“Remember,” a deep burgundy lunar pegasus mare with a bright red mane, spiked into a crude mohawk led a young changeling mare through the back halls of her father’s tavern in Canterlot, “Don’t stare at his eyes. He’s not really blind. He’s just really, really near-sighted. ‘The Blind Goat’ is more like a professional nickname.”
“And he can really see the future?” the changeling mare’s voice betrayed her clear nervousness.
“The future, the past, secrets, lies, Billy is legit,” the young mare caught herself, “DON’T call him Billy, though, what-ever you do. He lets me call him that. My folks call him William. Call him Tarotius, Tarot, whichever he introduces himself as. You’re not some stuck up noble, so he won’t insist on ‘Mr. Solitaire’. But you might get brownie points if you let him correct you on that last one.”
“It doesn’t scare you? The Blind Goat has a pretty dark reputation,” the changeling looked around nervously as the pair descended into the basement.
“Billy’s a teddy-bear,” the lunar pegasus rolled her eyes, “I’ve heard the stories. Believe me, my dad encourages the stories. He says it’s good for business, but trust me, I’ve known Billy my whole life. We grew up together. My parents sort of adopted him before I was born. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Some ponies don’t like what he shows them. Others don’t want to pay the price to fix it, so they tell ponies he cursed them. On the up side, he really brings in the goth ponies on Saturday nights. Well, here we are. Down those stairs and to the right. Or left, if you have to use the restroom.”
“You’re not coming in with me?” the changeling had sudden second thoughts.
“Sorry,” the lunar mare smiled, showing a bit of fang, “Billy won’t let me see him do ‘real’ readings, just the show he puts on for the stupid goth ponies. Just remember, don’t stare at his eyes. Don’t call him ‘Billy’. Knock three times and tell him Candy Apple sent you.”
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“Come in. Sit down. Tarotius William Solitaire, at you service,” the goat was the color of dirty cream, with eye’s the color of dead salmon that refused to focus on any one thing. A moment stood, pregnant in the air, “And you are?”
“Zeena,” the changeling nearly whispered.
“If we’re using fake names, then I guess you can call me King Sombra,” the goat rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“Pinkie Pie Number Thirteen,” the changeling nearly stuttered in surprise..
“I don’t set the price. Your first price is your name, your real name” the goat replied flatly.
“The pony’s call me anypony they want to see,” the changeling’s voice dripped caustic resentment.
“And yet the card demands your real name,” the goat hung his head, “It must be difficult to maintain the form of an adult, hole-free changeling. Especially at your age.”
“Swing Shift,” the changeling stepped backwards and briefly considered bolting back through the door. Nopony had ever been able to see through her disguises, and yet this goat had just slapped her in her face with her own biggest secret. But, still, it only meant that perhaps he could help her after all.
The goat took a card out of the satin bag and laid it face down in front of the changeling, the cards backing was coal grey and badly water damaged, “It’s your choice to turn the card. I will warn you, turn it by hoof, no magic.”
Swing reached forward with a shaking hoof, she had heard stories. They said that once you turned that card, that was it. One way or the other events would be set in motion. There would be a price. Closing her eyes so briefly it might have been mistaken for a blink, she turned the card.
The card depicted a human man in a brightly colored suit and hat smiling and leading a smiling pink mare with a long flat mane and tail through a hall of mirrors. All of the mirrors except the ones to either side of the couple were shattered. The mirror on the pony’s side revealed a changeling filly, alone in the cold, leaning against the glass, her eyes wide and tear-stained. The mirror on the human’s side reflected a man huddled in a padded room dressed in nothing more than a hospital gown. His eye’s twinkled with the sparks of madness. Over their heads floated thirteen brightly colored balloons, each bearing it’s own mocking jack-o-lantern grin.
“The Wrathful Traders,” the goat named the card tonelessly, “Each has traded everything and been given everything they asked for. They walk a path of broken glass beneath the torment of laughter. Each see’s in the other merely a reflection of their own desires. They are strangers.”
The changeling trembled violently as the goat continued, “Rebellion, detachment, and a grievous loss. You want to recover what was lost. What you want carries a heavy cost. I would consider the card’s warning. The friend you want back is a stranger to you, a one way mirror which only reflected your own desires.”
“I- I don’t care what it costs!” the changeling sobbed bitterly, “He was my only friend! He was the only one I ever trusted with my secrets and I want him back!”
“Many ponies say ‘I don’t care what it costs’,” the goat shook his head sadly, “Few really mean it. But it is not my place to deny you. I see between the world. I read the words behind the cards. Changelings live by deception. It is their very nature. But you have lived so many lies, you no longer see the truth of yourself. It has twisted the form that is the real you, until you hide it even from yourself.”
The goat fluidly flipped the card back over, revealing the back had changed into a highly polished mirrored surface. Swing Shift leaned forward momentarily, then withdrew in horror at the monster reflected back. The goat simply carried on, “Hide what you will from the ponies around you. Every mirror, to your eyes, now reflects the truth behind the laughter. When you have seen the world in smoking ruins, you will have what you asked for. The time is coming sooner than you may think.”
The goat slipped the card back into it’s pouch, and retrieved a bottle of ale from an ice bucket beside his seat. He sat there, silently drinking in disinterest as the changeling filly exited with shaking legs and clattering hooves.