. So he knew? She’s not asking for his benefit then. I don’t think it’s rhetorical though. She’s actually waiting for the answer. “No, Trixie,” I say. Green winces. A little motion in her face.

“Do you understand that staying will mean taking tonics to change your appearance?” she asks. “That consuming these tonics will involve substance health risks, possibly even permanent addiction or death?”

“Yes, Trixie,” I say. It’s odd, this way she’s asking. It’s so formal. Like she wanted to make it clear to a crowd that I’m not being forced into this. Except everypony here knows that that’s not true. I guess the Doctor might not be in on all the details, but I doubt he cares that much. Not enough, anyway.

Whatever. Trixie can plot all she likes. It’s no business of mine.

“Then, in gratitude for your service to Trixie, Trixie will furnish you with quarters in Neptune’s Bounty, where you may live for as long as you wish,” she says. Ah, now I get it. I refused to play a good hostage, so she’s going to keep me there until my willpower breaks. She’s not playing at some mysterious hidden agenda, she’s just patient. Keep me isolated in a metal box long enough, and I’ll eventually want to go home. “Trixie hopes that suits you?”

“No, Trixie,” I say. Trixie and the doctor both noticed that, and I don’t think either of them are in the mood for an argument, so I need to play my hand fast. I put on my game face, steady and firm, and stare right back at the doll. “While I appreciate your gratitude, I don’t find Neptune’s Bounty agreeable. Furthermore, accepting the hospitality of civic leaders in Vision has proven to be a costly mistake in the past.” Of course, that’s all a pile of nonsense. She doesn’t care. I have to keep a civil tone though—it’s my only hope of getting Doctor Stable back on my side.

“I’ve done you a great service, Trixie,” I say, taking a breath. Fixing her with an even stare. Making the lines come out right. Right. “And, if you’ll have me, I will continue to serve you in the future. All I ask in return is a small measure of your thanks. Give me that, and I am at your disposal.”

It’s not what she or the Doctor was expecting, and even Green has cracked an eye. Good, that means I did it properly. Curiosity might be the only thing stopping Trixie from shutting me down. “What is this measure?” she asks after a pause.

“I want a nice apartment in the city and a small stipend to live on. Or a salary, if you want to call serving you a job,” I make a little wave of a hoof, so I’ll seem more reasonable. Flexible. “I want the same thing for Green. You hide Berry from security easily enough; I’m sure you can do the same for her, and I’m sick of her living in that rotten hole. In fact, go ahead and make us flatmates. I’m sure you can arrange that.”

The doll pulls back its head, giving me an askew glance. “Anything else?” Trixie asks skeptically.

“Yeah. Uh...” I speak instinctively, blurting out the words without thinking. “Stop calling Green ‘Envy.’ It’s mean, and she doesn't like it.”

That catches Green’s attention at once, and she turns to face me head on, both eyes open. She’s surprised—pupils a little wide. I can’t catch Trixie’s expression through the doll, but I’m betting it’s much the same. “And yeah, that’s uh... that’s everything.”

Trixie doesn’t answer at first, tapping her hoof to her chest. She and Doctor Stable share a glance. He shrugs. She shrugs.

“Very well,” Trixie says. “Done.”

Done. Simple as that. Just like in her office. I stare Trixie down, and she folds like a wet sponge. Gives in for no reason at all. Just like that, I win.

Right.

“Env... Green,” Trixie corrects herself. That had to be intentional. “Still needs some time to recover. For the sake of security though, Trixie wants to get you in disguise and out of Doctor Stable’s practice as quickly as possible. The price on your head is entirely too high to trust anypony with the knowledge of your identity for long.” She sounds almost reasonable, talking that way.

“In order to ensure nopony can link you with your disguise,” she continues, “you’ll be transported out of the practice by sealed freight car. Doctor Stable will give you your medication immediately before you leave, so no one but you and him will know what you look like.” She says it calmly, like it was a set of instructions, but I know very well that she’s not really talking to me. She’s giving the doctor a much simpler message: if I get ratted out, he hangs.

“Sounds good.” I nod. “Anything else?”

“Get a new belt, and don’t use your real name,” Trixie says with a little snort. “Doctor, you can see to her from here? Trixie is late for a City Council meeting.”

“Yes. Thank you, Trixie.” He nods to her, and her token pops out of the wiredoll’s flank. I wait until it goes completely limp, and only then heave a sigh of relief.

“Well, let’s go then,” Doctor Stable says, gesturing me to the door. He’s still not happy with me, but that lecture from Trixie has given him other things to focus on. Suits me fine.

“A moment, Doctor.” My legs are still sore. I’m so weak I can’t even hop up onto the edge of Green’s bed. But I walk up to it at least. She’s shut her eyes again, not looking at me any longer.

“I’ll see you soon, Green,” I say. She doesn’t answer, but I see her squeeze her eyes shut tighter. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see,” I speak quietly, but still she doesn't answer. “You saved my life twice, Green. I’ve only saved yours once. I still owe you, you understand? I owe you. Are you going to make a welcher out of me? Are you?”

It was the right thing to say. I see her ears fold back, the comment landing. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” she whispers, though her voice is still pained.

“It’ll be okay, Green. You’ll see,” I repeat as I turn back to the door. “I’m going to make it all right again. All the way it should be. Just you and me.” Her eyes are still shut, but I give her a little smile, and then finally turn to go. She’ll be okay.

My bags are too heavy to carry in my weakened state, but Doctor Stable catches the hint and levitates them alongside him. We make good time through the halls, moving past exam rooms, past those golden decorations and fancy columns. We move to a stairwell, then down, out of the beautiful halls and into a loading dock of some kind.

It’s like a miniature Rainbow Tram station, except that there’s only one car, and it’s an empty metal box about the size of a carriage, accessible via an open sliding door. The machinery is clearly operated by a small lever in the corner, and there’s nopony else here. Doctor Stable gently places my bag and belt inside the container, and then reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a series of little vials.

“There are five you’ll need to take,” he says, levitating them up to me. His expression is drawn. Flat. He didn’t want to do this. “This first one is a tonic dye. I picked your colors at random to be safe, and you ended up with a soft-green coat and teal hair.” Yeah, because that’s not a decision I would want to be consulted on or anything. Thanks, Doctor.

He lifts the second one, oblivious. “The second one is a tonic called Clay Pony. It’ll change your facial structure in a way I can configure with magic. I’ve already set it up, so all you have to do now is drink it. It’s not as good as real plastic surgery, but you can’t have that in your current state.” I had wondered. Fine. “The third one is a mix of a number of regenerative medications. It will restore your shaved coat and heal your scars, particularly the ones on your ankles. They’re too recognizable.” Fine. “The fourth one is a tonic called Bright Eyes. Changes your eye color. Picked at random. Grey.” Fine.

“The last one is a mantle called Changeling,” he says, lifting the fifth and final bottle. “It changes the expression of your original cutie mark.”

“Wait, what?” Instinctively, I take a step back, like the bottle was going to come to life and attack me. “You mean it changes my special talent?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But it changes what symbol represents that talent. So a pony whose special talent is making pocket watches might have a set of gears as their new cutie mark, instead of their original watch face.”

“You can’t do that,” I insist. My tail curls up around my flanks, covering that last bit of hair there. “You’re changing everything else. My old cutie mark is all I have left!”

“Well... that may be, Siren,” Doctor Stable says. He’s hesitating again, and he clears his throat to buy time. “But your wanted poster has an unfortunately accurate drawing of your original cutie mark. Changing your coat color and face won’t do much on their own. We could find somepony to touch it up with dye, I suppose, but...” He shrugs.

He shrugs. And I stand there.

“I do think Trixie will let you change your mind, if that’s what you want,” he finally says. After I’ve made him wait long enough. “She cares about you more than you realize, Siren. She just... doesn’t know how to show it.” His expression is sad. Compassionate. It would be heartwarming if it weren't so pathetic. Yeah, I’m sure she cares, Doctor. I can really feel her love. That or you’re a weak-minded fool she’s made dance like a puppet.

“Siren. You’re clearly uncomfortable with this,” Doctor Stable says, gesturing back to the stairs. “Why don’t we—”

“Shut up and give me the vials,” I mutter. The glow around them changes from blue to pink as I pull them away, holding them in the air beside me. The doctor looks affronted, but only for a second. Then he lowers his head, and softens  his eyes, and he seems sad again. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “The air in the container will probably get a little musty, but don’t worry—your ride is short. You’ll be fine.” Fine.

Fine.

I step into the cargo container, feeling it rock under me. I suppose he gets the hint that I’m going to take these on the way, because after a moment, he steps up to the door and takes the handle.

“Wait,” I say, before he can shut the door. His head turns up quickly. He thinks I’m about to change my mind. “When I was out, I asked the nurse for pain medication, and she gave me something. I don’t know what it was, but I recognized the taste. Rarity dosed me with the same thing when I was in the Pavilion. Can you get me a list of all the medication I was given when I was here?” I’d delay if I could, but it’s better not to. “Tell Trixie it’s important for my recovery or something so she’ll forward it along.”

“Oh, uh... of course.” A flick of his eyes checks with me one more time to make sure there’s nothing else, and when I nod, he takes the door handle with his hoof. “Good luck,” he says before sliding the door shut. It closes with a hiss and seals with a loud thud. Then I’m in shadow, where the only light is a faint pink glow coming from five vials beside me.

The cargo container rocks around me. I can hear the doctor pulling the lever and the mechanisms above me springing to life. I ignore them. My attention is entirely on the vials to my left. I don’t remember which is which, now. They all look the same.

“So that’s it for Siren Song then.” It helps to say it aloud. To hear the sound echo around me. There’s water splashing outside the container—I’m moving. “I mean. Daring Do was supposed finish her off, and that was kind of a flop. So I’ve done this before, I guess. Sitting in the dark, holding a bottle of something that will kill me.” I laugh a little. It’s not a happy laugh, but it still makes me feel better. “It’s a little less dramatic the second time around.”

I swish the bottle a bit. “It did help though. Daring Do. I...” I swallow, and force the words out. “I don’t regret taking it, you know?” I know. “It didn’t kill me, but it did make me less Siren Song and more... something else.” Something new. “And that’s good. Siren Song wasn’t all that great, to be honest. She was selfish and mean and... had weird dreams. About ears.” Not now. “But. Step in the right direction! Moving... on up.” I swallow. “Right.”

I’ll need to take a new name. What should I call myself? Daring Do seems like the best choice, but I can’t pick that. It’s too widely known—an obvious pseudonym. It should be something meaningful though. Something deep. Pony names aren’t just names. They’re part of our destiny. The name I pick could change the course of my entire life. I could call myself Fresh Start, I guess. Or Clean Slate. Neither of those really resonate though.

I think about what I’ll look like. Gentle green coat, teal hair, grey eyes. Those are all kind of nautical colors. Like seawater, or ocean foam. Something to do with that. Tide Shift? Deep Current?

No. Sea Change.

“Sea Change.” I roll the name over through my mouth. It sounds good. It fits me. I’d go by ‘Change’ for short. I bet Green will like it.

Yeah, of course she will.

Well... here we go then.

I lift the vials, and one by one, I drink them all.