There is a saying that truth is stranger than fiction. As somepony who has read nearly every book she's come across, I can say that this isn't necessarily true, even in a land of magic like Equestria. The reality behind the quote is that truth only feels stranger than fiction because reality can sometimes force a pony to change their view on what is real and what isn't. I too had to come to grips with a reality matching even the strangest fiction I've known…but perhaps I should start from the beginning.
Even after so many years, I remember it like yesterday. The night started out like any other. I went over to one of my friend's house and attended a small party. The games and the food were excellent, but they didn't matter in light of simply spending time with my closest friends and goofing off.
The dancing and partying tired me out and the copious amounts of sweets and snacks made me sluggish. I made my way home with thoughts of my soft bed and warms blankets filling my mind. These thoughts were momentarily banished upon spotting a unicorn stallion standing under a streetlight.
He was Fine Slice, a professional chef that had moved into town nearly a full month ago. He had a plain brown coat and nicely styled black hair that never showed signs of being compressed by a hair net. I often found myself running into him every time I left my home. It was unusual, but the cheerful stallion was a joy to talk to whenever we bumped into each other, sometimes literally.
This particular encounter struck me as strange though. Not once had we ever encountered each other at night. He had a dark appearance that strongly contrasted his normally cheery demeanor. I called out to him thinking it some trick of the light, but he didn't respond at first. I wondered what could cause the stallion I've come to know to act so strangely, so I approached him.
Once I came under the light, he looked up with a smile. He told me that he didn't notice me, which was weird to me even then. I didn't have time to think on this as he spoke to me excitedly and pulled out the source of his elation: a brand new knife.
He held it to me in his magic aura and allowed me to the examine it closely. The blade was heavily serrated, wavy, and was even jagged. As a tool for preparing an eye-catching meal, it seemed poorly suited for the job. I asked him about this and he gave me a toothed smirk.
There was a flash of light and pain, but I was too stunned by the sensory overload to notice anything else. I didn't even have time to fully comprehend what happened when his horn charged with magic and fired a beam in my face. I was blasted back and felt like part of my chest was being torn out. Even through the pain and fear, I managed to look down and find a wound bleeding heavily. It was then that I realized the knife's purpose: Murder. Everything about it was perfect for making a pony bleed out.
The knife came again and struck the base of my wing, making me cough up blood. It was a precise, crippling blow meant to keep me down. I tried lifting my head to look at my attacker, but another blast of magic kept me down.
My thoughts and senses became muddled, but I was still aware of everything happening. Four more stabs came, one for each leg. There was even a violent twist for my exposed cutie mark.
I was completely incapacitated, and I knew it. I've spent years of my time mastering all kinds of offensive and defensive magic. I managed to become a very capable flyer and was also fairly strong. To a stallion with a knife, it all meant nothing. The blade hovered over my head and came down on me. Without a doubt, that's when I died.
But, as I said, that was only the beginning. I still remember everything that went through my mind. It felt like I was walking from a dream, but I knew that it was no dream, nor was it a nightmare. My death, that pain: They were both very real.
How? Why? I needed to know why I felt alive , and I'm not proud to say that I panicked. I struggled and squirmed against my confines, but they would only budge, never break. I tried to breathe, to force myself to calm down, but my lungs wouldn't work. This made me panic more. I thrashed violently to no avail and with no concern for my own exhaustion. Only when I heard something did I stop. I strained my hearing, but could only hear a muffled voice.
The voice was kind, which helped calm me down. I still couldn't breathe, but I realized that I didn't feel the need to. I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn't respond. I tried to find my voice, but the lack of breath impeded my efforts.
I did everything I could to rationalize what was happening. Somehow I survived and was brought to a hospital. The voice was the nurse trying to calm me down. My restraints were the bandages keeping my wounds from bleeding out. The lack of pain was the anesthesia. There were still inconsistencies: I could think clearly, I could still move around some even though the bandages should have prevented it, and my body felt slimy for lack of a better word. The biggest inconsistency was that the anesthetics that would numb my pain should make all the inconsistencies impossible. I thought on it as much as I could, but my exhaustion quickly came over me. With nothing to go on, I decided to sleep it off and wait for more.
I didn't know for how long I slept, but I woke up restless. I did my best to remain still, to remain calm, but the desire to move was like an itch that demanded to be scratched. I squirmed within my slimy confines until I quickly tired.
This cycle continued for longer than I could have possibly kept track of. Each passing moment had my panic returning gradually. The voices were drawn to me every time I struggled, but they never did anything else. My bandages were long overdue for being changed, but I never felt them doing anything to me. I successfully used my struggles to draw their attention whenever I heard them, but they never did more than speak excitedly: almost approvingly.
Without either my nurses or any pain to discourage my movements, I continued to do so whenever the need arose. I had long since given up on figuring out the inconsistencies; after all, the only other option was to go mad from the lack of information, and that could never end well.
Time continued to pass as my desire to move only grew yet my confines were getting more and more constricting. I was forced to work against the elastic bindings in order to satiate my need. What I never expected was for the bindings to tear.
Any concern I might have had was buried under my excitement. For the first time since waking, I could feel the cool air against my skin and the need to breath. It took some effort, but I managed to inhale. The air felt like ice creeping down to my very core, but that fortunately warmed quickly.
I tried to open my eyes next, but even the dim light was too bright for them to remain open for long. I groaned in discomfort, but it sounded more like cooing. I heard the sudden shuffling of hooves across hard floors. I felt somepony's magical aura and lift me out of whatever I broke free from. "Hello princess, it’s good to finally meet you."
Before I could ponder the nature of what she said or form a response, I felt myself being laid out on a hard table with a single soft towel. When the aura released me, the towel was used to wipe whatever sliminess still clung to my body. The cloth moved unimpeded down my body multiple times until I realized a massive inconsistency. 'My legs! Where are my legs?! My wings: What's happened to me?!' I screamed out what sounded like screeching rather than my usual yelling.
Just as my voice went raw from the screaming, the mare's magic brought me up so she could cradle me in one leg. A small part of my mind noticed how the mare was large enough to hold me in one limb, but the thought was drowned under discovering that I suddenly became a hexaplegic. The nurse did her best to try to calm me with soothing tones and gentle touches, but losing their limbs is not something anypony simply calms down from. I tried to open my eyes and hoped will all my heart that I didn't lose those as well. My eyelids were unsurprisingly heavy but I put my all into opening them. The seconds it took to open them felt like minutes. My sight was blurry and my vision was awash in light.
It took time and considerable willpower, but my eyes eventually adjusted. While I was growing tired of being surprised at this point, I was still shocked at the sight of a shape similar to a pony, but clearly wasn't one. The horn had the shape of a curved spike instead of a pony's spiral cone. It also had insectoid wings and a body covered in a black shiny carapace. It's mouth had two large canines in contrast to a pony's flat teeth. It's eyes were sky blue with a gradient that turned completely white where the pupils would be. I could go into further description, but I'll say for simplicity's sake that it was a changeling looking down at me with an expression I could only call affectionate. “Wow, you opened your eyes already. You're a special one, princess.”
I couldn't really process what she was saying at the time since my mind was fully focused on trying to wrap itself around the visual information alone. The changeling lifted me in her magic and brought me close enough to nuzzle. As catatonic as I was, I failed to react to the close contact.
She then carried me around and eventually stopped in front of a polished mirror that I was turned to look at. Even with my blurry vision, I could make out a pasty/pale lump of flesh hovering in the changeling's magical aura. I remember not even asking myself if that was me. It's difficult to ask anything when you pass out.
I was not aware at the time, but this marked the end of my first week.