//------------------------------// // Habituate // Story: Gilded Sister // by Kind of Brony //------------------------------// Just re-watched Baby Cakes. Can you believe they were only a month old in this episode. Foals grow up fast, apparently. My new bedroom is much better than my old one. It might seem obvious since I used to live in a drab hospital room, but it’s actually a massive understatement. My new room is huge, the walls are painted a light blue with cloud motifs and lacy white curtains hang over a large window. The floor is scattered with a wide assortment of toys and stuffed animals, and while none of them are electronic, each one is a work of art. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all hand-made and unique. Even the mobile above my crib is beautiful, all glittering metal and exquisitely crafted horses of every color. When it spins, it looks like a stampeding rainbow, and I find myself spending hours sometimes watching those horses prance. Maybe it’s just the novelty of it all, of not having to force air into my lungs or having natural sunlight fill the room instead of harsh, fluorescent bulbs filling the space with a constant buzz. No matter the reason, I’ve found myself not incredibly bored like I often was before even without books to help pass the time. It’s been a couple of weeks now, and they’ve been full of bizarre experiences. Finding out I was a baby pony-unicorn thing in a world of pony-things probably being the most… shocking of the lot. Understanding a situation and truly coming to terms with it are two entirely different things, and I’ve found myself red-faced on more than one occasion. Things like nursing and diaper changes are degrading no matter how much I tell myself they are necessary. My new dad seems pretty squeamish about the latter, if the green face he gets whenever he sees it done is any indication. My new mom always rolls her eyes at him and chuckles when he rushes out of the room, and I can’t help but do the same. The two of them love each other very much, and I’m glad to know they’re actually happy to take care of me even if I am a lot of work. Then again, I’m sure telekinesis really helps lighten the load. Apparently, all unicorns are superheroes, which really broke my brain when I saw Mom levitating a diaper into the trash bin while simultaneously fitting me with a new one using nothing but the power of her mind. I mean really, seeing someone use an amazing gift like that to do something as mundane as changing diapers is just so strange. I actually prefer being changed by the non-unicorn ponies because, evidently, witnessing what is supposed to be an impossible feat gives me headaches. Oh yeah, all the help my parents have might also have something to do with them being okay with caring for two babies. There’s so much help in fact that, at first, I had a little trouble knowing exactly who my parents were because of all the apparent servants they have working for them that help take care of us babies. Being fed by Mom the first time answered half of the question, but it was up in the air for Dad before I eventually pinned the white coated, silver maned stallion as our father since he spent so much time leaning over our crib and making silly faces. They’re so nice that I try not to be too much of a burden to them and only cry when I really do need something. It’s embarrassing, but literally not being able to take care of myself makes it a necessity. It helps knowing that at least this time around, I won’t always be work for other people, and hey, diapers aren’t as bad as bedpans. What is bad though is my progress in making heads or tails of this new language. With no one actively trying to teach it to me, I’ve been forced to figure it out by ear, which has only gotten me a pretty good guess on what words mean cute and adorable, but little else. Still, I practice under my breath at night and during naptimes before I go to sleep; getting used to the new shape of my mouth and training my lips, tongue, and vocal cords. I don’t know when baby ponies are supposed to start speaking, but I’m guessing it’s a bit too soon for me to start blurting out what I’ve learned. I’ve decided to wait until my brother starts and to just follow his lead. Heh, my brother. Getting used to that has probably been the highlight of my time so far. Having a brother has been wonderful. Our parents keep us together most of the time, and even though we cannot speak, he keeps the loneliness at bay. Right now, I find myself staring at him as he sleeps, pacifier bobbing in his mouth. He’s absolutely adorable. “Blueblood,” I whisper as I run a hoof through his mane. Our names, at least, were easy to pick out of the baby-talk we are constantly bombarded with. Pureblood was my own, no doubt the similarity of the two is because we are twins. It would be weird getting used to the new name, but I think as long as I have my brother with me, I’ll be able to accept it and this new life. He’s a bit fussy and tends to wake me up just as much as our parents, but I try not to hold that against him. He’s a real baby after all, and he doesn’t know better. He squeezes his stuffed bear and my rabbit to his chest and whimpers, so I make hushing noises and scoot closer to comfort him. He tends to be pretty grabby about toys, liking to hoard them on his side of the crib, but I don’t mind since they don’t interest me anyway. My efforts fail and he begins to cry. The smell of dirty diapers reaches my nose, and I’m pretty sure it’s not mine. Sighing, I close my eyes and wait for somebody to come in. Yes, having a brother is great, but it can also be trying at times. At least he won’t be a baby forever; he might be cute now, but he’ll be a lot more manageable when he’s older. How could I have been so wrong? He’s only a month old, and he’s already running. I was surprised when he took his first steps a little over a week ago, but this is ridiculous. I’m actually sort of embarrassed that he’s managing so much better than I am right now. I’m the one with the memories of a past life, stationary as it was, at yet he’s only tripping up every dozen steps or so as opposed to my every five. "Blueblood!” I try to call, the name coming out even more garbled than usual due to my panting. "Blueblood! Blueblood!” The little trouble-maker ignores me of course, laughing as he sprints down the hall and knocks another potted plant from its table. Seeing the foliage nearly whack my little brother’s head made me tense up and misstep once again, falling flat on my face. A distant part of my mind is still trying to figure out exactly how the little pony got out of our nursery to begin with. We had both been sitting on the floor, me looking through a picture book while he sat a couple paces away playing with a choo-choo train ridden by one of his stuffed bears. I admired the artwork in my book, following the simple storyline while listening to Blueblood’s happy giggles in the background, a content smile on my lips. Then, the giggling stopped, and when I finally noticed, I turned around to see the door swinging open and my brother running out. I’ve been chasing him for five minutes now, and can confirm two things. The first is that we live in a labyrinth, and the second is that being a responsible sister is going to be much harder than I thought. Before I manage to pick myself up off the floor, a shadow looms over me and I am pulled into the air. Being turned around by a pair of hooves, I see one of the hornless maids staring worriedly at me, mumbling as she inspects me for injury. Another crash in the distance gets both of our attention and I quickly find myself hanging by my diaper from her mouth as she gallops down the hall. Rounding so many corners that my eyes begin to spin, we end up in what looks like a dining room where I spot a grinning little colt running atop a long table as a stallion attempts to chase him down. Blueblood was doing surprisingly well in his game of keep-away as he sprinted from one end to the other whenever his pursuer got close. The stallion, an older looking fellow with a noticeably greying mane, was breathing heavily as he tried to capture his ward, but it looked like he was losing hope until he spotted the maid holding me. Shouting out what I assume are instructions, the maid and stallion formulate a plan and begin a pincer maneuver on my now cornered brother. I remain still so that the mare can focus on the task at hand and breathe a sigh of relief. It seems the chase would soon be over and brother would soon be safe. Honestly, I was looking forward to being taken back to the crib at this point for a nap; I haven’t gotten this much exercise in over a decade. As they close in on the little pony, his gaze snaps back and forth and he frowns. Then, before my very eyes, the impossible happens. Blueblood’s tiny horn begins to glow a dark blue before he is engulfed by a bubble of the same color and disappears with an audible pop. For a brief moment, I believe I had just witnessed my brother’s death, but, as we all stare dumbfounded, the colt comes dashing from underneath the tablecloth, laughing his head off as he makes his great escape. Once again I find myself with a headache, though this one bordering on a migraine, from witnessing the impossible; my brother, a mere infant of one month, can apparently teleport. A baby can bend space and time as if it were a mere plaything. What sort of crazy world am I living in? The question does not feel nearly as redundant as it should by this point.