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// Chapter 2: Growth {RE-EDITED} 
// Story: The Poisoned Barb 
// by ManlyDerp 
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What followed after my hatching were some of the most frustrating days, then weeks, then months, then finally years of my new life. I was clothed and bathed like an infant because I was one. I was fed and burped like an infant because I was one. I was changed and held, to the best of ponies' abilities, like an infant because I was one. From an independent woman to a helpless babe; my mind has a hard time imagining anything that could be as damaging to an adult psyche as that...

... Well except for my inevitable second go through puberty, of course. That goes without saying. The jury is still out on whether or not I'll survive that little slice of hell Tartarus as I did with infancy. Mentally I’m still hardwired towards being attracted to human anatomy and human anatomy only; I don’t know how I’ll react if I suddenly start finding other dragons or ponies sexy visually pleasing. My guess is ‘poorly’.

Moving on; from my baby years through most of my toddlerhood I was the responsibility of many a nursemaid and many a doctor. Dusk was far too young at the time to care for me himself, after all. The little colt would visit me often in my room in Canterlot Castle, to make sure I wasn't lonely, but it wasn't until years later when he was on the crust of becoming a teenager that the two of us got assigned to watch over one another. By then I was able to speak and understand his language better and actually control my body, but it took me years to regain a sense of normalcy.

It took me years to simply come to grips with what I even was. 

I still vividly remember the first time I ever saw myself in the mirror, and how the reflection caused me to feel such pure dejection in both my mind and soul.

In place of a large dark-skinned woman with reddish hair, I instead saw a small purple lizard with green spines. The baby fat was a poor substitute for the generous curves I once possessed, and my eyes were a completely different shade of green, but these two features were the only aspects that had stayed the sameish between my transition from one form and the next. Everything else was so strange and new, and it frightened me greatly.

Instead of hands, I had claws. I had a tail where I once had none. Purple scales covered my body where once I was bare. And, as the damnable teething was quick to remind me, I was growing fangs where once I had the teeth of an omnivore.

Plus I could breathe green dragonfire.

I still feel absolutely awful for the nursemaid who accidentally taught me this little fact one day while he was burping me. The shock of it caused me to become a crying wreck and it was his job to comfort me, even though I had just lit his tail ablaze. I must remember to do something nice for mister Lunardanseur the next chance I have.

I cried a lot in those early days, though not all of the tears were for the constant attention an infant needs. In the beginning, I cried about my situation; being helpless and unable to communicate or even understand what everyonepony around me was saying. I was convinced for the longest time that they were responsible for what I had become, for "stealing" my body and my family. 

I even lashed out at Dusk on a few occasions, scratching him or "accidentally" setting him on fire. I regret acting as such now, like a brat. He was one of the few who was showing me love and I initially rejected him. I don’t think I can be truly blamed though; whenever he laughed at words I could not translate, I always saw it as him mocking me. This couldn’t be further from the truth, but I had no way of knowing.

This hatred I had for him and everypony else in those days didn’t go to waste. I used that hate, that ever glowing fire, to spur me forward in my growth. I resigned myself to learning how to stand again so that I could face those who had imprisoned me; I would learn how to walk again so that I could one day run. I would learn how to use my claws so that I could take back control of my life with them; I would learn how to speak again so that I could once again have a voice. 

I would learn how to control my fire and my tail so that I could fight back if need be.

As many would attest, I was an abnormally driven baby in the beginning. I learned things and gained control of my body faster than most foals ever could. “Well, that’s because she’s a dragon,” was what most said to rationalize away my odd quirks, unknowingly adding fuel to my inner blaze with their garbled words. Every time I was cooed at, every time they stomped their hooves in cheer for my meager accomplishments, I misinterpreted it as mocking laughter. I would growl back at them, only for it to come out as infantile babble. It was a constant reminder that I had a long way to go. 

This lasted for almost a year, until I was ten months of age; it was then that something happened that quickly changed my attitude.

One night I had a nightmare, and then I had it again the next night and even the night after that. I would suddenly find myself wide awake in my crib, staring up at the mobile overhead; trying to piece together why my heart was racing and why I was sweating. It was the same nightmare every evening, I knew that much at least. Every night I would be able to retain more and more details about it but I was never able to see the big picture.

When I finally did see said big picture, I about gave up on life altogether.

These dreams of mine, these nightmares, were nothing of the sort; they were memories. Memories that had not returned to me all those months ago on the day I was reborn. I thought I had them all, that I knew it all, but one hole had unknowingly alluded me. One hole that I had subconsciously tried to hide from myself, fearing what the knowledge would bring. 

These hidden memories were the final moments of my old life, and they contained the knowledge of how I died.

It was a dark and stormy night. I feel like I’m failing as an author for even writing these words down. I was traveling home from grocery shopping, operating a vehicle the likes of which unseen in this world. To describe it would be to say that it was a self-propelled carriage, un-needing of the aid of a pony to pull it. It can move anywhere from the pace of a normal carriage to the speed of a well-exercised pegasus. It was quite a powerful contraption. One can only imagine that great care is needed to properly handle such a "beast"; even the slightest of wrong inputs can result in horrific consequences.

Just look at me, for example.

It had blindsided me, the second metallic carriage; its operator, a young teen clearly intoxicated, uncaring of those around him. His vehicle overtook my own, struck me at an angle with such reckless speed...

And then the next thing I knew I found myself waking up again inside of my infantile crib, the thing being what I once saw as my prison until that point. As I laid there in my forced cocoon of blankets, on the verge of real tears, I finally understood what had happened to me. I finally saw the writing on the wall for what it was, and the severity of what it all meant.

Reincarnation. I had died and been reincarnated. This new life of mine wasn’t temporary it was permanent. I wasn’t going to magically wake up again as an adult, I would need to work towards that goal yet again. I wasn’t a damsel in distress, working to be rescued and returned to her family. 

I was dead. 

I was dead and never going to see them again. 

I was never going to see my children or husband or friends ever again. We would never be reunited in an afterlife, doomed forever to be drifters through a reality larger than we could even begin to comprehend. 

And I was an infant; a babe forced to remember all and gaze upon the sheer horror such knowledge wrought.

Alone.

Forever. 

Of course I cried. That night I cried harder than ever before. My tears were real as I mourned in earnest. I wanted to die at the moment; I wanted to die in spirit or mind, simply so I wouldn’t have to endure the soul-crushing pain of the truth any longer.

The only thing that caused me to stop, even if it was for a second, was when an unfamiliar pair of hooves picked me up and cradled me softly. I was so used to my usual nursemaid’s hooves at that point that a younger pair of them being wrapped around my body startled me. When I opened my stinging, tear-stained dragon eyes for the pony, I was taken by surprise when it turned out to be none other than a pajama-clad Dusk Shine. 

The young colt had just finished his late-night studying at the time, under the Prince’s guidance, and was about to sleep in his new guest room when he overheard my wails of sorrow. The kindhearted youth didn’t need to second guess himself as he changed his path and headed straight for my room. Now cradled in his forelegs, I could clearly see the look of concern on his face as he stared down at me. 

His eyes were soft and full of innocence, yet I could see the clear signs of a thinking individual behind them. This was the first time I had ever saw him like that; as a mature pony instead of a spoiled child. It was at that point, as I choked up in his embrace, that I came to realize that this young unicorn wasn’t mocking me or taking pride in my pain; he actually cared about me.

In the big scary world I was now a part of, I saw one person who truly cared about me.

Call it Stockholm syndrome, call it the ramblings of a desperate woman; I couldn’t care less. All I knew at that moment was that I was an orphaned child, with no family to speak of. Trapped in a world that I was only starting to realize seemed vaguely famil-... completely foreig-... that I was only starting to realize seemed vaguely familiar to me. I was all of these things, I knew, but one person seemingly cared. One single person.

I felt that was more than enough for now.

Neither Dusk nor I got a wink of sleep that night as I kept us both up with my endless mournful wails.