> When a Pony Calls
>  by Seven Fates
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> My Son, the Unicorn Mare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

An annoying ringing fills my ears, waking me. With a groan, I shift uncomfortably beneath my covers, wishing the alarm would cease. I even pull a pillow over my head in a futile attempt to drown it out. When that doesn't work, I sigh and blindly grope about the headboard for my cell phone.

I look at the display. According to its clock, it's 8:31 AM. It's a Friday morning, and I can't for the life of me remember why I would set my alarm so early. It isn't like my unemployed ass has anywhere to be; if I'd planned to be in town today, I wouldn't have had to set the alarm. Both of my parents are home today.

Shutting off the alarm function on my phone, I lie back in bed staring at the ceiling. The cool breeze of the air conditioning unit in the window across from the foot of my bed reminds me that beneath the blankets, I'm barely clothed.

Fighting against my better judgment, I rise out of bed and turn off the AC. My whole body is slightly chilled from the night of lying in front of the AC unit. “Fuck, if only I didn't need to be so cold to sleep,” I mumble to myself.

I look down to the floor of my room at the carpet of clothing. There's hardwood beneath the clothes-pile at the side of my bed, but because I'm lazy and I don't particularly care for the cold floor on my feet when I first wake up, I generally just discard previously worn clothes there. I'm a slob and I'm not the least bit proud, but when I stopped giving a shit in life, I became lazier than before.

Plucking my dressing gown off the floor, I don the robe and look at my desktop computer. It's in hibernation mode, just like it usually is in the mornings. Walking up to it, I tap the power button on the monitor. I follow up with the tap of a key on my keyboard before glancing left at my closed bedroom door.

I really should get a shower and some breakfast. I may live like a slob, but it's no excuse to not eat properly. Checking my email and everything else can wait. It's not like any messages on FIMFiction haven't been waiting all night anyway. Ponies are probably eager to hear news about Chapter 22 of ‘Displaced’, but they'll just have to wait until I get the okay from my editors.

Content that I'm making the right choice, I creep off into my bathroom. After a glass of cold water and a hot shower, I'm left feeling much more human. Gazing at the mirror, I contemplate shaving the scruffy stubble from my jaw. “Fuck it. I'll do it tomorrow.”

A voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door. “Soren, don't forget we're going into town today. We need to pick up groceries for this afternoon.”

Oh, right. My two sisters, their husbands, and my adorable niece are going to be joining us in the afternoon, and I'll be making burgers. “Alright, Mom. Just let me eat breakfast, and get dressed. I also need to read my messages.”

“Sure,” Mom replies. “Just don't sit there on your computer all morning.”

Once I have a toasted peanut butter sandwich in my system, I run back upstairs. Forcing the door open, I step through and quickly shut it behind me. Neither the cats or the dogs are allowed in my bedroom. It's my own private fortress, and I'd prefer it to stay that way.

I pull out my rocking chair, and waggle my mouse to wake the monitor again. Once the computer is fully operational, I sit down in my chair, and open my email client. As usual, there's the regular lot of spam that accumulates in the mornings, but nothing from my editors yet. I feel a bit disappointed, as I really want to get the chapter published, but I know that quality is preferable over quickness.

Tiredly, I dispatch the useless messages, and switch over to my web browser. I quickly check all my usual web-comics and less-than-savory Tumblr blogs that I follow. Just as I'm about to get up, however, my email client notifies me of a new message. Intrigued, I open the window back up, and a bizarre message catches my eye.

Someone by the name of T00tyFruityLyra1996—notably lacking any recognizable email host—has sent me a message. The subject line reads only ‘HELP!’ Interestingly enough, the message preview wouldn't display. Normally, I wouldn't give deleting such an email a second thought, but there’s something about it that calls to me. Against my better judgment, I double-click the email, and am immediately treated to an incomprehensible jumble of characters, spaces, and line breaks.

“Gaerdohjno epiaghpaeigh vapernpiernb aepwwpiripnb apribnkrlan.” I can't be sure, but judging by the sender's handle, they seem to be role-playing a pony who has somehow gained access to a computer and the Internet. They might even be 'frustrated' at their inability to type with their hooves.

Eh, I'm feeling playful. I don't see why I can't have a bit of fun indulging them in this role-play of theirs. In a reply, I type out the message “It seems you are having troubles using a keyboard. Perhaps you would have better luck with voice communication? Feel free to contact me by my Skype alias, Seven.Fates. Your friend, Soren.” What’s the worst that can happen? At worst, they turn into some nutjob and I block them. End of story, right?

I didn't expect a timely response, so you can imagine my surprise when Skype begins ringing almost immediately. Thrown for a loop, I reach over to where I left my headset, and quickly place it on my head. With a moment's hesitation, I click 'Answer.'

“Hello? Is this thing working?” There's a lot of static on the line, and a distinct distortion to her voice, but it's definitely female. “Ugh, I hope I got the right person.”

“Tooty Fruity Lyra I take it?” I can barely contain my laughter. “I've gotta say, your voice isn't quite as I imagined.”

“Sorry,” she replied. “I suppose I should explain... A few months ago, I found one of these human contraptions—I think you call it a laptop. I don't understand too well how it works, but I managed to access this thing called the Internet. I was always fascinated with humans, so you can imagine how happy I am to have an endless repository of human knowledge at my hooves.”

“... so the fandom was right then? You're obsessed with humans?”

“Obsessed is such a fickle word. I prefer the term intrigued. Anyways... I found out that there's a link between our two worlds... and apparently we’re some kind of cartoon to you guys?” She coughs indignantly. “Anyway... While I don't approve of some of the things this 'fandom' of yours does, I'd still like to know a whole lot about humans!”

“So... You decided to try to get into contact with humans?”

“Kinda...” She sounds embarrassed. “I actually have a proposal. I know that there are many 'Bronies' who would die for a chance to go to experience Equestria through the eyes of a pony, and I would love to experience Earth through the eyes of a human.” Her voice sounds even more chipper now. “I know becoming a human male wasn't my first choice, but you're the only one to respond to my message. So... Up for a little vacation?”

I slam my palm into my face. Surely she knows her role-play sounds utterly ridiculous, right? “Just for the sake of sating my curiosity, how in Equestria do you propose we do this?”

“Oh, that's easy!” She giggles like a little girl. “I bribed Twilight into getting me into the Starswirl the Bearded wing of the Canterlot Archives. Once I found a spell for transdimensional exchanges, I just had to try it at least once.”

“Say I agree... What then?” This sounds crazier and crazier... I really should end this. “How long would this body swap last?”

“A week!” she cheers. “Does that mean you'll say yes? Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Sure... why not?” I roll my eyes.

“Great! This will just take a second. Enjoy your trip to Equestria, but don't do anything weird to anypony.”

The computer tower begins to hum very loudly. This humming was quickly escalating into a screech as the case starts glowing. “Oh Jesus, what the fuck? I just fixed you, damn it!” The following explosion catapults me clear across the room.

The impact as I collided with the bookshelf beside my bed must have knocked me out, because when I open my eyes, my parents are standing in the room. They're quickly exchanging worried glances between the smoldering wreckage of my computer tower, and me. They seem to be whispering something to each other, but my ears are still ringing from the explosion.

Gingerly, I bring a hand to the back of my head. There's an angry welt there that I need to soothe desperately. When my arm crosses into my vision, however, I find an unfamiliar limb coated in aquamarine fur. Fearfully, I let my eyes wander further down the end of the limb, which is capped in a cute little hoof. Tentatively, I bring my other hand out to my face, only to be again greeted by an aquamarine foreleg.

Panic bubbling up inside of me, I turn my head to face the small mirror embedded in my headboard. When I see not my own pasty white skin and blue eyes, but equally familiar gold-orange eyes, a horn, and a cyan mane with white highlights, I can't help but scream. In my panic, I scramble backwards off of the foot of my bed, landing in a heap.

I peek out at my parents from beneath the pile of blankets that had fallen on me. “This is some sort of sick joke, right?” I manage to whimper in an incredibly feminine voice. “This is just a nightmare, and I'm going to wake up, right?”

My parents exchange looks of anxious confusion. My father is the first to speak, asking, “Who or what are you, and what have you done with our son?”

Panicky, I shout back, “I am your son!”

Mom is clearly unconvinced by just that. “Prove it.”

“I was born on October 21st, 1990! Your water broke, but you never went into labor, so they had to induce it!” I say anxiously. “I had a cat that I named for a spider on television, and a dog named for a whale!”

They both exchange blank looks, and then stare at me. It’s incredibly unnerving, though nowhere near as much as being a female pony is.

“Soren... What happened to you?” Dad says at last.

“I don't know...” I whimper. “There was this prank call on Skype... and then my computer exploded! When I opened my eyes, you two were standing there giving me funny looks, and I was like this!”

Uneasily, I try to stand. Not being used to standing on hooves, I can hardly be faulted for not being steady on my feet, right? Of course I fell flat on my ass repeatedly. Still, being covered in a blanket or two, and being on a carpet of discarded clothing isn't making getting up any easier. Shaking off the blanket, I turn to stare at my bed.

 Surely the ponies aren't really this small. My bed is up to my throat now. It's supposed to be just above my knees! Putting my forelegs up onto the bed, I try to kick off the floor and scramble onto the bed. That worked about as well can be expected when you're not used to your limbs. The action leaves me with my belly and forelegs on the bed, and my back end hanging off.

I swish my tail in annoyance at the indignity of it. I don't mean to, but it just sort of happens. I might have been thrilled to contemplate the new experiences that would have come with this squat equine form if I wasn't so mortified by the implications. We are having guests this afternoon, and now I look like this. How can I possibly appear before them like this?

“So you're not only a unicorn...” Mom says after a moment's pause. “But you're a mare with some sort of harps on her flanks now, too?”

“Don't remind me...” I whine. “Don't you all have some shopping to do? I mean, you can't just cancel the gathering. Hillary and Klein flew out all the way from Alberta, and this is the only opportunity you'll probably get to see them. You haven't seen Valerie or Greg in a while, and I know you're dying to see your granddaughter.”

“And what will you do? Just lay up here in bed and pretend you don't exist?”

“That'd be preferable...” I mumble, dragging myself onto the bed. I bury my head in my pillows before saying, “Just tell them I came down with something.”

Dad watches me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. “Alright, but just so you know, once the reunion is over, we need to have a talk about this prank call.” He coughs into his hand and goes for the door. “I know that you know more than you're letting on.”

“I promise, I'll tell you both everything I know.” I look at Mom just as she is moving to join Dad. “Do you think you guys could pick me up a salad? If I do somehow get my body back, I think the pony this body belongs to would be pretty pissed to find out I've been feeding her meat.”

She gives me a weak smile and a shake of her head. “Sure thing, Soren.” Mom quickly exits the room, but then as an afterthought, pops her head back in the doorway. “I'll put the dogs downstairs, just in case you do decide to leave your room.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I'm almost in tears from the sheer anxiety of everything that is going on. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”
> The Mystical Power of Falling Down Stairs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I can barely think. Even after having two hours to relax and cool my head, I'm still lying on my bed, staring at Lyra's—my—hooves. This is just something I can't make any sense of. Wasn't this the sort of shit that happens in bad fan-fics and cheesy science-fiction?

How could an exploding desktop computer convey a magical body exchange? Fuck, how am I even going to replace my desktop? “Damn it, Lyra!” I pound the mattress repeatedly before burying my head beneath the pillows again. “This wasn't our agreement, and now I'm fucked!” In spite of the tear rolling down my cheek, a grim smile crosses my face. “Enjoy running around Equestria in shorts and a bathrobe with your bare feet!”

The telephone up on top of the headboard begins blaring for my attention. The cordless handset in the charging dock is pulsing a bright orange even as I look up at it. Unfortunately at this angle, I can't make out the Caller ID. I'm not completely sure I want to answer it anyway. It isn't my voice, and I could hardly explain who I am if it's someone we know. I’ll just let it ring, not bothering to look at the CID.

How would I even operate the handset? I mean, I suppose I could maybe pick it up with my teeth, but these hooves are hardly ideal for pressing the buttons... My horn might be a better option, but I think it’d be a heck of a job... Wait, horn? Fuck, that’s right! I’m a motherfucking unicorn! I can magic that fucker to do what I want!

It can’t be that hard to use telekinesis. Rarity and Twilight both make it look so easy. Think! No, not about how Lyra probably has Rarity making real clothes for her. Lift that telephone like you would with your hands, only with your mind, damn it! Lift! Lift! Lift!

The phone topples out of its cradle, and lands on the bed in front of me. It’s not quite what I’d intended, but it’s a start, right? Hmm... Maybe I was focusing too hard? I try again, staring at the handset. It’s foolish to think that I would be able to do this without any pointers on the first day, but if I don’t, things are probably going to be difficult for me. How do earth ponies even get along with their grooming without magic? 

“Damn it, why did my computer have to explode?” The thought of being unable to contact that treacherous unicorn until much later in the day pisses me off. In fact, it makes me want to hurl something across the room just for-

BANG! CRASH!

I look across the room. What remains of my computer desk is now nothing but a crumbled heap. I could have sworn that it had somehow managed to remain upright in the explosion, but I can’t deny that what is sitting there is clearly a ruin. Looking closer, though, I’m pretty sure I know why it collapsed. That telephone handset was over here just a minute before, yet now it’s over there peeking out of the rubble...

“Of course it would be one of those damn subconscious things,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “Or maybe it was because I wanted it to? Fuck, this is so confusing.”

In hindsight, simply wanting the telephone to come back to me was a bad idea. With the way the damn thing shot out of the rubble, I swear I’m being punished. Why else would it bean me straight in the head? Do I have to think in specific terms to do things?

“Alright... I want the telephone to float at eye-level, a full foot away from my face, and do nothing more until I say otherwise.” To my amazement, the telecommunications device is obeying the spoken command to the letter. To confirm that I wasn’t just hallucinating, I roll my large eyes upward to look at my horn. Sure enough, there’s a lovely sparkling aura cloud surrounding the phone.

“Yay, I guess?” I say, glaring at the hovering telephone. It’s all too convenient. Surely I can’t have mastered the telekinesis spell just like that, even if all unicorns have an innate talent for magic. Any second now, something is going to go wrong. Yep... Any second...

The sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway distracts me from my thoughts. Sitting up, I glance toward the closed curtain, ears pricked up. This in turn is just the incident I was waiting for. Apparently, the split second I turned my attention away from the telephone is all it really takes for the spell to implode on me. Unfortunately, the spell isn’t the only thing to implode in this case.

Crunch... BANG!

The handset detonates right next to my face. Indignantly, I am peppered with shards of plastic and circuitry, but amazingly no battery acid. That sounds like a blessing, but it isn’t. I’m still left covered in a strange black powder that I don’t doubt for a second is harmful if inhaled. This can only mean one thing... “Bathing. Again.” I groan, not bothering to hide the frown spreading across my face. It’s not like anyone else can see it.

I look down at my forelegs again. If I’m going to get from my bedroom to the bathroom, I’m going to have to conquer locomotion. I’m not impressed by the prospect, knowing full well that it isn’t going to be as simple as walking around a room for a couple of minutes until I get used to four hooves and a tail. Even with the two hours I’ve spent in this body, I know my brain hasn’t made all the right connections.

“Well, here goes nothing, I suppose.” Why am I even talking out loud to myself? No one can hear me anyways. I’m just being stupid now, and distracting myself from the matter at hand. “Just get up and do it, dumb-ass!”

I wiggle across the mattress, being careful not to drag any more sheets with me. Hesitantly, I let one fore-hoof drop to the floor, and then the other. Right, this next part is simple. I just need to drag myself off of the bed, carefully so that I can get one leg down at a time. It almost doesn’t work; I slip on one of the earlier discarded blankets, and nearly lose my footing completely.

Raising a hoof, I realize I have no idea how exactly I’m supposed to walk. I try to visualize how a pony walks, but that only serves to confuse me. I know that when the front hoof comes down, the back hoof opposite of it should be coming down soon after, and when the front lifts, the back is pushing off. When the back right is coming down, the front right begins lifting, and so on and so forth. The timing and the shifting of body weight is what confuses me. I should just focus on one hoof at a time. It might come natural to this body, but not my mind.

“I hope you’re having as much fun as I am, Lyra,” I mutter, placing my front-left hoof down on the hardwood floor. The right back comes down and... THUMP. Of course I would slip and fall flat on Lyra’s—no, it’s mine now—face. “Yeah, I’m having the time of my life.”

I slowly crawl off of the clothing that is seemingly intent on tripping me up. This is so indignant, being on my hands and knees like this. Okay... hooves and haunches... Wait a minute... Crawling? Of course! How can I be so daft? Crawling isn’t all that different from an Equestrian’s pony walk cycle. The only difference is that their hind legs are fully extended.

“I can do this!” I mutter to myself. Rising shakily to my hooves, I allow myself a cocky grin. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy! I don’t even think about it, I just let the memory of crawling take over. While I do indeed succeed in walking, I’m fairly certain I’d rival Berry Punch in looking like the town drunk. After all, it’s more of a drunken stagger than a true walk. Not that I care at this point. I’ve just taken victory over walking, and I can’t give two fucks about anything else. Nothing can stop me now!

Nothing, that is, except for the door. That’s easy enough to remedy, though. We have those convenient handles instead of knobs. The only real challenge is that my door opens inwardly, and the handle is just above my eye level. My brain kicks into overdrive, trying to solve a problem that should be simple enough. 

Horn? Nope! While I can depress the handle, there’s no way to pull it open with my horn. Magic? Fuck no! I don’t want anything else exploding today, least of all my door. Hooves are out too, for the same reason as the horn. Apprehensively, I lick my lips. How was it that ponies deal with things they can’t deal with through magic, wings, or hooves? Oh... Right... My mouth. Great.

“There’s half a problem solved. Now I’ve just gotta figure out how to reach the handle.”

I eye the door handle like it’s my mortal enemy, trying very hard not to think in terms that might activate that accursed detonating telekinesis. After a quick moment, it seems obvious. Staggering up to the door, I gently brace one fore-hoof against it, and lift myself off the other. With my face now level with the handle, I grab it in my mouth and force it downward. So not to trip up on computer debris, I slowly inch my way backward.

Once the door is open, I’m greeted by a gigantic orange ball of hissing fluff. “Julianos, fuck off. You know you’re not supposed to be in my room.” I look him dead in the eye and stagger forward. The cat, seemingly deciding that I’m not worth the effort, runs off into the far corner of the hallway. “Give me that wide-eyed death stare all you want, fuzzball. I’m stuck like this for the next week. Get used to it.”

Closing the bedroom door is less of a challenge now that I know the trick, but I know that I would need to rig up a better system or else this is gonna get old, very fast. I stagger along the hall, which is also the landing at the top of the stairs, towards my bathroom. I can’t help but marvel that the three dogs down in the basement haven’t made a peep. With a strange creature in the house, they are usually barking their heads off.

Just my luck. The front door opens with an audible grinding squeak, and the dogs immediately start barking their heads off. It’s almost like they were asleep the whole time, and it’s only now that they realize that something weird is in the house. The suddenness of it all, and the way it rings in my sensitive equine ears startles me. 

Needless to say, the fall down the stairs is not a surprise at this point. Considering my luck, I’m surprised my horn didn’t snap off in the fall. Oh, nothing is broken either, by the way—aside from my pride, I mean. Then of course there’s the fact that I’m sprawled on my back at the foot of the stairs. There are also groceries everywhere now.

In spite of it all, I can only look up at my mother dumbly. “Um... hi.” Oh wow. I just fell down the stairs, scaring the life out of my mother and making her spill groceries everywhere, and this is the best I can come up with? To borrow verbiage from Littlepip, fuck me with Celestia’s fore-hooves and be done with it. “Sorry.”

To my surprise, Mom looks amazingly understanding. “New feet?” she offers, jokingly. “And how is it possible that you’re even dirtier than before?”

I can’t help but giggling girlishly. “Yeah...” I roll over, well aware that my marehood and teats are on display for anybody coming through the front door. “I had an incident with the phone... So I was going to bathe again.”

“Your father was wondering why you didn’t answer the phone, but then he remembered that it probably wasn’t going to be possible in your shape.” She watches me as I struggle to rise back onto my hooves. “How did your fur and mane get so singed and dirty, anyway?”

“My phone exploded,” I say flatly, looking away from her.

All the groceries are still on the floor, spilt from a reusable shopping bag. Without even considering the consequences, I levitate all the cans and fruit back into the bag, and then begin carrying the bag into the kitchen. I’m more confident in my walking now, in spite of the canine cacophony in the basement. I’m still staggering like a drunk, but I’m nowhere near shaky.

“Soren... What the hell just happened?” It’s my father’s voice. Apparently he witnessed me whisking a grocery bag into the kitchen, and is now struggling to make sense of it. I manage to not break my focus.

I look at him blankly. “Unicorn magic, obviously,” I say with a hint of condescension. “You can’t go doubting now. I’m a goddamn unicorn, after all.”

“But how do you even know how to do this?” he asks incredulously.

“I wasn’t just laying there playing with myself while you were gone.” I set the bag down on the stove with a laugh. “It’s not perfect though. I kind of lost my focus when you pulled into the driveway, and my phone exploded.” Flicking my tail gently, I glance back to the foyer. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need a shower.”
> It's a Shower, not a Slip 'N Slide
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Staring at the shower/bathtub combination in my bathroom, I know my plan of having just a simple shower has gone out the window. A turn of my head and a sidelong glance tells me that my new form is too long to comfortably turn around in there. Further complicating this, the bottom of the tub does not have any anti-slip treads. I don't need to be a genius to figure out that a slick surface like the bottom of the tub is going to play hell on a pony's balance. One bad slip and I'm lame.

A quick look at the towel-rack on the back of the door gives me an idea. I have three towels hanging there, the bottom is always the designated bath-mat, but the middle one should be fine to stick into the bottom of the tub. It's almost fool-proof! Then I remember that I still need to get the two towels down.

I could use magic, but what would happen to a towel if another telephone incident occurred? Would it explode, catch fire, or shed itself into oblivion? It wouldn't be that big of a stretch to ask Mom for help, but that would be like admitting that I'm incapable of caring for myself. No, I think I'll risk a towel fire. With the bathtub right beside me, it isn't like I can't just put the fire out.

If there's something I'm good at, it's apparently wasting time pondering tiny details and getting nothing done. I could smack myself in the face, and tell myself to get going, but I'm nowhere near competent enough on my hooves to do that. Instead, I just get to work and drag the towels down using the least amount of magic possible. One by one, the towels fall to the floor in a heap.

Smooth sailing. Once I have the bath-mat and the makeshift shower tread in place, the only real challenge is getting over the bathtub's edge. Simple enough; it's just a hop skip and a jump... at least in theory. I might have slightly misjudged the edge of the tub by just a smidgen. How I landed on my belly facing the right direction is still beyond me. I'm just glad I can finally wash up.

Pushing myself up, I look at the tap and smile. Finally, I have something I can effectively manipulate with a touch of my horn. Dragging the shower curtain closed is a simple enough endeavor, albeit a gag-worth one. Fighting a giggle as the tip of my horn comes into contact with the cold metal—the feeling is just so uniquely exquisite—I push the tap into the warm position, and count myself lucky that I left the faucet into shower mode.

A cool mist spatters against my hindquarters and tail almost immediately. It takes a great effort to not simply jump from the expected temperature shock. To my surprise, it isn’t all that cold. Is this the benefit of a thicker hide and coat? What do I care? I’m here to get clean, not contemplate my new body. I scoot back in the tub to allow the water access to my blackened face and mane. 

Almost immediately, the water mats my mane to my face. Instead of that fluffy albeit dirty mint-green mane, it’s like someone has dumped a load of wet noodles on my head. I’d come up with a better comparison, but I’ve never had particularly long hair, and the way it’s just hanging there reminds me of many tiny limp spaghetti noodles just sitting there on my head. At least the bits of debris I can feel trapped in my mane aren’t putting up a fight. They rinse out with ease. With a groan of hunger, I whip my wet mane back to let the steadily warming water stream into my face.

It’s simple enough to get the front washed, but alas, my tail is also fairly blackened and filled with debris too. “Maybe if I just... Ow. Perhaps the other way then?” I shift this way and that, hoping to find a way to adequately turn around in this cramped space. Ultimately, I decide the best plan is a variation on the stunt I pulled opening the door. 

Carefully, I lift my front right hoof, placing it on the hand-bar. By shifting my body weight onto my back hooves as well as my front-right, I’m able to awkwardly shift into a standing position. Shuffling my hooves, I turn around, switching from my right fore-hoof to my left before finally dropping down. Huzzah, I’m not a locomotive moron!

The only problem now was that the water from the shower head was just short of getting my tail and back end, spattering uselessly just up my back. Ugh... How am I supposed to get anything done like this? Pretty much the only way I’m going to get anything clean is if I scramble into some really awkward, degrading position. Some sort of combination image of a cat presenting herself to a mate and Sweetie Belle scooting along the floor using only her hind legs comes to mind.

Now, how the hell am I going to do this? My forelegs need to be flat against the floor, and my rump has to be raised in the air. I back up on the towel in the bottom of the tub, rethinking everything. “How would I even get into that pos—OOF!” I took one step forward, and immediately trip on the unevenly spread towel, both fore-hooves underneath me. I would laugh but my muzzle bumped the back of the bathtub.

Well, now that I’ve assumed the party escort submission position, I can feel the water splashing against my flank and tail. This rinse feels absolutely wonderful. The warmth against my flanks fills me up with relief, yet I find myself wanting more. Without even thinking, I lift my tail aside. The sensation of the high pressure streams of water hitting my backside is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My entire face is flushing red from the stimulation.

It isn’t until I inadvertently let out a moan that I realize what’s happening. Oh god, I’ve been perving on Lyra! This is crossing a line! It isn’t my body and I have no right doing this. I should have the same respect for her body that I would want her to have for mine! Even if I am perversely curious about certain feminine sensations, I’d rather it were my own body and not that of someone else. So what if I’m a shameless pervert? I should still have principles!

Knowing that I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t stop this—because it feels so wonderful—I lower my rump, and cautiously try to worm my forelegs out from beneath myself. I’m a bad person and I should feel bad about it. It’s time to get out of the shower anyway. I’m rinsed clean, and that should be enough for now. Yeah, that’s it. I can have a truly clean body once my mind isn’t being influenced by pleasures that aren’t mine.

All I have to do is repeat my hand-bar pirouette. Simple enough, right? Too bad I wasn’t aware just how unsteady my hind legs were after the incident. Halfway through the maneuver, I lose my balance and fall backwards. Of course, being the incompetent that I am, I somehow manage to flail my front hooves about and kick the tap into full hot before landing flat on my back.

As soon as the scalding hot water begins washing down my back along the bottom of the tub, I let out an inhuman shriek. It really hurts, so I have no choice but to roll onto my side and somehow get to my hooves without my belly touching the water. I’m not keen on finding out how sensitive teats are, particularly not through a scalding incident. I can feel a burning-hot mist against my back, so I stand up as slowly as possible, and turn the control valve to its off position. I feel one last dribble of hot water on my back as the water pressure dies off.

“Soren, SOREN! Are you alright in there?” I can hear my mother on the other side of the bathroom door. “What’s happened?”

“Sorry, I slipped in the shower, and accidentally knocked the tap up to ‘burn me alive’,” I rasp, pulling the shower curtain open with my teeth. A lot more carefully this time, I hop out of the bathtub onto the bathmat. “I’m fine now.”

“I know you don’t want to ask for help through all this, but we’re here if you need us.” Mom sounds surprisingly sad. I don’t blame her; I’d be sad if my son had become a freak-show too. “You don’t have to be alone.”

I remain silent, instead choosing to stare at the bathmat. Glancing toward the door, I levitate the remaining towel off the rack and onto my head. It’s a cloud white, and is surprisingly fluffy and soft. Rubbing myself dry is a surprisingly simple task; it’s almost as though unicorn telekinesis magic was specifically evolved to take over in certain mundane tasks, without the need for concentration on pressure. Needless to say, I’m thankful for small favors. 

Given the day I’m having, it won’t surprise me in the least if something else goes wrong... like having forgotten to turn on the circulation fan, causing the mirror to fog up. I laugh at the absurdity of that thought. I can’t even reasonably get up to the counter’s level in order to use the mirror. I’d have to have that step-ladder brought back in from the back garage at some point.

“Are... are you still there, Mom?” I ask, sullenly. 

There is a short pause before I hear her voice again. “Yes.”

“There is something I could use some help with.” I let out a half-hearted laugh. “I could use some help maintaining my mane and tail. I’d do it myself, but I can’t get up to the counter, and even if I could, the mirror’s fogged up. The door isn’t locked.”

“Can’t you just use that magic you were using earlier?” she replies, peeking her head in through the door. “You made it look easy, before.”

I wiped my hooves on the makeshift bathmat, before trotting unsteadily over to the cabinet beneath the counter. “I know, but it’s weird. Some things about this telekinesis seem completely natural, some are completely automated, and others require focus,” I say, before pulling open one drawer with my teeth. Dipping my muzzle in, I pull out a comb. Staggering back to sit on the bath mat, I nod for her to come in. Using the slightest bit of my telekinesis, the comb floats toward her. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have complete control over it. Did I mention that I nearly concussed myself with the phone?”

Mom chuckles slightly, as she crosses the floor to kneel beside me. “Before or after you blew it up?” Her tone of voice was lacking any implication that she was serious, but her face told me that she was still kind of miffed about the whole explosion-and-now-I’m-a-pony thing.

“Before...” I offer sheepishly.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” She pulls me into a tight hug, and begins stroking my mane and back. Pulling back slightly, she adds, “Wow, your coat is really soft. It’s like a plush pillow.” She releases me and then starts running her fingers and the comb through my mane. “Your mane is so silky too. You’re so surprisingly huggable; it’s almost cartoony.”

I groan. “Thanks. I wasn’t feeling emasculated enough.” I squirm anxiously on the spot as she fights a tangle. “If you even think about putting ribbons or bows in my hair, I’m going to go live in the back garage for the week.”

She gives me an amused look. “Be that way then. You’re a woman now, albeit a colorful female unicorn, so why not live a little?”

Mom has a point, but it isn’t like she can go painting my nails, or picking out dresses. I have hooves, and there are no pony dressmakers here. Thank god there’s no Rarity or anybody like her here either. I mean, she might be a generous and usually kind pony, but she’s also pretty insufferable in my books. I don’t have anything against her; it’s just that her demeanor grates on me. With a sigh, I decide that I can only be glad my mother isn’t the prissy type.

Doing my best Twilight Sparkle impression, I mutter, “Fine.” When she motions for me to turn around so that she can do my tail, I hastily add in, “Just a braid though... or maybe a bun.”

“Alright.” She smiles and pats me on the side. “Just remember that you still have to tell us everything you know, and I mean everything, Soren.”
> Wait, I get free Wi-fi? How does that even...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ow, OW!” This is not going as I imagined it would be. I'm not sure if it's just Lyra's body, or if it's me, but I really don't seem to like people playing with my tail. “Ow! You can stop! I'll just tie the end of my tail with an elastic band or something.”

Mom has a passive look on her face. “Alright.” She glances at her watch, and then shakes her head. “We're behind schedule now anyway. Will you be alright by yourself for a while?”

“Yeah, sure.” I turn my head to the door, and immediately feel better now that my mane isn't brushing against the back of my neck. The bun is definitely the right choice for me, although it makes me feel like a greenish Nurse Redheart, sans the nurse’s cap. “I'll just grab something to eat and then go back to my room.”

Before Mom can get up, I hop to my hooves and stagger for the door. It isn't until I exit into the hallway and reach the top of the stairs that I realize that I haven't actually successfully made it down the stairs in this form. While it's true my fall was more a result of being startled, and not incompetence; the memory of the indignity is still fresh in my mind.

Footfalls sound off behind me. “You didn't have any issue going up them earlier.” Mom says with a bit of a smile.

“Har, har. You didn't just fall down these stairs a while ago, either.” I turn my head sideways to show off the scowl on my face. “It's different knowing that my head is a counterweight to my balance, and with the slightest screw-up I'll go tumbling head-first down the stairs.”

“At any rate, could you move aside if you're not going down?” She motions sideways with her hand. “Some of us still have things to do.”

Tentatively, I shuffle sideways until my cheek bumps into the banister. I watch as she passes me, walking down the stairs. A wistful pang strikes me as I long for the ability to walk upright once more. I imagine that if half of what the fan-base makes is true, Lyra has probably had her share of incidences as a result of attempts at bipedal locomotion. Did Bon-Bon ever warn her about stairs?

Wait... I'm stalling again. Sliding away from the banister, I shake my head and ready myself. Just gotta do this one hoof at a time. Yeah, that's it. One step, two step... God, at this rate, I'll only be part-way down the stairs when the first guests arrive. It's the sort of situation that I want to avoid at all costs. I've gotta speed things up and stop just thinking them over.

Surely enough, I've been over-thinking the locomotion again. The instant I shrug off the mental bindings of how I think things should be done, I find the way that makes walking down the stairs feel natural and only marginally dangerous. The steady clip clop of my hooves as I cover the last few stairs fills me up with confidence, adding an extra bounce to my step.

Reaching the transition from the hardwood of the stairs to the stone tile of the foyer, I squeal inwardly. Soren – 2; Stairs – 1! I want to clap for myself, but that would require me to sink to my haunches, and I'm not completely certain that I would be able to get back up again. I'm really starting to feel peckish now. Can you really blame me though? The last thing I ate was in another body, and Lyra's stomach feels as though it hasn't yet eaten today.

Rounding the side of the stairs, it's a straight trot to the kitchen. Sure, I'm still staggering like Berry Punch on a bender, but I haven't done anything to harm myself in the last five minutes. After a whole few hours of laying around doing nothing, a tumble down the stairs and a shower scalding—harming myself, in other words—might seem like something to liven up the day, but I prefer the lying around to any of this.

Entering the kitchen, I see that all the groceries have been put away and everybody else is cleaning; Mom is over at the table, and Dad is at the sink, taking care of the buildup of pots and pans. I was hoping that I wouldn’t need to get into the fridge, as the freezer drawer keeps even the crisper—I just know a juicy apple is waiting for me in there—just out of my reach. Speaking of out of reach, there’s also the matter of getting a bowl to put my lunch in.

Cautiously levitating a magazine from the counter into the gap at the bottom of the cabinet door, I manage to pull it open. Before I can even think about levitating one of the earthenware bowls down onto the counter-top, I hear a cross “Ahem,” from my mother. Glancing over to the kitchen table where she is no longer wiping the wooden surface down, I see her glaring pointedly at me. “I don’t care if you are going to be careful, mister. After what you told me, I refuse to let you use that magic on any of our glasses or dishes.”

I groan, but don’t complain in response. “I understand,” I sigh, biting back a comment about bettering my skill through practice. “Could you please get a bowl down for me, then? I ate this morning, but my host doesn’t seem to have eaten a thing today.”

She gives me this confused look upon hearing the word host, but ultimately chooses to remain silent. Yeah, she’s not suspicious or anything. Nope, keep telling yourself that. Silently, she walks around the jutting L-shape of the counter, and pulls down one of the bowls. Then she just starts watching me silently, tapping her foot. Yes, time’s a-wasting, I know.

Poking my head into the relatively empty alcove beside the refrigerator, I pull out a footstool. It only takes minimal effort to nudge it into place in front of the fridge. Quickly drawing all four hooves up onto the relatively small surface area of the stool, I imagine that I probably look like a trained circus animal. A frantic moment later, my fore-hooves are braced on the handle of the freezer drawer. I grin victoriously as I nudge the doors open with my muzzle.

“You’re coping with this surprisingly well,” Dad says evenly as he finishes the last of the pots and pans.

I look at him as if this it’s a bad joke. “You have no idea just how freaky this is for me.” I have no idea how incredulous my face actually looks, but somehow I imagine it’s somewhere in the range of confused and adorable. “Besides, you seem to be doing just as well yourself.”

I hear a laugh from the table. Mom is now sitting in one of the chairs, enjoying a cigarette. “That’s rich. Have you forgotten that your father is an amateur paranormal investigator?” Shit, she’s right. I did forget. Derp! “He has to go in with the whole suspension of disbelief thing.”

“I won’t deny that I’m treating everything normal as a learning experience now,” I say as I levitate an apple and some grapes across the kitchen and into the bowl. “... but this is still weirding me out. I went from being just under six feet tall to just over three.” Nudging the fridge doors closed, I turn to glance at the bowl. “Oh, could someone please move my bowl to the coffee table in the living room? I refuse to eat like the dogs.”

“Well, you are a small horse now,” Dad offers with a bit of humor. “Some people keep miniature ponies as pets.”

Hopping off the stool, I glare daggers at him before returning my gaze to the bowl. “Fuck! If I was in Equestria, I wouldn’t be suffering this indignity,” I mutter under my breath. “I’d be treated like a normal person!”

“... and there it is, ladies and gentlemen,” Mom says lacking all humor. “He knows more than he’s letting on for sure now.” She casts a gaze at my bowl, and then chuckles. “Well, at least I have leverage to get some information out of you.”

“You wouldn’t!” I protest. “I’m still your son!”

“That’s yet to be seen.” She smiles as she picks up my bowl and pops a grape into her mouth. “So, how about it? Hungry, Soren?”

“Fine, but I get to eat while telling you.” I turn towards the living room entrance. “I also reserve the right to withhold information until after the family gathering. It’ll take less time that way.”

Trotting out into the living-room, I plunk my arse down on the floor in front of the coffee table. Once I’m sure they’ve crossed through the archway to the living room, a simple jerk of my head is enough to convince them to sit down on the couch opposite me. Their faces are equal parts eagerness and skepticism. I decide to hold out until the bowl is on the table. After all, the hold-out game works both ways.

Once the bowl of fruit is on the table in front of me, I levitate a single grape into my mouth before looking my parents in the eye. “There seems to be a reality other than our own: one that had been assumed to be fiction. The realm, or maybe just the particular country focused on in the fiction, is known as Equestria.” I levitate another grape, and bite off half. “Now, Equestria is every bit the utopian fantasy setting. In addition to the existence of magic in the realm, there are dragons, manticores, phoenixes, and many other fantastic creatures. There’s even controlled climate.”

“The main difference between our two realms is the lack of humans. As a result of there being no humans, many denizens of Equestria, mostly notably creatures we consider to be livestock, are sapient on our level. Ponies—Pegasi, Unicorns like myself, and regular old Earth Ponies—are the socially dominant species, though other species are also present. While Equestrian society itself seems to be a meritocracy, most of the important stuff is seemingly delegated to two particular ponies, the winged unicorn Princesses Celestia and Luna.”

My parents look at me blankly as I take a bite out of my apple. I’m not surprised by their reactions of course. If I wasn’t a fan of the franchise, and someone told me this, I’d probably pointedly tell them how stupid they sound. It’s a pretty far out story. Levitating the bitten apple back into the bowl, I give them a questioning look. Surely they’d want to ask something or have some comment.

Mom is the first one to comment. “That sounds incredibly stupid.” She’s never been one for fantasy, so it’s not surprising to hear her say this. “It almost reminds me of something your aunt used to watch when she was just a little girl.” She’s of course talking about the first generation of My Little Pony. I think I’ll hold off on mentioning Friendship is Magic until later tonight. Same with my outing myself as a Brony.

Dad, on the other hand seems intrigued. “So... You’ve made first contact with beings from another dimension, and their first act is to trade bodies with you?” He lets out a bit of a dry laugh. “That’s some foreign exchange program they’ve got. I hope you opted in for the trade-back package.”

I cringe at the humored tone, because he’s now making light of my situation. “Eh, it’s not quite like that.” I take in a deep breath. “Lyra’s a bit... different from everypony else. According to the community, she’s obsessed with hands and humans, probably because of the ease with which hands can do things.”

Their eyebrows raise at my slip-up of everypony, and seemingly again at the mention of a community. Then again, I never did specify what community, so they may very well think I somehow came into contact with one of Equestria’s tinfoil hat-wearing residents. Maybe I have; who knows? “Anyway... Don’t ask me how, but I guess she got a hold of a laptop and access to the Internet—no, seriously don’t ask—which probably only increased her obsession.” I eat the last of my grapes, and then eye the apple again. “I guess she’s been sending out emails for a while, looking to contact humans after researching a body-swap spell. I was just the only one to reply.”

“So a magical email virus turned you into a pony?” My mother rolls her eyes as I levitate the apple back to my mouth. “I thought you knew better than to open attachments in suspicious emails?”

“It was actually during the Skype conversation that this happened. I honestly thought this was some sort of prank.” That’s it, the last of the apple is gone, and with that, their leverage. “If I ever figure an effective way of working our laptop or my tablet, she’s got a lot to explain. Our minds were supposed to trade places, not bodies. Some warning would have been nice too.”

They stare at me incredulously for what feels like forever. Nudging the bowl back towards them, I rise to my hooves and stagger my way back to the stairs. Thankfully there’s an entrance from the living room to the foyer too. It saves me having to stagger too close to the basement door and risk the dogs starting up again. I have enough headaches today without an actual headache to top it all off.

“Anyway, you’ve used up your leverage,” I say with an awkwardly girlish laugh. “If you hadn’t eaten that grape, you could have gotten more!” Teasing is mean, but when my day has been this shitty, I have every right to be a bit of a bitch. I quickly scramble up the stairs before they can say anything. The door is simpler from this side. I can just stand up against it, depress the handle, and push through, kicking it shut with a hoof again.

From the other side of the door, I hear Mom shout, “If you expect me to bring you supper later, you best remember that you still owe us answers.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” I told them both I was going to tell them everything later; they’ve got enough on their minds with the gathering in a few hours! Don’t rush me! “All in due time. For now, I need to see if I can’t contact that little sneak.”

I trot over to my bed, hoping my tablet will co-operate with me. Again, I have troubles getting onto my bed, but that’s to be expected when I’m a bit over three feet tall and have no hands. Once I’m on, though, I feel a bit of relief as my belly presses against the cool blankets. At least some things are still the same.

While I would rather not use my mouth on my e-reader tablet, I still prefer actually having it in once piece. Carefully, I grab one side of it with my lips, lifting it up until I can firmly grip it with my teeth. Once I have it on the bed, a quick jab of the hoof to the power switch at the arbitrary top brings it out of sleep mode. A page of ‘Fallout: Equestria’ fills the screen.

I know that the hoof is out of the question for use with the touchscreen, and tongue or tooth won’t work well either. My horn would be too awkward to tap the screen with any ease. Then again, I already know that a pen in the mouth is worth one in the hand. Thankfully, I still have a stylus in the same headboard alcove that I had the tablet. Without even turning my head, it floats effortlessly into my mouth.

Tap. Tap. I’m at the home screen now. To my surprise, the icon to the email application is indicating that I already have messages. They could be from anybody, but somehow I just know it’s her. Tap. The slow loading of the application on this old thing is absolutely grueling. I flick my tail anxiously as I wait.

Sure enough, there are two messages there from Lyra, but they seem to have been sent some time ago.

Received 4 hours ago
Sender: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: Hello?

Hi, Soren? I’m a bit worried. The spell didn’t work quite as I expected it. I’m sure you’re perfectly aware by now, but only our bodies have switched places. Your Skype connection dropped and I haven’t been able to reach you since the switch. Are you alright? Send me an email when you get the chance, or if you are able to, could you maybe call on Skype?

There are things we need to discuss, like my new dietary requirements, as well as privacy. I mean, I don’t even know you, aside from your works. I really want to talk about your hands though. This is all so new to me and I’m so excited about having a chance to be human. I wonder how everypony will react?

Anyway, I’ve got so many experiences ahead of me! Wish me luck!
~Lyra

Received 15 minutes ago
Sender: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: Oh my gosh!

Hi again! This is so much fun. I’m so tall compared to everypony now! Figuring out your bipedal movement was a real pain, but it’s nothing for the ultimate human fan-girl. You should have seen the looks I’ve been getting around Ponyville. They were simply spellbound! Maybe now everypony will see why I find humans so fascinating.

I got a hold of Twilight after the incident, and I think I know what went wrong. I may have made the tiniest bumble in understanding the purpose of the spell. Let me tell you, she was NOT impressed with me when she found out what I’d done! I mean sure, she’s about as fascinated with all this as me, but she’s all about the boring science-y aspect of it all.

As an aside, after switching bodies, I no longer had direct access to the Internet. The laptop said that it couldn’t find the network it had been connected to before, but it kept picking up stronger ‘Wi-Fi signals’ every time a unicorn would walk by the house. When I was at the library and Carousel Boutique, I was picking up really strong signals! I guess maybe you’ll be getting free Internet now too?

Right, I should mention that I wasn’t too impressed with the outfit you chose for me. Shorts and a dressing gown, really? I’d swear you just woke up when we switched bodies. Ah well, it took some convincing, as well as reassurance from Twilight, but Rarity is making an ensemble for me, footwear included! Once she realized how fun the challenge could be, she asked if she could design the outfit herself, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

But listen to me prattling on like a school-filly. I hope to hear back from you soon. I’m really concerned at this point, not just for my body, but for you. I can’t help but think that your sudden disappearance is a bad omen.
~Lyra

Oh god... Rarity has taken on a clothes order from Lyra? Now I expect I’ll be getting my body back in some sort of frou-frou gown that won’t be suited to me, yet horrifyingly flattering to my rotund form. God help me if Rarity convinced Lyra to let her give my body a make-over. I’ll murder them both if she so much as touched my goatee.

Time for me to send a response. I think “You blew up my computer, you crazy mare!” makes an excellent subject line. Time to tell her all about my experiences, and warn her about the goatee. Only I get to decide when the most masculine feature on my face gets to go bye-bye.
> Of Socks and Toilets
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I glare angrily at the e-mail application on my tablet. It's been more than two hours since I sent her my e-mail, but she won't respond. If anything, I want to shout obscenities to whatever deities will listen and damn Lyra.

Sent 2 hours 37 minutes ago
To: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: You blew up my computer you crazy mare!

Lyra, you're a damn maniac. You know that, right? I had expected a bit more warning, and maybe a chance to discuss this with you before this happened. I would have asked that we hold off until after the family reunion we'd had planned today. Instead, you cast the spell before I can even get a word in, and then my computer explodes.

Since finding myself in your form, I've had nothing but embarrassment and awkward situations. Did you not think of what the consequences might be for me if I was suddenly not the same person? Never mind the fact that my parents are asking questions I was never prepared to answer for one moment. I should not have to feel guilty because I took a shower.

But no, because I'm not male any more, I couldn't just let the shower wash away the ash and debris. Instead, I got to experience something that by all rights should be between you and whoever you share your love-life with. Under any other circumstances, I'd have loved the chance to feel such things. It's not my body though, so I shouldn't have to feel like a scumbag every time I wash it.

Now I'm stuck in my room until god knows how much later tonight while my family is down there dining. I haven't had a chance to see my niece in ages, but if I go down there, I'm going to have to go through this lengthy explanation about your world—again—and then out myself as a Brony and pray to god I'm not misinterpreted as some sort of paedophile.

To top things all off, I'm stuck with my dinky little e-reader tablet, tapping this message using a pen in your mouth! It should not take me the better part of an hour to write a tirade about how badly my life has been screwed by your irresponsibility...

Lyra, if you're still reading this, I'm sorry for how hateful I must seem right now. It's just that this has been a pretty terrible day overall for me, and you're the only vent I have right now. I hope you're not mad at me. Not just about this message, either. The shower thing, too. It's just one of those things that I couldn't help.

Is there anything I should know about your body? Health conditions, allergies? Perhaps what gets you drunk? I feel like I might need a bit of intoxication before today is over. No, seriously. I think if I were blackout drunk, this might be so much easier. Sure, there'd be the question of “What in the nine hells did I do last night?” as well as forgetting how I became a pony, but it seems like it'd be a step up from the hell today has been so far.

Oh, and to answer the question from the first email, skip the hay. The human body only has one stomach, and wasn't designed for roughage like hay. The flowers might be toxic to a human but not to a horse. Stick to fruits and vegetables, grains like rice, oats, and bread, and dairy products since you're probably not keen on eating meat. Eggs are fine though. I’m pretty sure you guys are fine with that aren’t you?

Sorry again about my terseness,
~Soren

P.S. I had your mane tied in a bun. It just felt too weird against the back of my neck and shoulders.

P.P.S. Touch the goatee and I’ll eat a steak.

I know I'm just as much to blame for my bizarre situation. All it would have taken was a clear and concise no, and I would have gone on like normal. I could be downstairs right now, grilling burgers for everybody and enjoying a feast fit for me! Lyra could have been someone else's problem. Simple as that.

A guy can only read so much of a story he's already completed, too. If my desktop didn't explode this morning, I would have easily been able to go online and grab an .epub of ‘Project Horizons’. Instead my fate turned out to be wickedly cruel, seven times over. Get it? It's my pen name and—fuck, who am I kidding? My puns are lame as all hell.

With a defeated sigh, I lay my head to rest on my pillows. I can almost make out the conversations being held downstairs. Hillary and Klein are talking about how things have been in Alberta, while Valerie is insisting that Harriet finish her dinner before they have dessert. All seems to be going well. Maybe if I just take a little nap, this day will be over.

A guy can certainly dream that things are that simple. I’m not sure if being a unicorn gives you some sort of empathic precognition, or if it is just a bad feeling. All I know is that the moment I shut my eyes, my anxiety level skyrockets, and suddenly there’s this sick feeling in my stomach. Something bad was going to happen, and soon.

You can probably imagine the sort of apprehension I feel when the tablet pings right next to my ear. Is my tablet going to join my desktop in the electronics burial mound in my bedroom? Or am I going to get bad news about my body from Twilight about how Lyra’s been banished to the moon? Granted, hearing from Twilight would be almost worth finding out my body is trapped on Luna’s moon.

Tentatively, I open the e-mail application. Given my previous luck, it’s completely reasonable to be ready to dive off the bed at the first sign of trouble, right? Right? Yeah, you know I’m right. Sure enough, Lyra responds shortly after I decide it’s nap time.

Received moments ago
Sender: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: Re: You blew up my computer, you crazy mare!

I’m terribly sorry about your computer, Soren. I honestly didn’t know that was going to happen—that any of this was going to happen. I suppose I was pretty hasty, in casting the spell. You probably have every right to be mad. Bon-Bon always says I get a bit loony when humans are involved. I suppose everypony had the right idea, nicknaming me Loony Lyra.

Hearing about your shower incident, I feel a lot less guilty about succumbing to my own curiosity. I have to confess that I got to know more about both human and male anatomy than I ever expected. Worse, I kind of liked it. I suppose after having a bit of fun myself, I can’t blame you if you do a bit of exploring. Still, don’t do anything weird with my body.

Thanks for telling me about what’s safe to eat. Your stomach was starting to growl, and after seeing your canines, I think Bon-Bon was getting worried that I’d ask to eat her. I’d never do that! I love her more than anything in Equestria—even humans!

You don’t need to worry about anything special in my diet. If you can’t get hay where you are and you aren’t in the city, grass will do. Otherwise, it’s pretty much like what you told me: fruit, vegetables, grains, and dairy. Just watch it with the ice-cream. It goes straight to my flanks. Oh! There is one thing. Tomatoes and potatoes are both toxic to us—mustard too.

About my new stallion—er, manhood. How do you even deal with this thing? It barely ever calms down! It’s almost constantly begging for my attention, and a far as I know, nopony around me is even in estrus! I know humans breed year round, but this is ridiculous! If this keeps up, I might have to ask Twilight for some help. She has to have some sort of spell that can help with this!

Anyway... Pinkie Pie is holding a ‘congratulations on getting your dream even if it wasn’t exactly what you asked for’ party, and I’m the guest of honor. I have to go now, but I promise to get back to you. Maybe while I’m at the party, I can ask Twilight if she can figure out a better way for us to communicate. It certainly sounds like we’re in for a rough time if you can’t get access to another system with a microphone. That's what it's called, right?

You did my mane up in a bun? I never thought about having it like that. It sounds pretty cute! I don’t know how you can live with such short fur, but I guess with the way you evolved, fur became unnecessary. Your own mane is pretty hard to do anything with. I kind of miss the feel of my mane on the back of my neck.

Good luck with tonight.
~Lyra

P.S. If it’s intoxication you’re looking for, I always just go for some hard apple cider!

I cannot help but break into hysterics while reading Lyra’s message. The thought of Lyra falling victim to ‘her own penis’ was woefully hilarious. It sounded like one terrible clop-fic, “Lyra and the Penis!” I wasn’t sure I was completely comfortable that she wasn’t totally mad about the shower thing though. I reckon if I was in her horseshoes—not that I wasn’t already—I’d be royally pissed.

That was when I heard the conversation break downstairs. My girlish laughter clearly has their attention. There’s a long bit of silence, and then my father tries to play it off as my television. Conversation resumes as normal, but my feeling of anxiety remains at the same levels.

If anything, I’m more on edge. That laughter has a certain equine quality to it that I don’t think anyone is going to buy as simply something on television. Any more outbursts, and I’m bound to be caught. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the absence of Soren and strange laughter coming upstairs means weird shit is happening.

I realize that I should probably stop thinking like this. Lyra isn’t going to be happy if I get all stressed and her mane turns completely white as a result. I know this is all having a killer effect on my bladder... Oh fuck, oh no, not now! I can’t go to the bathroom now. All it would take is someone passing by the stairs to blow this whole thing wide open. There’s also the fact that my hooves make too much noise on the hardwood.

I can’t hold it, though; that much is painfully obvious. Since I don’t want my entire room smelling like burnt wiring and horse piss, I have no other choice but to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I know that I have no choice but to live up to one of those strange Internet memes: ponies wearing socks. It’s the only way to silence these blasted hooves!

With a sigh, I try to put on random socks as quick as possible. It isn’t easy, but sure enough, I manage to levitate three black socks and one white sock off of the clothing carpeting the area in front of my bed and onto my hooves. I will never breathe a word of this to Lyra, or anybody online. Nobody needs to know about the fetish fuel happening here in my house.

Creeping as quietly as possible, I make my way to the bedroom door. Using the trick I used on the cabinet door, I levitate an intact coffee mug off of my dresser—hey, it’s convenient, okay?—and use it to manipulate the handle. Yes! This is something I can work with! It can push and pull the door handle! Just about the only thing it can’t do is turn the lock on the bathroom door.

Being the aquamarine ninja pony I am, I manage to make it from my bedroom to the bathroom completely unnoticed. I might have danced a jaunty jig had silence not been my goal. I mean come on, four hooves and not a making a peep? That’s pro skills there! Pffft, yeah right. That’s just mad luck and I know it. Besides, if I danced now, I’d pee myself. See? I have my priorities straight; pee first, then jig.

Besides, I still have a challenge to conquer. How in Celestia’s name am I going to use the porcelain throne? My hind quarters barely make it up over the rim, and a pony’s legs aren’t meant to spread in the way that would be required for this body to sit safely up there. No, if I am going to do this, I need to be cunning, creative, and—stop staring at that coffee can! Yeah, I keep a coffee can in the bathroom. It’s the only way my toilet paper is safe from the cats. So what?

The coffee can does give me an idea though. There’s an empty, lidded cat-litter bucket here in the bathroom, right over by the litter boxes—no, I’m not using a litter box either, you idiot—that would make for a decent way to lift my front end. Still, I’m going to need to be pretty deft here. I can’t just have it in front of me and just put my hooves up. I’ve gotta bring it in with magic!

I look again at the toilet and thank the heavens I cleaned it last night, and that I somehow left the lid and seat up. Backing up to the toilet, I press myself against the cold porcelain. I continue doing so until my back legs aren’t actually touching the ground, but instead my haunches are against the rim of the seat. Very carefully, I levitate the bucket over, placing one front hoof on it as it approaches. Nudging it in, I tentatively lift the other hoof up and place it on the lid. Straightening my front legs, I angle my body at forty-five degrees from the toilet, and not a moment too soon. 

“Wow, Lyra, you piss like a racehorse,” I can’t help but mutter. I mean come on, I’ve barely eaten all that much today, and I don’t even recall having any drinks. She must have had a lot to drink before all this. It’s a wonder I didn’t just piss myself when I was knocked out on my bed after the explosion.

I sigh contentedly, relieved that I’ve averted at least one crisis. Not wanting to drip any remaining urine about the house, I step down from the container and focus on the toilet paper. I screw my eyes shut as the stuff levitates towards ‘my’ marehood and begins gently wiping. I try to ignore all the strange sensations, and for the most part succeed. It’s nothing like the shower, so I don’t think I’m at risk of turning a sanitary probing into one of another manner.

Flushing the soiled tissues and vacated waste materials, I smile to myself at a job well done. “Pshh... Coffee can. Why would I even think about that? That’s just lazy!” I giggle again, forgetting about the company. “I wonder if Lyra tried writing her name in the snow. Is it even snowing there? I’ll have to ask and—oh crap.”

I open the door, only to come face to face with my niece. She gives me a wide-eyed look before letting out a squeal of delight. Well fuck, this is, as Rarity would undoubtedly over-dramatize, the worst possible thing. It really is. I watch as Harriet turns and thunders down the stairs.

“Momma, Hillary!” she squeals in that childish way. “Papa and Nana have a real unicorn! It was using the toilet and everything!”

With the time I have, I do the only thing that comes to mind. I dive into the bathtub, force the shower curtain shut, and hide my head under my front hooves. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me! That is the logic of panic, and I’m sticking to that story.
> I thought today couldn't get any worse. Suddenly dogs!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now at this point, you're probably expecting me to go into every detail of my explanation to my family. I won't bore you with my in depth retelling of what I told my parents about Equestria and Lyra, everything—good and bad—about the fandom, my becoming a Brony, or how I started writing pony fan-fiction, before finishing with how I came to be in the shape that I am. It's about as boring as a bathroom monologue can be expected to be. Instead, all that should matter are their reactions.

As I go through my explanation, my parents are dead quiet. They exchange a few disgusted looks when I get to the dark side of the fandom, yet still they remain silent. Finally, when I get into my state as a Brony and how I use ponies as an excuse to reflex my creative muscles, I get a mixed reaction. My mother is somewhat impressed when I express that I've written a novel worth in my writing project, but my father is disappointed that I'm not using completely original material. I think he missed the part of the seminar going over why I did fan-fiction in the first place.

Hillary and Klein's reactions are a bit more lively. While my sister is genuinely intrigued as I go into everything about Equestria and the show, Klein makes it clear that he finds the whole concept of the show to be stupid. Despite beginning by pointing out that every fandom has its share of bad apples, Klein is immediately against Bronies as soon as he hears about the more 'adult oriented' portion of the community. Even Hillary seems disgusted, and may or may not have implied that there's something wrong if I associate with those sorts of people. Needless to say, they aren't at all interested in my writing.

When it comes to Valerie, I can't predict her reaction. On one hand, Harriet apparently watches one of the My Little Pony generations—I can't say with any certainty that it was G4—but on the other, the fandom seems to make her pretty uncomfortable. Of course when it comes to the fandom part, I levitated Valerie's hands to cover her daughter's ears. At first, she and everybody else—except of course my niece—begins to panic, but as soon as I begin going into the family-unfriendly things involved in the fandom, she at least seems thankful.

All the while, my niece is sitting on the edge of the tub right beside me stroking my mane or playing with my ears. I still don't think she understands that I'm her Uncle Soren. It is a pretty out-there thing for an adult to believe, never mind a seven-year-old girl. I'm pretty sure she's stuck in 'Oh my god, unicorn!' mode and that nothing will dissuade her from that perspective. At least it was fun for her while I used her mother's hands to cover her ears. I really don't want to be the person to ruin anyone's childhood before it's even over.

Fast-forward fifteen minutes. I'm now lying on the livingroom couch in typical Lyra fashion—thank god for the blanket that's supposed to be draped across the back of the couch—hoping the novelty of the unicorn will wear off for Harriet. It's an empty wish, I know. No child her age is going to lose interest until she's told it's time to go home. Even then, she'll probably want to come back tomorrow, and the day after that, and so forth. Except for Valerie, everybody else is in the dining room.

Even as my niece fixates on one of my front hooves—apparently they're pretty—her mother is sitting right there in the armchair, watching like a hawk. I'm not sure if she's uncomfortable with me now that she's heard of the clop side of the fandom, or if I'll flip out in true horse fashion and accidentally injure Harriet, but she hasn't left the room once.

“You don't trust me now, do you?” I ask sullenly, as my niece hugs me close like a giant plush toy. Her mother's eye twitches ever so slightly at the sight. “I suppose I don't blame you. This nonsense is ten different shades of freaky, and in finding out I'm part of what seems like a cult of perverts to you, you probably think I'm some kind of monster. Just remember that outside this physical change, I'm no different than I was before you found out about the Bronies.”

“Soren, I’m not sure what to think.” She shakes her head. “All of this is a lot to take in at once.” With an anxious glance, she stares straight at my horn. “That thing you did with my hands... it scares me. It's not natural.”

“You and me both, sister.” Did... I really just say that? “I didn’t mention that I accidentally detonated a telephone, or that I nearly concussed myself with it moments prior, just trying to figure out this magic.”

Valerie doesn't seem to like that news one bit. Anxiously she wrings her hands. As a nurse, I can kinda see why; hands are important in medicine. “Is there anything else you can do with your magic?” she asks, clearly trying not to think about what could have happened to her hands. “I mean, it’s magic right?”

“Theoretically, yes.” I levitate the blanket off of me and wiggle out of my niece’s grasp. As I drop to the floor, I catch her averting her eyes from my momentary nudity, embarrassed. “Yeah, it weirds me out too, but there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s a bit different from a human, but it’s nothing you haven't seen before.

“Anyway, yeah, there’s probably a lot I could do with proper instruction, but I’m not crazy enough to try anything like that.” I stagger towards the kitchen, hoping to nab myself another apple. “If it had been Twilight Sparkle—the scholarly apprentice to their leader, Princess Celestia—to make the switch, I might have at least been given some documentation on things to help me get by. Twilight’s prepared and organized like that. Lyra on the other hand, is all enthusiasm.”

Every step of the way, my niece is right beside me. She seems to be seriously considering hopping on my back. “Please don’t,” I whisper before reaching the fridge. I want to eat some more, but first I have to do all that song and dance in order to get access to the fridge. Maybe I don’t have to, though. I cast a glance at Harriet, before levitating the stool from the alcove and placing it in front of the fridge. “Harriet, would you please be a dear and help me get an apple from the fridge? This isn’t exactly the easiest form to do things in.”

She looks expectantly to her mother, and after a nod from Valerie, she climbs up onto the stepstool. “I’d love to, Miss Unicorn!” She pulls open the door and retrieves an apple from the crisper. “We can have a picnic in the living room, just you me and mommy!” Then I notice she’s not pulling out just one apple. Her arms continue filling with apples until I kindly levitate them out of her grip and place them on the counter.

Then, without warning, she goes for the basement door. “Harriet, what are you doing?”

“I want the doggies to come up for the picnic too!” she says with a smile, opening the door.

All at once, two small black dogs shoot out from the basement door, barking and growling. An instant later, the golden retriever bowls past Harriet, leaving the girl comically spinning on the spot. Before I can even react, the two small dogs are nipping at my forelegs, while the larger one begins growling savagely, and approaching in a menacing manner the way only a dog protecting his family would.

“Guys, a little help in here!” I whimper. I’m not usually afraid of dogs—kind of stupid to own them if you are—but when I’m having flashbacks to an attack that occurred the last time I was three feet tall, I think I have a right to be on the pants-shitting level of scared. “Get them away from me before—Eeep!”

The golden retriever throws himself at me, knocking me onto my back. He’s on top of me in an instant, snapping at my throat. Only the way I’ve got my hooves under his chest is keeping me from being killed. What can I do though? They’re still my pets! “Romulus, Sodom, Gomorrah! Back off!”

I hear a door slam, and then claws at a door. “Sodom and Gomorrah are in the bathroom now.” It’s my Dad. Without warning, Romulus jerks off of me for a moment. Then I hear a snarl and then my father shouts in pain. “Damn it, he bit me. What’s gotten into him?”

“I don’t know,” I cry, on the verge of sobbing. I can’t explain it—hormones maybe?—but I feel a lot more vulnerable to my emotions like this. “Just get him off of me before I do something I’ll regret!”

What might I do that I would regret? I could launch the dog into the ceiling. I could make him explode. Heck, I could even crush his heart! I don’t want to do this, but the panic growing inside me is begging me to let it lash out. Wouldn’t it be easier that way?

I don’t have time to consider any of it. Romulus is pulled off of me again, but not before biting down hard on my front left foreleg. It isn’t enough to tear the white sock, or the muscles, but it was excruciating enough for me to let out an inhuman scream of agony. Any shred of masculine dignity I had disappears as I break down sobbing.

A snarling bark can be heard one last time as Dad throws him out onto the deck. No longer held to the floor by a dog that weighs as much as—if not more than—me, I blink the tears from my eyes. I glare up at the apples on the counter, and snatch up a bunch in a telekinetic field before limping off towards the entrance hall.

“Soren, wai—”

“Just leave me alone!” I whimper before letting out a snotty sniffle. While my leg is definitely not broken, it hurts to put any weight on it. You can imagine how hard actually getting up the stairs is when you only have three legs to walk on and you’re focusing on not dropping or converting your apples into sauce. I don’t even care about whether splitting my attention from the apples to open and close my bedroom door is a good idea. I just want to be alone.

With the door closed again, I once again break into sobs. Why did this have to happen? Why do the dogs seem to have such an issue with Lyra’s body? Why is my mind the plaything of this body? I cannot help but shudder at that last question. If my mind is a plaything of the body, does that mean I’m going to be even more feminized further into the week? What if I enter estrus? Oh god, why did I even think that last one?

It’s a horrible thing, to be so at odds with your mind. The more you don’t want to think about things, the more they tend to assail you again and again. Eventually, it takes over every operating frequency until you just want to scream. Wanna go to bed. Can’t; I’m a pony. Wanna go to the loo. Can’t; I’m a pony. Wanna live a normal goddamn life. Can’t; I’m a motherfucking pony!

Fed up with it all, I tug my bedding off of the bed, and curl up on it with my apples. Yes, that’s right. I’m going to bed with my dinner. That’s how well I’m coping with things: I’m just going to curl up with a bunch of apples on a pile of blankets and clothes on the floor, because that makes so much goddamn sense. This day can’t be over fast enough, and I’m not answering my door no matter how many concerned calls come from the other side.

“What a day,” I sob into my hooves. “Oh how I’d have preferred Equestria to this.”
> ... Who dreams of these things, honestly?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have to say, the dreams that come along with sleep are easily the highlight of my day. It has always been that way, and I choose to believe that it always will be. It's that ignorant bliss that comes from delving into a world not bound by the regular rules of logic or the realities of life. There's just something undeniably appealing about speeding along a busy city street, ramping off of oncoming sports cars towards an apartment building that you somehow enter from the top, only to race an elevator down a stairwell in order to reach a secret passage that you somehow know is opened by the cat that would otherwise be crushed by the elevator.

Random—important keyword here—adventures as some variation of myself have always been the motif for my dreams. No matter if I'm boy or girl, in a place unfamiliar or known, in my present, past, or future, I've always dreamed of being me. Being aware of being myself has always been the one indelible stone in the ocean of disorder inside my subconscious mind. It's absurd to think that would change just because I'm in a different body, right?

When I open my eyes, I find that I'm not in a familiar place. This isn't so unusual when you've found yourself in an upside-down castle on the side of a whale. So why do I feel so disconcerted? Furthermore, where is this contradicting feeling that all is normal coming from? I mean, I'm pretty sure I still have hooves; I'm certainly still aware of them.

Speaking of things I'm aware of, there is a strange and uncomfortable warmth between my loins. It's almost like an itch that yearns to be scratched. “And everypony wonders why I sit the way I do...” My body mumbles. I know that voice; It's the one I've been using since my computer exploded!  “I think I caught some kind of infection from some disgusting pony who couldn't simply wipe herself clean. Stupid train conductor and her prudish 'a proper Canterlot mare can't sit like that!'”

Lyra turns her head and stares at the clock mounted beside her bed. The clock reads 9:02. It's clearly not what she wants to see. “I'm going to have to hurry if I want to make the checkout time,” she says with a moan. “I should have sprung for the extra night, just in case I don't find more permanent lodging today.”

With a tremendous yawn, Lyra slides out of bed, casting a smile towards a lyre case in the corner of her room with the rest of her limited luggage. By this point it's clear that it isn't my impulses driving this dream. I'm more interested in what's outside the window, but Lyra just plods on into the en suite bathroom without even glancing in the window's direction.

I won't go into the details of dream Lyra's toilet habits or anything like that, but I will say that for a dream, this toilet is much better suited to equine physiology. Everything is, for that matter. The sink, the shower stall, even the cabinets beneath the sink are all calibrated for pony life. This is easily the most incredibly detailed dream I've ever had.

As Lyra steps into the shower, I relish in the warmth of the water striking her. After the day I've had, a nice warm shower—dream or not—is exactly what I need. When she starts telekinetically soaping and scrubbing herself clean, I can't help but feel guilty about my poor job washing her body when I showered. All I really did was rinse, and yet here she is lovingly caring for her body.

I know that this sort of thing isn't something I should be paying rapt attention to, but I can't help but locking the floodgates of sensation open. Every sensation and ministration is mine to experience and catalogue so that when I next bathe, I can do it properly. The shower even feels nicer thanks to Lyra's lack of apprehension. After all, why would she feel bad about perving on herself?

When she starts washing her mane and tail, my mind is all but blown. I'm not unfamiliar with how nice it can be to massage shampoo into my scalp, but the way magic feels when she massages the shampoo into her mane and tail is completely out of this world. All the careful pressure one could expect from one's fingers is there, but there's also something I can only describe as similar to the pins and needles sensation you get from lying on a hand for too long, without any of the negative after effects. It lingers just a moment after the touch. It's heavenly.

In spite of the lovely fruity scent of this hotel soap and shampoo, there's a primal, musky scent in the air. My mind starts ticking away, tallying up what I know. Musky scent and a warm yearning itch... Jesus fuck, is she aroused? She's not going to seriously going to start jilling herself here in the shower, is she? Stop the train, please. This is a private thing that I—oh! The answer hits me like a sack of bricks.

“Darn it,” Lyra moans. “What did I sit in to get this way?”

I can't believe what I'm actually thinking, but if I'm right, she's in estrus and she doesn't even know it! Surely this isn't right. She has to be at least as old as Twilight and the others. Surely she's been in heat before, right? Or am I really dreaming that I'm experiencing her first estrus? Still, she should know on some level. Surely ponies have sex education! Oh God, why me!?

Unfortunately for my already addled mind, she dives right into vigorously trying to scrub the musk out. Fortunately—unfortunately?—she's going at it hard enough that it doesn't particularly feel good, but it doesn't really feel bad either. If I had to describe it, it's like scratching at a mosquito bite. The scratching feels good, but it only leads to the need to scratch some more. At least Lyra is a smart enough cookie to cue in on this too.

With a sigh, she steps out of the shower and begins brushing her mane and tail. While it felt nice brushing her mane, neither of us take any notice. We’re both more focused on the heavy musk in the small hotel bathroom. She really doesn’t know what this means, does she? God, this is not going to be a fun dream.

Content with her mane and tail, Lyra returns to her bedroom. She takes some perfume from her luggage, and that seems to cover up most of it, but it’s still noticeable in the air. “I hope nopony comments on the smell,” she murmurs before returning the perfume to her bags. “I’d just die of embarrassment.”

Exiting the room and going down into the inn’s lobby, Lyra creep up to the front desk. That yearning itch has returned, and already the stallion at the front desk is eyeing her—me too, as a result—with a look more fitting to a dog contemplating a burger on the counter. What he is thinking is plain as day on his face, so why doesn’t Lyra notice?

“Checking out then, Miss Lyra?” Thank god he’s acting from the standard script thus far. “Was everything to your liking?”

“Everything was wonderful, thank you.” From a saddlebag, she levitates the room key and places it on the counter. “I just find myself wishing I had paid for an extra night.”

“If you wish—” Oh here we go. “If you want, I could give you the room for another night, free of charge.” What I hear is, ‘All you’d need to do is be the mother of my foal.’

“Really?” Lyra’s cheeks flush. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’m hoping to find an apartment by tonight. Thank you for the offer though.”

Defeated, the stallion at the counter gives a friendly smile. “Thank you for your patronage, miss. I hope you’ll consider using our inn again.” Lyra begins trotting for the door before he's even finished switching back to the script. “Have a nice day!”

Out of the frying pan, and into the sexual harassment oven. Even as we cross out into what is unmistakably Ponyville, I can feel all eyes are on Lyra. They aren’t leering like the desk agent in the inn, but it’s still plenty obvious. They can smell a fertile young mare, and they’re all dying for their opportunity to woo her.

I suppose it’s only natural her first stop would be a news stand. After all, I didn’t see any newspapers in her room at the inn. But wouldn’t you know it? The pony operating the news stand is a stallion too, and he’s probably got his share of flirting too. Please, just shoot me.

“Could I please get a copy of today’s local paper?”

“Certainly, miss.” He gives her a once over. “First time in Ponyville?”

“Yeah,” Lyra replies happily. “I decided I needed a change in scenery, so I decided to move here for a while.”

“For you then, free of charge,” the stallion says with a disarming smile. “So you’re looking for a place to stay then?”

Lyra nods. “That’s right.”

Here we go, bad flirting to go. “I don’t really know much about apartments, but I know of a great place you could stay.” It’s called his sex dungeon. You can come, but then the only one coming after will be him. Nobody will ever find you there.

Evidently, Lyra is as uncomfortable with the implications of his offer as I am. She might be naive, but at least she isn’t stupid. “That’s nice of you to offer, and I’ll certainly keep it in mind, but I'd still like to read through the classifieds.”

Lyra takes her copy of the Ponyville Post, and scampers off. I honestly don’t blame her. He’s obviously hitting on her. Please, Lyra, if you go home with a man, please have the courtesy of not falling for these lame pickup lines. In fact, if you’re going to get laid, have the courtesy of blacking out first. I really don’t need this.

Laying on a park bench, luggage and lyre case at her hooves, I can’t help but enjoy the cool morning breeze between her knees. Sure, it isn’t the most modest position, but damned if it isn’t comfortable. New plan Lyra, you read the classifieds, I’ll enjoy the breeze for the both of us. It’s goofy to think she can hear me, I know. I can’t even glean her thought processes or surface thoughts.

Idly, Lyra levitates a highlighter—wait, they have highlighter markers, but still use quills and ink?—out of her saddlebags and marks one particular ad:

Roommate wanted! Looking for roommate to split my apartment with. Must be willing to submit to background check. Co-ed not an option, applicants must be mares. Seek out Bon-Bon for more details.

Wow, okay... So either that is a very obvious trap and I’m extremely jaded, or whoever made that posting really has a problem with stallions. Surely ponies don’t actually have the sorts of bad experiences here in Equestria that occur back on earth, right? Then again, that means I’ve been incredibly unfair towards the stallions who’ve only been trying to be nice. I can’t help it though. 

They can clearly smell the pheromones she’s emitting—hell, I can smell them and can tell what they mean—and seem to be going nuts about it. It makes me feel vulnerable. And sure enough, Lyra’s eyes leave the newspaper for a moment, and there’s a group of adolescent colts gathered, casting glances Lyra’s way and exchanging whispers. Clearly one of them has just worked up the courage to make a pass at her.

A lanky pegasus colt trots up to Lyra’s park bench throwing on his best concerned face. “Excuse me, Miss, are you alright?”

A blush creeps into Lyra’s cheeks again. I know what she’s thinking without access to her thoughts. ‘Oh no, can he smell it? Is he going to ask? Oh shoot me now.’ “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” she says hastily.

“Oh, it’s just, you’re all alone and you looked so under the weather,” Yeah, sure buddy. Why don’t you tell her you’re Celestia’s nephew, too. He motions to his friends with a hoof and an idle grin, saying, “If you’re feeling lonely you could come hang out with us and-”

“Beat it, glory hounds, she’s clearly not interested.” No way, was that who I think it was? I watch as the colt buggers off to join his friends. He shakes a hoof in the air at this newcomer before his group flees the park. “Sorry about the welcoming committee. I swear, they think the gelding punishment isn’t a frightening enough prospect by the way they act sometimes.”

Wait, what? Yes, I suppose with that hanging over their heads, any guy would be reluctant to flagrantly flirt. I know that no means no laws are important, but I can’t help but cringe anyway. Isn’t that overkill?

“Why would they be gelded for—” Lyra’s hooves release the newspaper—note to self, figure out that trick—as she covers her mouth. “Oh my gosh. I’m not... am I?”

The newcomer giggles. Lyra finally looks at her in astonishment. Her curled pink and indigo mane stands out marvelously against her cream coat, and the blue-green wrapped candies on her flank go wonderfully with her bright cyan eyes. No matter where horny young colts are looking for strange, Bon-Bon is on the prowl.

“Oh dear, is this your first time?” Bon-Bon blushes, realizing she’d just put Lyra on the spot. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s okay, I was just as oblivious my first time too. You’d think they’d do a better job letting young mares know what to expect, huh?”

There’s a nervous laugh. Whether it’s from Lyra or me, I don’t know. I’d be nervous too if a stranger just started talking to me about being in heat. “Heh, yeah,” Lyra quickly replies, glancing away slightly. Is that attraction I’m experiencing? Towards Bon-Bon? Eeek. “I’m Lyra, by the way.”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Bon-Bon.” She offers a hoof, which Lyra shakes earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lyra.” Bon-Bon looks down at the newspaper and the highlighted ad. “Looking for a place to stay?”

“I—yeah!” Oh god, Lyra is so blushing right now. “I just moved here last night but I haven’t found a place to stay yet.”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you highlighted my ad. Would you like to get some tea?”

“Sure!” Lyra perks up.

Without warning, Bon-Bon leans forward and gives Lyra a little peck on the nose. The world starts to shudder around me and suddenly, I’m screaming. I can feel my entire body being shaken, and I’m quickly aware that I’m standing somewhere. I could have sworn I was laying down when I slept. The dogs are having a complete conniption.

Wearily, I open my eyes. My mother is looming over me in a terrycloth bathrobe, a concerned look in her eyes. “Soren, it’s alright. It’s alright. You were just sleepwalking.”

I look around. Instead of my bedroom, I find myself standing in front of the front door. “I was sleepwalking? Great... Another thing I need to ask Lyra about.”

“What were you dreaming about, anyway?”

“Lyra’s first time going into heat, apparently,” I say in a toneless voice. “I just hope it was actually a dream, or I have even more questions for her.”
> Go for a swim; what could go wrong?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sent 47 minutes ago
To: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: Kind of an odd question...

Good morning, Lyra. I did not have a fun day yesterday. Needless to say, the one thing I didn't want to happen happened, and I had to explain a hell of a lot to my parents and the rest of my family. I think the only one who enjoyed me being caught was my niece. She was absolutely thrilled to have a unicorn in front of her. I'm pretty sure the rest of them think I'm something akin to a child molester now.

I have a bit of good news. I was able to recover my headset from my computer's wreckage pile, and I have access to our laptop, so I should be able to Skype with you to catch up on things in better detail later this afternoon. Still, I have a few questions, in chronological order.

Do... animals naturally dislike you? Or are the animals in this world scared of magic? I had a bit of a terrifying incident last night when our dogs came after me like I was some kind of monster attacking the family. The most docile of them was trying to kill me! What's with that?

... and then I had sort of a bizarre 'dream' last night. Well, I'm hoping it was a dream, anyway. It felt like I was experiencing a rather... personal memory. It was your first day in Ponyville, and you were looking for an apartment. You were in heat, and everypony was hitting on you. Then you were saved from a bunch of horndog youths by Bon-Bon. I guess I'm asking a few things here. Was what I experienced a memory? Did you two really meet in such an awkward way? Do stallions in Equestria actually get gelded if they misbehave?

The dream aside, I had another question. When you were a pony, did you by any chance sleepwalk? Kinda had a frightening experience this morning, being woken up─screaming, might I add─by my mother just inside the front door. Is this going to be a problem? As an aside, I seem to be walking less like a drunk now.

P.S. How was the party, by the way?

It’s pretty bad when you spend almost fifty minutes just waiting for an email. That’s just one of those signs that you really don’t want to do anything else in a day. But hey, I’ve got the laptop out of the basement now, and I’m sitting oh so comfortably on the couch. It’s not the easiest to operate the trackpad with a pencil eraser, but it’s practically the only thing that seems to work. It’s not like waiting is that bad. I have real access to the Internet again.

I’d prefer to be sitting down in the basement, where it is cooler purely through the rules of thermodynamics, but it’s where the dogs spend most of their day when they aren’t outside. Not wanting any repeats of last night, it’s easy to guess that I locked myself away in the bathroom until they were downstairs. Yeah, I’m not really proud of hiding from my own dogs. Don’t tease me about it! It was a traumatic incident.

At least I have the Internet again. I realize at this point, I’ve not heard a word from any of my editors. This is probably for the best. It’s impossible to get any writing done like this. There’s only one thing that I can do, and that’s make a blog post on FiMFiction. Something simple will suffice.

Title: Displaced on Hiatus
Body: Due to extenuating circumstances, I am unable to complete Displaced at this time. I hope you all can understand that it is terribly hard to type without the use of my hands. Pen in mouth is terrible for typing. Sorry.

“That’s good enough,” I mumble as I click submit. As I glance about my screen, I notice a new message in my email inbox.

Received 2 minutes ago
Sender: T00tyFruityLyra1996
Subject: Re: Kind of an odd question...

Oh my gosh... Did you really see that memory? I’m so embarrassed. That was a memory, but I don’t really know how to explain it... Twilight’s so much better at understanding and explaining these things. Supposedly, a unicorn’s horn acts as a sort of back-up storage in event of emergency. If a unicorn loses their memories, or has them forcibly replaced, the back-up kicks in and begins restoring his or her memories. It’s a sort of fail-safe that evolved to help unicorns retain skills and identity after serious brain injury, I guess. I could swear that Twilight said something about these kinds of spells not triggering that kind of response though... I’ve gotta talk to Twilight about this.

“That sounds... ominous...” I croak, not at all liking the implications. Still, I read on.

As far as the animals thing is concerned, I have no idea. I usually get along with animals as well as any other pony. Your idea seems reasonable enough, but again, I have no way to be sure. It’s another thing to ask Twilight about.

I used to sleepwalk when I was a little filly. That was years ago, though. If that backup is doing what I think it is, you’ll probably experience a few other odd occurrences. Nothing major... just some minor magical disturbances, and a bit more sleepwalking if I had to guess. Still, keep me informed.

The party was... fun, from what I can remember. I must have had more hard apple cider than I thought though... I can only remember a small portion of the night. It’s a wonder I’m not hung over. I can’t tell if she’s hung over or just mad at me, but Bon-Bon’s been a real grouch all morning. Then again, she’s never been keen on stallions. Won’t tell me why.

Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. I should probably go talk to Twilight about that backup thing. Keep safe, and sorry about everything you’ve gone through. I’ll contact you via Skype when I return.

Great! So it seems I’ll be sleep-walking, having magical accidents, and god knows what else. I’m not even sure I want to know what she did while she was drunk. It's also unusual for her to completely ignore the question about gelding. This does not instill confidence in the least.

Alas, there is nothing I can do without hands or... Wait a minute. Idly, I levitate the laptop off of my lap and hop off the couch and begin trotting to the stairs. I don’t recall using my mouth on the pencil I’ve been typing with and manipulating the track-pad, but it hasn’t been nearly an issue to control magically that I thought it would be. As I realize this, I can’t help but recall what it is that Lyra was saying. Parts of me are going to be overwritten, until she’s restored from back-up and there’s nothing left of me.

That thought instills a bit of panic in me. Having my mind slowly replaced is not a prospect that sounds pleasant. How long until I start forgetting things. Quick... Who was my childhood friend? Octav—no, Davis! That’s it. I still have my memories. Quick, another one. Where was I born? North Quarter, Canter—no! I shake my head vigorously. I’m better than this! I can beat this!

Yeah, it’s a foolish notion, attempting to fight something you don’t truly understand. I mean, the concept as I understand it is fairly simple. Automatic restoration of data from shadow copy stored externally from the main memory module. The computers in my high school were kind of like that, but replace the whole restoration bit with not saving any changes made on the computer’s main drive. How it’s actually working on my brain, however, I haven’t any clue.

With that thought, I realize that I’ve completely forgotten why I got up in the first place. I know it’s a weird thing to take comfort in. Being scatterbrained in the first place, I often deal with this sort of thing. Sure, it’s really annoying, but it’s just one of those things you have to live with.

Still, I can’t ignore the fact that there’s a very real chance that I could be losing myself. If things are as bad as I’m expecting, this could happen in a manner of days. I need to be prepared for that eventuality, but what would be the best option? Should I prepare messages to my loved ones? What would I say?

I can’t think at all with the humidity here in the house. More than anything, the prospect of taking a dip in the above ground swimming pool is godly. It’s not like I can even be seen. There’s like one narrow band of space that can be seen from the road. Anybody looking hard enough to think I’m more than some brightly colored pool floatie can die in a fire for all I care.

I don’t have to worry about the dogs out onto the pool deck either. Even if the gate is open, they couldn’t cross the threshold if they wanted to. God, I am so thankful for the invention of the wireless fence. As long as they’re not outside right this very instant, I will have no issue getting to the pool.

Before I can go for a dip, though, I need to get a towel. That’s but a mere trip up the stairs and a foray into the linen closet. I probably don’t need the biggest, fluffiest towel in there, but what the hell. I’m a pony, and may or may not be suffering total brain rewrite. If I want to look like a little, fluffy-white ghost running around underneath the towel, who the fuck is going to stop me?

With a silly feeling of elation, I levitate the towel onto my aquamarine back and canter down the stairs. The even clip-clop on the hardwood draws some angry barking from the dogs, confirming they’re down in the basement. In spite of their animal animosity, I feel strangely excited. I’ve never been in a swimming pool before, so this is an opportunity that—wait one fucking minute.

I find myself standing in front of the patio door, stuck on a thought. How is it that I’ve been living in this house with an above-ground pool and I haven’t once been in it? How could I have not been in a pool in my entire life, for that matter? Damn it! I’m Soren, not Lyra!

As much as I want to go right back over to the laptop and send Lyra an angry message for all the shit she’s gotten me into, I know it won’t do me any good. She didn’t know this would happen, even if she was without caution in causing it. Instead, I just open the door, trot out onto the deck, and down the stairs toward the pool deck. 

I’m grateful for the convenience of leaving the gate propped open. I would not want to fuck with that latch if I could help it. Creeping out onto the pool deck, I finally notice that my mother is out here too, dozing on the air mattress afloat in the pool. I have to fight back a pang of jealousy. That air mattress is pretty damn comfortable, and more than once I myself have napped on it.

I drop my towel on one of the chairs. I’d consider jumping in, but I can’t imagine too many ladies would jump into a pool with their mane bound up in a bun. Not being able to see what I’m doing, it’s rather difficult to remove a scrunchy with telekinesis, especially when it often leads to vigorous tugs at my mane. I still get it done, and it feels nice to shake all of that hair in my mane free.

Still, as I look at the pool, I don’t hold much confidence in my swimming abilities as a pony. Lyra doesn’t seem to have been in a pool before, if that odd lapse in memory is any indication. Did Canterlot not have pools for swimming? Has she never been to a beach? Or was it just something that never interested her? Argh! Damn it, Lyra! Why does everything become complicated when you’re involved?

 In a pool that is four feet deep, I hardly think I’m going to get by without some sort of floatation device. Lucky for me, we have a small inflatable ring floating in the pool for occasions when less skilled swimmers about my height are visiting. Too bad it’s on the far side of the pool. No matter; I’m a fucking unicorn! What point would there be to being a unicorn if I couldn’t just grab things with telekinesis? So that’s exactly what I do. 

It only takes a second, and then the inflatable ring is sitting there at my hooves. Putting it on is another matter though. Having a horn on your head can have its disadvantages when it comes to dealing with inflatable objects, I assure you. I at least have the common sense to not take the head-on—apply directly to the forehead—approach. Instead, I find that it’s just as simple to step into it with my back legs, and levitate it up my body and over my flank. It’s a tight fit, but it works. I push it up until it’s wedged just behind my forelegs.

I trot back to the actual wooden fence surrounding the pool deck, and turn around to face the pool. With a giddy nicker, I gallop full-speed toward the edge of the pool before leaping into the air. Okay, so ponies can apparently jump pretty far. As a human, I can easily reach jump to the center of the pool, but I never would have expected the same from this smaller form. Still, as I let my flank take the brunt of the water-landing, I can tell that it’s exactly am.

Surprisingly, being small doesn’t prevent me from making a decent sized splash. It’s certainly enough to drench my napping sunbather of a mother. As I rise to the surface, I glance in her direction to catch a bit of a scowl. What do I care? I’m just glad I’m not sinking like a rock. Our golden retriever certainly doesn’t float, but he doesn’t have the sense to use an inflatable ring either.

“Aren’t you worried about being seen?” Mom asks grouchily. I don’t blame her for being upset. Last thing I want when napping is to be splashed with nice cool water.

“Nah,” I reply happily. God this water feels nice. I probably look goofy as hell, mostly on my belly in the water with the floatie practically vertical, but I don’t care as I kick my back hooves and move about in the pool. “The way I see it, there’s only a narrow band of the pool that can be seen at any one time, and even if anyone does glance in this direction they’re only going to have a momentary glimpse of my colors. I’ll probably just be confused for some sort of pool toy.”

“I see.” I’m pretty sure she caught the ‘I just don’t give a fuck’ attitude in my voice and decided not to press the issue. “Any news from the body snatcher? Any explanation given for the sleepwalking incident?”

I shake my head to remove my wet mane from my face, and then turn to look at Mom. “Well, I know she definitely had some fun at the party Pinkie Pie threw for her—some sort of ‘congratulations for kind-of achieving your dream’ deal, and don’t look at me that way, that’s just how Pinkie works—if a lack of memory regarding a good portion of last night is any indication.”

Out of the blue, I decide to test the abilities of the telekinesis. Imagining a bucket, I scoop up water into a large ball, and float it above the surface. It’s nowhere near stable, but it’s something at least. “As for the whole sleepwalking incident, Lyra apparently used to do that a lot when she was a filly,” I say, not taking my eyes off the ball of water. “She said it’s probably some sort of stress related muscle memory thing.” It’s a flat-out lie, and I know it. 

I don’t know if the guilt of not telling Mom the truth distracted me or what, but suddenly there is a flaming ball of water floating above the pool. “Oh come on!” I grumble, releasing the telekinetic hold on the flaming water. Thankfully, it doesn’t spread when it hits the surface of the pool. Instead, it dissipates immediately, noticeably raising the pool temperature by a few degrees.

Mom continues to pry for information, but I really don’t want to get into this whole memory ‘restore from back-up’ thing that’s happening just yet. Call me stupid or say that it’s not fair to keep my family in the dark, but fuck! I’m still trying to sort all this out myself. I can let  them worry a bit after I get my shit together.

Soon enough, Mom loses interest in prying teeth, and returns to her dozing. That’s not a bad idea, really. I’m feeling kind of tired from all this bullshit too. Maybe a little nap in the relatively cool water of the pool is exactly what I need to refresh my mind. Contented by my choice, I happily lower my eyelids and let my hind hooves touch the bottom of the pool. With the ring no longer being forced vertical, there’s more than enough space for me to rest my chin. Yes, this is shaping up to be the most interesting of weeks.
> What joy there is in knowing I'm not alone!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I love napping. It's not quite as fun as sleeping since I don't usually dream when I nap, but still, it's restful and it lets me take my mind off shit. Still, this surface I'm napping on... What is it anyway? It's supple like sand, but coated in some sort of durable plastic, like the vinyl lining of the pool. There's something wrapped around my chest just behind my forelegs...

Wait. Wasn't I napping in the pool? I open my eyes slowly. Sure enough, I'm on the bottom of the pool along with the air mattress and a bunch of pool noodles, and there's not a drop of water to be seen. What the fuck is going on here? Water doesn't just disappear like that. That's at least twenty thousand liters of liquid! Drip. If someone stole that much water, surely they'd have seen me. Drip. Why steal water, but not the unicorn lounging in the pool. Drip!

Okay seriously, stop dripping water on my head, whoever it is! I'm trying to solve the mystery of the vanishing pool water! Hold on a sec. Water goes missing, I'm on the bottom of the pool, and someone's dropping water on my head? This does not bode well for me. 

I look up, and immediately regret it. “Oh fuck no!” I jump to my hooves, and run across the bottom of the pool to the ladder. Shit, shit, shit! This thing wasn't made for ponies. I turn my head back up to look at the impossible floating pool water. This isn't a fucking magical accident! This is a magical cluster-fuck! “I have to get out of here before that thing—”

SPLASH!

From the center of the floating liquid mass, all the water begins to spill down into the pool, like a bottle that's sprung a leak. It's fast, hot and wet. As I am forced against the wall of the pool, I can't help but note that the water seemed to be heating in addition to floating. It's at least a few degrees higher than standard human body temperature. It would have to be for it to feel hot to me, right? Then again, I have no idea what Lyra's usual body temperature even is.

I probably shouldn't be musing over frivolous things when hot water is forcing its way in through my nostrils and down my throat. Why am I not floating up to the surface? I can feel my horn caught on the bottom rung of the ladder. Fighting the desire to panic, I instead try to calm down. Panicking will only cause a drowning incident; I don't want to die—not in the body of someone else.

I carefully remove my horn from the ladder, and float to the surface. With a dramatic flail, I hook my forelegs over the side of the pool, and my back hooves into the rungs of the ladder. Even as I pull myself out of the pool, I am coughing. I need to expel the water in my lungs, but I can't. No matter how hard I try, I simply can't cough it all out.

I flop on the deck as the edges of my vision blacken. Where'd Mom even go? I feel so weak, and my body doesn't even feel like my own any more. It feels strangely like that dream, where I'm not in control. So this is how I die: a lonely guy trapped in the body of a unicorn.

I could swear I heard someone scream 'Don't you dare die in my body!' Of course I don't want to die in your body Lyra, but I don't know how to purge the water from my lungs! Then an image enters my mind. It's not much, just a 3D cross-section of a pony's lungs. Yeah, draw me a picture why don't you? Oh, just push the water out. When you put it that way...

Envisioning the lowest points in each lung, I form a lung shaped telekinetic field and enclose all the water inside. Slowly—carefully—I force the water through the bronchial passages and up the trachea. Bringing me relief, it begins to spill out through my mouth, until finally it's clear. My vision is just a pinprick of light now, and all I can hear is the dull throb as my heart tries—and fails—to pump oxygenated blood to all my extremities. Finally, my eyelids become too heavy to keep open.

“Breathe!” I hear someone shouting from a great distance. It's not Lyra though; it's Mom! But what's going on? There's this rhythmic hammering sensation in the side of my chest, and it feels like something is being forced in my mouth and down my throat. Why do I feel like something is missing? “Come on, breathe damn you!”

Oh right! I was supposed to be breathing! Greedily, I attempt to suck in air, only to find I already have a lungful. Of course, you can understand that would just cause a coughing fit. I wrench my eyes open as I cough weakly, trying to steady my breathing. It's only when my vision focuses that I realize I've just coughed very forcefully into my mother's face, covering it and her glasses in spittle. She doesn't seem to mind.

Instead, she lifts me upright, and pulls me against her in a tight hug. Sobbing into my mane, I could almost hear her muttering. What she was muttering was beyond me, but I didn’t have to hear it to know why she was crying. In that moment, I understood just how bothered and hurt she really was by all this. She’s all but lost her son to something she doesn’t quite understand, shattering the normalcy of her life. Not only that, she probably doesn’t know whether to be proud that I’m challenging gender stereotypes by liking something girly, or be ashamed that I’m into something so infantile as a television show intended for a younger audience. 

She’s been losing me ever since this whole cluster-fuck began, and I go and make it worse by nearly drowning my idiot ass. What would it do to her if I tell her that I’m suffering personality death on top of everything else? It will destroy her. As much as the suffering this has brought to my mother pains me, I am hurt even more knowing that I’ll never be able to keep this whole overwrite personality death business a secret.

For at least the second time in as many days, I break down too, and begin sobbing into my mother’s shoulder. None of this is fair—not to me, and especially not to her! I screw my eyes shut and grit my teeth This is all just so fucking stupid! Why did I have to haphazardly say yes to Lyra’s offer?

I suck in a deep breath and try to calm myself. I’m no good to anypony—anybody damn it—if I’m just a sobbing wreck. Nothing I can say will make anything better. All I can do for either of us is pat her on the back with these small hooves. “It’s alright, mom. I’m alright now.” I whisper. The only thing that will heal this hurt is time. At least, she’ll heal enough until I stick the knife back in and have to tell her about my eventual loss of self.

‘Why are you so negative?’ a very familiar voice in the back of my mind whispers. ‘You should be happy we didn’t drown!’

My blood runs cold. Am I hallucinating? Has my mind fractured so badly under the strain of impending personality death that part of me has split off and taken the persona of Lyra? Or is it much simpler, and enough of Lyra’s imprint has restored enough that she’s become self aware?

‘I don’t know!’ that Lyra voice seems to say. ‘I woke up Celestia knows where, with no memory of how I got here. Most of my memories aren’t there, and then there are memories that don’t fit in with mine. To top it all off, I have no control over my own body, and I’m pretty sure I’m being hugged by a human.’

Great. I’m suffering personality death, I’ve alienated most of my family, I’ve been blown up, I’m stuck in Lyra’s body, my pets hate me, and now I’m pretty sure I’m suffering a psychotic break. Lyra, I think for the sake of my sanity, just access my memories at your own whim instead of asking me questions. My mind isn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Besides, once I’m done here, I’ve got to go talk to you-in-my-body via Skype.

‘I’ll take your word for it and read your memories then.’ There is a pause before she continues. ‘It’s not like I have anything better to do like this.’ Yeah, sorry. Not my fault. I think given the memories, you’ll find a way not to be mad at me. If not, no sleep lost. Just remember I’m not going without a fight. ‘Alright then. Now for the love of Celestia, go tend to your mother! She needs you.’

“That’s it, just let it all out.” She clearly has a lot pent up, so I can at least let her vent some of it. I just sit there, letting her cry against my mane, patting her back softly with a hoof all the while. What else can I do? I’m not good at this emotional shit. It’s a side effect of being generally maladjusted. Most of the time I have problems accepting or controlling my own emotions—or lack thereof—never mind sympathizing those of others.

Her hands come to rest on my withers, and she pulls her head away. “I think I’m as close to alright that I’ll ever be.” she says at last. A cool breeze washes over us, causing both of us to shiver. “Maybe it’s time to go inside.”

I pull back and realize that my fur is still soaking wet from the near drowning. Fuck am I ever cold now. “Yeah. You go on ahead,” I reply softly. “Maybe you should go lay down for a bit.” Sure, she was dozing and sunbathing earlier, but she’d be resting her mind more than her head.

Nodding softly, she turns and walks up onto the patio. Mom gives me one last sad look before pushing the door open and stepping in. As soon as the door shuts, I levitate the towel off of the deck chair and begin imitating the motions Lyra went through in the memory I’d endured. I could swear that the Lyra inside my head made an amused nicker. What amused her, I wonder?

‘Oh nothing,’ she giggled. Okay, now I know she’s up to something. ‘I’m not, I swear! I just thought it was funny how accurately you were imitating my towel habits.’ Considering I went through it only a few hours ago, kinda hard not to remember it. I make a mental effort of rolling my eyes at this bizarre method of communication.

I’d like to do my mane up in the bun, but I still don’t trust myself like that. Put off but not particularly discouraged, I wring out the towel. Once I drape it over myself, I feel confident enough to follow in my mother’s footsteps and trot back into the house. So what if I was a soggy little ghost? I don’t give enough of a fuck right now. I just want to go over to the laptop, call up Lyra, and hope for some good news.

‘I think I’d like to hear from myself too.’ Oh for the love of... ‘What? It’s one thing to hear your voice in a memory, but it’s another to actually hear it. Besides, it’d be neat, right?’ I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. ‘Alright, fine. I’m worried what’s going to become of me. I can’t deny your memories, but if they fix this, I’m going to cease to be.’ Well... Fuck.

Passing through the door, I trot over to the couch. Waiting for the thing to resume power, I flick the laptop open and wait. As soon as it’s logged on and connected to the net, I see the Skype icon in the task bar begin to tally up inbound text messages. They all had the same general urgent message: Soren, call me!

‘I think you should call me, Soren.’ Thanks for that, head Lyra.

Lyra’s Skype profile was already online, so I decided to set myself to appear online. I barely even have the cursor over T00tyFruityLyra1996—damn this inefficient touch-pad method—when I receive a call. Thankfully, it’s Lyra-in-my-body and not Lyra-in-my-head. Wait, that doesn’t make any sense. Does that make any sense Lyra?

‘Just answer the call,’ she replies sourly, forcing into my mind the image of a pony slamming her hoof into her face.

Frantically, I force the cursor over to the answer button and jam down the left mouse button. In that same instant, I levitate my slightly burned headset onto my head and adjust the microphone. Oh god, why am I so tense, and why do I feel pins and needles going down the back of my neck?

“Hello, you’ve reached Soren’s house of Lyra, with Lyra on the line, and Lyra in my head. How can I help you today?” I really just said that, didn’t I? God, I’m brain damaged. There’s no doubt about it. All this shit is happening and now I’m acting like some cheerily glib motherfucker?

“Hello? Is this working?” a familiar voice flows into my ears. I know that voice too well, and it certainly isn’t my own. It’s roughly the same voice I’ve across many cartoons with variations. It’s the best pony! “Are you sure he can hear me, Lyra?”

‘Best pony, really?’ Lyra says with an unimpressed tone.

“Hush, Lyra—”

“No, I’m Twilight Sparkle—”

“Not you, Twilight... I was talking to the Lyra inside my head and—”

“As much as I’d like to talk about that with you right now, there’s something important we have to discuss.” I don’t like the tone in her voice. I recognize that bad shit is happening and it’s about to get worse tone. “Soren, wasn’t it? Listen, Lyra brought me over because... well...”

Another voice cuts in over the line. It isn’t one that I recognize. “Please don’t be mad at me.” a very feminine voice says apologetically.

I think my brain just exploded.
> Insanity nightmares weren't in the brochure!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You're mad at me, aren't you?” That unfamiliar feminine voice is speaking again.

I'm trying to wrap my head around it all. Twilight Sparkle calls from Lyra's laptop, I don't hear my voice anywhere on that end. Clearly, my body has been subjected to some sort of gender reversal spell, or I'm suffering some major brain damage.

'I'd probably lean toward the former if I were you,' the Head-Lyra whispers. 'I don't like the implication that I am just brain trauma.'

“Lyra?” I ask hoarsely.

There's a moment of hesitation before she replies. “Yeah, it's me. You're mad, aren't you?”

I honestly don't know at this point. I've been blown up—twice, if you count the phone—scalded, fallen down the stairs, nearly drowned, and attacked by dogs. Somehow, my real body undergoing a magical sex change just seems sort of surreal at this point. “How—”

“I knew he'd be mad, Twilight—”

“No! I'm asking how this happened.” I quickly cut off that nonsense. I'm reserving anger for after I've heard her out. “I'm pretty sure Twilight wouldn't just alter my body just to make you happy. Therefore, I'll reserve my judgement until after I hear just what sort of Shenanigans are going on in Ponyville.”

“Well, you know how you asked about gelding after reliving one of my memories and I dodged the question?” She sounds completely embarrassed. “Here in Equestria, there are some pretty strict penalties regarding sexual crimes...”

“Tell me you didn’t...”

“The laws are pretty strict, especially regarding a sex assault. I won’t deny that they’re pretty lopsided because nopony ever hears a stallion pressing charges against a mare.” Her voice is hitching as she speaks. Disgusted might be more apt, not for how she feels about the laws, but about herself. “In this kingdom, a sexual assault against another being, regardless of race or sex, is usually grounds for a gelding at the least.”

I let a bit of horrified anxiety creep into my voice. “Lyra, what did you do?”

“Remember how I said I didn’t remember much about last night? I was apparently pretty drunk, and I guess pretty horny too. Bon-Bon hasn’t been the least bit interested in me since the switch, and I won’t deny the testosterone I read about was getting the better of me. I just felt so pent up! So when I saw a former lover at Pinkie’s party, I apparently went in and tried to woo her with my fingers. I must have thought it would work out this time since she turned out to be straight, but I guess I kept pawing at her, er, flank.”

“I still don’t think Lyra understands just how far I stuck my neck out for her. I had to call in so many favors, and even then, only a letter to Princess Celestia kept her from being sterilized!” Twilight’s agitation couldn’t be any more clear. “Even then, the Princess insisted I use a spell to rein in Lyra. She believed that male hormones were clearly too much for Lyra to handle, and I kind of agree. Don’t worry though! The sex inversion spell I settled on should wear off by the time you switch back.”

“So... are we cool, Soren?” Lyra chimes in sheepishly.

“I’m...” I’m what exactly? Mad at her? No. Disappointed maybe. I can feel that Head-Lyra is disappointed in herself too. I also feel kind of bad for Octavia, seeing as I apparently know that was the only other lover she had. If I’ had been the one subjected to a gender reversal spell, I would probably be elated. Now though, it’s just one more thing mocking me in this disastrous chain of events. 

“I’m okay with this.” Yep, my tone of voice just went into uber-creepy territory there. It also felt like my eyes went in two separate directions. “I’m absolutely, 777% okay with this.”

‘You certainly seem that way,’ that Lyra voice in the back of my mind mutters sarcastically. ‘Maybe you should work on getting me home and you out of my body instead of flipping out?’

“I thought I told you to shut up, Head-Lyra.” I growl in response. “Anyway, Twilight? We have kind of an issue on my end here. I think Lyra was going to talk to you about this before you dropped Rule 63 on her.”

“She said your memories were being overwritten,” Twilight answers. “I take it there’s more than just memory override, if you’re shouting at a Lyra in your head.”

“Yeah...”

“Did you happen to experience any head trauma since the switch?” she asks. “Does this ‘Head-Lyra’ ever try to take control, or does she just talk to you?”

“If you must know, I’ve been blown up, hit in the head by a flying telephone that later exploded, fallen down a flight of stairs, slipped in the bathtub, and been attacked by my own dogs. There have been more opportunities for head injuries than I can shake a stick at... ” I laugh in spite of myself. “To answer your question though, I don’t think she’s ever taken control, but there was that sleepwalking incident this morning.

“It worries me though,” I say a bit less enthusiastically. “I’m forgetting things at an alarming rate, and things that I do remember I’m having issues differentiating between Lyra’s memories, and my memories of the show...”

“Ixnay on the owshay,” Lyra quickly interjects.

I glare at the monitor. Pig Latin, Lyra? Are you fucking kidding me? Twilight is a smart pony! She’s too clever for such childish language games. “I can’t believe you didn’t at least tell her about the show.”

“What show?”

I sigh. “Long story short, the adventures of you and your friends are available to the denizens of my world as a form of entertainment on a television, or on computers like the device through which you are speaking to me through. Get mad at Lyra, not me.” I feel a twinge of pain in the back of my head. “OW! In the meantime, can we please do something about the Lyra inside my head and my impending personality death?”

Twilight’s completely silent. I think Lyra muted the microphone so that I can’t hear her being chewed out, or something. All I can do is open up the web browser and check for some fan-fiction updates. There are no updates, and nothing new is of interest. Wonderful!

My head is really starting to ache now. ‘This isn’t right. Why does it hurt?’ Oh good, so at least my agony is shared. That’s actually kind of reassuring. ‘This reassures you? Wow, that’s messed up.’ You think? Do I need to go through all the reasons that this is classified as a terrible two days, Lyra? No? I thought not. Thinking is making my head hurt more, like it’s accelerating the process or something.

As loathe as I am to the idea, I’m not sure there’s any other choice. “Twilight? Listen. You need to get me out of here. Magical, talking, polychromatic ponies don’t belong in this world.” I plead. “I’m sure if you just explain to Princess Celestia, she’ll understand. You’ve got to! I don’t—Aaaaaagh!”

I scream and Head-Lyra screams with me as a blinding pain fills my mind. It’s like someone just directed a fucking halogen bulb right into my eyes, only it’s my brain instead. There’s a vise closing on my consciousness. Even as I struggle to remain upright, my vision is dropping away, becoming but tiny pinpricks. Vaguely, I hear Lyra and Twilight calling out to me across the distance. Even further off in the distance, the dogs are having a fit and my parents may or may not be calling me... but it doesn’t matter. The darkness has me, and it seems to be for keeps.


- - -


‘Where am I?’ It’s a standard question to ask when you find yourself in an unfamiliar place. Where am I right now? I’m in a small, dimly lit room with no discernible source of light. There are five walls, a floor, and a ceiling—no windows or doors. Aside from a five-sided rug, the room is completely unfurnished. There’s nobody else in the room, but I can feel I’m not alone.

‘Who am I?’ It’s a standard question you might ask if you awake in an unfamiliar place, not quite sure of yourself or your memories. I am... I am Soren—a jobless nobody who writes fan-fiction—but I am also not. I am Lyra—a minstrel and human enthusiast—but again, I also am not. If not myself, or the one who ruined my life, who am I then?

‘What am I?’ That’s the real question, isn’t it? Once upon a time, I was a human. More recently, I was a human trapped in the body of a treacherous unicorn. Now? I’m apparently a confused individual in a strange pentagonal room, trapped in a body that isn’t his, in a place he doesn’t recognize, full of memories that aren’t his.

A guy can only get so much of his bearings by staring at the walls, however. Instead, I should be trying to find out what is going on, and how to get out of here. At least there is one useful bit of information I’ve gleaned by staring at the wall. The wall that I’ve arbitrarily labeled the fourth, is very different from the others. Whereas the other four walls are solid tone slabs, this one is a sheet of drywall, painted aquamarine. On the fourth wall, is a massive crack. Through that crack I can make out a door.

As a being in between Lyra and Soren, I can use this body’s magic to peel away the drywall. Haphazardly, I tear away the wall between me and the only exit available. As I do, however, I notice the chunks of drywall cease being drywall the moment I separate them from the wall, instead falling to the floor as large chunks of flesh covered in aquamarine fur. At the same time, that other presence seems to shrink away in fear.

Staring at the door, I cannot help but feel a shred of confusion. The door is a heavy door of banded iron, bearing an unmistakable visage painted on it. I find myself staring into Lyra’s cheerful face—my own face. What in the blazes is going on here? Why is Lyra’s face on a door in this place?

Tentatively, I pull the door open, revealing a long, white-enamel corridor. At the far side, I see another door. The space between the doors is brightly lit by the florescent lighting embedded in the ceiling. Along the floor is a metal grating, separating the chamber from an intense blackness below. In fact, I find it not dissimilar from the Rebel Alliance ship at the start of Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope. Aside from the doors—which seem wickedly out of place now that I’ve made the comparison—it’s almost exactly like the Rebel Alliance ship.

I barely spare the pentagonal room a second glance before crossing the threshold into the corridor. Almost as soon as my hooves cross onto the grating, my gut drops out from underneath me. I never get the chance to regret my foolhardy advance, however. No sooner than my harp-marked flanks passed the door did it swing closed with a resounding bang. That’s certainly not ominous in the least. A feeble attempt reveals the door to be rigidly in place.

Spurred forward by the only other exit hitting me in the arse, I trot along at a brisk pace. Oddly enough, when I look toward the door, it seems no closer. Concerned, I look back to the other door to verify that I’ve moved at all. To my relief, I am indeed half the corridor’s originally perceived length away from my entry point. I again look forward only to see that I’m looking forward as though I were still in front of the door. Weird!

As if sensing my perplexed mindset, all the lights in the corridor begin shutting off sequentially from the far doorway. Bathed in darkness, I swallow a lump rising in my throat and draw upon one of Lyra’s memories. Slowly, my horn fills the corridor with a dim teal light. With a shudder, I realize that the corridor has drastically changed, losing its white enamel luster, and taking on a... meaty appearance.

“Fuck,” I whimper in fear. “What the fuck is going on?”

As if to answer my question, the ceiling begins to tear, revealing a blackness not unlike the void beneath the grate, spilling copious amounts of black ichor everywhere. At the very edges of the tear I can just make out a pair of claws, before they vanish into the darkness. I’m vaguely aware that the other presence I felt in the five-walled room has returned, and it is far stronger this time. I turn my gaze back towards the door and futilely begin running towards it again.

My blood turns to ice-water as the feeling that I am being watched. Returning my gaze to the gash in the meaty ceiling, I’m horrified to see two bright gold eyes staring down out of the darkness. In an instant, the eyes draw closer, allowing my dim horn-light to play across a ghastly visage. It’s vaguely equine, fanged and very familiar. I’m looking at some sort of monstrous Lyra, and—hungry and angry—she’s looking right back at me. Her face is in bloody tatters, not unlike the fourth wall, but it’s unmistakably her.

With an inequine shriek, a claw darts forward out of the darkness, plucking me off of the metal grating. That hungry maw draws closer and closer. Every breath is a gust of air reeking of rancid meat. Struggling is useless against her incredible grip, so all I can do is soil myself in fear.

Then it occurs to me that she’s not the only one with teeth. Letting loose a scream, I bite down on one clawed finger with all my might. I almost regret it as the taste of rancid meat fills my mouth; I have to struggle not to vomit. I continue tightening my bite in spite of myself, and soon enough Lyra’s grip loosens enough for me to drop back to the grating in the meat hallway.

A strange rattling greets me as I land on the grate. A cursory glance reveals that the grating is now bone. Fuck it. This place is crazy! I begin running back towards the door I came in through, building up all the magic and telekinetic force I can muster into the horn. Then, just when I feel there’s no more for me to draw upon, I begin to tap even more. There’s just barely a second magical aura forming around my horn as the magic builds.

Drawing closer and closer to the door, my blood freezes once more. The corridor is filled with an almost demonic laughter. I blink my eyes once, and the door is suddenly that monstrous Lyra’s ghastly visage. She’s grinning at me wickedly, running her tongue along her inequine fangs. The damn thing is almost daring me to fill her belly.

“You wanna play it that way bitch?” I cry out, not bothering to fight back the tears. “Fine! I hope I fuckin’ choke you!”

I reach her face in a heartbeat. Just as she begins to bring her grisly mouth shut around me, my magic buildup explodes into a vicious, fiery telekinetic blast. Lyra’s face all but disintegrates, leaving only the open doorway back into my five-walled sanctuary. I let loose a relieved yip and leap through the door...


- - -


… and find myself rocketing off of a couch, tangled in blankets. My face skids along the floor, leaving a slightly bloody streak. Bringing a hoof up to my face, I find my nose bleeding, but otherwise undamaged. Tentatively, I stare past my hoof, only to realize that I’m back in my home! At least, I hope it is. Since I can’t pinch myself, I do the next best thing... I vigorously bite into my fetlock.

“Fuck, ow!” My yelp of pain is verily a great relief. “So... Not dreaming. Great!” I can see the patio door from my position here on the hardwood, but it’s dark out now. “... and I slept the whole day away.”

“You call that sleep?” my father anxiously replies from the padded chair in the living room. “For the first few hours, you were catatonic!”

“Yeah!” My mother’s voice carries from the far end of the couch. She’s every bit as anxious as my father. “Then, for the last three hours, you’ve been having some sort of night terror! You scared us half to death!”

It hits me that this shit is getting out of control, and it’s hitting my parents even harder than it is hitting me. It’s not the first time I’ve had this revelation, or at least, I hope it isn’t. Still, this has to stop. It isn’t fair to them!

“I’m so sorry...” I whimper staring at the floor. I’m kind of glad I haven’t bothered untangling myself from the blankets—had my mother brought them?—because right then, I feel like the only way I could feel lower was to burrow through the floor and into the basement. Hiding my head under my hooves would suffice for now, I guess. “I have some news, and it’s not at all good...”

“We know,” they reply in unison, sadness tinging their voices. 

I glance up curiously from beneath my hooves at my father. “How?”

He points toward the laptop—of course! “After you went catatonic, we had a little talk with your transdimensional friends.”

“Gender bending, body snatching antics aside, they’re both really concerned for you. We’re both terrified, and we don’t know how to cope any more.” My mother is practically sobbing. “We asked Miss Sparkle if she’d be able to do anything for you.”

“She said that she couldn’t do anything from her side to help you, but she was researching something that could bring her here to bring you back with her.” Dad is just as hoarse. In spite of himself he lets out a laugh. “Just like some of those episodes of Stargate, eh?”

“Yeah...” I mumble. “So... What, I go with her for the remainder of the week?”

“I guess... but... If you can’t be cured or fixed, I’m not sure you’ll be able to come back at all...”

Great.
> Choices
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since the discussion with my parents, I've not seen hide nor hair of them. Then again, after telling me to hurry up and unfuck myself, there isn't anything else for them to say to me, not that I really have anything to say to them either. That whole unfuck yourself or don’t come home thing only reaffirms that they want me out of their house.

As tired as I may be, I’m kind of afraid to fall asleep. Sure, I was asleep for most of the day, but then again, can what I experienced be called rest? I'm leaning towards no. Seriously, was that a dream, or some sort of vision quest? Fuckin' crazy: that's what it is. There's no other explanation that I presently accept.

To top it all off, the Lyra in my head is dead silent and has been since I woke up. I’m not particularly put off by the silence—if anything, I welcome being able to bask in my thoughts in silence—but taking that... vision and putting it into situational context, I can’t help but feel a little anxious. It’s strange, I know, but I kind of feel guilty about it.

Think about it. I’ve been suffering from brain overwrite as that unicorn biomagical mechanism slowly tries to restore Lyra from a back-up. Would it not make sense for my situation to take on that sort of form inside my dreams? What if that pentagonal room is symbolic of my—Lyra’s—head, and that corridor wasn’t an escape into consciousness, but actually her horn? Does that mean that I unconsciously went on the offensive and brutally lashed out at Lyra’s memory imprint?

The more my mind travels down that avenue of thought, the more guilty I begin to feel. When I assess it that way and take into account the absence of the Lyra inside my head, it’s almost as if I murdered her. That’s kind of a horrifying way to interpret it, but considering the whole dream thing, you’ll have to excuse me for traversing down morbid mental corridors.

A pip from Skype’s IM feature distracts me any further from my dark ruminations. As I pull up Skype, I notice a message from my best friend back in high school. A pang of disappointment fills my stomach. At any other time, I’d have loved to talk to him, but with the last two days under my cap, it’s almost the last thing I want to do. I mean, he probably would have been fine with the whole gender bender thing—Lord knows he’s heard enough about my desires to be of the opposite sex—but he’s never much cared for the Friendship is Magic fandom.

Jericho: Hey man, are you there?

Well, yeah, of course I’m here; I’m just trying to figure out whether or not that I want to break it to you lightly, flat-out lie to you, or just go right out and tell him the truth. I mean, this is some pretty crazy shit man. Considering the stakes are already high, what’s the worst that can happen? He disbelieves and gets pissed at me, and we either never speak again because some bullshit happens in Equestria, or he’ll get over it when I get back.

Slowly, I type out my response using the pencil. 

Soren: Yeah. I’m here... Sorta.
Jericho: What’s that supposed to mean, ya fuckin’ weirdo?

I pause, contemplating how best to continue. I glance at the web-cam mounted on the top of the monitor—something else I salvaged from my desktop—and decide that seeing is believing.

Soren: Shit’s been pretty crazy lately. My desktop kind of blew up, and I’m not in a condition conducive to typing.
Jericho: Ouch. Are you okay man? I mean, you can’t be completely, if your computer blew up and you aren’t in condition for typing, but you’re alive, right?
Soren: Okay-ish.
Jericho: Ah. Want me to call?
Soren: Yeah... That’s probably for the best. But listen... When I said shit’s been crazy... You’ll find out soon enough. Just... Don’t flip the fuck out.	
Jericho: Okay. I promise not to flip the fuck out.

A moment later, I accept the call. Without saying anything, I drag the cursor through the menus, and enable the video. Soon after, he enables his own video stream and I’m looking straight at his bespectacled face. The sight of my friend is a sight for sore eyes in this moment of great loneliness.

“Soren? I can’t see anything on your web-cam. It’s too dark wherever you are...” Jericho said with his usual cocky grin. “... and for fuck sake when are you going to stop forgetting to turn on your microphone, you mook?”

Slamming my hoof into my face, I quickly reach out with magic and flick on the lights. There’s a momentary delay as my own web-cam transitions from darkness, and then I’m there on the screen, frowning in all my unicorn glory. I can already see the confusion working over his face.

“Ha ha, man. Get that fuckin’ pony doll out of my face.” His face finally settles on an unimpressed frown. “I’ve told you, I don’t go for that shit.”

“It’s not a doll,” I reply softly. “It’s me... I’m Soren.”

“Cut the bullshit man. That’s some nice CG and filters, and a great voice changer,” he groans, palming his face. “... but don’t give me this nonsense after giving me the impression you had some serious injury.”

“Jericho,” I say firmly but quietly, keeping in mind that the family has gone upstairs to bed already. “This isn’t a fucking joke. I know this sounds crazy, but the ponies are real!”

“Nope. Not listening to this.” He shuts off his web-cam. “Listen. I put up with a lot of your crazy shit, but this pony insanity is to much. Until you can drop this bullshit obsession, don’t call me. Don’t message me unless you’re ready to admit you’re over the ponies.”

A second later, the call ends, quickly followed by him appearing offline. I know him better than to expect him to want to talk for a while, but there’s no way he’ll remain pissed for too long. Still, I’m feeling kind of hurt, and the more I think about how much his friendship means to me, the more I realize that I just might never see or hear from him again. I still remember how hard it was moving away from the closest thing to a brother I ever had. That was just a goodbye; this might just be goodbye forever, and I pissed all over it by fucking up.

Soren: Listen... I’m going to be going away for a while, but there’s a fair chance that I might not be coming back... at all. I know I made things awkward with the whole being a pony thing, and I’m sorry. I suppose I was wrong in pushing it on you the way I did. It’s just... You know how lonely I’ve been since the move. Since this whole crazy thing went down, I just wanted someone I could talk to about it. So in case I don’t make it back, I just wanted to say goodbye, bro. I love you, man.

Submitting the message, I quickly quit out of Skype. I know he’s not likely to respond right away, but even still... I’ve also lost the desire to talk to him. There’s something about being abandoned by a friend in your moment of need—being isolated beyond what I’ve ever been is totally a moment of need—that just puts you off talking. That’s the case with me anyway.

At the same time, I don’t particularly feel like drowning myself in the overwhelming sea of ‘Things-I-didn’t-need-to-know-but-found-out-anyway’—also known as the Internet. What then, does a person afraid to sleep do to distract themselves when they can’t—for obvious reasons—play video games, have no interest in television, and their mind is too frayed for simple reading?

I suppose I could always make a video and submit it to Youtube and Equestria Daily. That would certainly leave a lasting mark on the Friendship is Magic fandom, even if people think it’s fake. Plus, it would give me something non-destructive to do. While I may not have actively been thinking it, fire is always a considered option when I’m bored. We have a fire pit for a reason, after all.

If I’m going to go ahead with the video, though, I’m going to have to make sure I have things planned out. There are things that need to be said or explained, like who I am and why I’d be making the video. More than that though, I need the fucking camera... Now where did that thing get to?


- - -


On the screen, an image of my couch appears. “So, you’re probably wondering, if this video is called ‘How My Little Pony: FiM Ruined my Life’, why am I staring at a couch?” My own voice pours into my ears through my headset. “Well, I’ll get to that in due time. Now, before I show my face, you need to know who I am and what I was.

“The name is Seven Fates. Obviously It isn’t my real name. My name’s Soren. That’s right, I am—or was—a guy.” My soft sigh is barely picked up offscreen. “I’m a 21 year old hobbyist writer from Canada. Among the FiM community, I’m known to some for my fairly successful fan-fiction ‘Displaced’—link in description—on FiMFiction, Equestria Daily, and deviantART.

“I’m a nobody really.” Yup. I just said that in a video for all to see. “I’m not particularly successful in life—I’m literally unemployable—and my only redeeming quality is my writing. I won’t bore you with the details of how I became a Brony, or try to push my work on you. That’s not the purpose of this video.

“By this point you’re probably wondering why I sound like a girl, and what any of this has to do with anything.” An aquamarine unicorn pony—that’s me!—wanders into view, and quickly scrambles up onto the couch. She looks directly into the camera before sighing and hiding her face behind a hoof. “This is what you all are watching this video for. You get to hear how I became a pony, and how I’m slowly suffering personality death as a result of it.

“Some of the fandom holds the belief that the ‘background pony’—” The me on the screen mimics the finger-quotes as best she can. “Lyra Heartstrings is obsessed with humans and hands. As one might guess by my appearance, I’ve had contact with Lyra. Wanted to make a week long place swap, she said. Had a spell from the Starswirl the Bearded wing of the Canterlot Archives, she said.

“She botched the spell, blew up my desktop, and only our bodies swapped places.” The me on screen places her hoof against her face once again. “I’m like this for a week, but she didn’t count on me being inept at walking on all fours. I fell down the stairs like Berry Punch on an afternoon bender, and activated some unicorn biomagical memory backup. Now I’m slowly being overwritten by Lyra.

“I’ve fought it, for the most part, but not without my share of troubles. Today I nearly drowned, and only the quick thinking of a Lyra inside my head—that’s right, fighting the memory overwrite caused a sapient personality to come to life inside my head, I don’t know how that works—forced the water out of my lungs.” There’s an awkward smile on my face. It says anything but ‘I’m coping very well.’ “Then, in some kind of traumatic episode a while later, I think I murdered that Lyra personality.”

The pony on the screen stops, levitating a glass of water from off-screen and taking a drink. Setting the glass down, she takes some steadying breaths before looking back at the camera. “Still... There’s nothing in this world that can help me. Lyra’s got the best pony in all of Equestria looking for a way to help me. What’s more, I’ll be going there soon.” With a weak smile, she says, “Too bad I probably won’t get to enjoy it. Seven Fates signing out.”


- - -


That’s that then. My video is on Youtube—ratings disabled—and Sethisto will have a very interesting email in his inbox. With the video complete, there’s nothing else for me to do tonight. I tentatively check my email one last time, but there’s nothing. What to do now?

Well, I’m dead tired, and I’ve always wanted to fall asleep looking up at the stars just once, and this might be my last opportunity to do so. With a grunt, I ease myself off of the couch, shutting the laptop, and begin trotting towards the patio door, grabbing a pillow and blanket from the couch as an afterthought. 

As I step out onto the patio, I take in the late night air. Despite the lateness in the year, it’s surprisingly warm tonight. Then again, I also have a coat of fur that I didn’t have before. My first reaction is to set up shop here on the patio, but the dogs would maul me the moment they get let out in the morning. No, there’s a much better place for that. The roof of the shed accessible from the ladder pool deck.

It goes without saying that climbing ladders as a pony is not at all simple, but the view is definitely worth it. I have a much clearer view of the sky on this roof, and I don’t at all regret coming up here. With the lack of cloud cover and the moon full and high, it truly is a beautiful night. I can even see Ursa Major and Orion the Hunter.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Lyra?”
> Of Packing and Portals
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A gentle nuzzling breaks my peaceful slumber. In response, I groan and roll onto my other side. Somewhere else in the house, the dogs are having a fit. The morning sun is pouring into my closed eyes, causing me to drape an arm over my face. I mumble something along the lines of “Friggin’ cats... Gerroff my bed.”

“Oh, um, excuse me...” croons a soft voice into my ear. “Um... Why are you sleeping on a roof?”

Removing the arm from my face, I ease open my eyes. Fluttering in the air just above me is a familiar butter-yellow pegasus pony with a soft pink mane. I recognize Fluttershy almost immediately, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why she’s in my bedroom—or why I have a clear view of the sky from my room in the first place.

“Huh? Fluttershy?” I whisper dumbly, staring at her.

“Oh, you know my name?” A look of concern crosses her face. “Twilight wasn’t lying, you really do have her memories.”

“Yeah, her memories...” I reply with an awkward titter. As my mind clears, and the last two days become fresh in my mind, I realize that I’m outside on the roof of the shed beside the pool. “Wait, if Fluttershy is here, where is Twilight? This doesn’t make any sense!”

“Oh, Twilight is just below us, in the shed. Her doorway spell split a metal wagon in half, and she wanted to fix it before we go.” I looked at her blankly. “Oh, but don’t you worry. We’ll get you all fixed up and home, I’m sure.”

This is it then. Twilight is already here to take me to Equestria, where she can hopefully find a way to stop this brain rewrite. Alternatively, this is the last vestige of normalcy crumbling away from my life. Either way, I’m about to go where fans can only hope to go. Part of me wants to be excited, but the part of me that remembers the Lyra that was inside my head just feels guilt.

“So, um...”

A bright flash of light blinds me, and then Twilight Sparkle is standing over me with a pleased look on her face. “There, all fixed. Sorry about the wagon,” she says, her cheek flushed red. “The gateway spell was intended to create a doorway between two places in the same realm, not two separate realities. I guess my calculations were a tiny bit off for interdimensional travel. Your realm, as it turns out, is perpendicular to our own, so instead of opening up in front of that wagon, the gate bisected it. Don’t worry though. I fixed it up as good as new.”

Looking up at her, I have no doubt that I look completely and utterly confused by her monologue. I understand the gist of it, from a perfectly science-fiction standpoint, but I’m trying to piece together what the hell she’s talking about. Metal wagon? Oh yeah... The trailer for the lawn tractor.

“Soren? Are you alright?” she asks, after I don’t respond for a few moments.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just trying to figure out what metal wagon you were talking about.” I smile sheepishly. “It’s all good though.”

They’re both giving me this wary, appraising look, as if they’re not completely convinced that I’m telling the truth. After an awkward minute of their staring, I realize it’s not because I’m being awkward, but because I’m still on my back on the roof of the shed. An embarrassed noise escapes my throat as I quickly scramble off of the blanket and onto my hooves.

I look at them nervously before asking, “So... What now?”

“Ideally, we go through the gateway back to Equestria, have you get a check-up at Ponyville General Hospital,” she counts off, not missing a beat. “Then, I’d like to interview you and perform a few magical scans. If I can’t help you, though, we have no choice but to take you to the university hospital in Canterlot.”

“That simple, eh?” I reply flatly. “You mind if I grab some things before I go?”

A concerned look crosses the unicorn’s face as I limp across the roof and make for the ladder. I’d wonder why my leg is suddenly sore after not bothering me all that much yesterday, but then again I just slept on a roof. “Things? I thought you’d be in a rush to get to Equestria so that we can get this all sorted out.”

“Twilight, please!” Fluttershy interjects softly. “She, er, he probably just wants to take some things with him to remind him of home.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Twilight admits. “Being surrounded by familiar objects and smells has been shown to help amnesiac ponies, and he is suffering a memory based condition, so familiar objects might help to ground your personality and resist an overwrite.”

What? I was just going to grab my messenger bag, my favorite polar-fleece blanket—yes, a grown man can have favorite bedding materials; go eat a dick—to keep warm, and my digital camera along with some batteries and its USB cable in case I get access to Lyra's laptop. Sure, I might not get to actually upload anything, but it’s worth having an album proving—at least to myself—that I was there in the meantime.

“Alright, then. I’ll be right back then.” Wrapping my makeshift bed in a telekinetic field, I step out onto the ladder. It’s only when I have all four hooves on the top rung of the ladder that I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, and quickly tilt backwards out of panic, spilling me into the pool, the ladder atop me. 

Before I have much opportunity to freak out, however, the fallen ladder lifts off of me, and I find myself surfacing. Just as quickly, I’m pulled by a pair of hooves out of the water and back onto the pool deck. Coughing out what little water entered my lungs, I glance up gratefully at Twilight and Fluttershy, who’ve both joined me on the pool deck. Like the complete spaz that I am, I grin sheepishly. “That’s a perfect example of how not to use a ladder... Thanks for the save.”

“Oh it was no problem at all!” Fluttershy replies sweetly. “We know you’re not used to having hooves.”

“Why were you up there in the first place?” Twilight queries. “It’s hardly the ideal spot to be, given your lack of motor control in quadrupedal locomotion.”

I look down at my sopping wet self, and realize that I can’t just go straight into the house. “I wanted to sleep under the stars at least once, here in my own realm.” With a sigh, I levitate the blanket from the spot it landed on the pool deck. With a deftness granted by Lyra’s memories, I’m dry in moments. “There’s no guarantee that I’ll get that opportunity again.”

Without giving them the opportunity to respond, I trot off the pool deck, up onto the patio, and enter the house. Snubbing my mother as she drinks her morning coffee, I make my way for the stairs. Immediately, I grab my messenger bag off of the banister and scramble up the stairs. There’s nothing to stop me from getting into my room, not even the hissing ball of fur that is Julianos.

After stepping into my bedroom, I carefully open the messenger bag, dragging the zipper open with my teeth while it levitates. There isn’t much in it: some hair-nets from a previous job, a packet of resumes, a pocket first-aid kit, an empty notebook, and a mechanical pencil. In other words, the usual fare. What more do you need when you make the odd trip into town and walk back?

I won’t need the resumes or the hair nets, so those can go. The notebook and pencil could be useful, so I’ll keep those. Levitating my digital camera off of the dresser, I drop it gently into the bag, along with a quad-pack of batteries and its USB cable. On a whim, I also snatch my cap off of the headboard of my bed. Sure, an olive green patrol cap with faded sergeant’s chevrons above the bill isn’t fancy, but if anything reminds me of home, it’s gonna be that. Loosening the band to it’s furthest allows me to sit it comfortably and snugly on my large head.

The blanket is probably the most difficult bit of packing. In order to make it fit in the messenger bag, I can’t just ball the thing up. With a focusing breath, I telekinetically pluck two adjacent corners of the brown fleece cloth up off of the floor and hoist it up until the bottom edge of it is no longer touching the floor. As I grab the bottom two corners and begin lifting them to meet their brothers, I bite into my lip to stave off concentration loss from an oncoming headache. The strain eases when each paired corner meets up, but as I pinch it again, sweat beads up on my brow. Finally folded the way I need, I gently lower it to the floor so that I can roll it manually.

As the blanket touches down, I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Unicorns do these kinds of things on a regular basis? Wow... Clearly I was not warned about the mental discipline required for the use of magic. Still, that’s pretty good for the guy who blew up his telephone handset just two days ago. I’ll allow myself a mental pat on the back for that.

Once the blanket is rolled and stowed away in the bag, I zip it back up and let the Velcro seal the flap. Amazingly, I’m able to adjust the strap so that there is no extra slack on it, but I quickly realize that it’ll still not hang properly off of me. It’ll just get in my way. Still, I’ll take it with me. I’m sure I can figure something out.

Just as I’m about to open the door once more, and say goodbye to my room for what might be forever, I notice my smaller, crimson fleece blanket hanging half off of my bed. Remembering how I’d often drape it around me like a cloak in wintertime or particularly cool days, I decide to take that with me as well. It might not be fashionable, and I might just be accused of imitating the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but I’m me, and fuck all of them.

Idly, I levitate the fleece blanket over my back, draping the long side over either shoulder. Gripping the corners telekinetically, I pull them forward in front of me. There, it is only a matter of tying them into a small, firm knot, twisting the slack into a figure-eight, and pulling the knot over the top of my head, resting it behind my neck. One cloak good to go, and I can even pull it up into a hood if I need to. Human ingenuity, fuck yeah!

Slinging the pack onto my back, I open up the door and depart my bedroom. I don’t look back once. I make it down the stairs with only minimal stumbling, and trot towards the kitchen and the patio beyond. As my hooves lead me into the kitchen, however, I’m brought to a halt by my parents. They’re both standing in front of the patio door, staring at me.

“I guess this is it then,” my father comments gruffly. “Stay safe, son.”

“I will, Dad.” My response is hoarse, bereft of any emotion.

To my surprise, my mother crouches down, wrapping her arms around me in a great big hug. “Remember, Soren. We’ll always love you,” she whispers softly, pulling away to look me in the eyes. “I really hope you can get back to normal.”

I look away, weakly, her words last night still fresh in my mind. “I love you to, Mom.”

Allowing me to pass, they open the patio door. I trot out and down the steps, joining Twilight and Fluttershy at the gate to the pool deck. There’s a giddy excitement building, clashing with my own sorrow. On one hoof there’s this thought inside my head screaming, “I’m going home!” On the other, there’s the conflicting thought urging “I’m leaving home behind.”

Shaking my head, I look from Fluttershy to Twilight and back again. “Alright ladies, after you.”

Twilight nods and begins silently walking around to the shed’s door, Fluttershy hot on her tail. I bring up the rear, never looking back. Even as we reach the shed door, I can feel the magic in the air. The air is almost completely charged with magic, making my fur stand on end. As Twilight pulls the shed door back open, I’m awestruck by what I see.

Floating maybe an inch or two off of the ground is the ‘gateway’ Twilight mentioned, and it’s nothing at all like I expected. It is comprised of a tall wrought iron frame, inlaid with indecipherable inscriptions, and two hinged doors. The doors are a solid black material—carbon fiber would be my first guess—etched with glowing symbols and pictographs that I can’t comprehend, yet something deep inside me knows the symbols relate to the infinite nature of the universe.

With a flourish of Twilight’s horn, the gateway opens, spilling forth a blinding white light. “Step through, and we’ll be on our way to Equestria!” she says proudly. “You’re looking at the first transdimensional subspace highway in Equestrian history.”

“Highway? As in, not instantaneous?” It’s all I can think, really.

“Don’t worry, Twilight assured me that it’s completely safe,” Fluttershy replies reassuringly. “I wouldn’t have come if it hadn’t been completely safe.”

To be honest, I’m still not completely sure why Fluttershy is even here. The human world can be a pretty scary place. Didn’t Lyra tell them anything that she found on the Internet? “About that, Fluttershy... I’m confused, why did you come? Surely your menagerie needs you, doesn’t it?”

Fluttershy gives me this look that I can only compare to a ‘you just killed my puppy’ look, and shrinks away. “Oh... um... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bother... It’s just...”

Oh fuck me. If she starts crying, I’m just going ram some rebar through my head and get this over with. That’s not the kind of guilt I can live with. “I’m not angry Fluttershy; I’m just wondering why you came is all.”

A relieved look replaces the ‘you killed my puppy’ look, and she smiles softly. “Twilight thought that if you were hurt and confused, I would be best equipped to help, and I agree. What Lyra did to you was kind of mean, and as her... well, friend, it’s the least I can do to make it up to you.”

Wait, what? So, because Lyra fucked up, you have to help fix her mess? Is this some of that freaky ‘It takes a village' bullshit, or is it just an excuse? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know. “So...” I say, turning back to Twilight, admittedly quicker than I intended to. “This ‘subspace highway’: what is it? Oh, and do the short version please.”

Twilight looks only the slightest bit dejected. “Certainly. A subspace highway is a pocket reality that links two points in space-time, allowing for fast travel. Until somepony enters, it is unknown how it appears, only that it takes on attributes of the mind of the first one inside.” There’s this look in her eyes that says she knows what I’m thinking. “They’re usually naturally occurring, but such examples are largely undocumented. Only a few have ever been found by ponykind, and they aren’t available to the general public.This one, is an artificial one, and unlike the natural ones, they do not remain very long. In addition, the spell required to create and maintain one is incredibly difficult and draining on the caster. I probably won’t be able to cast it again for at least a week.”

“So... in other words, Pinkie Pie is the only pony to have access to a large number of undocumented subspace highways?” I say half-jokingly.

Twilight looks at Fluttershy, and then back to me, almost horrified. “I never thought about it that way, but in retrospect, that makes too much sense.”

“Um, Twilight, didn’t you say before we left that it would only remain open for half an hour?” Fluttershy politely asks. “I really do think we should go now.”

“You’re right, of course,” Twilight says, nodding. “Let’s go, Soren.” 

Just like that, she wraps me up in her magical energies, and tosses me into the gateway. Suddenly recalling that she said that the subspace highway takes on the attributes of the mind of the first one in, I am very afraid. It isn’t just because I’m kind of perverse and who knows what they’ll end up seeing, but because of the state of my mind. The fear and guilt could turn it into a scary place.

As the bright white light of the gateway envelops me, I have just enough time to scream my last words on Earth. “Shit!”
> Headlong into Trouble
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know, I sometimes think that I'm the punchline to the joke that is the universe. Sure, I've ragged on about this all a lot lately, but I've had my body stolen by a crazy unicorn, been: blown up (twice!), bludgeoned, unfortunate enough to have fallen down stairs, scalded, and attacked by dogs. That's just in one day. More recently, I've nearly drowned, found out my real body has undergone a magical sex change, and suffered a psychotic episode involving a room, a corridor, and some sort of demonic representation of Lyra as a result of fighting a unicorn biomagical memory backup. I have no other choice but to go to Equestria through a gateway that reflects upon the state of mind of the first pony to enter it. If I'm not the punchline, at the very least I'm a key part of that joke.

The first thing I remember seeing in that subspace highway is a room. It's not just any room though. It's a very familiar five-sided room that I've been in only once before. Those four imposing stone walls are all still there, and the drywall that I tore apart is exactly as I left it. Unlike my previous visit, however, the room terrifies me. It isn't just all this mysterious rust everywhere, or the smears of blood radiating from the aquamarine wall. It's the implication of what I did.

I don't know when Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy finally join me. I am too busy hiding beneath my hooves when I hear a choked scream and somepony dry heaving. “This isn't me. I'm not like this.” I mumble over and over. “This is not a reflection of who I am! I don't want to be here!”

“Soren, what is this place?” Twilight's voice is but a hoarse croak.

“Get me out of here,” I whimper, peeking out from beneath my hooves. I'm not completely sure, but I'm pretty sure Fluttershy mirrored my sentiment.

“If this isn't a reflection of who you are, explain this to me.” Twilight manages to pull herself together and put on a sterner tone. “We're not going anywhere until you do. This—” She sweeps her hoof to indicate the room. “—is not the result of a sane mind or a safe individual. If you're dangerous, you better believe I'm not going to take you anywhere but a secure facility where you can't hurt anypony.”

“I don't want to think about it!” I cry out in fear and frustration. “If I say it out loud, it makes what happened real!”

“What did you do?” Her voice takes on a paranoid, almost accusatory quality. It just makes me feel all the more guilty.

“Twilight, that's enough!” interjects Fluttershy in her classic don't fuck with my friends or pick on those weaker than you tone. “He's clearly as afraid of this place as we are. He can't be all bad if this place scares him so.”

“Don't you see Fluttershy?” Twilight pleaded. “A healthy mind wouldn't produce such grim imagery!”

“Because clearly having my brain rewritten is healthy!” I whimper, pushing myself up onto all fours once more. “You wanna know what this place is and why it scares me? This room is the embodiment of my mind!”

The look of confusion on their faces says it all. “But you just said that this wasn't you...”

“It isn't,” I say weakly. “This is what this mind overwrite is doing to me. That rust is the corrosion of who I am! That blood? The guilt of what I may have accidentally done when I blacked out yesterday. Back when we were on Skype, after I screamed and went silent? I found myself alone in this room. That one different wall there—the one with that big iron door? That was partially hidden behind what seemed like regular drywall...

“So I did what any trapped individual would do. I tore my way out... Only, I don't think the corridor on the other side was really the way out.” I sniffle and hiccup. “I think... I think that was really the way into Lyra's memory imprint—the source of her voice inside my head. Only, when I went into that corridor, I felt like she was attacking me... She'd become this big monstrous... thing, and the corridor became all wrong...

“I was sure she was trying to kill me!” I try to keep myself from breaking down into sobbing, but only partially succeed. Tears are streaming steadily down my face now. “She was only trying to defend herself from my intrusion, but I lashed out trying to protect myself and I—” My voice catches in my throat, and I begin quivering on the spot. “I think I killed Lyra's memory imprint! I'm not a bad pony, I swear!”

The two mares exchange conflicted looks. On one hoof, they look like they pity me for all I've gone through, but on the other, I can tell they're not completely sure they can trust me. I wouldn't trust me either if I just confessed to murdering a mental imprint of another pony trying to overwrite my own mind, which I kind of just did. What is the punishment for murder in Equestria anyway? Or do memory imprints even count?

I'm not sure how time is actually passing in this silence. All I know is that the longer I sit here, the more anxious I become. So what if Twilight said that nothing can actually hurt us here? What if what she said was based on the accounts of mentally whole individuals? I feel my mane bristling at the base of my neck. Surely that can't be good.

“I honestly have no idea what to think.” Twilight says flatly, finally breaking the silence. “I know you think you were acting in self-defense, but that doesn't excuse what damage you might have done to Lyra's own neural pathways in addition to her memory backup. I want to trust you, but knowing that you could do something like this, even in self-defense scares me.”

I stare down at the floor as I digest her condemnation. “I don't blame you.”

Something soft and downy brushes the tears away from my cheek, and it takes me a full minute to realize that it's Fluttershy. She's actually trying to comfort me with the soft but deceptively rigid feathers on her wing. When I look into her eyes, I'm reminded why she bears the Element of Kindness. “I can't even begin to imagine what you must be going through.” Her voice is as soft and reassuring—motherly almost.

“Don't you think I'm some kind of monster after hearing what I did?” I ask in disbelief.

“I take care of all sorts of animals,” she offers with an infectious smile. “I know only too well how unpredictable animals can be when they're hurt and cornered. I can no more blame you for listening to your survival instincts than I can blame a fox for stealing a chicken.”

Surely I must be dreaming. I could swear Fluttershy just completely overlooked the fact that I murdered the voice in my head. I mean seriously, cornered animal? How can she be so understanding now, yet so timid before. I can hardly comprehend it, even if she is the bearer of the Element of Kindness.

“Hush now quiet now...” sings a voice in all of the darkest corners of the room. There's something chilling about the way the words seem to echo before they're actually spoken. The fact that the voice is so childish is just as creepy. It's just not natural, and it's making my mane bristle up and down the back of my neck. “It's time to lay your sleepy head...”

“Can we please get out of here?” I cry, just managing to avoid screaming.

“Hush now, quiet now... It's time to go to bed.”

“No seriously, like right now!” I say again, my voice edged with panic. “All we need to do is go through that door there, right? So let's go!”

“Soren, what's the matter?” Twilight inquires, visibly concerned.

“Hush now...”

“Can't you hear it?”

“Quiet now...”

“Hear what?” Fluttershy replies, confused, but also panicking slightly. She looks about the room warily and moves closer to Twilight. Yes. Panic is good right now.

“It's time to lay your sleepy head...” This time, the singing is definitely closer.

“That singing!” I shout. “Somethings coming, and it is singing that creepy fucking lullaby!”

“Hush now... Quiet now...”

The two mares exchange a concerned look as my eyes dart around the chamber. How can't they hear it? It's fucking everywhere! Don't they know how much danger they're in?

“For you will soon be dead...” the child-like voice sings cheerfully. As if to punctuate the end of the song, I feel something hot and sticky splash down onto my muzzle. With only a bit of eye-crossing, I see a large gobbet of meat and blood slowly sliding off of my my face.

Warily, I turn my gaze upward toward the ceiling, were there one. Where there should have been a ceiling, there is a vast darkness. The only thing in that dark expanse is a pair of bright yellow pinpricks seemingly so close and far away all at once. My blood turning to ice, I scream and bolt for the door.

“Soren!” Fluttershy and Twilight call out.

Apparently, mental projections of doorways in subspace are every bit as solid as doors in real-space. Forgetting to open that hulking iron door, I slam face-first into it, not even leaving a dent. I wish my face felt the same as the door probably did. Instead, it feels like someone slammed me into a door... Oh wait.

“I'm O—” I try to rise to my hooves but fail miserably. The room won't stop spinning, and someone replaced my leg bones with gummy-worms. “—kay. Yeah.”

“Soren?” Twilight calls out, waving a hoof in front of me. I try to focus on all five of her faces, but they just keep dancing around. Sit still damn it so I can look at you. “Soren!”

“I think I'm gonna lie down for just a little bit.” I say dumbly, going completely limp on the floor. “I don't think I like this ride.”

My heavy lids slam shut over my eyes, and I can just barely make out Fluttershy's voice. “Oh dear... This is not good Twilight!”


- - -


So yeah, did you know that running face-first into an iron door hurts like a motherfucker? Amazing, I know. I don’t even care where I am right now, that’s how bad it hurts. The headache I’m sporting makes me feel like opening my eyes would be suicide, which it might very well be. Who knows what’s watching me, waiting to kill me the moment I open my eyes?

Still... There’s something wrapped around my hoof that feels an awful lot like fingers. Why would that be? There are no hu—wait a minute. I’m in Equestria now, aren’t I? But then, if I’m in Equestria, that means...

I sit up and force my eyes open. “YOU!” I snarl. “You did this to me! You’re—Who the fuck are you?” I bring my free hoof up to my face as a sudden burst of pain washes through my skull. I feel like I should know the human sitting beside my bed, holding my hoof in her hand, but my mind is drawing a blank.

The human girl in front of me looks terrified, as though I’m about to strangle her. I know I want to strangle somepony, but for the life of me I can’t figure out who. How exactly would I strangle anypony in this condition anyway? Hooves are hardly conducive to such behavior, and this splitting headache is making it impossible to even focus on magic.

Now that I look at her, I get this strange feeling that I should know her. Her short brown hair and glacier blue eyes are so familiar, and were I human, I might even find the softness of her face and her trim body appealing. The fear on her face does nothing for me though... Wait, if I were a human? Wasn’t I one originally? 

I’m so confused right now. How can I have memories of two different childhoods, but not know whose they are, who I am, or even how I got here? Oh wait, some of it is coming back to me now. Not a lot, but I remember I used to be human... but then I wasn’t. A lot of bad things happened to me when I became a pony. I think I killed someone, too.

I frown, looking the girl softly in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I apologize. “I’ve been kind of stressed lately, and now there are a lot of gaps in my memory. Where am I?”

The human girl doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look terrified of me any more. Instead, she looks so very sad. Am I sick? Is that it? Am I dying? Is she sad because I’m dying? Or is she sad for some other reason?

“Oh good, you’re awake!” A voice from the doorway draws my attention from the girl. Standing in the doorway is a unicorn stallion with an amber-yellow coat, and a brown mane. Dressed in a lab-coat and a stethoscope dangling from around his neck, this bespectacled pony is definitely a doctor. “With the amount of head trauma you’ve suffered, we were worried you weren’t going to wake up at all.”

Head trauma, eh? Yeah, that sounds about right. Falling down a flight of stairs and a phone bludgeoning you will do that. “How’d I get here, doc?” I ask anxiously. “My memory is chock full of holes and contradictions.”

“Your friends said that you had an incident in something called a—what was it?—subspace highway when they dropped you off. They said you had some kind of psychotic episode and ran headlong into a big iron door.” That sounds vaguely familiar. Some friends though. They drop me off and don’t even stay to keep an eye on me? “It’s a rather good thing they brought you in. If they hadn’t, I might not have found the unusual growth in your brain.”

“That sounds pretty bad. Did I get that from running into the iron door?”

“It’s most likely that the growth was present prior to running into the door. In fact, I’m almost certain that it is responsible for your psychotic episode.” The doctor frowned. “I’d have removed it for you already, but your friend Ms. Twilight Sparkle said that somepony has been playing around with body-swapping spells, and that the growth—though it’s more of a tumor really—is actually a manifestation of the other personality, meaning—”

“I AM NOT A FUCKING TUMOR!”
> Of Biting, Memory Voyeurs, and Voyeurs in Memories
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I still can't believe you bit the doctor,” the newcomer mutters, shaking her head. As she does so, her dark-blue and pink curls sway tantalizingly in front of me. There's something in those blue eyes of hers that begs me to pay attention to her. “What were you thinking?”

“I'm sorry, Bon-Bon,” I apologize. “I thought he was calling my existence in Lyra's head some sort of tumor, but I'm not a tumor! I'm not!”

“Normal ponies don't spaz out and bite other ponies!” the human girl, Lyra—the one I apparently wanted to strangle—snorts in derision. “Besides, after you stopped biting him, he explained what he meant, didn't he?”

After I had stopped screaming and biting, and Lyra had wrestled me back onto the bed, the good doctor was kind enough to explain himself. The growth, as Twilight explained to him, is a node grown as a side effect of the body swapping spell. It had been intended as a sort of biological limiter to prevent the parties involved in the swap from intentionally bringing harm to the others body. Unfortunately, the accidental trauma that lead to the activation of the memory back-up set into motion not just the body's attack on his mind, but an attack on the node itself.

That incident, the doctor had explained, lead to the inability to properly protect the body, causing my first psychotic episode. I'm not sure if that would have allowed me to actually fight against the memory imprint, but it feels reasonable to link the two. Speaking of that episode, it's still something I need to discuss with Lyra. It's her body after all, and I may very well have damaged it.

“Yeah, fine,” I grunt, waving a hoof dismissively. “Don't expect me to go begging for his forgiveness. His lack of tact got him that bite. If Twilight told him about my psychotic episode, then he should have expected me to be unstable.”

Lyra gives me a serious look now. “About that...” She doesn't seem angry, strangely enough. “Twilight told me a bit about of what you told her. You said that you think you murdered my memory imprint?”

A lump rises in my throat, which I quickly attempt to swallow. “Yeah.”

“That's preposterous,” Lyra says flatly. To my utter disbelief, she even laughs. “It takes powerful magic to even damage a unicorn's biomagical memory backup, or so I read after our first conversation...” She holds her hands in front of her, palms up and shrugs. Oh how I miss being able to do that without falling over. “I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm not exactly the most talented or even powerful unicorn around. With my power, and your lack of skill, the most you could do is scramble it.”

That can’t be right. Surely what she’s saying can’t be true. If it were true, what did I attack then? Is it like she says and I simply scrambled the process? I mean, I can kind of see how that would make sense with the memory gaps and my dwindling human memories, but doesn’t that mean that I’m becoming her? Ugh... This is making my head fucking hurt even more than it already is. At this rate, I’m just going to think myself to death.

Rubbing the side of my head with a hoof, I turn my attention back to Bon-Bon. “I suppose it’s selfish of me to focus on myself—even if I am suffering personality degradation. You’ve been affected by all this as well.” I offer up a plaintive smile. “How have you been coping in all of this?” I ask, making my tone clear that I’m addressing Bon-Bon and not Lyra. Following it up with a glare ensures that she’s going to keep quiet for at least a bit.

To my surprise, the cream mare seems taken aback my my inquiry. I wonder, does nopony think to ask her how Lyra’s shenanigans affect her? Bon-Bon stops to think for a few moments before smiling softly. “It’s been... trying,” she says softly, blushing. “I’ll be the first to admit that it hasn’t been the easiest coping with my love’s eccentricities on a normal day. It’s bad enough with the strange nightmare night decorations and costumes, her obsession with hands, and all that sort, but color me surprised when I come home and find this hairy, hulking thing sitting in my living-room—no offense.”

“None taken.”

“It was quite a shock, let me tell you,” she continues. “I just about had a heart attack when she waved at me and grinned. Somehow, in spite of my fear, I knew it was her. I’ll still never understand why she settled on a male host, but she was a bit too casual about it all.”

“I can imagine...” I groan. “I heard about the party.”

“I’ll say. I was mortified when she tried to ‘put the moves’ on poor Octavia.” Bon-Bon’s face took on a decidedly green hue as she sat back on her haunches to pantomime hoof quotes. “Octavia has enough troubles fighting off the advances of her DJ roommate—”

“Vinyl?” I offer, curious. I’m still curious about where the fandom is hitting and missing with things.

“That’s the pony.” She smiles softly. Why do I find that smile so enticing? “Lyra’s lucky Octavia isn’t looking to for recompense... otherwise she’d be in the stockade for the next month. It’s bad enough that the Guard found out and wanted to sterilize her, but if she were in the stocks...” she says anxiously, pausing to glance at the clock. “Oh my, is that the time? I really must get back to the shop. I can’t take an entire afternoon off. One of us has to pay the rent.” She glances accusingly at Lyra. “It was nice meeting you, Soren. I guess I’ll be seeing you later. Buh-bye!”

I stare at the mare dumbfounded as she sprints out the doorway. “Later?” I manage to utter weakly.

“About that...” Lyra lets out an anxious titter. “Bon-Bon decided that because of what I put you through, I’m responsible for taking care of you while you’re here. As such, you’ll be staying with us.”

I gaze back towards the door, appreciatively. “That’s so thoughtful of her,” I simper. “You’re lucky to have such a thoughtful partner, Lyra.”

“Hey, none of that!” Lyra says, jumping to her feet and snapping her fingers in my face. I wonder if she didn’t have to practice all day for that. “I know that look, and if you try anything funny with my Bon-Bon, I’ll—I’ll—I don’t know what, but it won’t be nice!”

What? She thinks I’m going to make a move on Bon-Bon? I personally only met her fifteen minutes ago! I’m not some fuckin’ sleazeball that constantly hits on women! “Yeah, because clearly anything a man says or does is in the pursuit of pussy, Lyra!” I snap back. “I’ll have you know that I didn’t even much care for Bon-Bon until I met her in person! The show didn’t give her much of a personality, and I never much had interest in her in the fandom.

“Even if I do harbor romantic feelings towards her now—which I don’t—guess what!” I growl, spittle spraying across my lips. “Anything I feel for her is a result of your memories! Choke on that!”

I didn’t think my human body’s normally rosy cheeks could ever rival the redness of a baboon’s arse, but hey, the world is full of surprises theses days, ain’t it? If I wasn’t worried about her bursting capillaries in my eyes, I might find Lyra’s redness almost comedic. After sputtering for a few moments, all she can manage is “You’re impossible!”

“Yeah fine.” I roll over on the bed. “Listen, I’m going to take a nap—see if I can’t get rid of this headache. Wake me if I get a visitor, or if they’re ready to discharge me.”


- - -


I’m starting to think that sleep is working against me these days. Dreams of being in estrus, and black-out psychotic episodes where I theoretically kill some part of me—what that is, I have no idea if it even has any real implications—aren’t conducive to a sane mind on the best of circumstances. The whole memory overwrite bit doesn’t help in the least. Wouldn’t you know it, of course, that I find myself living another memory that can only be described with an underwhelming term such as uncomfortable. 

As soon as I’m even in the dream state, I was overwhelmed by three glaring things. Firstly, Lyra’s very clearly in estrus again. It’s that same yearning itch, only worse; instead of just being warm, there’s a fire beneath my belly, where I know Lyra’s marehood to be. Reinforcing that is the presence of that vaguely familiar musk heavy in the air.

Secondly, I’m absolutely certain that I’m not alone. Sprawled out on my back, thrashing my head against the pillows, I can feel something very large and firm nestled firmly between my thighs. It’s definitely not a penis though. If I didn’t know any better—and I really don’t—since Lyra has her eyes screwed shut, I’d guess that it was Bon-Bon’s head.

Finally, the sensations I’m experiencing through Lyra are too much for me to even comprehend. My mind is still geared up for male plumbing, after all. This is all just... incredible and otherwise indescribable. Even as much as I can imagine what my partner is doing, in reality I have no idea other than the fact that it feels so awesome, if you’ll excuse the Dashism. It’s quite plain that Lyra is enjoying every single moment of this; she keeps letting out these adorable whinnies and whimpers.

No! I shouldn’t be intruding on this! This is a private memory, and as curious as I am to whether or not they’re going to start tribbing, I have no right to experience this! All I need to do is distract myself. There’s got to be something I can think about to take my mind off Lyra’s coital adventures... There should be at any rate. There just isn’t. Surprise, surprise, right?

To my utter amazement and relief, these otherworldly sensations begin to abate, in spite of the ministrations of Lyra’s partner. If anything, the pleasure has been replaced by a chill of shock and embarassment. It takes a full moment for me to figure out why. Lyra’s eyes are open now, and directed right out towards the window. Staring back through the window with varied expressions are three very familiar fillies. The earth pony Apple Bloom, the pegasus Scootaloo, and the unicorn Sweetie Belle—all three of the Cutie Mark Crusaders are staring through Lyra’s window at the scene unfolding on the bed.

“Bon-Bon!” Lyra calls out. “Bon-Bon, don’t! We need to stop, now!”

Sure enough, Bon-Bon’s face rises up from Lyra’s—my—nethers to look Lyra in the eyes. Her expression is nothing if not predatory, and she looks rather displeased at being stopped. “Lyra, I thought we talked about using the rest-room before having fun.” she whispers dryly. God, that’s not right considering how... damp her muzzle is. “Watersports just isn’t my—”

Bon-Bon realizes that Lyra’s not looking at her, but past her, and turns to follow her lover’s gaze. When she finally locks gazes with the three fillies, there’s a moment of silence before Bon-Bon shrieks in embarrassment. Whatever stupor held the Cutie Mark Voyeurs is broken by Bon-Bon’s shrill. In an instant the three heads duck out of sight and a trio of retreating hoof-beats can be heard outside the window.

“Well! That just ruins the mood, doesn’t it?” the cream pony groans. Odd, by the way she’s speaking, I’d swear she’s the dominant one in the relationship. Then again, I’m judging my preconceptions of Bon-Bon based on what little screen-time she gets. A moment of ‘I didn’t put those in my bag’ and a few other speaking roles is hardly enough to go by. Returning her attention to Lyra, her eyes soften as she says, “Oh love, I’m sorry. I know how badly your estrus bothers you. I just wanted to offer you some momentary relief and now that chance is ruined, isn’t it?”

Lyra glances all around, her cheeks burning and soaked with sweat. Finally, she grabs a pillow and tries to hide behind it. “Yeah, I guess it is, isn’t it?” she replies sheepishly from behind her pillow. “Dear Celestia, I’m so embarrassed. I could just die...”

I have to tell you... I didn’t expect to hear the pony who acted like she was some kind of sexual dynamo while she was in my body to be this shy little thing behind closed doors. Is this some kind of weird submission/dominance thing I don’t fully understand? Do I even want to understand? God... being trapped in somepony’s body as a tag-along in their memories makes things really weird, especially during awkward silences.

“We should go to their families!” Bon-Bon mutters, toweling her face dry. “Those fillies need correction before they get themselves into things they don’t understand. The last thing I want is to be blamed for them becoming voyeurs.”

A smile begins to stretch across Lyra’s face behind her pillow shield. “Don’t give them too hard of a time, Bonnie...” Oh god... Not pillow talk and pet names! “They’re just trying to discover who they are... I was like that once.”

If I could turn and stare, I would. Thankfully, Bon-Bon has the stare part down for me. “WHAT?” she yelps, echoing my sentiment.

“Well, I wasn’t a voyeur... I just remember a time when I was unsure of who I was. There were times when I tried desperately just to figure out what direction my life was going to take,” Lyra replies, pulling the pillow away from her face. “Those three are just trying to figure out what their lot in life is. Sure, peeping isn’t the best way to earn a cutie mark, and is bound to expose them to things they’re too young for, but that’s the risk of being young and unmarked.”

Bon-Bon doesn’t seem too convinced. “That’s all well and good if we were on the first floor.” Oh for fuck sake. Did those three have a ladder? “It’s hardly an accident when they’re peering through a second story window. Honestly, I don’t know how their families cope.” Bon-Bon, you’re a confectioner. What you just said amounts to ‘I hate children’ in my language.

Lyra returns her eyes to the ceiling, choosing to remain silent as Bon-Bon nestles herself down against Lyra, draping one arm—foreleg?—over her. Without so much as a noise, Lyra rolls over, offering her back to her lover. Her smiles is gone, and her lids are heavy, but still she expends some energy to draw a blanket over the spooning couple and extinguish the lights. 

Nuzzling the pillow, still gripped firmly between her hooves against her chest, Lyra whispers, “I want foals one day, Bonnie...” The only response her whispered admission is the restful breathing of her partner. “Even more than humans...” she mumbles into her pillow before joining her love in slumber. “... a daughter.”
> Awkward Situations: Comfort isn't Guaranteed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“... oren.”

What was that?

“Soren!” a voice calls out. I can vaguely tell that somepony's gently shaking me.

“No.”

“Ugh... Wake up you idiot!” Lyra insists. There's something odd about her tone, but what is it? Embarrassment? “You wanted me to wake you up if you had a visitor. Well, you do! The doctor wants to speak with you before he releases you.”

“G'way...” I mumble, rolling over. Wow, that was kind odd... The bed beneath me feels really damp. My thigh feel all sticky and gross, too. My eyes snap open as I cry out in disgusted frustration. “FUCK!”

When I initially throw off the blanket off of me, I'm convinced that I pissed the bed. A familiar odor that floods the air as soon as the cover is drawn back, dashing that thought almost as soon as it has risen. The sheets are sticky and damp, but it is definitely not urine. “Oh god, oh god! This is is not happening.” I drag the blanket back over the damp spot and my lap just as the door opens, admitting the doctor and an unfamiliar nurse.

I look at Lyra, aghast at my situation. She's just sitting there, her face close to that shade of baboon's-arse red, trying to avert her eyes. There's the vague impression floating in the air that she knew what I was going to find beneath the sheets. I'm almost sure of it, but there's no opportunity for me to sling such accusations with the doctor and nurse present.

The doctor, to his credit, has decided to remain a respectable distance from me. The nurse, much to my displeasure, isn't as worried about my earlier outburst. With an eyebrow raised and nose crinkled at the odor wafting from beneath the sheet, she begins fussing about my personage. She checks the tightness of a bandage around my head that I hadn't noticed before, and then checks on a compression bandage around my left foreleg where Romulus bit me.

Finally, she prods a ball of cotton taped to my forearm. I honestly hadn't even noticed they'd done any of this when I first woke up—not the bandage around my forehead, not the compression bandage, and certainly not the drawing of blood—but I suppose none of that is surprising. This is a hospital, after all. Satisfied that I haven't buggered anything up since they were last here, the nurse turns and nods to the doctor.

“Well, Mister Soarin—”

“It's Soren. Say it with me, Zuu-ren.” I grunt. I really dislike when people don't say my name properly. “Soarin' is the Wonderbolt.”

The doctor gives me a non-committal look before continuing. “Right, well...” He looks terribly uncomfortable. I suppose I can't blame him. I did bite him, and now the room reeks of arousal. “Soren, we've treated most of your injuries—psychological ones not withstanding—to the best of our abilities. You've some bad bruising on your head and forearm, but compared to the underlying injuries that we treated, you'll live. I should note, however, that your body is a fairly undernourished for having been in a different world from Equestria for such a short time. I can only imagine that this other world doesn't possess the same ambient magic within everything as it is here.”

“That might also be because I haven't eaten much.” I admit sheepishly. I don't make eye contact with Lyra, the nurse or the doctor, but I don't have to in order to understand the disapproving looks boring into my hide. “I haven't really been all that hungry.”

“That may be, but you really should take care of your host's body,” the nurse offers softly. “If you don't eat properly, you could be pretty uncomfortable at this point in her estrus cycle.”

My eyes widen in shock at her words, eliciting a girlish giggle from Lyra. That's exactly what I didn't want to fucking hear. Foreign body, check. Brain injury? Check. Losing my mind? Double check. Oh look, something new to add to the 'My Life is Shit' list: Going into heat! Better add a gigantic fucking check mark there.

“As far as the headache from the node in your brain is concerned, we've prepared a prescription for a mild pain relief potion that should help ease the pain.” He offers up a kind smile. “I'd prescribe something more useful, but I cannot be sure what effects it might have on the spell.”

“Thanks Doc...” I reply with a weak sort of smile. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the whole biting thing. I didn't break the skin did I?”

“Thankfully, no.” He shakes his head. “Well, if you're ready to go, we can process you and let you go on your way. Your pack and garments are all at the foot of the bed.”

Apology not accepted, I note. Oh well, what was the phrase? ‘Shit happens, and then you die’ sounds about right. “Can I have just a few moments in private to gather my things and consult my host?” I ask putting on my best ‘I’m not going to cause trouble’ smile. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with her before I go anywhere.”

The doctor looks like he’s about to protest, but an ornery look is all it takes for him to fold. “I understand.” He nods to Lyra as he backs out the door. “Just remember to stop by the front desk to check out and pick up the prescription before the two of you leave.” With that, the doctor and nurse turn and leave, pulling the door shut as they go.

The door has barely clicked before I round on Lyra. “You knew!” I whisper accusingly. “Not just about the estrus, but the dream!”

After a few moments of blinking dumbly, Lyra bursts into laughter. “Oh, that is what you’re angry about?” She wipes the back of one hand across her forehead whilst futilely fighting to rein in her amusement. “... and here I thought I was in trouble!”

“This isn’t funny! You sat there with that knowing look the whole time they were in here, and didn’t speak a word in my defense, or in order to dissuade them that we were having some sort of illicit relations on the hospital bed,” I hiss, knowing my own face is probably a shade of scarlet beneath this fur. “How did you know?”

That red glow returns to her cheeks and she looks away. She stays quiet for minutes as she stares at the curtains over the window billowing in the chill breeze. “You were moaning in your sleep,” she murmurs. “It was all very sexual, and you kept calling Bon-Bon’s name.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I say defensively, interpreting her gaze as accusatory. “I’m pretty sure that was one of your memories... what with the peeping Crusaders. That’s too specific for me to dream up.”

Without making eye-contact, Lyra wordlessly shrugs, allowing for her clothing to shift around her form. I realize it’s the first time that I’ve actually paid much attention to her beyond her face and body shape. She looks like she just came from some college toga party, wearing some garment made from a rather flimsy aquamarine material. Much to my chagrin, my gaze is drawn to her—my—chest. What draws my attention isn’t just the small pert forms rising and falling beneath that flimsy cloth as she breathes—barely concealed by the half fallen top of the toga—or the way her nipples are drawn erect by the way it dances across her skin; it’s the realization that she has something I’ve yearned for, but could never actually have.

Staring, I find myself not just jealous, but also aroused and slightly hurt. I’m confronted again by the realization that my deepest desire and biggest fantasy has come true, and I’m not even in my own body to enjoy it. My burning jealousy makes me want to cry out in frustration, but that degree of arousal makes me worry. What if I moan instead? Furthermore, why am I so suddenly concerned about how immodest her garb is?

“Why are you wearing a bed-sheet?” I ask in a husky voice, finally tearing my eyes from my body. “You had clothes last I checked.”

“They were rank!” she snorted. “I swear that bathrobe has a week worth of body odor soaked into it!”

No comment, really. “What about the clothes you had Rarity making! Are you even wearing underwear?”

“Hello? The whole sex change thing came up rather sudden,” she said in a disbelieving tone. “Rarity wasn’t all that amused to have to revise her plans with new measurements... but she seemed somehow happier about the whole thing. Between you and me, I don’t think she’s used to making clothing for boy,” is her only reply. If she dodges the underwear inquiry, does that mean she’s going commando?

“Now that I can believe...”

Not wanting to continue that line of conversation for fear of ragging on Rarity, I levitate my bag, hat, and ‘cloak’ from the floor. I glance at Lyra again just in time to catch her shiver in the breeze. Wow, if I think that breeze from the window is chilly, she must be frozen. Silently, I open my bag, and pull out my rolled up blanket and levitate it over to her.

“What’s this for?” she asks, eyebrows raised as she accepts the rolled up blanket.

“Unfurl it and wrap it around yourself, dummy.” I nicker softly. “You’re obviously cold.”

“But how—”

“It’s your nipples, okay?” I say with a hitch in my voice. I have no doubt that I’m blushing like a moron. “They’re poking through that sheet, looking like two diamonds ready to cut glass. You’re obviously cold. Just remember, I want that back. I sleep better if I have familiar bedding.”

Grudgingly, she unfurls the blanket and wraps it around herself. At least she looks a bit warmer now. “Thanks...” she says softly. “I was sure with the way I’ve been behaving, you’d hate me. You should—”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Nobody would blame me either way.” I shrug, magically affixing my own blanket to my personage in all its cloak-like glory.With a raised eyebrow, I catch Lyra glancing at my blanket cloak and beginning to fuss with her own blanket. “Hate isn’t a feeling I use with any zeal. Anger and rage, certainly, but rarely ever hate. Spend your whole life allowing hatred to rule you, and what do you have to show? Wrinkles, high blood pressure, and an empty heart? I’m already alone, I don’t need to drive away potential friends by being a spiteful dick.”

Only a moment’s thought is given before I levitate the hat over and plunk it down onto Lyra’s head to play with. It’d fit her better anyway. Let’s limit how much body-heat she loses. “Shall we go?”


- - -


Traipsing down a seemingly random street in Ponyville, I can’t help but notice how Lyra is walking barefoot. It’s bad enough she’s wearing only a bed-sheet toga and possibly going commando, but being without footwear is completely unnecessary. “So Lyra...” I say, snapping my attention away from a tantalizing cart of flowers. I don’t want to ask this question, but I don’t really see any other option. “I don’t suppose Rarity is taking care of the footwear situation too, is she?”

The brunette turns to face me and stares in confusion for a moment. “Oh, right... People on your world generally wear shoes, boots or sandals when outside, don’t they?” she speaks in wonderment. “I don’t really mind all that much. The soles of your feet are surprisingly tough yet supple. It’s almost like the bottom of a pony’s hoof!”

“Uh-huh...”

“To answer your question, yes Rarity is making some sandals to go with the dress.” The way she said that gives me the impression that Rarity was making a dress from the start. Ugh, there’s a thought that’s going to follow me to my grave, right up there with Sweetie Belle peering out of... Never mind that! “She was quite fascinated with how dainty your feet became after the change in sex. Then she started going on about something called a pedicure...”

We continue on walking, Lyra rambling, and me only half listening. If I could help it, I’d keep that mare away from my body as much as possible. Even if I did long to be feminine and very female, frou-frou was never part of my designs. Again, I have to fight back a shudder as I imagine the sort of frilly dress Rarity is slaving away at... Well, at least she’s generous enough to do this for Lyra.

The groan of my stomach punctuates my ruminations, and draws Lyra’s attention back to me. There’s a wry smile on her face that I’m not sure I totally like. “You hungry?” I nod weakly, only to take an involuntary step backward as that smile becomes a grin. “You totally have to try a hay shake and some hay fries. Maybe a hayburger to go with it? I swear you’ll love it.”

I don’t know what to think. Seriously, a good portion of my brain is trying to figure out whether or not she’s serious, or if she’s just trying to screw with me. “I’m not actually going to get a say in this, am I?”

“Not really.” She winks at me. “The doctor said that Earth food wasn’t sating your dietary magic intake requirement, so that means you get the triple-hay-whammy. Not only is it good roughage, but it’s a great source of protein and energy!”

“What, the hay?”

“Yup... It is if I order the alfalfa for you,” she says chuckling. She begins leading me toward a cosy little cafe that I could swear I’ve seen in an episode before. “I’ve always wanted to tell a little filly to eat all her alfalfa, but I guess you’ll have to do.”

“About that...” I whisper. “I know that it’s technically an invasion of privacy, but I saw that part of the memory too... How you said you wanted a foal some day.”

Stopping dead in her tracks, Lyra turns and places a finger in front of her mouth in that familiar shh expression. “You can’t tell Bon-Bon... She just doesn’t understand the desire to have children.”

“So I surmised after the whole Cutie Mark Crusader Peeping Toms act,” I reply passively. “She did strike me as the type to adopt late.”

Guiding me to a table in front of the cafe, she shakes her head. “I proposed topic of having a foal once and she was completely put off by the whole idea,” she whispers across the table. “She told me that she never ever wants to become pregnant, nor does she want to be around pregnant mares...”

“... and I suppose even if she did agree as long as you bore the child, she still wanted nothing to do with the process, dipping into earth pony superstition regarding magic?”

“Exactly.” She sighs, watching a waiter approach the table. “Even if we were to use a donor, we’d still need to find the right stud for us...”

The unicorn stallion trots up, his slicked navy mane rippling gently in the breeze. He barely pays me and my blanket-cloak any mind as he eyes up Lyra. The waiter has probably heard the rumors about a strange creature roaming Ponyville these days. “What can I get for you misses today?” … or he could just be trying to figure out whether Lyra’s a male or female.

“I’ll have the garden salad and a glass of punch.” Lyra replies smoothly. “She’ll have the alfalfa hayburger with hayfries, and a...” She glances at me. “Strawberry?” I nod in affirmation. At least if I’m going to drink hay, it’ll taste like something. “... Strawberry hayshake.”

Using his unicorn magic, he scribbles down our order and bows. “Alright then, ladies.” Trotting into the cafe, his cream flanks dancing tantalizingly as he goes, he turns back and shouts. “It would be my pleasure to get your order out to you in no time.”

“Did he just—”

“Yes,” Lyra says, blinking curiously. “I do believe he did... but which one of us was that directed towards?”

“I don’t wanna know,” I reply flatly. The flowers in the vase on the center of the table look safe enough, so I levitate one out and pop it in my mouth. Not bad, but I suppose the stem could use a little salt. “I just want some food before I start chewing on the table..”
> Hay Fry Fracas
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I won't deny that the 'hayburger' provided by the waiter surprises me greatly. Levitating it closer to my face, I see it looks like a real hamburger patty on a bun with lettuce and what looks like pickles and mayo. Is it any wonder that I can't help but wonder what's in it? Gently lowering the burger back to the plate and giving a questioning look to Lyra, I whisper, “Just out of curiosity, what's in this?”

“If I recall correctly, it's equal parts black beans and alfalfa, flour, cornmeal, tofu, garlic salt, and cumin.” she responds with an arched eyebrow. “Why?”

I feel a moment of alarm, having recalled reading something about horses and colic from gassy foods. “Wouldn't the beans give a pony colic though?”

“Nah, you're thinking about your world's horses.” She smiles widely. “Equestrian ponies aren't that similar to them in many aspects. Believe me, I checked. Take chocolate or caffeinated items for example. Pretty dangerous to them, but they're just stimulants here in Equestria. The thing with potatoes, tomatoes, and other members of the nightshade family is just coincidental. Then there's the whole difference in level of intelligence. We're closer to humans than you'd think.”

“Huh...” I eye the burger tentatively before levitating it towards my mouth. Abandoning all reservations, my mouth bites into the burger and my thoughts are immediately locked on analyzing the flavors. The only real way I can describe the patty itself is bland, almost flavorless. The mayo, lettuce, and pickles help a lot, though. With all that in addition to the bun, it's not all that bad.

Swallowing my first bite, I realize my companion is looking at me expectantly. “Well?” she asks, shoveling her own salad into her mouth with a fork. “What do you think?”

“Needs Sriracha,” I grunt, leaning forward and taking a sip of my hayshake. The strawberry is overpowering, thankfully. I'm not completely sure, but I think I can taste some milk and ice along with the graininess of the intermixed hay. Well, that bucks another of my preconceptions. Still, it beats strawberry paper-mache by a large margin.

“Sorry?”

“A kind of hot-sauce.” I take another bite of my burger. “I love the stuff.”

“Ah,” she replies watching me munch away at my burger. “Aside from that, is it okay?”

“Not my ideal burger, but yeah, it's okay.” I smile softly. “Who'd have thought my first 'vegetarian' meal would contain so much hay?”

“Don't forget your hay fries,” she says, pointing toward the untouched stack of fries on my plate.

It certainly doesn't look much different from regular french-fries. What the hell, you only live once, right? Isn't that what people always say to get their partners to try anal sex? Or was that don't knock it 'til you try it? It doesn't really matter, since I'm clearly thinking to delay the inevitable. Without another moment's hesitation, I eat some...

… and instantly regret it. The instant it enters my mouth, I'm back in my final year of Jr. High School. Specifically, my mind has fallen back to the only time I've ever eaten McDonalds hash-browns. If I recall correctly—and I do—those tasted like newspaper. How I know that, I won't get into, but what I will get into is how hay fries do taste like newspaper. They're revolting. Maybe I'm just not accustomed to the taste of plain old hay, or this is some sort of joke.

My face must be contorted in disgust, because Lyra's got this amused look on her face. “Don't like the hay-fries?” she asks sweetly.

With a slight retch, I wash it down with the hayshake and go back to eating my burger. “It's like eating newspaper.”

“Why would anypony eat newspaper?” she gasps, appalled.

I shrug as best I can. “Dunno, really.” A cocky half grin reaches my face as I add, “I’ve always assumed I’m part goat.”

After gawking at me for a few minutes, she returns her attention to her own meal, and I quickly follow suit. After all, there’s still somewhere I need to go before the day is over. After all, Twilight Sparkle did mention wanting to give me her own examination—something about a few magical scans. If I’m lucky I can get that all done with and somehow avoid getting a Pinkie Pie party dropped on my fucking head. My head hurts enough without having to cope with the hustle and bustle of a party.

Speaking of which, I still have to take some of the painkillers given to me at the hospital. Say what you will about free health-care, I’m glad Equestria has that sort of system. It’s clear that the system run by the Alicorns focuses on the wellbeing of its citizens, and not monetary gain. Still, I’ve gotta wonder how they can afford to just hand out painkillers and not worry about addiction, or folks peddling their medication for bits. Then again, I’m basing all of that on Earth. It’s probably not the best comparison.

From the messenger bag at my side, I withdraw a small paper bag and a small parchment scroll. Setting the paper bag down in front of my plate, I unfurl the scroll and read it over. It’s the usual stuff, of course. Take one pill, three times daily for seven days. Do not take on an empty stomach. Do not mix with alcohol. If you experience bleeding of the eyes, please consult a physician immediately and discontinue usage. Wait... what?

“You’ll let me know if I begin bleeding from the eyes, right?” I comment with a chuckle, levitating the parchment over to Lyra. She takes the parchment in her hands, gives it a once over, and then shrugs. “What? That can’t be normal, right?”

Passing back the parchment, she takes a sip of her punch. “Not really, but it has been known to happen.” she replies nonchalantly. “Can’t rightly say why it happens, but some ponies just have really bad reactions to certain things. More often than not, it’s tears of blood.”

“Well... That’s morbid.”

“You’ll be fine.” she says firmly. “I’ve been on that particular painkiller before when I fell down after trying to walk bipedal. Bon-Bon tried to warn me about the stairs... but I didn’t listen.”

Well, there’s no point delaying it. Hesitantly, I tear open the paper bag, and open the pill-bottle contained within. The pills themselves seem to be some sort of potion inside a gel capsule. That’s certainly curious. Popping one into my mouth, I wash the pill down with my hay shake and go back to finishing my burger.

Once we finish our meals—even my newspaper-flavored hay fries—it is just a matter of paying the waiter. I never noticed Lyra carrying a coin-purse, but somehow, it doesn’t surprise me in the least when she pulls a small satchel from her cleavage. Having been exposed to the Internet, she’s probably gotten a few ideas from human media she has no doubt been exposed to.

“So, we have a whole afternoon before Bon-Bon is free,” Lyra says as she pays the waiter for the food and his tip. “What would you like to do?”

“I’ve gotta see Twilight about something,” I reply nonchalantly. “Back when we were on Earth, she said she wanted to take some magical readings. There’re also some things I wanted to ask her.”

“Like what?” a cheerfully squeaky voice says behind my back, startling me into the air. “Were you going to ask her how to get me to set you up an awesome party?”

Before I turn around, I notice Lyra cover her face with a palm. The instant I face this newcomer, I feel my stomach clench. Oh no... Not Pinkie Pie! “Oh... Hello Pinkie.” I titter nervously. “Goodbye, Pinkie.”

I do the only thing my mind will allow. I fucking book it.

"Nope! Nope, nope, nope!"


- - -


Half an hour later, I’m sprawled out on the doorstep of the library, exhausted. Pinkie is bouncing beside me, not even winded. Seriously, where does she get all this fucking energy? Does she somehow reach beyond the fourth wall and feed on the audience or something?

“Not at all, silly,” she says, her bubbly voice ringing like Hell’s bells in my pulse-pounded ears. “I just eat lots and lots of sweets.”

“Of course, how could I have forgotten the bottomless Pinkie pit?” I rasp dryly, looking up at her.

“Why did you run away?” Pinkie asks, cocking her head to the side. “Don’t you want a party?”

Oh crap... Here it goes. If I say no, she’ll feel bad and guilt trip me into changing my mind. “Pinkie, I have nothing against you personally, but at times you can be just the teensiest bit overbearing about parties.” I laugh, in spite of myself. Heck, right now I wanna cry. “In the last two and a half days, I’ve practically been to the gates of Tartarus and back. I’ve suffered so much psychologically and physically that I feel like a glass figurine that’s about to shatter, and the only thing keeping me together is the world’s worst epoxy resin. A party with a bunch of ponies that I only know from observing them on the other side of the looking glass just seems like the sort of thing that might agitate that delicate grip of the epoxy.”

There’s a thoughtful look on Pinkie Pie’s face. “It’s okay, Soren. I understand.” Okay, seriously, that’s fucking creepy. First answering an unspoken thought, and now knowing my name without introductions... You scare me. “I know what it’s like to have your life seemingly shatter around you, and you feel so alone.”

“Party of One,” I state softly. “You thought your friends didn’t like your parties any more, and went a little crazy.”

She beams at me. “That’s right!” She doesn’t question how I know about it, nor does she look all that bothered by it. This is downright fucking eerie. I mean, I know she’s notorious for breaking the fourth wall, but this is ridiculous.

With a sigh, I turn away, in part to hide the tears welling in my eyes. “Pinkie, it’s not the same.” I whisper. “In the end, your friends were all there for you, just planning a surprise party. What’s happening to me isn’t just the feeling of isolation as my friends avoid me. My mind is being overwritten, and slowly but surely, I’m not going to be me any more! Unlike you, I really am all by myself! My family’s basically abandoned me, and the only friend I really count these days wants nothing to do with me!”

When I finally look back at Pinkie Pie, there’s a slightly deflated look about her. It’s not full-blown Pinkamena deflated, but her mane is still somewhat limp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know...” In all honesty, I didn’t really expect her to, even with her freakish knowing things she shouldn’t possibly know thing going for her.

I look her in the eyes and attempt to smile reassuringly. I’m not sure if that’s physically possible given my mental state, but the point is I’m trying. “It ain’t your fault Pinkie, and I shouldn’t take it out on you, or Lyra, or anypony.” Pushing myself onto my hooves, I nuzzle her neck gently in what I assume to be the pony equivalent of a hug. As I pull back, I add, “I’m just frustrated and scared is all.”

“You don’t have to be alone,” Pinkie replies with glee, returning to her fully bubbly state.

“I do though!” I shake my head violently before turning my gaze downward. “I can’t just rely on ponies I know of only by reputation and observation.”

“Why not?” Pinkie cocks her head to the side again, somehow managing to turn her neck in a one-eighty and look up at me from below. “Twilight managed to do just that with five ponies she just met! Friendship can come from anywhere, if you let it!”

I turn away, readying myself to press through the door. “I’m not Twilight, though,” I whisper, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. “I can’t be like her, no matter how much I might like to.”

“Pinkie’s still right, you know.” Lyra’s voice echoes behind me. I turn around and see her leaning against the library’s sign, my forgotten bag slung over her shoulder and my cap pulled low over her brow. “So what if you don’t know us as more than just characters? We’re offering you our support out of the kindness of our hearts, aren’t we?”

With a halfhearted smile, I reply, “With you in particular, that’s arguable, seeing as Bon-Bon’s making you take responsibility for your mess. Bon-Bon, on the other hoof seems sincere...” I glance at Pinkie. “You’re convinced that your party idea is going to lift my spirits, and aren’t going to relent, are you?”

Pinkie shakes her head once. “Nope. You’re getting a party.” She giggles and grins so widely that I’m concerned the top of her head might separate from the rest of her body. “Some ponies are hesitant to party, just like you. Once you get a taste of my parties though, I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Then you can stop being a sad pony.”

I examine the pink party monster skeptically. I really don’t think it’s going to work, but if I say no again, she’ll definitely cry or snap. “Fine,” I sigh. “Just promise me it’s just going to be a little party. Just make it Lyra, Bon-Bon, and a select few of your choice. I hate big crowds.”

“Okie dokie loki!” Pinkie exclaims before diving into the bushes. “I’ve got a party to plan!”

“Now that you have that over with, are you coming inside or not?” a voice calls from above me. I look up to see Twilight Sparkle peering down at me from a window. “It’s hard enough getting ponies to come by the library without ponies having existential crises on my doorstep.”

Lyra and I both gape at her. “How long have you been there?” we ask in unison.

“I’ve been listening since you arrived,” Twilight answers with a half-amused smile. “Half of the surrounding area probably has been too.”
> Out Visiting
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'll tell you now, the show doesn't come close to accurately depicting the Ponyville Public Library. Firstly, the thing is not just two floors. There's three levels above ground, and another two below ground... and that's not even counting Twilight Sparkle's Rape Basement of Science™. Seriously, this place is fucking huge. I think the tree's fucking enchanted or something to hold this much.

Don't think that it's all just books, though. I'm certainly surprised by Twilight's tour. On the main floor is the non-fiction section. The second floor's all set up for the visitors to sit down with a book, or for students to pore over research texts. Above that, you have the living area and all the necessary amenities. The first basement level is all fiction sorted by genre and age rating—oh god, all the pony smut Lyra and Twilight thought I didn't notice in that one room off to the side. Finally, the second basement level is introduced to me as a classroom for an adult learning program that the previous librarian had set up. Twilight couldn't say why, but it never took off, so it just sits there acting as a storage room.

While I'd have loved to check out some of the titles offered, I actually find it difficult to read the Equestrian written script, which is weird, given I was able to read the instructions for the medication with no problems. This becomes most apparent when Twilight leads us down to the third basement level. That same machine she had Pinkie strapped into during her Pinkie Sense investigation is seemingly waiting for me in the dead center of the chamber. Just in front of it is a desk stacked with parchment, quills and ink-bottles, and textbooks that I can only assume have something to do with Twilight's research and everything else. The only thing I found remotely intelligible either read Psychology and You or Pedophilia and You. All things considered, it's understandable why the former might be preferable.

As Twilight ushers me into that seat of the device, I watch Lyra out of the corner of my eye. Since I ran off, fleeing from Pinkie, she won’t let me out of her sight. She’s trying hard not to get under hoof, sitting down somewhere on the floor off to the side. It’s pretty admirable how seriously she’s taking Bon-Bon’s ‘take responsibility’ order. She’s sincerely trying her best to watch over me.

“So, Soren...” Twilight looks a bit uneasy as she sits down across from me, but considering the last time we were together, it’s unsurprising. She did witness a rather embarrassing psychotic episode, after all. As the cap of the device lowers, she asks, “How are you this afternoon?”

“All things considered? Not too bad,.” I reply with a smile. “Now that I’ve gotten some proper Equestrian food in me, I feel pretty good, certain things not withstanding.”

Lyra looks like she wants to add something in, but she catches a glance from Twilight and bites her tongue. However this is supposed to go, the lavender unicorn clearly needs to be in charge. “Is your head still bothering you?” she asks, before a look of embarrassment crosses her face. It could be construed a bit redundant to ask the person enduring a mind wipe if their head is bugging them. “I know only too well how badly a head injury can bother you, even when treated magically.”

“It was paining me for a while, but the painkillers kicked in somewhere in the middle of running away from Pinkie.” That is easily the most physically active I’ve been, that. “I’m just dealing with some really awkward memories coming upon me, the awkward situations they produce, and certain other... issues that you probably already picked up on.”

With a courteous nod, Twilight levitates one of her tomes open in front of her. “Yes, I thought I smelled a pony in estrus when we brought you in.” She returns her attention to me, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I can’t begin to imagine how that is playing on your precarious mental state.”

“I could outline it if you’d like.”

The unicorn mare seems to consider this for a moment. She must be having second thoughts, considering the look Lyra gave her. “That’s alright. I’ll stick with the diagnostic questions I prepared this afternoon.”

I roll my eyes and feign a groan. “Aww, and here I was looking forward to whining about waking up after living through one of Lyra’s sexy memories, and then finding out I’m in heat.” I shift in the seat, suddenly more aware of my marehood. “You have no idea what it’s like being a heterosexual male who is now a mare in heat. Yeah, I might have had gender dysphoria as a human, but I still preferred women. So guess what its like when I have this foreign biological urge telling me to reproduce because I am fertile.”

“Soren, I’m not completely comfortable discussing this topic.” 

“Neither am I, for that matter. Does that stop me?” Probably not, but a glare from Lyra certainly does. Too bad, I was looking forward to making Twilight squirm describing the odd desire to have something male scratch my biological itch. “Anyway... you had diagnostic questions for me? What kind are they and what purpose do they actually serve?”

“They’re just a series of questions to calibrate the machine to your mind, and separate Lyra’s memories from your own thought patterns.” Twilight happily responds. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she’s happy for the redirect. “Once I have a baseline pattern to differentiate your mind from Lyra, I can take a look at how far along the overwrite is.”

I shift my forelegs about in the shackles—why does this thing have shackles anyway? “That’s nice and all...” God, I don’t like the confining nature of this thing. “... but that doesn’t exactly stop it from happening, now does it?”

“No,” she agrees, missing—or ignoring—the sarcastic tone in my voice. “It doesn’t. A spell I managed to find this afternoon should help limit the damage the back-up can do to your mind though.”

I take a moment to mull that over. “I note you say limit and not prevent.”

“The memories would still be replaced, but your baseline personality should remain intact.” A panicked expression floods my face. “I know, it’s not the most ideal treatment, but at the very least we can keep you as you until the switch back. Then it should just be a matter of removing Lyra’s memories and returning you to earth in an, er, amnesiac state.”

Swallowing hard, I glance at Lyra. In the dim light of the lab, her skin looks an off white, as if I were looking at Sweetie Belle or Rarity. Isn’t that odd? Probably just some freakish trick of the light. Turning my attention back to Twilight, I ask, “There’s no other option, is there? Nothing in Canterlot that you think can help?”

There’s a pained twinkle in her eyes for a split second before she vigorously shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t think the unicorns at the university would be able to suggest anything different given the amount of time you have. I can’t switch you back, either. I’ve done the research.” She averts her eyes. “Starswirl’s spells are all too complex to reverse in a timely fashion. They’re always usually just left to run their course. 

“Honestly, I’m amazed that the memory restoration didn’t restore everything immediately.” There’s a look of regret on her face.

From off to the side, I hear Lyra gasp quietly. She may or may not have just whispered, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any of this.”

I know you didn’t, Lyra. “So I’m just going to become one of those ‘lost my memory’ clichés?” I mutter soberly. “Well shit, I suppose it’s better than ceasing to be. Let’s do this, Twilight.”


- - -


I’m not sure where I am, or how I got here. None of that really matters. What matters to me right now is why there’s a big ugly cat staring me in the face. The suddenness of my realization that I’m not in the library scares me almost as much as that fucking cat did. Out of pure reflex, I scramble backwards away from the cat, in turn startling my feline observer. Quickly, my back presses against a wall, halting my retreat. With nowhere left to turn, I realize it’s probably a good time as any to take stock of my surroundings. After all, that cat kinda looks familiar.

As I stare around this new place, a cold sense of realization fills my stomach. Those pony-mannequins, the dresses on display, that fucking cat—I’m in Carousel Boutique! I really didn’t want to be here, especially not while I’m unattended. Jesus Christ, where is Lyra? Fuck, quick! How did I even get here? Why can’t I remember what happened after—

A dressing-room door on the far side of the room creaks open, revealing Lyra. Instead of her bed-sheet toga, she is instead sporting a pale aquamarine ankle-length dress and a matching shawl. In the brighter light of the boutique, Lyra’s skin is surprisingly lighter than usual. Not only that, but there was an almost silver radiance about her.

“Rarity, this dress fits wonderfully!” she shouts, her head directed at the ceiling. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

From somewhere up above, possibly Rarity’s ‘inner sanctuary’ comes a singsong, “Wonderful! I’ll be right down.” A door closes somewhere above me, and then there’s a tumult on the stairs. Moments later, a door on the back wall of the shop front opens, revealing a slightly frazzled Rarity, measuring tape and all. Fuck! “Ooh, darling you do look marvelous in that dress.”

From the doorway, Rarity daintily trots over to Lyra’s position and begins walking circles around the human. There’s a self-assured smile on the alabaster mare’s face as she pauses in front of Lyra. Finally, she nods and looks up at Lyra, beaming. “I must say, I’m quite satisfied with the way this dress has come out. It’s much better than the design I made for that male body.” She looks at Lyra’s feet for a moment before turning back to her face. “Are you sure you wish to take the dress before I’ve completed the sandals? It would just be until tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sure, Rarity,” Lyra replies with a smile. “I couldn’t spend another hour wrapped in that bed-sheet. It simply doesn’t hold heat like cloth meant for being worn.”

“Oh I completely understand, dear,” Rarity croons, adjusting the waist of the dress. “With such a thin coat—not to say it isn’t lovely—you would almost have to wear something warm this time of year.”

I gape at the two of them, awestruck that they have yet to notice me. Have I just been sitting there catatonic the whole time or something? Then a thought crosses my mind, returning to something I pondered earlier in the day. “So, um, Rarity,” I say from my spot in the room. “Did Lyra commission any underwear? Or is she going commando?”

It’s their turn to gape as they turn their attention to me. Okay, seriously, is there something on my face or something? Did someone draw dicks on my face?  Will someone please tell me what the fuck I missed? “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“Why yes, she did commission undergarments. After all, an open-bottom garment can only do so much to protect you from the elements when you don’t have a tail to do the rest. Certainly not a regular request, I assure you.” She doesn’t seem too keen on that part, so I reckon that regular undergarments are possibly akin to date-night lingerie. “I almost said no.”

“Panties made by ponies? Shit, this I’ve gotta see.” I reply with a grin and cocking an eyebrow at Lyra. “C’mon, just a peek. I’m curious what our fair Rarity produced.” This elicits a slight blush from Rarity. Yeah, panties are definitely a pony kink.

“Soren, don’t be a perv,” Lyra whines, her face turning scarlet. Oh how I do long for a bit of fun at your expense. “Don’t look at me that wa—eeek!” Her condemnation is cut off by a shrill cry as I begin to lift the hemline of her dress. Rarity goes even redder as she watches in horror.

Inch by inch the hemline rises. “Tell me how I got here and why I can’t remember anything after Twilight’s Q&A, and maybe I’ll stop.” I throw on a teasing face. “It’s a pretty simple offer.”

“Fine, just stop!” Aww, you’re no fun. Still, I’m a man—if I can still even be called that now—of my word, so I let the dress fall down. “The spell Twilight had to use was pretty intense, so she had to put you in a sort of trance to keep you calm. Apparently that’s a big thing to keep the spell active, keeping calm.”

“So, lose my shit, and I lose my mind for good? Oh joy.” I laugh. “How will I ever survive Pinkie’s Party now?”

That seems to have sobered Rarity up. “Oh my, Pinkie’s throwing another party?” Rarity seems to contemplate this news. Oh no. Oh no no no! Stop thinking that, Rarity. Just no! “If she’s holding a party for you, she’ll probably spring it on you tonight. We simply must have you look your best!”

No. Fuck! Kill me! “Oh, you really don’t have to do that, Rarity.” I try to lace my words with venom, but I can tell it is coming off far more as anxiety. “I’m a guy, so getting all dolled up just isn’t me.”

Lyra, don’t look at me that way... Oh fuck. You’re getting your revenge for the skirt flipping thing a few moments ago, aren’t you? “Don’t be silly, Soren! You’re a girl now!” Lyra teases, clapping her hands. “Live it up a little!”

The mare and human girl creep closer and closer to me. Rarity’s horn lights up, and then a cupboard opens up. From it flies an endless stream of beauty supplies. I try to run, but I am swept up in a shimmering blue magical aura. Crap, she’s dragging me towards that mirror. Oh dear god no! Celestia, Luna! Save me! They’re going to commit a crime against... against something! Fuck!
> The Life of Soren
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“C'mon girls, seriously?” I groan, waiting to be dropped. “What happened to 'I should relax' and 'keep calm'? Do you seriously believe keeping calm is going to be possible if you two force me into a makeover?”

Lyra casts a glance at Rarity before nodding. “He has a point.” Her grin dissipates as Rarity lets me down. “We just wanted you to get a personal look at our side of the gender barrier. I guess I sorta forgot that forcing things upon you wasn't going to go over well.”

“You think?” I reply sarcastically. “There are other ways to go about those things...”

I shift my narrowed eyes toward the white unicorn warily. To my surprise, her head is bowed and there's even a placatory smile on her face. “I am terribly sorry dear,” she replies softly. “I sometimes get ahead of myself in such matters. Why it feels like just yesterday I swept up poor Twilight into a full makeover before ever having made proper introductions.”

Fuck, when she puts it like that and throws in those doe-eyes, how can I stay mad? Well, I suppose I could always fall back onto her atrocious treatment of Sweetie Belle in the Sisterhooves Social and Ponyville Confidential, but that would probably make things awkward. How would I explain knowing about these things without sounding like a creeper? “You're just acting in your nature, I guess.”

“Yes, well, I really must get back to—” Rarity stops dead, her eyes locked on the clock. “Oh my, is that time already?”

“Late for a spa date?” I offer with a joking smile.

“Of course not! A lady is never late!” she says, flushing. “Nor is she early! A lady arrives precisely when she intends to!”

There’s a giggle, and then Lyra speaks up. “So you do have a spa date today, then.” The corner of her mouth pulls up in a smile. “Do you mind if we come along?”

Rarity and I both turn to face Lyra, shocked. “What?” we cry out in stereo. Is it any wonder that we are surprised? After all, I just feebly fought against such girlish treatments. I also get the vaguest impressions from Lyra’s memories that she’s turned down a spa offer from Rarity before. Why now of all days would she change her mind on such a thing?

As if reading my mind, Lyra puts her hands up defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she mutters. Even trying to keep quiet, I was still able to hear it. Maybe these equine ears are a good thing? “If you think about it, a trip to the spa is exactly what you need!”

My skepticism abound, I raise an eyebrow. “Forgive my imitation of the royalty, but please forgive me if I withhold my enthusiasm.” My voice is every bit as deadpan as intended. If I’d only lowered my voice a smidgen, I might even have made a passable impression of Princess Luna. Huzzah! “I’m not going to lie. Even if I am a mare for the duration of my stay, I’m not particularly keen on embracing my new marehood given the circumstances. If I weren’t losing all my memories and at risk of literally losing my personality if I don’t chill the fuck out, I might just give it a shot.”

“Actually darling, what Lyra’s suggesting isn’t that far-fetched.” Rarity smiles, as though picking up on something I missed out on. “If relaxation is supposed to keep one of Twilight’s spells in effect, then I can think of nothing better for you than for a trip to the Ponyville Day Spa. It’s not at all as, ugh, ‘frou-frou’ as you are probably imagining. A lot of Ponyville’s stallions are regulars as well. Besides, I’m sure Fluttershy would be happy to share our usual time-slot with you.”

It takes me only a moment to parse this. Yes, I know that men go to spas to unwind as well. True, it would be a good diversion given the oncoming freight-train that is Pinkie’s party—yes, I still think that’s a wreck waiting to happen. Still, I feel dirty falling into the standard trappings of all the Human in Equestria fics, suddenly balls-deep in the lives of these ponies. “Given that the last time I saw Fluttershy, I inadvertently took her through a portion of one of my nightmares, had a psychotic episode and thought I could run through apparently-solid dream doors, I wouldn’t be surprised if poor Fluttershy was terrified by the sight of me.”

“Nonsense, Soren.” Lyra laughs, crouching down beside me. With one hand, she musses my mane while rubbing one of my ears with the other. Oh sweet Jesus those hands are heavenly on my ears. “Fluttershy was the one who stayed with you while Twilight came to get me.”

Well, Fluttershy guilt is out, and so is being too girly. Maybe I’m making too big of a deal out of this whole affair... Does it really all boil down to me not wanting to get too involved with ponies who have shown me nothing but kindness and concern? Or am I basing this all on some admittedly two-dimensional impression of a character based on the show? Either way, I’ve run out of valid excuses for why I can’t go to the spa with them.

“Fine, I’ll go.” I say, trotting towards the door with my eyes on the ground.. “You go on ahead though, Rarity. I’ve got something I need to do.” I turn and watch as the others follow me out. Rarity locks the door, and then canters off with a surprising bounce to her step. Surely she’s not happy just from getting me to go to the spa. “Lyra, in my bag there should be a mechanical pencil, and a notebook. Could you please give them to me? I need to write some things down before I forget them, or who I am.”


- - -


When Lyra and I finally catch up, Rarity has already met up with Fluttershy in the lobby of the Ponyville Day Spa and is waiting for us. Turns out that Lyra is, of course, correct about the pegasus. The butter-yellow pegasus is no more scared of me than a blade of grass is afraid of breeze. If anything, she seems pleased to see me up and about.

“Oh thank goodness you’re okay!” she says, beaming. “With the way you ran into that door, I was worried you might never wake up.”

Lyra can’t contain herself, bursting out with laughter. “Well, my head is pretty hard,” she snickers. Even I find that pretty amusing, giggling alongside her. “It’ll take a lot to take me down.”

“Sounds like we have more in common than I thought,” I mumble and roll my eyes. Still, it’s impossible for me to restrain a grin. “So, Fluttershy. I hope you don’t mind that Lyra and I have tagged along.”

“It’s alright,” she replies sweetly. Somehow, I’m not completely sure she was immediately on the idea. “Rarity told me you’d be coming. At first I wasn’t sure because it’s always been just the two of us, but then—”

“Fluttershy, you don’t have to say it.” I smile. “I don’t expect you to be one-hundred on my being here, but I’m thankful all the same.” Cocking my head towards Rarity, a question bubbles to the surface. “I’ve never personally been to a spa before, even if I’ve seen what goes on in them plenty of times. What’s first on the agenda?”

“Well, first we check in, of course.” She gives one of those rich lady laughs and then waves a hoof towards the two spa ponies behind the desk. “Lotus, Aloe, we’re ready now.”

A blue earth pony with a pink mane held back with a white headband—Lotus Blossom, I think it was—trots from around the welcome desk with a clipboard held in her mouth. Coming to a stop in front of the four of us, places the clipboard in the crux of her fetlock and smiles at Rarity and Fluttershy. “Miss Rarity, Miss Fluttershy, so good to see you again.” she croons in that lilting accent—I’d almost say Swedish or Norwegian, except we’re in Equestria. “Party of four?”

“Yes darling.” Rarity nods. “Our friend Soren here has had an awful time of things lately, and we’d all like to help him unwind.” For a second, I am almost sure she was going to introduce me as ‘Sora’ and come up with some convoluted reasoning later, such as the spa ponies not coping well with magical gender benders or some such nonsense. “After all, he has been stuck in dear Lyra’s body at the most inopportune of times.”

Lotus gives but a small sniff, and turns to me with a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we would be happy to relieve you of all your stresses.” She turns back to the doorway she came through from the front desk booth, where her palette-swapped compatriot—sister?—Aloe was peering out at her questioningly. “Three mare-sized robes and...” She glances at Lyra before continuing. “... one stallion-sized for our guests.”

While Aloe fetches the robes, Lotus leads us to a small room off of the entry hall lined with cubbyholes for patrons to store their personal effects. To my surprise, there’s even a privacy screen present for those uncomfortable changing in front of others. Accepting one of the robes from Aloe, I dart behind the screen and gently remove my blanket-cloak. 

It’s barely noticeable, but I realize that the more Lyra’s memories take hold, the easier it is to manipulate objects. I can only imagine that it’d take far longer for a young pony learning magic to exhibit such precision manipulation. Untying the two knotted corners is but a simple affair, and before I know it, I’m smoothing out the wrinkles and folding the cloth. In a heartbeat, I’m all dressed in the robe. 

As I slip out from behind the privacy screen, all eyes in the room are on me. It’s no wonder, really. They all grew up in a culture where there was never a nudity taboo, so to see a pony seemingly anxious about changing in front of the others is probably unheard of. The privacy screen is probably there for other species that do value privacy... or something like that. Lyra certainly has no problem disrobing in front of the others in my body. Of course, karma is paying her back quite well, as she looks ridiculous in that poorly fitted robe—bulky around the barrel, but ultimately short on the legs.

I return their curious looks with a noncommittal shrug. “What? A gentleman never watches a lady change, and it would be inappropriate for me to disrobe before you all, even if we are all presently female.” Yeah, it’s a feeble attempt to protect my own dignity, but I figure if anypony can appreciate that line of thinking, it would be Rarity—not that I’m trying to impress her. Turning my eyes aside, I levitate my folded blanket into the same cubbyhole as my bag and Lyra’s clothes.

“Oh, nothing darling,” she says, smiling. Turning, she motions that we should follow after the spa ponies. “I was just just marveling at how different our cultures must be. If all ponies wore clothing every day like your kind does, I could only imagine how profitable my profession would be.” Of course she would think like that. “I’m still curious what would lead to such a taboo on nudity.”

I mull that over for a bit. I’ve never understood it much either. It isn’t until we have entered the sauna and Lotus starts pouring water onto the coals to fill the room with steam that I realize that I don’t have a good answer. “Honestly, I don’t know, Rarity. It would be simple to blame religion. After all, one of the more prominent faiths in my world touches on that very taboo, but never explains why.

“I might not be one hundred percent on the details, but as the creation myth goes, God created the first humans in the Garden of Eden—God’s creation playground, I guess—and basically told them that the world was their oyster, but forbade them to eat from two specific trees. Those trees were the ‘Tree of Knowledge’ and the ‘Tree of Life’. After being tricked by a snake—symbolic of evil incarnate—into eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, they became aware of things that had never occurred to them before—Good, Evil, and apparently that being naked was shameful.

“Furious with their disobedience, their God expelled them from the Garden of Eden before they could be tempted into eating from the Tree of Life, which would apparently have given them god-like power and wisdom.” Even though their attention is fairly rapt, I realize I’m rambling. After all, the point was the whole nudity shaming thing. “Eh, but I digress. Nopony really knows why these days. They just all have their own excuses for why they shouldn’t be nude.”

Aside from the hissing coals of the sauna, nopony seems to want to say anything. “That’s, um, quite a tale, Soren,” Rarity finally speaks up. “But are you sure you aren’t just twisting the Birth of the Alicorns legend just a bit too much?”

“What?”

Lotus opens the door indicating it is time to move on to the next task. Through the clearing steam, Lyra smiles at me from across the sauna. “I guess you haven’t gotten that memory yet.” She giggles. “That creation tale you just told us is very similar to the story of how Princesses Celestia and Luna came to be. Like your Garden of Eden, the first ponies were created by the Goddess, and told not to eat the fruit of two particular trees. The stories diverge when the goddess asked two young ponies—Luna and Celestia—to help her shape the world, telling them to eat the fruit of both trees.”

We are lead out into another room with comfy looking chairs, tubs of mud, showers, a giant pool of water, and shallow pools of water. Lotus ushers us to lay on the chairs. “So how did Discord come to be, then?”

“Something about a mischievous little pony who couldn’t decide what he wanted to be.” Lyra giggles. I would look over at her with a smile, but Aloe has already started slathering a mud-mask onto my face, quickly topping my eyes with cucumber slices. “That’s what the story says, anyway.”

“Can we have a change of topic?” Fluttershy asks softly before I can even ask about Cadance. “That is... if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, please,” Rarity adds emphatically. “Discord is kind of a sore subject for us all after his last excursion. Let’s all just take this time to relax and enjoy the spa.”

I never even thought about that. I would have thought that they were all happy after their victory, but I suppose what happened to them would have some lasting effects. Does the act that I didn’t think about that before asking about Discord in front of them make me a thoughtless person? Or am I still narrowly thinking with preconceptions from the show?

There’s no more time to think about that when something brushes against my horn. Sweet Jesus that tickles... They’re filing my—Lyra’s—horn, aren’t they? “Ahahah, oh wow, that tickles!” I cry out, unable to contain my giggling. In the background, Lyra’s giggling at my torture. Wow, this is like some sort of brain tickle. Seeing as the horn is attached to the head and is used to direct the flow of a unicorn’s magic, I know it’s only natural the thing would have some nerve endings and brain tissue in it.

In between bouts of giggling, I can hear Rarity talking to Lyra. “I know some ponies have more sensitive horns, Lyra darling, but I didn’t think you were ticklish.”

“I didn’t even know a unicorn’s horn could be ticklish.” Fluttershy’s meek voice carries over my laughter.

“Oh yeah,” Lyra replies. “Bon-Bon knows it too.” Mental images, no thank you Lyra!

Thankfully, the file stops rubbing against my horn before I wet myself with laughter. When the file returns to attack my hooves, I am too tired to care or struggle. It’s not eve nearly as bad as having the horn filed. Sure, it still tickles a bit, but really it’s not much different from filing a nail. I can feel them smoothing out the rough edges, and I’m thankful for it. A rough hoof against a thin patch of fur is something I’ve felt the last few nights, and it isn’t all that comfy.

The massage that follows is absolutely heavenly. They’re being gentle as all hay, but at the same time whoever it is has nice a nice firm touch—even through the robe. “I don’t know who you are, but if you keep that up, I just might have to marry you,” I blissfully moan. I must have said something funny, because it seems like everypony in the room is giggling now. Okay, it is pretty silly, proposing marriage over a massage, but come on! They’re working out knots in muscles I didn’t even know I had!

“If this is heaven, I don’t ever want to leave,” I mumble, not noticing the massage has stopped.

“But Mister Soren, it’s time for the mud bath!” Lotus—or was it Aloe—giggles in my ear.

Darn, even good things have to end I guess. With a groan, I push myself back up onto my hooves while wiping my face clean with magic. I look into the eyes of Aloe and give a small smile. “What about all this?”

“The sink.” She giggles at my seemingly silly behavior. “You’re supposed to rinse it off.”

Ooops. I look off to one side of the room and spot a sink. After a quick trot—wow, my muscles feel all loose now—I stand in front of the sink and drop the hovering glob of mud in before turning on the tap. Splashing water against my face with my hooves. Once my reflection shows my face is spotless, I rub it dry before trotting to the mud baths.

Lotus and Aloe are already helping Rarity get into her seaweed wrap, but they have enough time to give me a questioning look that transcends words. ‘Do you want one too?’ I quickly shake my head no and make my way to the mud bath Lyra’s occupying. I know there’s only two mud baths, and I’d rather two friends be together.

“So, Soren, indulging in a little bit of girly pleasure isn’t all that bad, is it now?” she asks, watching me sheepishly shuck the bathrobe and sink into the mud. “This is so much better than just lazing around getting yelled at by Bon-Bon.”

The warmth of the mud is wonderful on my freshly loosened muscles. It’s even better than just getting a massage. “Yeah,” I admit. “This is pretty wonderful. I think for the first time since all this began, I actually feel kinda happy.” I smile softly as I wiggle into a more comfortable position.

“Attaboy, Soren!” Lyra cheers, sliding her way around the mud bath and pressing against me in a hug, breasts and all. “You just gotta look on the bright side of life and everything will be fine!”

“Always look on the bright side of life, eh?” I laugh, squirming against her grip. Lyra, do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to have what is essentially my own breasts rubbing up against me? Are you trying to turn me on? “That kinda make me sing a certain song.”

“Is it a human song?”

“Damn straight.” I laugh, freeing myself of her cleavage crush and scrambling over to the other side of the bath. With a short cough, I try to recall the lyrics. Try as I may, the words won’t come, so I’ll ad-lib it and hope for the best. “Some things in life are wrong; they can throw you to the throng. Or you just want to watch the world burn. When you’re staring down a missile, don’t sweat it; roll a crit, and things’ll always turn out just perfect...”

The mud in the dead-center of the bath begins to bubble, and then without warning a pony-shaped mass of mud rises out of the mud. Two bright blue eyes open, and then the most terrifying grin appear on that pony-thing’s face. It opens its mouth, and the familiar voice of Pinkie Pie says, “And... never you mind the bad side of things...”

I let out a nine-note whistle before continuing the chorus in tandem with Pinkie. “Never you mind the bad side of things...” Again, I whistle those nine notes.

“Tell me this isn’t happening...” Rarity sighs.

Lyra looks slack-jawed at me and Pinkie before looking at Rarity. “It is.”

“If sanity’s running low, there’s somewhere you should go, and that’s the place that makes you want to sing,” we trill together in a mock British accent. “If you’re struggling on life’s humps, don’t you take them lumps! Just turn around and smile with your friends!”

“And... never you mind the bad side of things...” This time Lyra has joined in. In sequence, the three of us whistle the nine note riff. “Never you mind the bad side of things!”

“You take this one solo, Pinkie!” I whisper and wink.

“For I am most absurd, and the bird’s the word. You must always face your friends with a smile!” She makes a point stretching her cheeks with her hooves, showering the floor and walls with mud in the process. “Never mind the bad—that’s a good lad! Just bear it and your friends will stick around!”

“So never you mind the great side of things...” Pinkie and I exclaim together, tripping up Lyra. “Just remember that Redbull gives you wings!”

“This is how it ends, surrounded by new friends,” I sing, causing Fluttershy to blush and Rarity to smile lightly. “I’ll lose my mind without a care; it’s true!” I let out a big grin. “This might just be a show; I’ll keep fighting as I go. Just don’t think that the last laugh is on me...”

“And... never you mind the bad side of things...” The three of us sing again, with the accompanying whistle from the spa ponies, who in spite of the profanity that just erupted in their spa seem to thoroughly enjoy the musical number. “Never you mind the bad side of things!”

Pinkie and I continue for a couple of more cycles before finally cycling down into two heaving heaps in the mud. At that point, I can no longer contain my own amusement at what had just occurred. I have just taken part in a musical number with Pinkie, and it’s a Monty Python number no less. Sure, we didn’t nail the lyrics, but we managed to tie the absurdity of my situation in perfectly. That’s just fuckin’ magic right there! Pinkie joins in with the laughter, and Lyra soon after.

“What brings you here, Pinkie darling?” Rarity asks when the laughter dies down. “Did your Pinkie Sense warn you about a musical number that needed your assistance?”

“Oh no, silly!” Pinkie chirps happily. “I just came by to give the four of you invitations to my ‘Welcome to Equestria, Soren’ party! The song was just a lucky break!”

It’s only now that I notice she has some sort of container on her head, apparently sealed. With a bit of magic, I have the container open, and drop two near Rarity and Fluttershy’s robes, and another by Lyra’s. Finally, I levitate the last one in front of my face. Breaking the tiny wax seal with my horn, I read the contents.

I, Pinkamena Diane Pie, formally invite you to a special party for a special, special friend! You are invited to a party to welcome Soren—the human in Lyra’s body—to Equestria, and make him feel better! No gifts are necessary, but treats are always welcome!  The party is tonight at 8PM, and Bon-Bon has been kind enough to host this party at her residence! I hope to see you there, because I have a super-duper special surprise planned!

"Fuck, I needed this," I moan, slipping back into the mud. "Thanks a million, Rarity."
> Responsibility
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So... Remind me again why I need to go to Sweet Apple Acres, Lyra,” I ask, idly magicking the hood of my cloak up over my head. “I thought I made it clear after we left the spa that I wasn't keen on getting too friendly with all of the bearers of the Elements of Harmony—heck, just being at a party with all of them is more than I'm officially comfortable with.”

Lyra turns her head slightly, peering at me out of the corner of her eye. “Come on, Soren. Just because it's a common stereotype in fan-fiction doesn't mean it's a bad thing for a little meet and greet before the party.”

“Fluttershy didn't you make you eat a bar of soap because you have a terrible potty-mouth.” I spat back, tasting the soap on my words. “I'll be surprised if I don't shit suds later!” Having almost literally ingested a whole bar of soap, that isn't too far off, right? Seriously, who knew that swearing was right behind bullying her friends on the list of Flutter-rage triggers? I'm going to have nightmares about Fluttershy and soap now.

“She said she was sorry after she got a hold of herself, didn't she?” From the angle of her head, I can just make out the upward tug at the corner of her mouth. Speaking of her head, why do her ears look more pointed than normal? “Regardless, I've gotta go see the Apples this afternoon.”

I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Why?”

Stopping in her tracks, Lyra turns to face me. “Well...” Oh god, she's blushing. Either she's about to tell me something embarrassing, or she did something bad. Both are viable choices knowing Lyra's track record lately. “I was supposed to go to the marketplace and pick up a bushel of apples for Bon-Bon, but we sorta got sidetracked by the spa. Since the market's closed at this hour, it means we have to go to the source for apples now.”

“What?” I make an effort of covering my disapproving look with one hoof. Looking up into her eyes, I groan. “You could have said something!”

… and out come the puppy-dog eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. You needed to relax, and I wanted to take your mind off the party for a bit.”

A pang of pity hits me. Of course she was trying to make it up to me. Still... There's helping a friend, and then there's attending to one's duties. “Lyra, we humans have a saying,” I respond with a slight smile. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” Recognizing her expression changing to one of hurt, I quickly add, “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can't just shirk your duties on my account.”

The remainder of the trip through the streets of Ponyville is met with absolute silence. It’s not that there’s not a lot to be said; there actually is so much I should be saying. I’m not a clever pony though—or even a real pony for that matter. Anything I say would only dig me into a big hole. The best thing I can do is give her time.

Still, it’s nice to actually get a chance to look around Ponyville as we walk in the general direction of the Apple family’s orchards. When I was running away from Pinkie Pie, I didn’t look at anything beyond ‘Can this help break line of sight?’ Now though, I can actually take in the charming nature of the almost medieval designs of their homes. Honestly, they remind me of something out of an Elder Scrolls game what with their thatched roofs and timber frames. That much is a bit nostalgic for me.

All of the ponies just look so friendly, too. As we cross the town square from the spa—making our way around the curvature of town hall—I don’t think there is a single pony that hasn’t waved, called out a hello, or given a polite nod. It is even amusing when a few call out a ‘Hello Lyra,’ while looking at me, only to have Lyra reply. Even if we’re keeping quiet, we can still share amused looks, right?

As we move further out of town, the first apple trees come into sight. I rack my mind, trying to recall the last time I was on an orchard. Immediately a feeling of disorientation washes over me as two conflicting memories come to mind. On the one hoof, Lyra was here seemingly only a few months ago for some vague reason. On the other hoof, I personally haven’t set foot in an apple orchard since about 2000. How fucked is it that I’m having two distinctly different memories of the same one-answer question?

It’s when the farmhouse comes into sight that I hear the laughter and chattering of children filtering through the orchard off to the left. Somewhere, out there, the Cutie Mark Crusaders are up to something. Lord only knows it’s probably going to result in them ending up covered in tree sap and pine needles. Part of me is curious to find out what they could possibly be up to this time, but the desire to keep up with Lyra is too great. After all, I don’t even know where her home is yet. If I got separated from them, I don’t think I could find my way any further back along my path than the Boutique, never mind the library.

Then I can clearly hear two of the fillies counting down. I hear another cry out, “I changed my mind!” This cry is quickly followed by a distinct sound of something thick cutting quickly through the air and screaming. That doesn’t make any sense though, the three of them were off to my left; the screaming is coming from above me.

I look up and quickly feel my gut cramp up. Hurtling through the air towards me in a high arc is a ball of grey, pale rose, and pale mulberry closely followed by a separate speck of light green that I can only assume is a helmet. With a groan I realize it’s Sweetie Belle, and whatever they were doing resulted in her helmet strap coming undone.

No time to consult Lyra! While I could probably slow her fall with magic, there’s no way for me to completely stop her descent with magic alone. I need something to catch her in! I sweep my eyes across the treeline. To my relief there’s a large apple basket sitting empty at the bottom of a tree. I grab it in my telekinetic grip, and hoist it above me and then focus on Sweetie. 

There’s no way I’ll be able to grab her while she’s falling. My telekinesis—levitation, Lyra’s memories chide me—has improved incredibly with the onset of more of Lyra’s memories, but it’s still nowhere near refined enough to catch a moving object. My gut tells me that it isn’t what I need to do at any rate. Instead, I imagine waves of air thrusting upward contrary to Sweetie’s arc. Sure enough, she appears to be slowing down as though being buffeted by an updraft.

Sweating, I continue forcing the air upward against her while tracking her trajectory with the basket. It’s clear to me now that this isn’t something somepony of my level of experience should be trying on a whim—separating my attention between two different iterations of the same spell, particularly one that requires pulsing instead of a continual stream of magic applied to something infinitesimally small like the air itself—but I don’t care. All that matters is that I can make a difference, right?

The closer the filly projectile draws to the basket, the more I begin to feel a burn in my horn and a pounding in my head. I realize that though Lyra’s shouting something, I can’t even hear her. Even as I watch the filly land safely in the basket, my legs turn to jelly. I slump to the ground, with my mind still locked on the levitation spell applied to the basket, slowly lowering it to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I make my miserable attempt at steadying my adrenaline enhanced pulse in hopes of easing the pounding of blood in my ears and the rest of my head. I’m certain Lyra’s probably scolding the filly, but I can hear nothing over my own pulse. It takes a few moments, but when I feel I’m steady as I’ll ever be, I push myself back to my hooves.

The filly is staring at me from the basket with a grateful—albeit confused—expression, but she isn’t saying anything. She seems just as shocked by the whole ordeal as Lyra is. Clearing my throat, I ask dryly, “Are you alright, Sweetie Belle?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lyra,” she offers weakly, as though afraid of reproach. Hasn’t Lyra scolded her?

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in. “That’s a relief,” I say calmly. “I’m not Lyra though. I’m just borrowing her body for a while.” I nod toward the awestruck human behind the filly. She looks up at Lyra, and then a look of recognition crosses her face. Clearly Sweetie has at least seen Lyra in my body before. “Call me Soren.”

“Thank you for saving me, Miss Soren,” Sweetie replies a bit stronger. It’s not quite what I had in mind, but it’s probably as close as I’ll get without completely confusing the filly.

I’m about to ask her what in the nine hells the three of them were up to when from out of the treeline dart two equally familiar fillies. Crowding around Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo begin pouring on apologies and hugs. That’s when I notice something common to all three fillies; they’re all wearing oddly shaped knapsacks. Surely those aren’t...

“Why didn’t ya use yer parachute?” Apple Bloom asked, as though noting the basket, and adding up the presence of a full-grown unicorn to figure out what happened instead.

“I was too scared and my helmet—”

“What in the hay were you three thinking?” I ask, my tone firm and angry. My glare darts from each of their faces. “How did you even end up in the air like that?”

“We were just trying to get our pony cannonball cutie marks!” Scootaloo blurts out almost immediately. “Honest!”

I raise my eyebrow, incredulous, and look at Lyra. “I knew these three were reckless, but not this reckless Lyra.”  I look back to the three fillies and ask again, “How did you do it.”

“Well, we were gonna use a cannon,” Applebloom begins. “Nopony is gonna give three fillies access ta a stunt cannon, though.”

“So then I had the idea that we might be able to build a substitute!” Scootaloo exclaims, missing the gravity of it all. “Sweetie found this book in the library that had the design for something called a tre... treb...”

“Trébuchet,” Sweetie whispers, completing the word for her friend.

“Yeah, that!” Scootaloo laughs. “So we built a small one, tested it a few times, and then drew straws.”

“I drew the shortest...” Sweetie frowns. “If you hadn’t saved me, I don’t think Rarity would have let me live, even if the fall didn’t...”

I momentarily cover my face with one hoof. I mean, I’m all for the three of them finding out who they are, but the unattended dabbling with medieval siege weapons is fucking insane! If they’d only been launching rocks, I might have even looked to help them understand the safety behind it, if nothing more than to be something close to adult supervision, but launching each other with such a thing is too going too far. Sweetie could have been killed!

With a deep breath, I soften my glare, but make sure to retain the reproach in the look. “You three...” I shake my head. “Girls, I know this isn’t what you want to hear—heck, I’m not sure I have any right to judge your activities in your quest for your cutie marks having only gotten to Equestria today—but you three went way too far today.

“The lot of you seemingly get yourselves into danger on a regular basis, and it needs to stop. Surely your cutie marks aren’t worth the lives of one of your friends!” I say firmly, looking at each of them in turn. “This is almost worse than any of the times you’ve gone gallivanting off in the Everfree. Not only could Sweetie Belle have been hurt, she could have been killed.” 

“You’re not our mother!” Scootaloo shouts out. “What right do you have to talk to us like that?”

“Yeah!” Apple Bloom adds in quickly.

I point a hoof towards where Sweetie’s helmet had landed a few yards away. It is nothing but a shattered wreck of hardened green plastic and internal padding. “That could easily have been her head. I know your families know you get yourselves into trouble, but I honestly don’t think they have any idea just how badly your crusading requires adult supervision!” The three fillies tremble in fear at my verbal onslaught. It’s finally clicking in that they’re in serious trouble, and still Lyra’s silent. I just hope that she gets her voice back soon.

Finally, I sigh and look down at the ground. “Lyra, do you happen to know Scootaloo’s family?”

“I—Yeah,” she says. Her voice sounds hoarse, as though she’s been shouting. I realize she probably was during Sweetie’s descent. “Why?”

“I want you to take those two up to the farm,” I say, pointing towards Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. “After getting your bushel of apples from AJ, explain to her just what happened today, particularly the bit about them constructing and playing with medieval siege weapons unattended, and then take Scootaloo home. Make it clear that the three families need to meet and find some way to ensure the fillies get some form of supervision.”

The three fillies look back and forth between my face and Lyra’s—or is that Lyra’s pony face and my human face?—for some idea of what’s happening. “What about you?” she asks, crouching down behind the three fillies, placing her hands gently on Scootaloo and Apple Bloom’s backs reassuringly.

“I’ll take Sweetie Belle back to the boutique myself,” I say softly, slowly raising my eyes to meet Sweetie’s. “I might not have had the best opinion of Rarity in the past, but I honestly think I have a better chance of her listening to me when I say I don’t want them severely punished. I did save her little sister, after all.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes light up a bit hearing that I didn’t want them punished. The other two don’t seem wholly convinced, and their facial expressions match it. There’s just the slightest bit of accusation in their eyes. Can I really blame them? Some stranger inhabiting a familiar pony’s body has just told them she’s going to rat them out for doing something they knew they probably weren’t supposed to be doing in the first place, and now she says that she doesn’t want them punished. I’d be fucking suspicious too.

“So...” Lyra asks, “Do you want your bag?”

“Yeah...” I glance at Sweetie again. “Could you spare a few bits, too? I spotted Sugarcube Corner on one of the streets we passed on our way here, and I figured I could wait for you there.”

As Lyra removes her coin purse from her cleavage—why didn’t Rarity give her any pockets or anything she could hang the thing off of?—I give Sweetie Belle a quick wink. The filly might have been doing something stupid with her friends that required reprimand, but she also almost died. I think that deserves something, right? I watch as Lyra tucks a few bits—one silvery and  two coppers—into a side-pocket on my bag, and tosses the satchel gently. “The silver ones are worth ten copper, just so you know."
> Responsibility II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sweetie Belle,” I begin to ask after having a bite of a cupcake. My eyes momentarily dart around Sugarcube Corner, taking in the clientele and architecture. “Why do you let them talk you into doing dangerous things like that?”

The filly looks up from her own half-eaten cupcake, a dollop of frosting on the end of her muzzle. “What do you mean?” she asks a bit defensively. “I wanna do those things!”

“Well, it's obvious you aren't into some of the more extreme stuff you guys do. At times, you look like you want to try something safe like basket weaving.” Unthinking, I levitate a little napkin from a dispenser and gently wipe the frosting from her face. “Apple Bloom may be level-headed and your group's voice of reason, but even she gets caught up in some of Scootaloo's schemes, like the trebuchet. Even from the road I heard you shout that you'd changed your mind, but they still launched you, right?”

“I guess...” She looks down, seemingly not wanting to finish her treat.

“Cheer up kiddo.” Reaching a hoof across the table, I give her a warm smile and gently tousle her mane. “You just need to be more assertive with your friends.”

Sweetie just looks more and more stricken. “That's if Rarity ever lets me see them again.”

“Well hopefully she'll listen to what I have to say, then.” I give her a little smile and levitate her cupcake in front of her face. “I saved your life. My word has to count for something. I promise I'll try.”

“Do you Pinkie Promise?” The corner of her mouth pulls upward.

Suddenly, I feel like somepony's watching me. Undoubtedly those words trigger some sort of Pinkie Sense that summons her upon mention of a Pinkie Promise. Sure enough, when I turn my head slightly, I catch movement in the dirt of a potted plant. Why couldn't she just peer at me from the entrance to the kitchen? That's where she was, wasn't it? “You betcha, Sweetie. Cross my heart, hope to fly,” I cover one eye with a hoof. “Stick a cupcake in my eye.” Again I look back to the potted plant, and Pinkie’s head is there nodding and covered in dirt.

Well, now I have to keep that promise that I would try to talk Rarity down forever. “Thank you again... for saving me.” Sweetie smiles and finishes her levitating cupcake. “I just hope you're right about my sister. Sometimes, she's just too intense.”

“Look, I know you're feeling conflicted about me, and you want to think of me as a bad-guy for what I have to do, but you three really do need supervision,” I reply softly, nibbling on my own pastry. “Any one of you could have died today. How do you think they'd all feel if that'd happened?”

She looks thoughtful for a moment before meeting my gaze. “They'd be pretty sad... and probably mad, too.”

I nod soberly. “That's right, hon.” Looking to the door with thoughts of Lyra in my mind, I continue, “They'd be sad and angry. It wouldn't be because you three did something dangerous and dumb, but because they are responsible for you. They'd be upset because they'd know deep down inside that they were to blame because the three of you never had guidance. They're responsible for your safety and your happiness, even if it doesn't always seem that way...”

… and Lyra was just trying to think of my own happiness and safety when she shirked her duty to get those apples, I realize. She did that because Bon-Bon made her responsible for me. Not only that, but if Lyra hadn't taken me to the spa, we wouldn't have been there when the Crusaders fired their trébuchet. Her responsibility to me is ultimately what saved Sweetie Belle today. God, now I feel like a right arsehole talking to Lyra the way I did earlier.

“Are you okay?” Sweetie asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You looked so sad all of a sudden.”

I realize that there are actually tears rimming my eyes. Levitating up another napkin, I wipe my eyes before looking back to Sweetie. “Sorry, I just realized how badly I treated somepony who was acting in my best interests when all they were doing was acting on their responsibility for me.” In spite of my poor spirits, I laugh. “Kinda funny when you think about it... Me ranting about responsibility after treating the one responsible for me badly.”

Unsurprisingly, the humor of it all is lost on her. Sweetie Belle just gives me this incredibly confused look. I suppose the concept of situational irony is a bit too much for a filly her age. For that matter, what is her age? Nope, don't ask. I'm not sure I want to know about pony lifespans.

“So, shall we get going, little one?” I nod toward the door whilst levitating our detritus into a waste bin. “Better to tear the bandage off all at once and it only hurt a bit than to tear it off slowly, drawing out the pain.”


- - -


As I once again enter Carousel Boutique, it isn't lost on me that I'm spending a lot of time near one of my least favorite ponies from the show on my first day of Equestria. Even as the bell tinkles and Rarity calls down with a 'Just a moment,' I can't help but smile. Who'd have thought, eh? Well, fate is a strange thing, and I certain that the universe has a sick sense of humor for the one who goes by the pen-name Seven Fates.

As the clip-clop of Rarity descending the stairs rings out, Sweetie Belle ducks behind me. It's really not surprising. When I was a kid, I always wanted something solid between me and a parent when I was about to get yelled at. The poor kid knows she's about to get in trouble, and even though she was kinda understanding at the bakery, she's still just a kid after all.

“Hello again,  darling!” Rarity calls out as she steps through the door onto the main shop floor. “What brings you back to my humble abode?”

“I wish it was for better tidings that I came by.” I step aside, revealing Sweetie Belle.

Her smile drops as soon as she locks eyes on her sister. “Oh, I hope she wasn't any trouble!”

“Trouble is one way to put it, Rarity.” My voice is soft and full of regret. “Sweetie here nearly died today. If I hadn't been in the right place at the right time... well... What would have happened isn't a pretty mental image.” I actually have to fight the urge to flat out tell her that her sister's brains would have likely decorated the path to Sweet Apple Acres.

Dashing forward, the unicorn diva wraps her arms around her younger sister. “Oh darling, are you alright?” She fusses over Sweetie's appearance. “You're not, hurt, are you?”

Sweetie Belle shakes her head, and sheepishly replies, “No, Rarity. Miss Soren caught me before anything bad could happen.”

Backing up, Rarity places both front hooves on her sister's withers. “Caught? What were you three doing this time?” She looks Sweetie right in the eyes. “You three weren't paragliding without a safety line again, were you?”

“No, sis...”

I clear my throat. “Rarity, if I may?” I sit down beside Sweetie Belle before I continue. “The Crusaders constructed and were playing with medieval siege weaponry.”

“Sweetie Belle!” Rarity practically shouts.

“Rarity, I know as an outsider that I have no place saying this, but the girls need supervision on their Crusades,” I say firmly. “The three of them managed to construct a weapon of war without anypony noticing, and they were planning on using it to launch themselves for a pony cannonball cutie mark!”

Rarity stares aghast at her sister before staring back at me. “I know that you, Applejack, and Scootaloo's parents are all busy ponies, but your families really need to work out some sort of supervision plan for them.”

“Maybe after they're finished being grounded...” she mutters under her breath.

“That's another thing, don't be too harsh on her, or any of them. We both know it's a rough when we don't know who we are. They're only acting out like this because they don't have any guidance. Heck, Sweetie almost died as a result.” I shake my head and stand. “If you're going to punish them, punish them by finding somepony responsible to watch over them. Restricting how recklessly they can Crusade would be more beneficial than trying to separate them.”

Rarity and Sweetie Belle share a long moment staring into each others eyes. I turn away and face the door to give them a moment to themselves. I know Rarity is probably fighting the urge to chew Sweetie out in front of me. She's probably also grateful that her sister is still alive to chew out. I trust in the bearer of the Element of Generosity to not be too severe.

From behind me, I hear Rarity mutter, “Oh Sweetie Belle, whatever am I going to do with you?” Well, she doesn't sound angry, so that's a plus. “Who could we possibly get to watch you three?”

With a giggle, I turn back around and lean down beside Rarity's ear. “Don't tell Lyra that I told you this, but Bon-Bon wants her to be more responsible,” I whisper conspiratorially. “Your families might want to charm Lyra into helping out after we switch back.”

“Oooh darling, that is devilishly evil!” she replies with a giggle of her own. “I like the way you think. Thank you, for saving her.”

“Not a problem Rarity.” I smile, approaching the door. “I'm just glad that the spa trip provided the circumstances necessary to save her. I guess I'll be seeing you later this evening. Until then, ciao.”


- - -


Slipping back into Sugarcube Corner, I am surprised to find Lyra already there. She sits contentedly at the very table I had treated Sweetie Belle to a cupcake at only a short time ago. Unsurprisingly, she’s watching me with a raised eyebrow as I approach. I have no doubt that her expectations involved me waiting there for her instead of showing up after her.

“I’m surprised I was the first one here,” she says, sipping a mug of—I sniff the air—hot chocolate. Beside her on the floor is a large basket of apples. “Did Rarity freak out?”

I sit down across from her, in the seat that Sweetie had occupied. “Surprisingly, I thought she reacted very well,” I nonchalantly reply, opening my bag and levitating out a cookie. Again, Lyra raises her eyebrow at me as I nibble away at my treat. “I think when she realized how close she came to losing her little sister, she was just happy to have her come home at all. How about you? I expected you’d be out longer.”

Lyra shrugs, shifting uneasily in her less than accommodating seat. “Well, after Applejack found out what the Crusaders did, she said he had to do things herself.” This time, it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yes, I remembered to tell her what you said. She didn’t make any promises about punishment, but she gave her word that she’d talk to Scootaloo’s parents. All things considered, that’s probably as good as those two can get.”

Knowing I’ve done what I can regarding that situation, I let out a sigh. “Here’s hoping there’s no more siege weapons for those three.” Sure, I could laugh about it, but that sort of thing is pretty fucking serious. I look away and shake my head before finishing off my cookie.

Again I dip into my bag, retrieving the remaining three cookies I’d acquired during my previous visit to Sugarcube Corner. Instead of simply levitating the bundle out of my bag, I take it into my mouth and drop it onto the table, pushing it across the table towards Lyra. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier—for pissing all over your good intentions,” I say softly, flinching slightly at my own words.  More of Lyra’s sensibilities seem to be pushing through in spite of the spell. “I realized it during my own little lecture to Sweetie Belle that you were just looking out for me.”

“Soren...” she coos. “It’s oka—”

“It isn’t okay!” I shout, tears rimming my eyes. The entire bakery goes silent and everypony is watching me cautiously. I don’t care. I have to get this off my chest while I’m still me and not just some Lyra brain-clone with a different personality. I stare down at the table, my ears drooped in shame. “It’s not okay, Lyra,” I whisper. “I’ve treated you like the enemy since all this started, and in spite of your shortcomings and mistakes, you’re still treating me as you would treat any friend. I’ve been nothing if not childish and petty but that didn’t matter to you.

“You w-wanna know the kicker?” I ask, my voice hitching. “If I’d been more adamant on not going to the spa, there would have been a terrible tragedy today, and Rarity would be mourning the loss of her little sister! That sweet little filly that I saved would have been splattered all over the road to Sweet Apple Acres had I not been there.”

“Soren—”

“I didn’t save her, Lyra...” I sniffle, screwing my eyes shut. “You saved her. As sure as you lead me to the spa, you lead me to the spot she was destined to land. I’m so f-fucked up that I can’t even think straight, and all I can do is grump and whine and fight to survive. So what if I’m in estrus now? Mares go through this all the time, and it’s not like it’s unnatural to your body!” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “Why am I even worked up about Pinkie’s party? Ponies love them right? And—”

I find myself unable to speak. Of course, anybody would when they find themselves muzzle-first in their own chest, wrapped in a warm, boob-hug. Opening my eyes, I see Lyra’s silver-dusted face smiling at me sadly. “Soren, you don’t have to pretend to be strong.” She rubs my ear gently, as though she remembers how well I responded to it the last time. “We’re here for you, remember?”

“But... how will I ever go back to a normal life now?” I bury my face and sob, not caring if I’m technically planting my face between my own breasts now.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re turning into a pony, Lyra!” I snivel weakly. “My body is turning into a pony...”
> Spiral
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the second time today, I'm standing in front of the Ponyville library. Despite having been running around town all afternoon, Celestia's sun is still a fair bit away from the horizon. I'm not the best at guessing time, but if I had to, I’d say it's only five o'clock. In spite of all the walking I've been doing and the time spent in the spa, I'm not at all tired.

Casting a sidelong glance at Lyra, I can tell that she's not even winded either. There's that Equestrian stamina bleeding through again. She's been carrying that bushel of apples—heck, that has to be at least forty pounds right there clutched against her—since Sweet Apple Acres, and her arms don't even look sore. Does that mean my body is becoming an earth pony?

I know I should probably be freaking out about the whole 'my real body is becoming a pony' thing, but really I'm probably in shock. That, and this whole thing is some weird Going Native trope in the most literal sense—or was that the Fisher Kingdom trope? With all that's happened, I think it's only natural to be in shock. Then again, considering that I also spent more than a few minutes crying things outwith Lyra, I'm probably just emotionally drained.

Tentatively, I open the door and step into the library. The tinkle of a bell rings out as we enter, notifying Twilight or Spike to our presence. Sure enough, a masculine but young voice calls out, “Just a minute!” So I get to meet Spike this time. I was kinda wondering where the little bugger had gotten off to when we were by the first time. Then again, he's Spike, so he was probably off stalking Rarity or something.

Waiting for Spike to come and greet us, I hesitantly begin browsing the non-fiction here on the first floor. It's just a time-passing action, after all, I can't read Equestrian script all too well.  I mean, if I concentrate hard enough, I can probably read it, but who knows which memories I'd lose as a result? That's not something I'm willing to risk.

Speaking of memories, why is it that I'm having no difficulty remembering what happened yesterday or the day before, but my memory of anything prior to this beginning is full of more holes than Swiss cheese peppered with buckshot. It's kinda been bugging me, not just because I'm scared by this whole ordeal, but in the event that I lose all of my human memories, would I just be some confused and possibly psychotic Lyra brain clone?

“Lyra, what brings you and your...” he begins, as he climbs the stairs up from one of the lower floors. He looks cautiously between Lyra and me before finishing his thought. “...friend? Yeah. What brings you and your friend here this evening?”

“Spike, is Twilight in right now?” Lyra asks. I probably couldn't keep my shit together if I said anything, so on the way here, we both agreed that we should let her do the talking. “We really need to talk to her.”

Spike seems to think this over for a moment. His scaly visage is contorted in a grimace, and he almost seems disappointed. With a sigh, he replies, “Can't it wait until after this party she's going to tonight?” The little dragon rubs a claw under his chin as he looks pensively at the doorway that leads down to the fiction section. “She's had the reshelving of the fiction section on her schedule forever, and now she's working extra hard to get it done before the party. If we don't get it done tonight, it's going to be on my plate for the next month while she adjusts time in her schedules to dedicate more time to the—”

Lyra gives Spike a serious, pleading look,  freezing the dragon mid-sentence. “Spike, please!”

Even as Lyra and Spike lock eyes, I make my way by him to the door that leads down below. To hell with the plan, I don't want to wait for a response; I never liked letting others speak for me anyway. Instead, I do the only thing that comes to mind. The clip-clop of my hooves echoes weakly off of the wall as they lead me down the stairs.

The shelving units that line the circular wall here in the fiction section are barren this time around—a drastic change to be sure. Instead, there are towers of books stacked spine-out in front of the rows of shelves. Off to the far side, near the door to the smut room, is Twilight Sparkle. Floating all around her gripped in her violet aura are books as she sorts them into stacks in front of the shelves.

Traversing the carpeted floor I continuously eye the stacks, desperate not to lose my cool. Even if I can't read the characters, anypony with enough brains can pick up on patterns. It's not like their written script could be too different from their spoken language, right? Still, it'd be impossible for me to learn and memorize all the Equestrian characters off the spines of books.

Coming to a stop a few feet behind Twilight, I watch as the last stack completes itself. With a hitching voice, I make myself known. “Um, hi again, Twilight.” She doesn't flinch in surprise at my sudden speaking. Did she hear me coming? A twitch of my tail and a whiff of musk reminds me that I'm in estrus, and that she probably smelled me. “I heard that you were doing some reshelving before the party. Want a hoof, er, hand with that?”

She peers at me over her shoulder, her eyes curious, but appreciative. “I suppose it couldn't hurt.” She smiles and nods. “Sure, Soren. Another unicorn would make this go twice as quickly. You can take that side, and work your way around, and I'll start here.”

“Just to warn you, I can't read Equestrian script yet.” I laugh, trotting over to the far side. “Will that be a problem?”

Twilight's already at work on her own stacks, levitating them a stack at a time and into the shelves. “Not really. I've already sorted them all and organized them by shelf. As long as you keep left to right, top to bottom in mind, you'll be fine.” She turns to glance at me for a moment. There's a modicum of concern in her eyes. “Are you going to be alright with all of these books? It's a lot to ask of a pony inexperienced with magic, and it can be trying even for me at times.”

I look back to her and shrug. This time, I watch to see which end of the stack ends up where on the shelves. After making certain of it all, I say, “Repetition is what builds muscle strength, and practice makes perfect. I can only perfect my control if I put it to the test.” I wink at her and send a half-hearted smile her way. What I don’t add is that it would help take my mind off of what is troubling me. “I might be a bit tuckered from catching a falling filly and buffeting her with an updraft to slow her descent, but I will certainly do my best.”

Just don't push yourself. The words aren't spoken, but they're hanging in the air all the same. Without another word, I focus on the stack on the farthest left side of the shelving unit.

At first, when I try lifting the entire stack, my magic can't even manage an ounce of lift on the pile. I can't manage more than lifting one book. It's not for lack of trying; I'm just incredibly weak compared to Twilight. As I repeat the action a couple of times, however, I find my focus refining enough to lift two, and then three books at a time. I'm going nowhere as quickly as Twilight can, but it's progress, right?

Finally working up the courage, I say, “Twilight, my human body...” It's hard to manage the emotions of it all and still keep up the shelving. “I think it's transforming into a pony.”

Finishing my first unit, I pause for a breather and turn to face Twilight. She's not even facing her shelves as she works her own magic. She's just laying comfortably on a cushion, watching me. Oddly, it seems she's not shocked by this. Closing her eyes, she lets out a sad sigh. “Then it is true...”

“What is?” I drop the last few books in my grip onto the shelf and lower myself to the ground, drained by the effort. A tentative glance shows Lyra and Spike off filling bookshelves near the stairs. I guess she realized this was something I had to ultimately do for myself. Tears rim my eyes as my gaze turns back to the lilac mare's face. “Don't tell me that you knew something like this might happen.”

“Before you get mad at me, please hear me out.” She turns her head slightly, and a tome appears before her in a purple flash. “Back when I found out that Lyra had swapped bodies with a being from another realm, I began researching contact with extradimensional entities. As you can imagine, the materials here were quite limited, but even the Canterlot archives didn't have much either when I wrote to them about it.

“The only works they had on the subject were by Corkscrew the Eccentric, whose theories have been largely discredited by the world at large. He made many claims, but none of his experiments were ever successfully reproduced.” She shakes her head. “One of his experiments involved extruding a life-form from another realm into our own.”

“Then it's not the first time a pony has brought something from another realm here?” I ask.

“Nopony can prove that he did,” she replies glumly. “The memoir reported, however, that he successfully brought an avian creature of some sort to Equestria. For many months, he kept it in his laboratory. He noted in his studies that whenever he'd tend to his other experiments, the creature bathed in the magic radiating from his horn and whatever he was manipulating. Over those months, he noted the creature becoming more and more alike an Equestrian blue jay.

“He postulated that the bird must have come from a realm that was barren of magic.”

“Like mine...” I say softly. “So you're saying that this started when you had to flip my body's sex to keep me from being given a vasectomy?”

“No, Soren, I think it might have started the first time she ate here.” I give her a look of confusion. “Remember when you were brought to the hospital? When you woke, the doctor no doubt told you that you were rather malnourished for having been gone only a few days. Ponies replenish their magic reserves through both the ambient magic in the environment and their diet. If we don't have any magic exposure, we can't efficiently metabolize our food or replenish our reserves.”

Wow... It seriously sounds like a pony could die if they spent too much time on Earth. That sounds like a pretty terrible prospect, and if the switch-back doesn't occur, I could be counting my graces that they pulled me back here when they did. “There's nothing you can do, is there, Twilight?”

There's a solemn look in her eyes. “I'm not completely sure that I can help. Even if I could, I'm not sure I could find the answer before it's too late.”

So this is it, then? Even when I get my own body back, I'm going to be a fucking pony anyway? Jesus fuck, this pisses me off. It's like I've just been told that even though I've just survived the most horrifying car wreck, I'm going to die anyway because I have a brain embolism. Is this what true defeat feels like? Is this what they mean when they say 'the GM is a cheating bastard'? It isn't fair.

I push up off of the floor, and begin to walk up the stairs. Lyra moves to stop me, so I shake my head. “Go talk to Twilight. See if you two can't figure out what sort of pony I'm going to be.”

“But—”

“I'll be fine,” I reply softly. “I'm just going up to the second floor to do some thinking by myself.” I've got some writing to do. Letters... and instructions too.


- - -


“Soren, listen...” Lyra sits down beside me, and leans against me. Before I know what to think, she puts an arm—my arm—around my withers. “If you don't want to go through with the party, we'll understand. All you have to do is say so and I'll talk to Pinkie.”

The thought of Pinkie being told at the last minute to cancel the party crosses my mind, filling me with dread. I can see two possible outcomes in that scenario, and both terrify me. The first outcome is Pinkie deflating and going freakishly crazy again. Alternatively, she could spaz and get super pissed. “Nopony cancels a Pinkie Party!” comes to mind.

“I wasn't actually thinking about turning down the party, Lyra.” Resting my head against her ribs, I sigh. “If anything, the party sounds like just what I need to cheer up right now.” I look up at her and grin. “Besides, Pinkie is freaking scary about her parties and promises. I don't wanna end up inside a cupcake or anything.”

She pushes me away suddenly, looking deadly serious. “Don't ever say that!” She puts her hands on the sides of my face. “She's nothing like that!”

Before I know what's happening, I'm rolling on the floor, laughing hysterically. Not only did she get the reference, she thinks I was being completely serious. That's just too funny. “Oh man, Lyra.” I say, stifling my laughter. “I can't believe you even read that fic!”

“Soren, that isn't funny!” In spite of her stern expression, I can see the corners of her mouth fighting back a smile. “Why would anypony write such a thing?”

I take a moment to contemplate that question. I've considered writing my own bit of glue-fiction myself, but never had the desire. “Shock value, I guess.” I roll back up into a sitting position and shrug. “Point is that it isn't real, and that you've read it. How did it make you feel?”

“Horrible,” Lyra groans, realizing I'm just being playful. “For the first day, I couldn't hold food down, and I couldn't look at cupcakes for a week.”

“That just means you're a good pony Lyra. Don't ever doubt that.” I answer softly. A feeling of shame and dread is filling my own stomach. “It mean's you aren't stained by the dark humor of the human world.”

“How about you?”

The question that I didn't want asked has come to pass. I look at the floor in shame. “Hungry,” I say in a completely dead tone. Flicking my ear towards the stairs, I hear Twilight trotting up. “Let's get going and give Twilight some time to get ready.”

“Where to then?”

“Home.” I give her a smile. “After all, we’re going to a party, aren’t we? I’d like a chance to bathe or find some way to cover this odor.” I cough uncomfortably and then nod happily. “If we’re lucky, somepony will bring drinks and I can get blind drunk and forget everything for a few hours.”
> Interlude - Letters in the Notebook
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Scrawled on the inside cover of the notebook is a message.]

Lyra,

If you are reading this notebook, it probably means I'm too far-gone and I've entrusted it to you. If not, put the book down, and go do something else instead of prying. In this book, you'll find a few letters written to various people. These pages will be marked in the top right-hoof corner with your cutie mark. On these pages, I will also provide preferred methods of contact, and in the case of email, account access credentials. Please ignore any other pages that have writing on them.

~Soren


- - -


[The first few pages are blank. The first page marked with a lyre yields instructions that the letter is to be copied to a scroll and delivered in person.]

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know in recent years our relationship has been strained—even before this whole pony incident—with my unemployment but I want you to know that I've never stopped loving you both. That being said, you've probably guessed that if you're reading a letter instead of seeing me in person, I'm not coming home. Believe me, there's nothing more in the world that I'd have liked more than to come back. That’s just not possible in the present situation any more. I’m sorry.

Since arriving here in Equestria, things have been pretty hectic. Hell, just getting here was an adventure—plus a head injury—and a half. In my first moments here, I woke up only to find my host's body going into heat. Since that time, I've eaten hay, been chased around town by the local party pony, gone to a library inside a tree, visited a spa, and saved a child's life. This has all been in just the first day, and I've still got a party to go to.

I won't get into the specifics of why I can't return home aside from the knowledge that human bodies do not react well to being in Equestria, it seems. Know this though, I have a better chance to lead a successful and happier life here in Equestria than I ever did back home. There's a place for everypony in Equestrian society based on the merits of their special talent. I'll probably have a far easier time getting on my hooves here than I ever did there...

You don't have to worry about me here, either. I've got ponies who genuinely care for me as though I had always been here. Even the pony who caused this whole thing isn't that bad of a pony, and she's doing her best to take care of me in my last days as me. I'm in good hands.
Your loving son, always,

~Soren Friedrich


- - -


[The next few pages are torn out or blank. The next lyre-marked page bears no particular need for instructions.]

Dear Princess Celestia,

As of the time I am writing this letter, I have only been in Equestria for a few hours. In that time, your subjects have shown me more friendship than I ever thought possible, or even rightly deserve. They—your faithful student Twilight Sparkle included—have shown me through caring and concern that you don't have to know somepony all too well or even be from their world to qualify for friendship. Even though my mind is slowly eroding under the memory imprint of another, they're doing their best to show me a good time. You have many good ponies under your leadership, dear Princess, and I'm proud to call some of them friends.
Your not-quite-yet pony subject,

~Soren

[Scribbled at the bottom of the page is the message, “Lyra, please indulge a fool's silly little wish. It's not every day a pony fan goes to Equestria.”]


- - -


[The next marked page looks as though it was considered for removal after writing, having been torn in the margin. The instructions on this page provide the log-in credentials for an email address, as well as a recipient email.]

Jericho,

I know the last time we spoke ended pretty miserably—hell, I wasn't even sure I wanted to write this letter—but you deserve a proper goodbye. I really wasn't playing around the other night, but rather than get into all that shit about ponies, I'm going to tell it to you like it is. By the time you receive this e-mail (if it even gets sent), the man you knew as Soren Friedrich won't exist any more, and you'll never hear from him again. My memories are being overwritten, and there's nothing I can do. I meant what I said back in that IM after you stormed off. I really do love you like a brother. So what if we weren't blood brothers? The Mandalorians always said “Aliit ori'shya tal'din; family is more than bloodline.” I take that sentiment to heart. From one brother to another, goodbye. It was an honor having you as my best friend.

~Soren


- - -


[The second to last marked page bears no instructions, only a letter.]

Lyra,

I won't lie; when all of this began, I'd have liked nothing better than to slit you open from stem to stern and danced in your entrails. I was just so angry at the time. It was just so much grief for the wrong day, but come to think of it, I'm not sure I actually went through the denial and bargaining stages. I'm pretty sure I just started out pissed and then worked my way into depression. Still, you've helped me through that just today. You dragged me around and made sure I did stuff, met ponies, and helped me accept what was happening. I'm thankful for what you've done—and what I expect you'll continue doing after I write this.

That being said, you're really something else Lyra. Running around in that flimsy bed sheet with your nipples poking through... You really had no idea how tantalizing that was for me, do you? Then again, I suppose I can't blame you. Human sexuality is a strange thing, and I doubt you'd have picked up on that sort of thing unless you researched that sort of thing... but how could you have with the way you hugged me in the mud-bath? Skinship is all well and good between two comfortable individuals, but what you did came off as incredibly sexual, for I am(was?) a heterosexual male having two very nice breasts pressed against me. If you had known, I'd probably have accused you of being a tease.

I want to thank you and Bon-Bon again for taking me in. It really means the world to me. It might be asking a bit much, but when this is all over and done with, do you think you two might take me in for a time until I'm back on my hooves. Celestia knows, I'll probably need all the help—and therapy—I can get. Likewise, I'd like my thanks passed on to everypony. Twilight, Rarity, and Fluttershy all helped so much and there isn't anything I can do to repay them, and likewise, Pinkie is probably working her flank to the bone getting that party set up even as I write. Best you thank her for me too.

You have my best wishes in regards to your desire to have a foal. You and Bon-Bon may both be mares, but if there's something stories have told me is that love will find a way. She might have a dislike for foals, but I'm sure if you can prove you're responsible, she'll at least consider the idea.

Goodbye,

~Soren


- - -


[This last marked page has written at the top of the page “Return to Sender.” The note to Lyra explicitly directs her to give this letter to Soren once everything is done and over with.]

Hey there, future me. I have no doubt that you're probably confused as all hay right now. You're either sitting there with a noggin devoid of any memories not pertaining to the last week, or worse, you're sitting there with all of somepony else's memories knowing that you're a completely different pony with their memories. In that case, you're probably conflicted about your identity too. Don't panic. Flipping out won't solve anything.

Just make sure you listen to Lyra or Bon-Bon, or Twilight or whoever is there with you. They'll help you through this, and get you set up on your hooves. I don't know what sort of pony you'll become, or what your special talent will be when the time comes, but I'm incredibly proud of you. We're strong at heart, even if we don't always cope well with things. Know that regardless of where our life leads us here in Equestria, our heart will never lead us astray. It's been quite a ride, but this is our home now. Let's make it worthwhile.

I have only one final thing to say. “Aliit ori'shya tal'din; family is more than blood.” Our bloodline may lie in the old world, but family is what we make it. It can be whoever you choose it to be. Always remember this.


- - -


[Tucked in the back of the notebook is a crumpled sheet of note-paper that has been torn out and once more tucked into the book.]

Okay. People always say that writing things down can be a good way of dealing with things. With all the shit that has been going down, it seems like a better option that potentially making anypony uncomfortable. Heck, even Twilight—that studious little bookworm—seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of learning the male mind's insights on being in estrus. Hell, I'll give it a shot.

It's been driving me abso-fuckin-lutely crazy trying to ignore all these feelings. Sure, there's the warmth between the haunches and that pheromonal musk that advertises how ready Lyra's body is, but really? That's nothing. That's something that I've been able to put mostly out of my mind today. I haven't even really had to worry about inadvertently flagging some poor stallion with the way my back end has been covered by my blanket-made-cloak. Easy peasy.

Instead, I've been trying terribly to ignore this almost constant arousal. The whole day, my whole body has been tense, like some sort of full-body erection. I'm embarrassed by all of the thoughts I couldn't allow myself to feel, like when Lyra rubbed my ears. That felt really good, don't get me wrong, but it also felt so... sexual. How could I have been so aroused by ear play? I mean, fuck. I'm pretty sure I felt myself winking down there. How fucked up is that?

Then there's the desires. Of course there's the biological “You should procreate,” element to it all. That's probably what sickens me the most. There was some part of me—or Lyra, maybe—that yearned to be filled. Even as I'm letting my mind cross onto this slippery—ick!—topic, impulses and images bubble up telling me exactly what I should do. Lyra's body whispers that it would feel very good to let somepony ravish my marehood—just let them stretch it wide and 'hopefully' fill it with seed—and ensure 'my' bloodline carries on. Unwilling memories of Lyra and Bon-Bon engaging in all sorts of lewd acts soon follow. The only real thing that helped when these thoughts assailed me was that I'm not attracted to Lyra's lover in the least, even if her body is.

That's not the worst bit. The part that I never even hinted at when I mentioned the topic to Twilight was the Lyra factor. Well, it isn't actually Lyra I find myself attracted to—at least I don't think, but rather the body she's in. There's something undeniably erotic about seeing my own body as the opposite sex. Some sort of morbid wish-fulfillment? It doesn't help the way Lyra has unwillingly flaunted that body in front of me. That bed-sheet toga was bad enough. Just seeing my erect nipple poking through the thin cloth left me uncomfortably moist. When she started pressing my breasts against me in that spa mud-bath, I was afraid I was going to give into my arousal and jump her—my?—bones right then and there, for everypony to see—especially or everypony to see. That's what they call narcissism, isn't it?

Just thinking about all this leaves me feeling both ashamed and aroused. What would even happen if I just accepted this body and all the desires that came with it? Would I do something I regret? Would I discover something amazing? Could I make a new friend? Why did I even start thinking about this line of thought? God, I hope I get a chance to shower again before the party. Last thing I need is Pinkie declaring “Somepony's been naughty!” in the middle of the party in that adorable voice. That'd drive the nail home, and then there would be no denying anything any longer.

[Hastily scrawled on the bottom of the page, seemingly post crumple, is a message, “Despite how embarrassing this page was, I couldn't bring myself to burn it. If I denied this page's existence, I'd be lying to myself about what I'm going through. If you read this Lyra, I hope you can maybe understand just how uncomfortable you made me at times. I just hope I don't do anything I'll regret.”]
> Friendship is Irresponsible Drinking
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

There's something about having a shower after a particularly long day that just makes me feel amazing. That way my coat and mane feel clean and soft reassures me that I've been rinsed of all of my present stresses. Not smelling like the only thing on my mind is getting screwed senseless helps too. I'm just a clean pony unwinding before a party.

“Lyra, did you want to get cleaned up before the party too?” I nicker as I trot cheerfully out of the bathroom. “You kinda smell like me, if you catch my drift.”

“Somepony's in a good mood.” she giggles, lying on the floor in front of a small table in the study. On the table in front of her is a laptop, and the web browser is open to a very familiar page, bearing a screen-cap of a very specific scene. The page is Equestria Daily, and my—Lyra's—face is blown up on the page. “Maybe. Do you wanna explain this first.”

“What? My video actually made it?” I rush over to the desk, practically standing over her. “This I've gotta see!”

As I peruse the article, Lyra struggles out from beneath me and sits down next to me. While the article itself is indecisive as to the reality of it, as though the author wasn't quite convinced, the tone of it was relatively positive, concluding that 'Even if the video is a hoax, it's an expertly crafted one.' That isn't particularly of import to me. Just seeing some of the comments on the article is enough for me. Some are speculative, most are dismissive or argumentative, but surprisingly a good portion of the comments express some admiration of the video.

“Nothing like watching two people arguing over whether or not your body is nothing but an animatronic puppet, and your magic nothing but a bit of movie magic.” I snicker, looking to Lyra. “What do you think, my animatronic friend?”

“Why would you put my face out there for all to see?” she asks, rather flustered. “You've revealed our existence to your world at large!”

I smile at that. Shaking my head, I say, “Lyra, Lyra, Lyra. Most of the people who commented don't even believe the video is real.” I pat her on the shoulder with my hoof. “Sure, it might go viral among the My Little Pony communities—heck, if I'm particularly lucky, it might even make the news somewhere—but with no proof beyond the video, the hype'll eventually die down and be discounted as a hoax.”

Pursing her lips and puffing her cheeks out slightly, she looks back to the laptop. “Fine,” she moans. “You didn't get a signed release from me though!”

With that, I can't help but laugh. “Lyra,” I say, leaning awkwardly close to her face. “Your release form was the body swap spell.” I stick my tongue out at her, inadvertently licking her cheek.

“Yuck, Soren!” She pushes me back while wiping my cheek with the back of her hand. I fall to the floor, laughing. “What'd you do that for?”

“What did he do what for?” a voice asks from the doorway. Lyra and I both turn to see a tired-looking Bon-Bon standing in the doorway, staring at us both. I simply continue rolling on the floor tittering like an idiot.

“He licked me!” Lyra exclaims, looking mortified. “He just leaned in close to my face, stuck out his tongue, and licked me! With my own tongue!”

I stare up at the upside-down Bon-Bon and smile. “I didn't do it on purpose. Just sorta happened.” It's disorienting, but fun, to look at someone while you're lying on your back. “Besides, she was making this really cute face.”

“You know she's mine, don't you?” Bon-Bon says with a playful smirk. “Yeah, she does make some pretty cute faces.” She giggles and gives Lyra a knowing smile. Stepping back out the door, “I'm glad to see you're getting along. Just don't forget to cleaned up before everypony shows up. I know Pinkie's already downstairs getting everything set up.”

That's odd, I don't recall hearing Pinkie come in. Was that during my shower? Did she let herself in? Then again, Pinkie did say something about Bon-Bon agreeing to host the party. She probably gave Pinkie a key.

“You heard her, Lyra. Get to the shower.”

She gives me a sour look, but rises to her feet and quickly scurries out of the room. With a chuckle, I look back to Bon-Bon. It's pretty obvious that she's the dominant pony in the relationship. “I hope she hasn't been too much trouble today.” she says, smiling softly. “She's well-meaning enough, but sometimes she gets into trouble anyway, but that's my Lyra for you.”

I roll back onto my hooves and join Bon-Bon in front of the doorway. “You should be proud of her, Bon-Bon,” I reply happily, feeling the first hints of a tear forming in my eye. “She's really taken what you said about responsibility to heart. If she hadn't been here for me today, I think I'd be a real mess right now. She's helped me come to terms with whats happening to me, so instead of dwelling on the future I've decided to enjoy myself.” I nod towards the bathroom door. “Even if I did all the hoofwork, it's all because of her that a tragedy was averted today. She saved a filly's life.”

Through my own misty eyes, I can tell the cream mare is tearing up as well. “Who would have thought that getting to meet, snatch the body of, and take care of a human is what would finally push my love to finally take things seriously.” She rubs one of her hooves gently on my cheek, and then leans in to place a gentle peck on the same spot. “Thank you for telling me. You're right, I am proud.”

Blushing at the heartfelt affection in the kiss on the cheek—was that directed toward me or Lyra?—I look away nervously. “Listen... I'm kind of bushed.” A drawn-out yawn escapes my lips. “Where am I going to be sleeping during my stay? I was hoping to take a little nap before the party... If you don't mind, that is.”

“Oh, it's no trouble at all, dear. Right this way.”


- - -


“Soren, wake up!” Someone is speaking rather loudly into my ear, and shaking me. Normally, being woken from a dream—and for once, it really is just a dream and not a nightmare or memory—would piss me off immensely. Lately, however, my dreams seem against me too—stupid sexy Lyra. “C'mon, you're going to miss your own party!”

Groggily, I open my eyes and look up at Lyra. It looks like my human body has undergone more transformations since I went to sleep. Specifically, her skin is now a uniform silvery-pink, and my hair... is going gray. What the hell? No time to dwell on that. “How long have I...” I begin before breaking into a yawn. This causes a twinge of pain in my head. Apparently long enough for me to need to take my medication.

“Just a few hours.” She smiles gently, offering me a bowl of oats and berries. “You should probably eat up and take your pills.”

I can't say no to that idea. Being at parties with a headache does not make for a sociable person in the best of occasions. Who would want to risk offending Pinkie by being a dick? Certainly not somepony who has seen her flip the fuck out like she has. “Thanks, Lyra,” I say in between mouthfuls. I never actually take the bowl into my own control. I'm content to just let her hold it. “I take it you brought some water too?”

She reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a capsule and a glass of water. I'm grateful for the water after eating the oats, and of course the painkiller is a blessing too. Before I know what is happening, though, I find myself nuzzling her hand. Drawing back, embarrassed, I turn my attention to the mirror.

Lyra too flinches in surprise. “Soren...” She doesn't have to say any more. A stray memory tells me that Lyra becomes rather affectionate the longer she's in season, but isn't Twilight's spell supposed to be keeping things like this from happening? I'm assuming, of course, that this is personality and not some sort of Equestria pony thing. For all I know, they're closer to Earth's cats in that sense. “You've really got it bad, don't you?”

I give her a sidelong glance, but continue examining my reflection. My mane is a complete mess from sleep, plastered against the side of my face. “I guess.” I mutter distractedly. “Wanna help me with my mane? I can't go down there looking like this, but I don't wanna use magic until the painkiller kicks in.” I puff pointedly through my nose. “I’m not sure I could even handle a brush after everything I’ve done today.”

“Sure thing,” she replies with a grin. “Maybe now I can see my mane done up in a bun this time.”

Lyra takes only a moment to dash from the room and return with a brush. During that time, I hear her speaking to somepony—Pinkie, I think—and telling them that we’ll be down shortly. I can’t be completely certain, but it sounds like everypony is already here. Why is it so quiet then? It’s not like it’s a surprise party, so there’s no reason for them to be so quiet. Are they doing it on principal? 

Maybe it’s—ooooh, that’s nice! Leave it to me to not notice Lyra’s return until she starts brushing my mane. Her touch is nothing like my mother’s, however. Even though Lyra is a digital novice and moderately clumsy with her hands, she knows all the pressure points on my scalp. She knows just what it takes to make a brushing feel heavenly.

Easily making short work of my mane, she ties it back with a brilliant red ribbon. I can’t say she made a bad choice, seeing as the ribbon compliments my coat pretty nicely. It eve goes with my eyes. “Gee, Lyra, I didn’t peg you for dressing nicely.” I giggle, jumping down from the bed. I trot toward the door.

Following me toward the stairs she jibes back, “Hey, I’m a musician. I need to look my best when I get a gig!” We both laugh. “If I didn’t know what looked good on me, I’d never get any events.”

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and turn to make our way into the dark first-floor living space. No light is filtering through the window; even if the curtains weren’t drawn, there’s no sunlight this late in the evening. The only sounds that can be heard are poorly restrained giggles, and heavy breathing near the archway.

The moment the two of us cross the threshold, the lights flash on and Pinkie bursts from above in a shower of confetti and streamers. “It’s party time!” she shrieks with excitement.

As I blink away the dazzle—and glitter—I begin to make out the forms of everypony in the living room. Any furniture that was previously there has vanished aside from a single round table covered in food and drink. There were various trays of small cupcakes and cookies along the edges, with a tray of nine larger cupcakes in the very center of the table. Beside that tray of cupcakes, I see a tray of shot-glasses full of an interesting-looking rainbow fluid. Evenly spaced around the table sit large plush pillows, and a corresponding stein placed on the table. Finally, just off to one side of the table I spot a large keg marked Sweet Apple Hard. Cider, fick ja!

My reverent eye-grazing on the snack table is interrupted by a well-deserved slap to the back of my head. I deserved that. Leave it to the formerly fat guy to scope out the snack table before even saying hello. “Soren, be polite and say hello!” Lyra chides. “You can fill my belly later.”

Following her advice, I look dumbly around at everypony. Pinkie, Bon-Bon and Twilight all giggle as I lock eyes with them, knowing instantly what had happened. Next, I look to Rarity and give her a polite nod. She looks to my mane, and noting the ribbon gives her own approving nod. I don’t actually make eye-contact with Fluttershy—I’m still rather anxious from the soap incident—but I give her a polite hello nonetheless.

Finally, I’m confronted with the blond cowpony herself. “Good evening, Applejack,” I say, offering my hoof foolishly. “The name’s Soren. Pleasure to meet you.”

Before I have a chance to ponder my mistake, Applejack takes my hoof into her own and begins shaking it vigorously. “Boy howdy, am Ah happy ta meet’cha.” She releases my hoof, resulting in almost the same manner as Twilight’s first day—differing only in that I end up smacking myself in the jaw. “Eheh, oops. Anyway, Ah’m mighty grateful ya were there for the lil’ rascals today. As much as Ah might not have liked ya puttin’ the fear of Celestia in them fer me, Ah reckon its a lot better than havin’ two scarred fillies an’ an empty heart. Ya might not think, but yer a hero to at least one of them.”

The word hero elicits a disgruntled “Hey!” from the only pony I’ve yet to give any attention. I turn to Rainbow Dash. “So what if you saved one filly?” Her tone is mocking, but not insulting—Rainbow Dash swagger then? “I get to say who is a hero and who isn—”

Quite quickly, her mouth is plugged with one of Applejack’s hooves. Okay, seriously? I don’t care if she’s washed her hooves, that can’t be hygienic. “Don’t ya mind her none, sugarcube.” Applejack laughs. “She’s just mighty grateful that it wasn’t her lil’ cousin.”

I can’t help but give Rainbow a double-take. Scootaloo being her cousin makes a whole lot of sense, and the fandom often enough projects that theory, but really? I am—or at least I was—more attuned to the whole Scootaloo orphan. “Eh, Rainbow Dash is right; I’m not a hero.” I give the chromatic mare a nod. “Right place and right time. That’s all. Thank Lyra if you need to.”

“Shucks, an’ he’s a modest one, too.” AJ laughs wholeheartedly, smacking the pegasus on her withers. “Why, if he’s as loyal as he is modest, we might just have a back-up Rainbow Dash.”


- - -


The following parade of games and festivities blurs in my mind. The music on Pinkie’s record player, vaguely familiar but nonetheless suitable to the games, is enough to keep the events interesting. Who’d have thought I would somehow manage to miss the poster in Pin the Tail on the Pony and nearly pin a tail to Lyra? Almost everypony had burst out in hysterics except for Fluttershy and Lyra. It’s the first party that I think I’ve ever really had fun at.

The snacks and drinks dwindle as the evening dies away. One thing remains constant throughout the party. The steins and cider-keg, large cupcakes, and rainbow shots all remain off-limits. Pinkie remains adamant that they’re for a special game. She won’t say what, but what else can it be other than a drinking game if it involves shots, hard cider, and mugs?

Munching away on a cookie, Pinkie sidles up to me as I sip a cup of hot cocoa. “So how is your first Pinkie Pie party?” she squeals. “Is it everything you imagined?”

I smile at her glib happiness. How can life be so simple? Is simplicity really happiness? “Yeah, and more, Pinkie,” I reply, affectionately bumping flanks with her as I go in for another cookie. “But you’ve still got one last party game tucked in your mane, I think.”

A thoughtful look crosses Pinkie Pie’s visage, before the pink pony begins giggling uncontrollably. “That’s just silly! Why would I keep it in my mane?”

“No sleeves, Pinkie.”

She lets out an amused little giggle-snort. “Sleeves, ha... That’s a good one.” She grins, and then sucks in a great big breath. “Gather ‘round the table, everypony! It’s time for the final game of the night!”

Twilight, Pinkie, and the gang all take up positions around the table on the cushions. Seating herself by the cider keg, Applejack quickly makes a show of skillfully filling all of the mugs without ever getting up or spilling a single drop—with some help from Rainbow Dash. Lyra and Bon-Bon quickly follow suit and sit on two of the remaining cushions, leaving me a seat between Rainbow Dash and Lyra.

“Alright girls, while most of us know the rules of our little drinking game,” Pinkie announces, to a raucous applause from her friend. “I’ll go over the rules for our newcomers!

“We sing along to the general tune,” she says, pausing to whistle a startlingly familiar tune that I recognize instantly as the Drunken Sailor—an old sea shanty. “Aside from the chorus, we go around in a circle and make our own lyrics as long as it meets the meter with a nine, ten or eleven syllable line. The one making the lyrics will lead in their round, and the others will follow. The lyrics have to do something with drinking, and on their round, they have to drink; others participate only if encouraged to. Everypony drinks as much as they want on the chorus.” 

“Any questions? No?” she asks, but it’s clear that it’s a rhetorical question. “Then let’s get this show on the road!”

Applejack starts off with an introductory verse, “What do we do with a drinkin’ pony?”

The rest of us echo, “What do we do with a drinkin’ pony?” Then all as a group, we continue, “What do we do with a drinkin’ pony, early in the eve’nin’?”

“Yay yay, she drinks some cider!” I take a swig of the apple cider in my mug in time with the word. Gosh, if I thought regular apple cider was awesome, Sweet Apple Acres hard apple cider is fucking amazing. It has that tangy apple flavor, with just the slightest alcoholic bite. Move over Baileys, there’s a new favorite beverage in town! 

I realize in my cider ruminations, I’ve completely missed a line, and quickly knock back another mouthful of cider before the next line. “Yay yay, she drinks some cider, early in the eve’nin’!”

Applejack rises from her pillow and sets her cider stein down on the table. From seemingly nowhere, she produces a hose and pops it into the top. To my intense disbelief, she mounts the keg, and proceeds to stand one hoof, and bearing the end of the hose in the other. “Stand me on the keg, drink it through a hose now!”

“Stand her on the keg, drink it through a hose now!” We chant as she takes the hose into her mouth and begins drinking. “Stand her on the keg, drink it through the hose now, early in the eve’nin’!”

As we break again into the chorus, and the free drinking commences, AJ returns to her pillow. Already I’m a third of the way through my mug of cider, but I don’t care. Things this good are meant to be enjoyed. Why else would I feel a warmth in my cheek and a happy buzz in the back of my mind by the end of the chorus?

Pinkie’s up next, and she seems to have something in mind. Then again, the invitation is clear that she had a very special surprise that has yet to rear its head. She takes the tray of cupcakes from the center of the table and passes one around, and then proceeds to give each guest one of the shots of rainbow-liquor. “Take a rainbow shot, chase it down with cupcakes!” she sings gleefully, popping the shot into her mouth.”

“Take a rainbow shot, chase it down with cupcakes!” The group replies, each of us taking care of our own shots. Fucking wow. I can tell that there’s some liquid rainbow from the weather factory in here, with the way its spiciness burns the palate, but nothing could prepare me for the alcoholic bite of it all. Coughing as it goes down, I can’t help but wonder whether it’s vodka or moonshine.

“Take a rainbow shot, chase it down with cupcakes...” we sing together, unwrapping our cupcakes, eager to alleviate the assault on our throats. I munch mine down hurriedly, barely tasting the cupcake or the frosting. “... early in the eve’nin’!”

What happens next is momentarily blurry to me. One moment there are half a dozen cries of surprise, and then Twilight is chewing out Pinkie Pie. “Pinkie! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Twilight shouts aloud, her voice sounding oddly deep in my ears. “What were you thinking?”

“I just wanted to help poor Soren-warren feel more at home!” she replies rather morosely. Her voice too sounds deep in my ears. Have I been drugged? “I figured if there were more ponies experiencing being the opposite sex, he might be more at ease!”

“Wait, what?” I say dumbly, looking around in shock. Sure enough five out of the seven mares—myself and Lyra notwithstanding—seem to have undergone a rapid sexual metamorphosis. Pinkie, Bon-Bon, Twilight, Fluttershy and Applejack have all grown in size and taken on that distinct stallion musculature. I nearly mistake Applejack for her brother, for she’s grown even larger than the rest of her friends. All of them except Pinkie Pie are glancing at each other and me in extreme discomfort. Well, there’s something else in Bon-Bon’s eyes too, but I’m not sure what. “How is that possible?”

“Well that’s easy!” Pinkie chirps happily, not missing a beat. “I had Zecora whip up a gender flip potion! Don’t worry though! It’ll wear off in a few hours!”

“Pinkie...” AJ mumbles, slamming a hoof against her brow. “You didn’t notice anything funny about our friend here at all?”

“Oh my, oh my, oh my!” Fluttershy keeps repeating, giving me a mortified look.

“No, why?” the party pony asks. “Oooh! Does he have a tattoo?”

Daintily waving her hoof for attention, Rarity speaks up. “Are you meaning to say that you haven’t once noticed...”

“Why is everypony being so cryptic?” Pinkie mumbles.

Lyra claps her hands, drawing all eyes to her. “Pinkie, Soren just went into estrus!”

A look of comprehension dawns on Pinkie’s face. “Oh...” A look of horror replaces her gleeful smile. “Oh no!”

Everypony cover their faces with their collective forehooves—and hands—at this. How could she not have noticed? I mean I was sure everypony and their cat could tell! “Pinkie, I could tell before I even entered the house that somepony was in heat!” It’s Rainbow Dash this time. “How...”

An shameful look overtakes Pinkie Pie. “I... um.... I have a stuffy nose...” she squeaks in an almost Fluttershy manner. “Please don’t tell the Cakes! I'm not supposed to bake when I'm stuffed up.”

Well, this is no fun, everypony ganging up on Pinkie. So what if they all suddenly have penises? They’re all mature ponies, and I trust them. What they do with their penises is their business. “Hey, relax!” I interject, leaning momentarily against Lyra. “Less stink-eye, more drink... hi!”

Despite everypony giving me the world’s weirdest look, we eventually do get back to the game. For the moment being, we decide to skip a chorus and move onto Fluttershy’s verse. Unsurprisingly, the caveat in her verse involves hugging. It’s not the easiest thing to do when there’s an odd number of ponies, but we manage, and then it’s back to cider—that sweet delicious cider!

Twilight’s verse toasts to Princess Celestia—why not Luna?—resulting in more than a few instances of cider sloshing out of mugs onto the round table. As soon as we drink the chorus away, it’s Rarity’s turn. True to her elegant nature, her verse rattles on about nursing drinks and avoiding hangovers. Can’t say I blame her. With how foggy my mind is feeling, I can only imagine how badly I’ll need my painkillers in the morning. Painkillers—there was something about them, but what?

Unfortunately for my throat and my thoughts, Rainbow Dash follows up the next chorus by bragging about her rainbow shots. Again, I knock back the powerful stuff. Instantly I begin musing about how the stuff could probably be used to incapacitate rhinos. Never mind, rhinos, though, what’s it doing to Lyra? I turn my head to check on her and am immediately riveted. Her eyes are pretty glossy looking but that’s not all. The dress Rarity gave to her is plastered to her skin with sweat. Through it, I can just begin to make out the her...

“It’s your turn!” Rainbow whispers, nudging me in the ribs.

I... um... “Chug another mug and kissh your neighbor!” I slur without thinking. To hell with thinking! It makes not so fun things happen. I listen, and everypony begins cautiously parroting my lyric. In the meantime I shakily force myself to my hooves and climb up on Lyra—kinda. Does having your forehooves on her shoulders count as climbing? No! That’s thinking talk!

Fighting off all thought, I live for the heat of the moment. I lean in and place my lips against Lyra’s. To my surprise, she doesn’t try to stop my or resist. If anything, I think I feel her tongue. Somepony—Rainbow, I think—lets out a wolf whistle in response. Encouraged, I move one of my hooves from Lyra’s shoulders down to her breast to start playfully kneading.

Bad decision. I fall across her lap, landing on my back like a goofy filly. All I can do is stare up at her with a big silly grin on my face. Lyra looks down at my vulnerable form and begins laughing. Laughing! That’s not a bad idea! Maybe I’ll join her.

“I think somepony’s had a bit too much to drink,” the fingered one comments, stroking my ears absentmindedly. “I’d hate to say it Pinkie, but I think it’s time to pack up. I’ma get him up to bed.”
> Cloptional - Consummate Professionalism... In Bed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wow, Lyra's pretty strong. She leans down and picks me up with almost no problem whatsoever, even though I'm like a third her size and weight. What's more, she's cradling me in her arms like a cat... or a baby. Is this what people mean by beer muscles? Feh, who cares? The warmth of her body is too nice for that to matter.

Resting my head against Lyra's shoulder, I take one last look around. Everypony but Bon-Bon and Pinkie has all gathered by the door, preparing to leave. They're all giving me varying levels of odd looks, and I can't help but giggle. Do I really look that silly?

Finally, Lyra begins carrying me from the living room and up the stairs. I kinda want to stay and party some more, but Lyra probably knows better than I do right now. She's been so helpful today! Surely she'd want me to say goodbye to all of our friends. Right?

Twisting and writhing in her grip, my head pops over her shoulder. I can just barely wave a hoof at everypony at the foot—hoof?—of the stairs. “Buh-bye everypony!” I squeal giddily. My mouth is easily getting ahead of my brain, so I can't help but breaking into hysterics after shouting, “Enjoy your new penises!”

With an amused snort, Lyra adjusts her hold on me by placing a hand on my arse. A shiver of excitement and arousal races up my back as her hand momentarily presses my tail flat against my vulva. Whoa, there's a strange but oddly welcome concept—my vulva! I don't know whether it's the arousal or the sensation, but I find my hips shifting against her, futilely hoping to experience the sensation again.

“Stop squirming so much, or you'll fall down the stairs!” she scolds me, unable to withhold a giggle.

“Been there, done that...” I nicker, playfully bumping my head against her chin. Wow, even a chin is enough to make my ears feel nice. It's certainly enough to cause certain unfamiliar muscles in my nethers to clench and release. Did I just... “Got a... uh... something or other!” I mumble distractedly.

“Jeeze. I know you're drunk and in heat, but what's gotten into you?” She's shaking her head, but there's still that silly smile on her face. Finally, we've reached the top of the stairs. Is she really going to make me go to bed? There's still fun to be had, I know it.

“Nothing, yet,” I whisper softly.

I lean in close to her face again, and then give her the most gentle of licks on the tip of her nose. Her cheeks go a silvery scarlet, and I can hear her swallow almost unconsciously. As she carries me down the hall, however, I notice that she isn't lugging me to the guest room, but to her and Bon-Bon's room instead.

After being gently dropped onto the bed, I look up at Lyra. “What are we gonna do on your bed, Lyra?” I ask, batting my eyes innocently.

“You're obviously a bit silly right now, so it'll be easier to make sure you don't wander off if you bunk with us tonight,” she answers dismissively. Her mouth says no, but I can tell that she's having other thoughts. “That's all.”

Again, I bat my eyes—flirtatiously this time. “Surely that isn't all we can do on a bed.” I giggle a bit too happily. What am I even doing? I guess I'm just doing what feels right in the situation... or maybe it's the booze?

Lyra looks away from me quickly, but nonetheless sits down on the edge of the bed. Oh yeah, she got the hint. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage to stagger drunkenly close enough to the edge of the bed to rub my head against her ribs. “C'mon, if I'm in your body and we just get a little frisky...” My voice silky in her ear, or so I hope. “It wouldn't be cheating! Just think of it as...” I soften my voice to a bare whisper as I lick my lips. “Clopping.”

Well, that must have flipped a switch inside her head. Without another word she rounds on me, flipping me onto my back in the center of the bed. As she removes her dress and bra in one fell swoop, she gives me a wry look. “You certainly are a naughty little unicorn, aren't you?” Her tone is pure, sensual mockery. “I'll show you what we do to naughty unicorns in this house.”

I'm not listening to a word she says; my focus is completely fixed on her silvery breasts swaying like two ripe pears as she makes her way across the bed covers. As engorged as her nipples are, they still manage to look like a silver dollar. Oh how I would love to just latch onto one of them and suckle away like a newfoal.

Holy shit, this is really happening! I'm going to get laid by a female incarnation of my own body! Almost subconsciously, I find my forehooves drawing up against my chest, and again those muscles inside me clench and release. Yeah, my vagina's definitely winking. My body's natural lubricant and excitement is flowing freely onto my tail and the bedding, and nothing's even happened yet.

As Lyra draws up beside me, she presses a fingertip against the base of my tail. I gasp as she gently draws the nail along length of my body, avoiding my pleading folds.  Instead, she traces her fingernail up along my thigh, teasingly avoiding my nethers before trailing her touch up between my teats. “Come on; don't tease!” I moan, and look at her with half-lidded eyes.

Grinning, she pulls back hand and instead runs it along her own body. “Uh-uh, that's not how it works.” she chides, waving a finger in front of my eyes. “You've been naughty, so you don't get to be in control.”

There's a momentary glint of cruelty in her eyes. Reaching out once more with her right hand,  she wraps her index finger and thumb around the base of my horn. If having my horn filed was a ticklish sensation, having a warm ring of fingers around the base of my horn is a whole other kettle of oats. I can't help but flinch at the strange but pleasurable sensation of her touch. It sends shivers down my spine if she moves her hand even in the slightest.

She lets out a chuckle as she strokes my horn up and down, slowly drawing the ring upward before quickly thrusting it back down. Each time she does so, I can't help but squeal and moan, and I get wetter and wetter each time. Each time the horn begins to throb against my head, she stops and rubs the tip with her index finger. I realize now that the sensations in my horn are intensely similar to my own experiences nearing orgasm when I was a guy, and that she's purposely denying me release.

“Nnngh... Lyra, don't be mean,” I moan haughtily, turning my head toward her. It's all I can say before my tongue lolls uselessly from my mouth.

Smiling, she shuffles closer to my vulnerable form and presses her lips against mine. Her tongue begins probing my open mouth for only a moment. Then she begins trailing kisses up my muzzle and face. As soon as her lips peck at the base of my horn, I can't help but begin panting and moaning. The wet warmth of her lips is an entirely new experience.

A single lick from base to tip is all it takes to send me over the edge. My mind goes blank as intense pleasure begins radiating out from my horn and I cry out. It doesn't stop with the face-melting pleasure, though. A tingling sensation begins radiating up the length of my horn, as though I were casting some spell concentrated at the tip of my horn, and then pop!

I lay there in the dampest spot on the bed, absolutely unthinking for the better part of a few moments. When enough of my senses return, I roll over and begin nuzzling into Lyra's chest. Oh those lovely lovely breasts. Taking one of her nipples into my mouth, I begin to suckle happily. That was absolutely incredible. “Wow... that felt amazing, and you didn't even touch me down there.”

“It must have,” a male voice says in a deadpan tone. “I've never seen that much concentrated magic erupt from her horn in all the times we've made love. You've absolutely coated her face.”

Panicked, I look to the door. Standing awestruck in the doorway is a very perturbed looking, very male Bon-Bon. My stomach clenches not in fear or anxiety, but in arousal. Do... I really feel turned on from being caught in a drunken tryst with her lover?

I look back to Lyra, only to see her face absolutely gleaming in a translucent glittering amber fluid. Surprisingly, she doesn't look at all worried. If anything, she looks perversely thoughtful. With her free hand, she presses my head back into her cleavage.

“Lyra!” Bon-Bon shouts, stomping her hooves. “What's the meaning of this?”

From between her breasts, I see Lyra smile playfully. “Aww, c'mon Bonny! We always talked about having a threesome one day. Now's our chance!” She runs her hand down my back and flank, eliciting a shiver and causing my tail to flick away from my marehood. “Besides, in the state he's in, he might just wander off and do something silly. He's pretty consenting right now...”

“Heartstrings, he's drunk and in heat!” Bon-Bon complains. When I turn my head slightly, I see that Bon-Bon is hardly being convincing in her argument—not with that erection hanging proudly beneath her belly! Again my vagina winks. God, is this really happening? “If anything is going to happen, I wanna hear it from him, and then I want you to promise that you'll take responsibility for anything that happens tonight.”

My heart is beating wildly in my chest. Am I really considering this? I mean, I've always considered myself heterosexual—maybe a bit bi-curious—even given my skewed gender identity. Would I really be willing to engage sexually with a stallion—even one who used to be a mare? Yes... I realize numbly. The alcohol and my body are telling me that if it means feeling good, I'd gladly do anything right now. I'm rather obliged to agree at this point. Let it be future Soren's problem!

I give Lyra a questioning look. “You have my permission,” she whispers, giving me a rub of the ear.

Turning to regard Bon-Bon, I struggle into an upright position. Giving my best shot at bedroom eyes, I plead, “I've been a naughty, naughty filly.” Hearing my own voice, I feel my nethers let loose a gush of lubricant. “Please let me help you...” I lick my lips anxiously, and then swallow my embarrassment. “... cum. You'll feel so much better!”

Bon-Bon's jaw drops at my statement. I don't think she was expecting my answer. I'm not sure I was, either. Lyra on the other hoof is quite amused. She begins giggling hysterically while inviting her love over to join us on the bed with a repeated curling and straightening motion of her index finger. The mare-turned-stallion stiffly makes her way onto the bed and climbs on. I move off to the side so that Lyra and I are on side either of the newcomer to our tryst.

Without prompting, Bon-Bon flops down onto the bed and rolls over, revealing her cupcake-induced endowment. It's one thing to see pictures of something on the internet and say, 'Sure, I've seen plenty of horse dicks,' like it's nothing. It's a completely different thing to see one in all it's mottled-pink glory. There's no way for me to adequately describe the way its veiny length pulses in time with her heart-beat, or the enticing musk that is wafting into my nose with it so close to me. Just by leaning in closely I can feel the heat—her arousal—radiating from her haft.

Hell, it has to be at least as big around as a baby's arm, and quite possibly as long as Lyra's fore-arm! That flared tip and medial ring yearn to be introduced to an eager, fertile mare. Her testes, like two ripe Honeycrisp apples, hang loosely against her bottom, just past the base of her penile sheath. As my eyes and nose take in everything about Bon-Bon's throbbing equine penis, I realize that Lyra and I did this—that I did this—to her, and on some primal level I like it.

As cautiously as a drunk can, I straddle the mare-stallion's chest  and lean down close to her new-found stallionhood. I carefully maneuver a hoof beneath her erection in order to angle it up and away from her belly. Lyra watches wide-eyed, one hand drifting ever closer to the waistband of her panties, as I lower my face to her lover's penis.

Gently nuzzling her fleshy length, my nostrils flare and take in her overpowering musk. It's positively intoxicating to me; I'm absolutely salivating with lust, unable to think. That's it! I have to have a taste! Almost too eagerly, my tongue parts my lips. Throwing any pretense of forethought out the window, I run the tip of my tongue up the length of her erection from prepuce to flare, feeling it twitch in response to my stimulation.

I take only a moment to consider the bitter taste of her penile flesh before giving her a longer full-tongue lick. This time, the mare-stallion beneath me grunts in pleasure. That’s all the encouragement that I need. Wordlessly I begin slavering her penis with licks of various lengths and pressures, careful to note her reactions. It’s particularly fun to feel her squirm beneath me when I lap around the flare, and when she tries to buck her hips against me whenever I graze the medial ring, I can’t help but giggle.

Content that her length is thoroughly lubricated I begin to press my mouth against her glans. It’s rather difficult to fit it into my mouth given how large and aroused she really is. It takes a lot of clumsy maneuvering of my head, not just to get the flare past my lips, but to avoid grazing the sensitive flesh carelessly with my teeth. It’s something I certainly wouldn’t want, so I can do her no less.

Almost as soon as I begin ease myself down her length, I feel my body beginning to panic for air. Figures with my mouth slowly filling with cock the body would freak out and not realize it could still breathe through the nose. Seeing no other choice, I alter my strategy. Timing my breaths in between bouts of bobbing my head, I quickly fall into a rhythm. Bob. Breathe. Bob. Breathe. Rinse and repeat.

If Bon-Bon’s bouts of groaning, grunting and bucking against my throat are any indication, she’s definitely enjoying herself. A cursory glance at Lyra proves that she’s enjoying the show just as much as Bon-Bon. While she’s vigorously squeezing her breast and tweaking her perky silver-dollar nipple with one hand, she has the other stuffed clear down the front of her panties. 

Each time I bob along Bon-Bon’s length, Lyra in turn rubs and fingers herself, seemingly matching my tempo. I quickly make a game of it, switching up my pace while watching Lyra. If I speed up, she rapidly thrusts her fingers into her gushing snatch. If I slow down, she’ll gently rub her vulva with her palm. It’s rather fun because just when she looks like she’s getting somewhere with the current pace, I’ll switch it up.

I become so absorbed in my teasing game that I completely forget about the blissfully groaning Bon-Bon beneath me. After I once again increase the tempo, I begin to feel a pressure building in my throat, and it becomes harder to move. It’s only when she begins to cry out that something’s coming that I realize her flare is expanding within my throat, and if I don’t pull back, I might choke.

I pull my head back as far as I can, but by this point the flare has expanded too much. It wedges itself against my tonsils and the back of my tongue, and there’s a fight to keep myself from gagging. An instant later, it begins pulsing copious amounts of thick semen down my throat. Suddenly desperate to stay alive, I begin swallowing as quickly as my body will allow, but it’s a losing battle. For every bit I do manage to swallow, Bon-Bon deposits double in my throat, until finally the only place it can go is out my nose. Posed with no other option, I hold my breath and hope she softens sooner rather than later.

When I finally do pull myself from her penis and fall off to Bon-Bon’s side, I can’t help but retch and cough semen onto the bedding. Happy to again breath through my mouth, I snort in an attempt to clear the semen from my nostrils. Not the most effective thing in the world, but it beats having my nose gummed up with cum for the next day.

It’s only when Lyra’s dry hand beings rubbing my back gently that I remember where I am and what I was doing. “You okay?” she asks, a lingering look of concern in her eyes. “I can’t believe you actually swallowed it.”

I look up to her with a wry look, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. “You try spitting when you’ve got more than half a foot of cock wedged in your throat,” I say accusingly, but ensuring my tone is even enough to imply humor. “... and why are you looking at me that way? Is there something on my face?”

She motions with her index and middle fingers to her nostrils, and trails them down to her upper lip. In other words, you have two streams of horse semen snaking down from your nostrils. I do the first thing that comes to mind, much to Lyra’s disgust, and wipe a forehoof across my muzzle.

Bon-Bon nuzzles my withers, and I turn to her. “So... How did it taste?” she asks, easily the most self-conscious I've ever seen her. “We... I’ve never been with a stallion—never saw the need—so I’ve never...”

“Morbid curiosity,“ I say flatly. “Gotcha.”

I pause and think, searching my mouth for remnants of the seminal fluid. It might seem weird to not have tasted any of it when I was being pumped full, but in my defense, I was more focused on surviving, and there are no tastebuds in the throat. Now though, I find it impossibly sweet. Surely this can’t be right... “Marshmallow... Fluff?”

Lyra does a double take, before muttering, “Either I’m far too drunk, or I’m misunderstanding you.”

“What?” I say incredulously. “That’s what it tasted like! I swear.”

Lyra gives me this skeptical look, but reaches her hand down and scoops a bit off of the bedclothes with a finger. She sniffs at it warily before popping it into her mouth. Almost immediately she takes the finger out and starts coughing and retching, causing Bon-Bon to chuckle in good fun at her mate. “Ew, Soren! You liar!” she shouts. “That’s disgusting! It doesn’t taste like marshmallows at all!”

Weird... Did it only taste like that to me? Maybe I’m far too drunk to comprehend the true flavor of Bon-Bon’s candy-flanked cum? “Does that mean you’re not going to eat that?” I offer. “Waste not want not.”

To their utter disbelief, I lean my head back down and lap up the remaining semen on the blanket. It’s so wrong, even in practice, but to my drunken taste-buds, it feels so right. “Soren that’s disgusting,” Lyra cries in disgust.

I look to Bon-Bon and grin seeing her renewed erection. “I don’t think Bon-Bon minds.” 

Lyra shoots Bon-Bon a horrified look, but it is just shrugged off. “It was kind of hot seeing your body do that.”

I barely notice what they’re saying at this point. As they debate whether or not we should go all the way, my eyes are locked on Bon-Bon’s phallic glory. A morbid curiosity begins burning out what remains of my mind; how will that feel inside me? Is it too big? Will it hurt? All of these thoughts only serve to arouse me more. With every heartbeat, the treasure between my haunches clenches and pulses with excitement, and my thighs grow more and more slick. There is no pulling me back from my lust-driven madness.

With an almost bestial moan, I rise to my hooves and meander about the standing mare-stallion, playfully bumping my flank against hers, and flicking my tail about as I pass in front of her. There’s no personal reason I’m doing it; it just feels like it’s what I’m supposed to do. Once I’m certain I have her attention. I manage to wrest the center of the bed from Bon-Bon. My forelegs bend, lowering my front-end and making my rump all the more prominent. Finally, I flag my tail to the side. Whining pleadingly, I can only hope...

“Bonny, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Lyra cautions her love. Wait, now she’s the reluctant one? What happened to that ‘punishing naughty unicorns’ attitude she had earlier, and wanting a child? Oooh... Don’t cockblock me Lyra! Think of that foal you wanted!

The mare-stallion doesn’t vocalize her answer. She doesn’t need to. A presence draws close to my hindquarters, and the draft of her breathing tell all I need to know. A shiver of excitemnt races up my spine as her face lingers. Something wet and supple traces the outermost boundaries of my vulva, pushing in ever so slightly. The touch of what can only be her tongue sends a mind-blowing rush of sensation up my spine and into my brain-stem, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from my throat. The unfamiliar pleasure is so intense that it’s all I can do to remain upright.

Disappointment begins to fill my stomach as her breath lingers between my haunches. She’s not even licking me any more. C’mon! You can’t just completely flip my switch and just tease me like that. All I want to do is scream out for her to stop teasing me and rut me until the sun rises. Being as drunk and switched on as I am, however, all my body can manage is a waggle of my hips as a strangled moan escapes my throat.

I turn my head to give them a pleading stare, but thankfully I don’t need to. Just as my head turns, Bon-Bon places her forehooves against my back as she hoists herself up onto my back. As Bon-Bon begins struggling to achieve penetration, thrusting her penis blindly against my dock, doubt begins filling my mind. What if she misses? What if it hurts? What if—my mind completely shuts down as the prodding strikes home.

Initially, the sensation of her glans parting my labial folds gives me mixed sensations. The feeling of being stretched open feels amazing, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel right. It’s almost downright uncomfortable, as through her penis is far too big for me. Is she simply better hung than average stallions? Or—oh no... In panic, my hind legs lock—leaving me chin down on the bedding—as the realization strikes me; Lyra’s hymen is intact.

A thousand thoughts race through my mind. Do ponies not have sex toys? Would some couples choose not to use them? Why am I thinking about this when I’m about to be deflowered? No, that’s not right! I have no right to lose Lyra’s virginity! A mare’s first time should be special, and with a loved one, not some drunken snog by proxy!

My desperate attempt to vocalize some discouragement or revocation of consent fall flat. Whether it’s the alcohol, some sort of post horn-gasm bliss, or if I’m really out of it because of the painkillers, it doesn’t matter. It’s not acceptable for my only recourse to be a groan that could be anything from discomfort to disbelief.

In her state, Bon-Bon clearly doesn’t get the message. With a frustrated grunt, she thrusts forth, her throbbing cock tearing through the last vestiges of Lyra’s maidenhead. Any semblance of pleasure vanishes from my nethers, and a sharp pain quickly replaces it, eliciting a whimper from my throat. Tears begin to rim my eyes, and my gaze locks forward, a fleeting hope dancing in my mind that she’ll be a quick shot and that it will all be over soon.

Somehow, Lyra must have sobered up enough to realize that I was in pain; that’s the only explanation for why she’s suddenly sitting in front of me, letting my head rest in her lap. I look up at her, feeling betrayed. Part of me wants to tell her that she never should have allowed me to go through with this, but as I stare into her eyes I feel a sincere unspoken apology in those glassy blue orbs... and something else, too—appreciation.

My borrowed form flinches involuntarily as Bon-Bon withdraws momentarily, only to give a strangled yelp when she slams forward again. In spite of my best efforts to shut the sensations away, my mind is painfully aware that she’s thrust in past her medial ring this time. I don’t want this, Lyra... Please, make it stop!

Sensing some of my discomfort, Lyra begins massaging my ears. The pleasurable sensation is in itself enough to distract me from the battering force ravaging my aching behind, but the pain slowly dies as she massages in time with the thrusts, giving way to a fulfilling pleasure. Even as I begin panting and whining appreciatively, my marehood releases a new stream of feminine juices.

Slowly, the pleasure begins to build, and as I begin enjoying myself I wish that Lyra does’t have to be left out as she watches her lover rut somepony else in her body. After all, with my chin situated on her crossed legs, I’m well aware of her arousal permeating the cloth of her panties. It’s a shame I’m not more skilled in magic.

Maybe I don’t have to be. I nuzzle at her thigh for attention before looking up once more. As soon as it’s clear she’s paying attention to me, my tongue lolls out goofily and an embarrassingly foalish bleat escapes me. To ensure that she knows that I’m not just enjoying myself too much, I nuzzle again, closer to her hip this time.

It takes a few moments for her to truly grasp my fuck-hungry noises, but when she finally does, she tousles my mane before sliding her panties off. For some reason, I’m surprised to see no pubic hair covering her feminine curvature. Did Lyra shave it? As Bon-Bon’s vigorous thrusting presses me further and further against her pubic mound, however, it becomes clear to me that she didn’t shave; there’s no stubble evident of any sort of shaving. As my snout grazes her vulva, however, it hits me. That body she inhabits—my body—is becoming a pony, and ponies don’t have pubic bushes like humans do.

A tap against the top of my head reminds me that I’m supposed to be doing something—or rather, somepony. My tongue darts out from my mouth, and I slide it along the length of her vulva. I can’t do much more with the way Bon-Bon is pounding me. Instead, I can only bathe in her tart juices as I become an impromptu strap-on.

Bon-Bon’s pace increases the closer she draws to climax. Even as her flare expands in me, I can feel my own pleasure skyrocketing. More and more I moan against Lyra’s soaking groin, in turn eliciting more pleasured moans from her. Before long, the pleasure of it all was battering against the rocks of my sanity. 

Finally, Bon-Bon lets out a guttural moan, and her seed begins splashing into me. In turn, my own orgasm renders me a quivering mess between the two lovers as waves of indescribable pleasure assault my brain. I scream out into Lyra’s muff before succumbing to exhaustion. The last thing to pass my dimming consciousness is how comfy it is being on top of her.
> Away
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Soren, please come out!” Lyra pleads from the other side of the door. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t just lock yourself away in the bathroom for the remainder of the spell’s duration.”

“Damned if I won’t try!” I whimper out loud. “Last night never should have happened!”

“Bon-Bon and I already apologized, Soren!” she says with a sigh. “What more do you want?”

“I want to be able to trust you again!” The hiss of my voice hurts my throat. It’s only natural considering I only finished crying and screaming in the bath a short while ago. Given that I woke up face down in my female-self’s cleavage and an unconscious Bon-Bon sprawled across my aching flank, is it any real surprise how freaked out I am? As much as I try to fight the feelings of betrayal and vulnerability, I can’t. “I trusted you to ensure I didn’t do anything stupid, and even if I acted like I wanted it, I was drunk! I didn’t know what I wanted! There was no informed consent! That’s a sex crime in my world!”

She seems to shut up at that. I’d worry about whether or not that might be a low blow considering that it’s apparently not the first time she’s gotten grabby, but I’m still trying to glue my head on straight. There’s this unbearable headache eating away at my mind, and my painkillers aren’t in reach. Some peace and quiet is all I really want until further notice.

The whole drunken orgy business is only half of the reason I don’t want to see Lyra, though. There’s also the matter that I somehow managed to cram myself into the cabinets under their bathroom sink. I don’t remember exactly how it happened. All I know is that after I got out of the bath, I thought how badly I wanted a dark and quiet place to lay low for a while; the next thing I know, I’m crammed underneath the sink. To make things worse, I can’t get out.

With a sigh, I realize that as much as I’d like to stay mad at Lyra—Celestia knows I probably have every right to be angry—I’m practically trapped; getting out from under the sink is impossible for me alone. Even if trusting her is the last thing I want to do right now, I have to swallow my pride. “Lyra? You still there?”

There’s a short pause before she speaks. “Yeah.”

 “I’ll come out, but you’ve gotta Pinkie Promise me two things.” I moan around the u-bend in the sink. I wait until she gives a committal grunt. “First, promise me you’ll never do anything to breach my trust again. Second, promise me you won’t laugh when you come in.”

“What?” I hear her voice on the other side of the door. “Oh, right. I Pinkie Promise not to laugh, and not to do anything to ruin your trust ever again. I cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” It’ll have to do. With all the willpower I can muster, I focus on unlocking the door. After only a minute, I hear a click, followed by the door being pushed open. “Soren, where are you?”

“In here," I whisper sheepishly. It’s rather awkward to do so with one of my legs woven through a rack beneath the sink, but somehow, I manage to push one of the cabinet doors open, allowing me to peer sidelong at Lyra. If the situation weren’t so dour, I’d almost call the mixture of shock, confusion, and amusement on her face comical. “A little help please?”


- - -


It seems like Lyra’s been gone an awful long time now. Just how long ago did Lyra give up on trying to pry me out of there and leave to get Twilight Sparkle? That must have been at forty minutes ago, but then again, who can be sure? Time passes very strangely when you’re in a cramped, dark place. For all I know, she’s only been gone a few minutes and is bound to be gone for a while yet.

As if to reassure me, the sound of voices begins flowing through the house. “Tell me again why you need my help, Lyra.” Twilight’s voice is incredulous and pained; she’s probably just as hungover as I am. “If Soren trapped himself in the bathroom, isn’t that a job for a locksmith?”

“You’ll see when you get there.”

A few minutes pass before the darkness of my prison is intruded upon by the opening cabinet door. Still woefully unable to turn my head, my only recourse is to turn my eye and offer her an embarrassed smile. “Mornin’, Twilight,” I say, shifting meekly in my position beneath the sink. “Lovely morning for a hangover, huh?”

Twilight’s jaw drops as she peers down at me, her facial expression rife with disbelief. “Just how drunk did you get last night?” she whispers. I reckon she would probably say it louder, but her reddened eyes reaffirm that she’s pretty hung over. “I’ve heard of ponies doing strange things while intoxicated, but never anything like this—even from Pinkie!”

Rolling my eyes, I bang a hoof against the pipe. “I wasn’t drunk when this happened... not to say I didn’t do something I regret when I was drunk.” Lyra and I exchange uncomfortable looks, and then I shy away. “I ended up in here wanting to be somewhere dark and quiet.”

“I think he somehow teleported without knowing how...” Lyra mutters.

Twilight looks to Lyra and then back to me. “If that’s true, then he’s incredibly lucky that he didn’t—”

“I’m lucky that I didn’t end up inside a wall; I know!” I whine. “Can you please get me out of here, Twilight?”

There’s the slightest pulling at the corner of her mouth. She looks away only for a moment, but I can just make out her saying something under her breath. “I was going to say materialize without a head...” In a louder voice she adds, “Yes, getting you out of there will be simple. I can just grab your hoof and teleport us somewhere else.”

A sudden thought strikes me. Perhaps I can use this as an excuse to get away from Lyra. Sure, I would have to forgo taking my painkillers, but I’m willing to take the risk at this point. I need time to think, alone. It’s not an unreasonable thing, the more I think about it. “Twi, do you think maybe you could blink us both back to the library instead of here?”

From over Twilight’s shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a very short disapproving look from a crouched Lyra. “What about me? Would I have to walk there?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I’m thankful that she’s at least clothed now.

How how it’d be nice to not have my neck through this u-bend beneath the sink. It’d be much easier to shake my head then. “No, Lyra. You would stay here.” I sigh and turn my gaze away from the open cabinet door. “I’m absolving you of your responsibility today. If it upsets Bon-Bon, tell her that I need some time to myself.”

“I’m not sure I can teleport all the way to the library with you—at least not in my present state—but I’ll certainly try.” Twilight’s voice draws me back to the moment at hoof. She gives a pained smile before grabbing a hold of the closest hooves with her own. Her horn aglow, she decides on some faux dramatic flared, saying, “Hold on to your hooves, this might singe a bit.”

Before I have a chance to ready myself, my entire vision is filled with a bright purple-white light. My center of balance, already screwed from being crammed under the sink for too long, plummets as my entire being vanishes and reappears elsewhere. My lungs fill with air and then just as quickly deflate as I’m dropped unceremoniously on a dirt road. As my eyes readjust to the outdoors, I’m happy to see that we are only a few houses down the road from the library.

Stiffly rising up, I quickly jump on Twilight and wrap my hooves around her neck in a hug. “Thank you, Twilight! You have no idea how badly I had to get away from her.” Quickly releasing the unicorn, I give her some space. “Er... Lyra didn’t say anything about what happened last night, did she?”

“No, not at all.” One of those pained expressions takes over her face again. “Why? She didn’t... Oh, not again... At this rate, she’s really going to get herself into the stocks.”

“I don’t want to talk about whatever drunken tomfoolery occurred last night,” I say a bit too quickly, bringing my forehooves up in front of me. “What happened stays between Lyra, Bon-Bon, and me.”

Well, if she didn’t have any idea what I was talking about before, I’m pretty sure I just gave everything away. The way her eyes widen and her ears fall flat against the sides of her head leaves me with no doubt that she’s figured it out. “Soren, did they... If they did something to you last night, you might feel better if you talked to somepony.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I said!” I snap, almost shouting it. Twilight shrinks back at my words, her ears somehow going even flatter against her skull. “I’m sorry for snapping like that... No Twilight I can’t talk about it right now. I’ve barely had time to think about it myself. I just want to go someplace quiet to think about things—everything—for a while.”

I turn away from Twilight and begin trotting away. It’s a lovely day, even with a splitting headache and an empty stomach. Surely I can find somewhere to sit and think. As if answering the unposed question, a small voice behind me says, “There’s a nice quiet park at the south side of town.”

Glancing back at Twilight’s own retreating form, I can’t help but respect her. I bit her head off and she still helped me. “Thanks, Twilight.”


- - -


Last night was a mistake; that much is certain. There is no denying that what happened is every bit my fault as everypony else. I behaved irresponsibly, and could very well have killed myself mixing those painkillers and alcohol. The fact that I willingly ignored those instructions and put Lyra’s life at risk just goes to show that the ‘self-preservation’ node Twilight mentioned isn’t doing a great job.

If I treated her body so poorly, and began behaving like a liquored up slut, why do I have any right to be upset with the outcome of being rutted like the mare in heat I was? Well, that’s pretty simple in my opinion! I was drunk, and taken advantage of, right? That’s a betrayal of trust no matter how you look at it! So what if they were every bit as drunk as me?

With a sigh, I rest my head across my hooves. Lying here on a bench in the park is relatively peaceful. Even with ponies here playing with their foals, there’s barely any noise. Unbelievably, just relaxing here is doing more for the headache than the painkillers ever did. It’s just a shame that my beautiful surroundings can’t change the turmoil in my mind and heart.

Would it be different if any pony other than Lyra had taken me in out of the kindness of their hearts? Quite possibly, yes. If it had been Twilight or Fluttershy, I doubt I would have been allowed to drink last night. If Pinkie had been there in the hospital with me, she’d have known about me being in season, and wouldn’t have dosed any of the cupcakes with that whatever-it-was that she got from Zecora. Rarity, AJ and Rainbow Dash would probably be wildcards because of their siblings or relatives...

Siblings... Dear Celestia! If anypony other than Lyra had taken me, I don’t think I’d have been there for Sweetie Belle if not for Lyra. That filly would be dead right now if Lyra hadn’t taken me with her to Sweet Apple Acres—if she hadn’t taken me in. Any way I look at it, a family would be mourning the loss of a foal if not for Lyra. What gives me the right to wish the past changed, knowing that I’d be condemning a foal to death?

Speaking of foals, I notice a small diapered pony peel off from the herd. Nopony else seems to notice the little foal make a break for it. The little bugger is moving at a decent clip heading south. Wow, an unattended filly or colt could get into some real trouble. I look back to the herd in the park, but still nopony has noticed a missing little one.

“Hey, somepony’s foal is getting away!” I shout towards the park. Unbelievably, nopony seems to react. In spite of it all, everything is deathly quiet, to boot.

Wait... Isn’t the Everfree forest south of town?

OH FUCK!

Lyra and sexual misconduct be damned. That foal is heading straight for the Everfree! The thundering of my hooves on the dirt and cobblestone path fills my ears as I struggle to catch up to the foal. No way a foal should be able to outrun a fully grown pony, but sure enough this little foal—a pegasus buzzing along with his tiny little wings—is fast. “Hey, wait up, little guy! You really shouldn’t go in there.”

The sound of childish laughter fills my ears as the cream foal peers over his shoulder. His fiendish little brown eyes glisten in the sunlight and his brown mane dances in the breeze as he tears on. He’s almost familiar, but I just can’t place him. Just when I think I’m close enough to grab him, though, he darts off at an angle. Good Luna, this kid is quick. The moment I try to grab the tiny pegasus with my magic, however, a tinge of pain floods my head. Magic is out, it seems.

On and on the chase goes. The closer we get to the Everfree we get, the stranger I begin to feel. Not only is there a feeling of dread flooding my very being—some sort of inbred fear of areas outside of pony-kind’s control?—a strange electric tingle is coursing through my very veins the closer we draw to the treeline. Each step I take causes a surge of energy to flow through me.

I hit the treeline, and a bright purple-white light fills my vision. The familiar disorienting feeling hits my stomach, and when the blindness subsides, I can’t believe my eyes. Unable to believe what I’m seeing, I sink to my knees in front of the Ponyville library.

“No no no... this can’t be happening!”
> Breaking the Chains
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No no no... this can't be happening!” I cry into my hooves. “I shouldn't be here! I need to be back at the Everfree! That foal is in serious danger!”

I rise to my hooves again, and turn away from the door. Maybe I can get help from ponies in the park; they might not even notice the foal is gone yet! If I run now, there's still a chance to get that foal some help! I can still help!

The large wooden door behind me creaks open, and hooves crunch across the ground behind me. “Soren, you just tried to leave Ponyville, didn't you.”

Turning around, my tear rimmed eyes meet Twilight's own tired eyes. How could she have... No, there's no time for that! “Twilight, quickly, we have to get back to the Everfree!”

Her eyes grow confused as she stares at me. “Why in the Equestria would you want to go in there? Zecora comes—”

I slam my hooves down defiantly and lower my head. “Zecora be damned; there's no time for talk!” Turning away, I begin to trot off to the south, only to be caught up in the lilac unicorn's magical aura. “Put me down, Twilight! A foal is in danger!”

Levitating me back to meet her eyes, she gives me a concerned look. “Settle down! You aren't making any sense. What foal?”

“The one who ran off into the Everfree!” I hiss, tears streaming down my face. “Why don't you believe me?”

Shaking her head, the unicorn lowers me to the ground beside her, but doesn't release her magical grip. “You have to understand, you're under a lot of stress. Combined with your exhibited history of psychotic episodes and the way Lyra's body has been fighting the self-preservation node, the possibility of you hallucinating again is not out of the question.”

I look at her in horror. She doesn't believe me because of that freakout in the subspace highway? Is that really enough for her to doubt me? This isn't anything like the Twilight from the show. The Twilight I know trusts ponies and thinks things through! Are the ponies like this very instance Equestria—different from the show in frighteningly subtle ways?

The tears flow freely down my cheeks. All my heart is allowing me to feel is betrayal. First Lyra, and now Twilight. “Heartless bitch!” I want to scream that right now, but the comment dies before ever leaving my throat. From my peripheral vision, I can clearly see a panicked and deflated looking Pinkie Pie trotting up to the library. Oh no... Please tell me it wasn't...

“T-twilight?” she whispers hoarsely, shifting on the spot. Her eyes are darting everywhere, looking for something. “You haven't seen Pound anywhere, have you?”

The lilac mare shakes her head. “No, I haven't.” she responds in a measured tone, hesitantly eyeing me. A pressure exerts itself on my muzzle, and causing my jaw to cramp. “Sorry, Pinkie.”

“We were just playing in the park. Oh, I only turned my attention from him for a moment!” Slumping to the ground, Pinkie covers her head with her hooves. “The Cakes are going to kill me if I don't find him!”

Releasing her magical hold on my body, Twilight seats herself beside the party pony. “It's okay, I'll help you find him. We'll all help you find him.” Stroking her friend's mane reassuringly, Twilight helps Pinkie to her hooves. “Let's go get the others.”

I struggle against the cramped jaw muscle, I open my mouth. “S-search the Everfree.” I grunt through still-clenched teeth. “I saw him there.” Catching a sour look from Twilight, I cringe, knowing that it was probably some sort of lockjaw spell. “I don't care if you're convinced I'm hallucinating because of the stress of losing my mind, Twilight. I know what I saw and I saw that brown-maned brown-eyed pegasus foal with the cream coat, and I tried to catch him right up until he crossed the threshold to the Everfree. Then I got warped back here.”

“Soren, that's enough,” Twilight commands. “Pinkie is distraught, and there's no time to waste.”

“Oh, I agree completely, Twilight,” I snarl, lowering my head and pressing my ears flat against the side of my head. “Just remember it's better to follow all possible leads and be right than to dismiss the obvious ones and in turn ignore the one that will save a life! Then again, it's clear you don't actually trust me anyway, 'cause I'm not actually a pony. But go ahead and ignore me. Ponies seem to have a habit of treating me like a friend and then abusing me later. It would just be another thing to add to the list of terrible things happening to me lately. I'll just wait here.”

 I turn back towards the library and storm off through the still open door. Yeah, I've only been blown up, loosing my humanity, losing my mind, and raped. What's the death of a foal on my conscience?


- - -


This is fucking bullshit. I should be out there helping search for Pound Cake—hell, I know where he fucking went—but I'm pretty damn sure Twilight cast some kind of hex that binds me to the limits of Ponyville, transporting me back to the library if I so much as cross that boundary. Why would she do that though? I mean, it's clear that she doesn't trust me nearly as much as I thought, but what motivation is there to do this? If they were worried about me getting lost, they could easily have just cast some sort of tracking tag charm or some such thing. It seems like a much easier thing to do. Far more reasonable, too.

So why, then, would she put such a tight leash on me? It would almost certainly have been while I was under from that thing she did to me earlier. What if it wasn't then though? Might she have done it the very instant she brought me here to Equestria? Given that whole thing with the subspace highway certainly disturbed her, it kind of makes sense that she would have done it then—especially if she thinks I'm dangerous.

I groan and rub my eye against my fetlocks before letting my face come to rest on the oak table. It sucks just sitting here not out there helping! So what if they don't trust me? I proved myself by saving Sweetie Belle! Didn't I?

“Here.” Spike's voice draws my attention away from my thoughts. In one of his outstretched claws, he is holding a saucer and a teacup. “You look like you could use it.”

I look at the little dragon appreciatively. If anyone can understand Twilight or ponies in general, it's probably him. “Thanks, Spike, but you didn't have to do that.” Tentatively taking the saucer between my teeth, I lower the drink to the table. “I'll drink it when it's cooler. Feeling a little burnout after everything yesterday.”

He simply nods his purple and green head knowingly. “It's the same way with Twilight when she overexerts herself.” He gives a weak smile. “You're not going to ask me to lift the teacup for you, are you?”

“What? No!” I'm taken aback by his question. Does Twilight honestly use him that way? “About Twilight... You've been with her since you hatched, right? Does she normally treat strangers warily and without trust?”

A confused frown overtakes his smile as he eyes me warily. “What?”

“I get the distinct impression she doesn't trust me. For the life of me I can't tell if she thinks I'm some sort of threat, or if I'm too mentally incompetent at this point to trust.” I lean my chin on one hoof and look at him. “I mean, I end up on her doorstep throwing a fit because of her enchantment bringing me back here while I was trying to stop a foal from running into the Everfree. She seemed almost convinced I was simply having a psychotic episode.”

Spike looks at me with a growing look of unease. “Oh... Oh!” he intones. “Yeah... Twilight is very much the analytical pony. When she has a puzzle to solve, she very much likes to solve them. When a particular puzzle or mystery proves particularly tough—or things simply don't make sense—she either obsesses, like when she tried to understand the Pinkie Sense, or she becomes... frustrated From what I've been able to gather, she finds you—or your kind, rather—fascinating, but when she came back this morning, she was grumbling about what a maddening enigma you were. She said something like 'How can something with a frightening mind like that be so infuriatingly helpless?'

“I'd like to think she's simply being silly old Twilight, and that she'll come around, but she really seems convinced that you're... wrong on some level.” He sighs. “I've never seen her this way about anybody but that changeling impostor at the wedding. Even then it was simply because she knew Cadance. I think you scare her.”

I'm wrong am I? Now what would give her that impression? Was it the subspace corridor, or maybe it was the fact that I'm slowly losing my fucking mind. I'm scary? Boo-hoo hoo!

“I see,” I mumble in monotone. It occurs to me to ask what his thoughts on being born into servitude to Twilight, but I think better of it. The last thing I need is Twilight hunting me down and turning me to stone for turning Spike against her. “Do I seem untrustworthy to you? Do I scare you?”

He locks his gaze with me for a long while. It's almost as though he's reading me on some level, but then again he probably is. “No, you don't seem untrustworthy. You're full of self-doubt, but I don't think you'd ever go out of your way to break someone's trust.” A smile graces his scaly lips. “You don't scare me, either. You might be from another world, but you aren't all that different from ponies. The fact that you're different is actually comforting, if that makes sense.”

I think I understand where he's coming from there. He's the only dragon in a village of many ponies. The only non-ponies he encounters on a regular basis are livestock. Occasionally he might encounter the odd griffon or minotaur, but aside from that he's outside the norm. Having an alien in a pony's body here in town would mean that he's a little less abnormal.

“If only Twilight could see it that way.” A sigh escapes my lips as I lean down to sip at my tea. It's rather fruity in flavor and aroma, not unlike a nice Earl Grey. “She just seemed so against me speaking when Pinkie showed up all deflated, going on about how Pound Cake was missing.”

“It's no wonder she didn't want you to say anything.” Spike crosses his arms and begins shaking his head. “When Pinkie's in one of her depressive states, you have to be careful about what you say. I should know.”

Fuck, I never even thought about that. I was too agitated at the time to even think about what I was saying. I'm not going to feel bad about this though. It's Twilight's fault that was in that agitated state to begin with! Still, I feel sorry for Pinkie Pie, having to have gone through all that she has and then face that.

“Think you could leave me be for a bit?” I whisper, afraid my voice might tremble. “I need some time to wallow in whatever it is ponies wallow in, and I kinda don't have anywhere else to do that right now.”


- - -


Footsteps on the stairs jerks me out of a nap. They’re definitely footsteps and not hoofsteps. Is it Spike again? No, probably not. He’s a lot lighter than the source of those footsteps. Lyra then? Probably. I listen as whoever it is makes their way up the stairs. There's the distinct clicking of a raised heel in their step. Yeah, it’s definitely Lyra; Rarity must have given her those sandals.

The footsteps stop when she reaches the top of the stairs. What is she waiting for—an invitation? She probably met up with Twilight and thinks I’m crazy now or something. Then again maybe she feels guilty—and rightfully so—about last night. “Lyra?” I ask, lifting my head. “Is there any word on the search party?”

There’s a sniffle and the shuffling of feet on the wood flooring behind me. Before I can turn to catch sight of my assailant, a pair of arms wrap around my neck, and an almost equine muzzle presses into my mane. A flood of panic and disgust bursts through my mind at the sudden quasi-intimate touch. If it weren’t so important to hear what she might have to say about the search for Pound Cake, I’d probably be biting and kicking until she lets go of me. I still might.

“Oh Soren, it’s horrible!” she whimpers into my mane. “It’s too awful for words.”

“Spit it out, Lyra,” I hiss. “What. Happened?”

The not-quite-mare begins sobbing into my mane. “They found him in a clearing not far from Zecora’s hut. He was turned to stone by a cockatrice!” She nuzzles into my mane once more. “Not far from the clearing, a dead cockatrice was found. It was only freshly killed, but there’s nothing you can do for a cockatrice’s victims if it dies!”

My blood turns to ice. “W-what?”

“There’s nothing anypony can do for him now.”

Struggling against her hold, I begin to sputter and rant. “That’s complete bullshit!” My hoarse shout fills the chamber. “Nothing we can do? We have a magical princess who can turn ponies to stone and send them to the moon, but saving a foal from the cockatrice’s gaze is beyond her power? You’ve gotta be joking.”

Tightening her hold around me, Lyra whispers, “It’s not your fault.”

Biting into her arm, I begin thrashing about until she lets me go. “The fuck it isn’t my fault,” I shout. “I was right there in that park. I followed him ALL THE WAY to the Everfree trying to catch him! If I’d just been able to use some magic, none of this would have happened. If I had just been able to catch him, I could have saved him, just like Sweetie Belle!”

“You can’t save everypony!” a cold voice shouts from the stairs. “Nopony can save everypony! Not even us!”

When Lyra finally releases me, I take up a defensive stance on top of the table. I watch warily as Twilight Sparkle takes measured steps toward me. Her sclera are stained red by tears, but what strikes me is that empty look in her eyes. She looks almost heartless right now.

“Maybe so,” I spit derisively, “but I’ll never know if I could have made a difference now, because you fucking hexed me!”

“It was my decision!” Lyra cries, burying her almost-equine snout in her stubby hands. “I was worried you’d freak out and vanish from Ponyville. I was worried you’d get yourself killed or I’d be eternally lost after the switch back. I asked Twilight to bind you to Ponyville until the end of the final day. She didn’t argue.”

I stare aghast at Lyra before looking back to Twilight. “I would rather have died trying to save somepony than try to save them, only to be whisked away at the last moment.” My venomous glare lands on Twilight. “As far as I’m concerned, the blood is on your hooves, whoever you are.”

If Twilight is hurt by my words, she makes no outward sign of it. “What do you mean ‘whoever I am’? I’m Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia’s personal protege.” She takes one step forward, fixing me her own heartless glare.

“Bull-fucking-shit you are!” Cringing away, I try to force the tears from my eyes. “The Twilight Sparkle I know wouldn’t be so fucking callous. She wouldn’t treat somepony she worries might be at risk of having psychotic episodes like they can’t be trusted. The real Twilight would understand that treating them this way is highly likely to inspire a psychotic episode!” I rear up and slam my hooves onto the table for emphasis. “She wouldn’t act so damned emotionless either. You’re nothing but an impostor!”

For the first time since she entered the room, I catch some semblance of emotion in those eyes. “Get out,” she orders. “Get the buck out of my library before I remove you!”

“Twilight, Soren wai—”

“With pleasure.” With an annoyed snort, I turn on my hooves and jump down from the table. “This is getting really old anyway.” Breaking into a gallop, I dive through the nearest window. Fuck stairs, fuck Twilight Sparkle, and most of all, fuck Lyra!
> Interlude - Dear Princess Celestia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Princess Celestia,

In my previous letters, I informed you of the situation regarding Ponyville citizen Lyra Heartstrings and our extradimensional visitor. It was my expressed intent to personally aid in the protection of our guest's mind and memories from the Unicornian Memory Redundancy. Given my responsibility in Lyra's access to Starswirl's Consciousness Exchange spell, it only felt right that I do my best to help him. Initially, my plan was to find some method of extracting and making a copy of his consciousness, but even with the best research materials from Canterlot at my disposal, I found that nothing can be done without a vessel for the memories; any other attempts else would simply result in the complete purging of his mind. In the end, I had no other choice but to cast a memory enhancing charm to strengthen his memories and make it more difficult for the Redundancy imprint to do its job. Unfortunately, even that isn't enough, as the charm is completely dependent on the individual's state of mind.

This is wherein my troubles lie. Mister Friedrich, or Soren—and he would likely emphasize the pronunciation Zoo-ren as opposed to a pronunciation similar to the name of a certain Wonderbolt—as he seems to prefer to be called, seems to attract trouble to no end. Primarily, his 'human' body is undergoing a metamorphosis, becoming unmistakably equine with each passing hour and exposure to magic. In no uncertain terms, this metamorphosis is proving Corkscrew the Eccentric's theorem on the effects of magic on beings from non-magical realms. Everything in the research, and all I have seen in the past two days indicate that every magic applied to them will have longer lasting, even permanent effects.

For Soren, who has already been having so many issues just being a pony and mare, finding out that going home is no longer an option, the news didn't have nearly the reaction I expected. Instead of showing any outward reaction, he just walked away, and then acted like nothing at all had happened when I saw him at the party. Right then and there, I should have been concerned, but I'd been pouring too much of myself into trying to find a way to help him. If I'd thought more of it, I might have seen this coming.

The events of last night's after-party are what I think drove him over the edge. There was apparently a drunken tryst between Lyra, Bon-Bon and Soren, an event that a sober Soren would later dwell upon and see as a betrayal of trust. This morning he was so disturbed by it that he teleported himself into the cabinet beneath Lyra's sink. This more than anything I wish I'd known about ahead of time. If I'd known, I would have seen his psychotic episode coming and have been prepared to help him. The whole situation and my inability to do anything substantial was infuriating.

Instead, I sent him off to the quietest park in Ponyville—the one nearest the Everfree forest. Knowing he's already experienced one psychotic episode, Lyra and I felt it would be best if we bound him to Ponyville. It seemed like the best measure if he lost control of his faculties and tried to run off. It slipped our minds, however, to inform him of this. This binding proved costly today, and I can't help but feel responsible.

When Soren appeared on the doorstep of the library this afternoon, I was so convinced that he was having an episode. He was going on and on about a foal and the Everfree. I was so convinced that he was having a hallucination that I didn't even consider that what he was saying was the truth, even when Pinkie Pie, who had been tending the foals of her employers at that same park, arrived concerned about a missing foal. Even when he described Pound Cake perfectly, I was totally dismissive of what he had to say, and he became hostile and angry. This was my mistake. If I'd taken him seriously at the time, and ordered a search of the Everfree from the very beginning, we might have saved the poor foal from his fate. Instead, Ponyville mourns the loss of a foal to a cockatrice that was later found dead.

This, I fear, is what finally broke him. He began to blame himself, as well as Lyra and myself for our parts in limiting him to Ponyville. He became so hateful of us when I returned, and in my grief I lost all semblance of control and yelled at him. I don't know if he was blinded by his own anger and grief, or if he was in some delusional or hallucinatory state, but he flat-out accused me of being an impostor. I'm not even convinced he was truly understanding what was really being said. I tried to speak reason with him, I really did, but his response didn't make any sense. I only asked him how he could say such things, and he acted like I gave him an order of some sort. Soon after, he jumped out the second floor window of the library, and we haven't been able to find hide nor hair of him since.

I really hate to say it, but I really messed up big-time. I doubt he'll even listen to me at this point, and he's almost violently distrustful of Lyra now. Please, Princess, I need your help if he has any chance of even retaining his personality.
He needs your help.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle
> Respite
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's truly amazing how nonchalant the ponies of Ponyville are about some things, while panicking about others. Take snakes for an example; it’s time to freak out! Stampede? Panic! Zebra in the neighborhood? Hide your foals, hide your wife and hide your husband 'cause they’re raping everypony out here! A pony jumping out the second story window of the library, through a pane of glass and everything? Pshh, so what? I honestly can't tell if ponies defenestrating themselves is a regular Ponyville occurrence, or if the herd mentality has some sort of mass mourning thing that makes them utterly oblivious to what goes on around them.

Nopony would give me so much as a second glance while I wander aimlessly through the streets. It's not like a pony limping along covered in scratches and broken glass is anything special. Why should anypony notice if she’s limping or glittering in the lantern-light? It's more than that though. They're purposely avoiding looking at me... but why? Is the dusting of glass scaring them all away, or do I just look that crazy right now?

Either way, it suits me just fine. The more ponies that never saw me, the better. Celestia only knows what that impostor is going to do to me if she finds me. She might purposely rewire my brain and send me on some sort of regicidal mission. Why else would somepony impersonate the regent’s star pupil? Unless she’s a spy—if she is a spy, then I totally blew her cover! Spies have to get rid of witnesses if they need to maintain their over.

Yup... Definitely can’t go anywhere near the library again. Any of Twilight’s friends are probably out of the question, too. If any of them so much as sees me, not-Twilight would probably be able to get a good idea of my movements. Same goes if I show up on Lyra and Bon-Bon’s doorstep again. I know without a doubt not-Twilight is watching that house like a hawk.

Idly, I wander into an alley to allow myself time to think. What am I to do when I’m effectively trapped in Ponyville and somepony impersonating the town’s most talented unicorn wants me dead? Firstly, I really need to find a way to bandage some of these cuts. I’m no good if I bleed to death; even if I’m not bleeding too badly, these wounds could become infected if I don’t find some way to clean and dress them. Hospital is out though. That not-Twilight is probably watching that place as well.

Next, I need to figure out how to get some food into me. I have no money, and if the entire town is in grieving mode, I doubt anypony is going to see some scruffy cut-up unicorn and think ‘I should give her some food’ and feed me. I’m probably going to have to resort to petty theft to survive, but where could I get enough food to keep me going? I suppose if I stayed on the outskirts of Sweet Apple Acres, I could scrounge up some apples without being noticed. Heck, there’s even a place that I could stay the night without being noticed—if I can even find it.

Wait a sec! If I’m going to be slinking around the Acres, there’s no reason I can’t check out the Boutique! With all the cutting of fabric she does, Rarity probably has all sorts of scraps in a bin out back or something! No, she’d probably hear if somepony were rattling around in her waste-bins. Would those scraps even be sanitary?

Wow... When I look at what I’m thinking, I can honestly say that I would never have expected to hear myself thinking that raiding trash bins, stealing apples, and hiding in a child’s clubhouse would be a good idea. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I have somehow allowed myself to delve into the mindset of a homeless pony or a raccoon. Is there even such a thing in Equestria? No, stop that. Now is not thinking time. I’ve been standing still for too long.


- - -


By the time I crouch down by the Carousel Boutique’s back door, I’m coated in a sheen of sweat. It’s not the exertion of scrambling across town; as I recall, just yesterday I was running for half an hour straight trying to avoid Pinkie. It instead is the pain from my leg. I definitely don’t want to have to start running on this thing. I really shouldn’t even be on this sort of injury.

Well, at least I’m here, right? From the windows, no light escapes; from the looks of things, nopony is home—even better! Now, let’s see about getting these bins open. The horn is still out of commission. Just trying to use it induces a dull ache in my head. I guess that leaves the old fashioned way. Let’s see, if I stand up on my hind legs and balance one forehoof against the bin, I should be able to—whoa fuck!

CRASH!

Okay, so that was clearly a bad plan. Instead of pushing the lid open, I managed to shift all my weight against it at the wrong time and I’m now laying on top of an overturned waste bin. Classy, girl—man, Luna damn it all—when’s the encore? At least nopony is going to see me like this. I’d just about die of embarrassment. Now, about those scraps... Nope! This is all household waste, not fabric scraps. Does she keep those inside? Damn... Can this get any worse?

As if to answer my unspoken question, a light on the second floor comes on, bathing the area just beyond me in a dim light. Moments later, a window above me creaks open. Without even considering the consequences of moving quickly on my bad leg, I dive into the shadows up against the house, only to let out a strangled cry as all my weight goes onto my injury.

“H-hello? Is somepony out there?” a young filly’s voice calls out. There’s a modicum of fear in her sleep-laden voice, as though she’s just woken from a bad dream. Undoubtedly, it’s Sweetie Belle. “Scootaloo, Apple Bloom? Is—is that you?”

Shakily, I try to move myself in the quietest manner possible. If I can just get around the curve of the boutique, Sweetie Belle will never know that I was here. She’ll just think some cat or dog got into the trash bins, and we’ll both forget this incident ever happened. Unfortunately, just putting weight back onto that leg elicits another pained groan.

“C’mon, this isn’t funny!” she cries anxiously. “If somepony is there, just say something.” 

So, if I’m not a pony, or if I’m some sort of monster, I can stay quiet? Huh. There’s a thought, me being quiet in this condition. “No monsters or anything down here, Sweetie Belle.” I say with some indignation, crawling into the light projected out the window. “Just a pony foolishly rooting through garbage for scraps of fabric that probably aren’t there.”

“Miss Soren?” I’m not looking up at the window, but I don’t need to be to know there’s an incredulous look on her face. The surprise and confusion is evident in her voice. “Why are you looking for fabric in our garbage? Rarity recycles her scraps.” Fuck, of course she does.

Well, you see, Sweetie belle, I was raped by my hosts, Twilight is out to get me, and I threw myself through a window. “Lyra and I had a bit of a fight, and I really don’t want to be around her right now.” It’s not quite lying, not that I have an issue with lying to children. “I had a bit of an accident, and I was looking for something to bandage my cuts with. I’d go to the hospital if it was serious, but it’s only some cuts...”

I look up to the window just in time to catch a thoughtful look fading from her face. “Well, Rarity had to go help Pinkie Pie. I think something bad happened today,” she says softly, glancing away from the window. Her expression is visibly brighter. “Maybe I can help you! Just wait right there!” The filly’s head disappears from the window.

At this point, it’s unclear to me whether or not getting Sweetie involved will ultimately benefit me. On one hoof, she could be of help getting my cuts cleaned and dressed, but on the other, she might very well mummify me. What would Luna do? Well, for one, she’s probably seek her sister’s assistance. I personally have no way to contact Celestia, and even if I did, what could she do? Then again, maybe asking what Luna would do in my situation wouldn’t be all that great of a comparison. Luna went and became Nightmare Moon when she lost her shit.

Before I can reflect any longer on what Luna would do or how the Princesses might be able to help me, my thoughts are interrupted by a light on the first floor coming on and the back door opening. Standing in the doorway, backlit by a ceiling light, is Sweetie Belle. A small nurse’s cap is perched on her head, and she had the handle of a first aid kit clutched in her mouth. I can’t help but stare at the nurse cap, wondering where she got it, or why she even has it.

“Please, come into the light,” she instructs, smiling even with the first aid kit in her mouth. “I’m pretty good at cleaning up cuts and scrapes.”

Suddenly it all makes sense. Her and her friends are essentially Ponyville’s shit-disturbers. Of course they would get scratched up and stuff. Heck, she probably takes the medkit and cap with her, even if it isn’t her special talent. Somepony’s gotta do it, and being the unicorn in the group—even if I’ve never seen her use magic—she’s probably best suited to making sure they aren’t all banged up when they go home.

“You use that thing often?” I ask, as I slink into the room, trying my best not to let on about my bum leg. Stand as still as possible in order to give her better access to my form, a sigh escapes my lips.

Placing the first aid kit on the floor, she looks at me intently, as though pondering whether or not I mean her horn or the medkit. “I only started practicing my magic a few months ago, but it’s made clean-up a whole lot simpler.” She smiles proudly, lighting up her horn in a sap-green aura. “You have no idea how hard it is to get tree-sap off without magic.”

An honest chuckle escapes my throat as I watch her levitating disinfectant swabs and bandages individually and laying them out in an alternating array in front of her. “Oh, I can imagine.” When you grow up in an area with pine and spruce trees, you’re bound to get a bit sappy from time to time. Even as an adult, I'm no exception. “It’s a real pain to get off clothes and skin.”

As the first disinfectant swab brushes across one of the cuts on my face, I can’t help but wince. I don’t know what disinfectant it is, but it sure isn’t the hydrogen peroxide I’m used to. Sweetie Belle must have noticed, because she lets out her own little giggle. “It’s only a little iodine, dear,” she chides in a very Rarity-esque tone before giggling. Catching my displeasure at being mocked, she quickly adds, “Sorry, it’s just Rarity always tells me that a little pain now is worth not suffering a lot of pain later when infection sets in.”

“That’s a rather practical and non-business minded outlook.” I muse as she gently covers the scratch with a bandage. I kinda expected Rarity to be a bit of a supporter of injury. Given how fucked this Equestria is, I half expect her to make a profit from pandering to those who have suffered injury. I could even imagine her saying something along the lines of injury needn’t hinder style. She could be the next great thing in ambulatory fashion! A stupid smile crosses my face as I continue my musing. 

You can only imagine how surprised I am when Sweetie Belle beeps my nose with her hoof and giggles. “All finished.” She’s beaming in pride, and a small hoof-held mirror levitates off of a nearby counter—gotta have one in every room for fashion emergencies, I can imagine Rarity claiming. As it floats in front of my face, I can see several band-aids marking my face. More are all over my body. Looking down at my forelegs, I’m surprised to find that she even found some compression bandages and wrapped them around my foreleg. 

“You really should keep off a sprain like that,” she adds, noting my lingering eyes. My eyes dart back up to meet her in shock. How could she know? “Scootaloo was just as bad at hiding her limp as you are.”

Incredibly grateful, I cannot help but wrap my hooves around the little unicorn and draw her close into a hug. “Thank you, Sweetie Belle. Even if bad things can still happen in Equestria, I’m glad your parents and Rarity are raising you right.” I practically sob into her mane. “Can I just ask one last favor? Do you know anywhere out of the way that I can spend the night where nopony would think to look?”


- - -


Hours have passed since my chance meeting with Sweetie Belle. Instead of being directed to the Cutie Mark Crusaders Clubhouse—“It’s a disaster right now,” she claimed—I find myself standing in front of a great dead oak tree outside the border of Sweet Apple Acres. With Luna’s moonlight, I can just make out what looks like a rough storm-cellar door built against the base of the massive trunk. This is definitely the place.

As Sweetie explained to me, beneath this tree is a rather large burrow that the Crusaders have taken as their ‘home away from home’. I guess even they need a secret-secret base in addition to their not-so-secret clubhouse. Just beside the door, a window has been carved into a gnarled root. Gotta have some light at night, I reckon. There isn’t even a question as to how their construction abilities have progressed since the aborted table at Fluttershy’s cottage—the trebuchet made sure of that.

Still, I don’t think I could ever be prepared for what I saw when I entered. Trotting down the well-constructed wooden steps, I’m greeted not by an empty and poorly-lit chamber, but instead a somewhat-furnished, decently-lit den. It’s rather breathtaking to think that three young fillies managed all this on their own. 

Passing the table in the center of the room and moving towards a pile of blankets beneath a window, I cannot help but marvel at how well lit this space is, despite it being the dead of night. The only light sources are the windows, but the light seems to be coming from the center of the chamber, just above the table. Laying down on the pile of blankets, I stare up at a crystal embedded in the ceiling above the table. There’s no doubt about it; that crystal is somehow amplifying the light streaming through the windows. A gift from Twilight perhaps?

“Twilight...” I mutter somberly. Even my easily distracted mind cannot fight off troubling thoughts for long. Just having ignored it for a few hours is an achievement for one such as me. In an instant, all of the emotion and panic of the day rushes back into the forefront of my mind. A sob wracks my chest as the disdain I feel for Lyra after what happened last night strikes me. Another sob comes and goes, and the memory of Twilight completely ignoring me when Pound Cake ran off into the Everfree batters away at my heart. The icy tone of her voice when she threw me out once again chills my blood.

“No! Don’t think about it. Just go to sleep!” Even as I say it, the sickening feeling returns as I remember the sense of loss upon hearing Pound’s fate. The thought, like some great unkillable horror-terror from the depths of Tartarus itself, refuses to go away. Looking to the window, I take in a shaky breath. There’s only one thing that can take my mind off of troubles and allow me to single-mindedly focus on a goal. I begin to sing.

A tear rolls down my cheek, my voice already wavering after just the first verse. By the time I reach the chorus, I’m trembling terribly, not only because I’m upset, but because Lyra’s voice is frighteningly fitting to this song. Pausing, I allow myself only a moment’s respite as I mentally fast-forward the instrumental. Nuzzling the blankets gently, I prepare to lay my head down as again I lapse into the chorus, feeling far more comfortable already. My eyes-lids hang heavily over my eyes. 

Laying my head into the blankets, I sing the final verse into my makeshift pillow. “Should I cave and blindly dance along to Lyra’s tune, or should I instead trust what my heart tells me?” I whisper, my heavy eyelids drifting shut over tired my eyes. “I don’t have much left, but I don’t want to be bereft...” I shake my head. “Am I willing to choose, when I’ve everything to loose?” When I finally drift off to sleep, it’s with a half-soothed mind and the final chorus lay forgotten at the tip of my tongue. The day’s troubles are forgotten at least momentarily as the realm of dreams overtakes me.
> Awash
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The sound of an alarm clock rouses me from my restful slumber. No matter how many times I attempt to permanently cripple the darn thing, it always comes back to haunt me. Stupid pony-resistant materials are always raining on my parade.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! CLUNK!

With a sigh, I slam a hoof down on the beeping monstrosity. I don't want to get up, but I don't really have a choice; Ms. Juno will be riding my flank if I'm not up by 9:30 a.m., and that was the 9:15 iteration of the 'stop your damned sleeping' alarm. Celestia knows if I'm late for this afternoon's appearance, she'll have me grounded figuratively and literally.

Pulling myself out of bed, I can't help but groan at the thought of my live-in personal assistant. Sure, I'm a pony living on Earth, but do I really need a personal assistant/taskmaster? The Canadian government seems to think so, and given that the Equestrian leadership is in part sponsoring my being here, I suppose I can't complain. She certainly is a big help in coping with Hasbro and their attempts to get me to land their representatives a meeting with the Equestrian Ambassador.

I look around at my bedroom. My apartment is nothing at all fancy, but everything in my bedroom is custom made for my small stature; my sponsors at the embassy spared no expense. Off to one side of the room is a pony-sized oak vanity, accompanying an oak chest for my clothes. Being a pony, I don't need to dress much any more, but I still have one or two pieces for special occasions in addition to my regular pieces. Finally, a pony-sized bookshelf by my bed is stocked with a mixture of Equestrian and human literature—Daring Do and Indiana Jones, mostly, with a smattering of science fiction for good measure.

Trotting out the open door, I catch but a glimpse of Ms. Juno in the kitchenette. Quickly ducking into the bathroom, I close and lock the door before Ms. Juno offers her assistance. It's nothing personal; I just can't enjoy feeling a bit independent if she's even trying to help me with my personal hygiene. So what if I can't really towel off by myself?

After attending to the call of nature, using the smaller of the two toilets in the chamber, I clamber into the shower. If there's anything I hate most about this apartment, it's the shower. It's one of those cramped standing showers designed for humans. In spite of multiple requests to the super, nopony will come and make something a bit more pony-friendly. Still, it gets the job done.

While drying off was pretty simple during my time in Lyra's body, nothing compares to just how easy it really is for a pegasus. The gentle aura manipulation required for controlling the weather and manipulating clouds also allows one to manipulate their water resistance. In that sense I can allow myself to get wet and clean, and then force the water off of me in moments—no towel necessary!

With a bit of a chuckle, I trot back into my room and position myself in front of the vanity. My hoof automatically dips for the hairbrush, knowing full well I need to look my best today. If they can't trust the only pony with citizenship in two dimensions to look her best on camera, who can you trust.

“Here, let me do your mane,” my assistant offers, crouching down behind me. “You just worry about making your wings presentable.”

Shooting a glare at the woman in the mirror, my blue eyes meet her more cyan eyes in a contest of wills. “Just what's that supposed to mean?” I reply in an ill-amused tone. “What's wrong with my wings?”

“Oh nothing!” she says, putting her hands up defensively. “They'll just love you flying in like you just came out of bed.” To make her point, she daintily grabs one of my wing-tips, stretching my wing out behind me so that it is visible in the mirror.

“Alright, so I’ve been neglecting preening for the last two days.” I whine, twisting my neck to tend to some of the disheveled gray feathers on that wing. “In my defense, I’ve been trying desperately to get back to work on my memoir on the events that lead to the meeting of the worlds. Writing isn’t easy with hooves or feathers, you know.”

I switch over to the other wing while she begins brushing the long silvery strands running down the back of my neck. “Why is it that they want me to go on camera and give a little blurb about ‘Equestria: Our Interdimensional Neighbors’ again, anyway? Why not the Princesses or the Bearers of Harmony?”

“Ambassador Fancypants believes that you are the best choice as you’ve spent time in both worlds as a neutral party. Until the magic suppressors enter mass production, no human can visit Equestria without conversion effects taking place.” My caretaker sounds almost wistful as she puts a scrunchie around the back length of my mane. “In a way you and the diplomats are all lucky; you just have to take magic supplements every day.”

A throb of pain washes through my mind, but I can’t quite seem to understand why. “Lucky,” I mutter, unsure of why exactly it is that I don’t feel it. “That’s one way to put it.” Catching sight of the alarm clock in the mirror, I see the time is quarter to ten in the morning. “Speaking of supplements, shouldn’t I eat soon?”

“Oh, that reminds me. You need to stop by the Equestrian Embassy on your way back.” Rising up, she turns towards the door. “You’re on your last magic supplement pill today.”


- - -


There’s something to be said about gliding above town, free of the trappings of streets and traffic. Indeed, as I cross Dartmouth by air, the only thing I really need to worry about is the pollution thrown up by the Imperial Oil Refinery down in the Woodside area, but even that is only a partial nuisance. It’s just a matter of pulling my scarf over my face and dropping my flight goggles over my eyes.

There’s even a certain sense of power in flying over my old stomping grounds. I reckon it has a lot to do with the sense of ‘I can go anywhere, any time’. How could you not feel empowered by being outside the normal laws of road speed, pedestrian crossing, and bridge tolls? By completely bypassing traffic and roads, you can get anywhere you want in no time at all.

Even if my little interview is at the CBC production facility in Downtown Halifax, across the harbor, I don’t have to be there until noon. That in itself is plenty of incentive to peel off to the northwest to fly a detour over the Bedford Basin. The novelty of being able to fly over familiar waters might have long since worn off for Equestrian pegasi, but for me, such a thing is still incredibly novel—especially given my former laziness as a human.

Reaching the Halifax side of the harbor, I bank to my left and realign myself southbound, taking me over Halifax proper. From this height and elevation, I can even make out the Equestrian Embassy out on McNab’s island in the harbor. Every time I see that place, instead of wondering the obvious question of why they would set up on a mostly forested island just shy of a thousand acres, accessible only by private boat or helicopter, I always wonder how the diplomats convinced the provincial and federal government to relinquish the 50 acres of land to a foreign power.

Even months after first contact, I still can’t figure out Celestia’s motives for offering services reducing pollution, restoring destitute lands, and helping world hunger. I mean, yeah, what teams of pegasi and earth ponies could do for nations in Africa is amazing, but what at all is she getting out of it? This isn’t that Conversion Bureau nonsense, after all.

A momentary headache spike tells me that it’s time to stop dawdling and get to the CBC studio. I’m no good to interview if I have some sort of accident and come crashing through the roof. After all the stair and pool incidents in Lyra’s body, I swore off accidents forever.


- - -


Shortly after arriving at the CBC production studio, I’m ushered onto a set. It’s nothing fancy, really—just a tall table, two human-oriented chairs, and cameras before a drab backdrop. Perched in one chair is a portly looking news anchor, smiling waving genially at me. Just off the main set—much to my surprise—is Ms. Juno, arguing with a stagehand, pointing at the chair and pantomiming to emphasize the awkwardness human chairs for ponies.

In a moment of distraction, Ms. Juno catches sight of me, and jogs across the set towards me. “Apologies, Silver, but there seems to have been some sort of miscommunication.” She glares at the approaching stagehand. “Someone thought you would be fine in this sort of setup.”

I glance at the set and then back to the stagehand. “Would it be fine if someone just brings up a pillow and set it on that table?” I ask.

The stagehand looks a bit stupefied, as though the idea never crossed her mind. “I suppose we can do that,” she replies, her cheeks reddening. “but wouldn’t that mess up camera angles?”

Before I can say anything, Ms. Juno jumps in. “It should be perfectly fine.” Her facial expression is completely calm, but there’s a cold edge in her voice. “She’s a bit on the diminutive side compared to most Equestrians her age. She’d be at complete eye-level with your reporter, which I’d assume is exactly what you’d want with this sort of interview. After all, you wouldn’t want to imply that Equestrians aren’t equal to humans, right?”

“R-right.” the stagehand answers, looking rather pale. She quickly runs off, looking very chastened.

The minutes pass rather quickly, and before long Ms. Juno ushers me onto the set—still wearing my flight scarf and goggles—with a big smile. Much to the reporter’s delight, I make a show of flying up and landing gently on the pillow on the table in front of him. It’s the sort of thing that you almost hope on the recording; it’s certainly enough to leave a smile on my face.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I’m Dan Rathburn, and this is a special edition of the Rathburn Report,” he says in a rich, charismatic voice. “Many of you no doubt recall all of the media attention lately regarding the newcomers to planet Earth’s international scene. For those who don’t, some time ago, a civilization from what can only be classified as a realm ‘perpendicular’ to our own made first contact. There was much confusion and skepticism, as many pointed out that our interdimensional visitors matched perfectly the appearances of characters from Hasbro’s ‘My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic’ television series and toyline.

“There was a big shake-up in the world when our new ‘neighbors’, if you’ll pardon the pun, came offering not war or destruction, but peace, trade and climate control.” He offers a smile at his own pun before motioning towards me. I can only assume the camera is now on me, so I give a polite nod back to him. “Our guest here is a very special Equestrian. Silver Script, formerly Soren Friedrich, is the only known individual with dual-citizenship in both Equestria, and Canada.”

With prompting from offstage, I offer a modest hello before allowing Dan to continue. “Miss Script—or may I call you Silver?” I nod once. “—has been nice enough to answer a few questions here today about Equestria.

“First, how did you come to be a pony, if you don’t mind my asking?”

A shiver of anxiety courses through me, knowing I’m now the focus of the cameras. “Well, it all started one morning a few months ago...” I break off into a rather abridged retelling of the events leading up to my visit to Equestria, taking time only to emphasize on my exploding computer, and Lyra’s misconduct that eventually lead to my body’s magical sex-change and pony transformation. Throughout my retelling, Dan makes a believable effort of looking bothered by some of my troubles adapting to my new form while I occupied Lyra’s body.

My vision blinks with static once, and then twice again. “... and once I got to Equestria, things became rather peaceful.” My head throbs as I say it. “What else would you like to ask?”

“Actually, your last statement there was rather interesting, so I’d like to continue from there.” Dan idly shuffles some papers in front of him—were those there before?—as he pauses to think. “It says here that after a party held by one Pinkamena Diane Pie, you engaged in certain illicit activities with the individual Lyra Heartstrings—whose body you were occupying at the time—and her sex-flipped lover, Bon-Bon. What was going through your mind at the time?”

An iceberg of terror crashes through my heart. That isn’t right! It can’t be! “What? No, I—”

“Were you not acting like a drunken beast in heat that night?”

I look to Ms. Juno, locking my eyes on her cyan ones. What’s going on here? Why are they saying these hurtful, disgusting things? I thought this was supposed to be a rapport-building interview! She only looks away, as though disappointed.

“Fine... How about the events surrounding the death of a foal by the name of Pound Cake.” His voice drops into an icy tone. “Did you or did you not chase this child into a notoriously dangerous forest?”

“No, I was trying to stop—” I bury my face in my hooves, as if that might somehow deflect his questions and the strange pains they bring to my heart.

“During your stay, were you or were you not treated like a mentally deteriorating incompetent?”

“STOP IT!” I scream, my eyes clenched shut. “STOP SAYING THESE THINGS! THEY AREN’T TRUE!”

The tinkling of broken glass fills my ears, followed by wind washing across my body. When I open my eyes, I’m on a foggy gray plain. In the grass surrounding me are tiny shards of glass that, upon further inspection, bear partial images of the set that I was on just moments before. My head aches terribly each and every time my heart beats.

I bring a hoof up to my head, as though hoping to stop the world from spinning on its axis. Much to my shock and horror, I see not gray fur but aquamarine. Indeed, when I inch my hoof up to my forehead, that unmistakable horn is there as well. What’s going on? Wasn’t I having an interview?

“Isn’t it though?” a vaguely familiar voice coos at me through the fog. “Are those not truths you refuse to accept? Am I not a part of you?” An ethereal, gray and white pegasus mare steps out of the fog towards me, her blue eyes glinting like sapphires in some unseen light. “Boo hoo hoo, my life is so troubled! I can’t act responsible, and I just want to run away from everything that turns to shit! Maybe both worlds are better without me.”

“S-shut up!” I stammer at my unearthly spectre. It’s not that what she says is wrong. Rather, everything she says strikes true in my heart—painfully so. “Just leave me alone! Haven’t I been through enough?”

The doppelganger smiles viciously—a feat I thought impossible for Equestrian faces—and tramps through the gray grass toward me. “Oh woe is me, I’m losing my mind and someone I trusted took advantage of me in a weakened state,” she practically spits, her every word shooting ice through my veins. “I can’t even protect keep a foal from running into the woods and getting killed!”

Tears rim my eyes as I stare at the snarling visage of the not-me. “You’re right; I can’t,” I agree in a pitiful tone. “So what? Not everyone can. So what if Equestria and Earth might be better without me? You want me to just lie down and die? This isn’t some Shin Megami Tensei shit. I’m not going to just have a pissing contest with the darkness in my heart and come out stronger for it. That’s not how this works, as much as I might wish it.” 

I look away from the apparition. “So where do I go from here?” I ask without expecting an answer. “I can’t just forget and forgive.”

Somehow, I can feel the apparition smiling. “What’s gone is forever lost,” she responds in agreement. “All you can do is live.” Another tinkle of shattering glass rings out behind me. Turning back to face the apparition, I’m just in time to see her disintegrating into a cloud of diamond dust, along with the blades of grass on the plain.

Despite it all, I still don’t feel alone here. Even as the last traces of the doppelganger and grass vanish, I can feel somepony’s gaze on me, watching me from beyond the fog. It’s actually comforting. For the first time in weeks, being a dream is actually comforting.

“You can come out now, Princess,” I whisper softly as I lay sprawled out on the ground beneath me. I can’t help but suppress a giggle as the dream transitions to shadows.

Like a breeze on a spring evening, Princess Luna materializes beside me in the darkness. Her the stars in her mane glitter intently, even in this near blackness. Likewise, her eyes glimmer with ageless knowledge and wisdom. There are the makings of a wan smile on her muzzle. “Greetings to you, Soren Friedrich.” She gives a giggle of her own. “How long have you known, if I may ask?”

Placing a hoof on my chin, I pause. When did I realize it? “Gosh, I think from the beginning I had some idea that this was all a dream.” I look at her intently. “Or at least, a manufactured dream.”

Again, the Princess smiles. “Was there some giveaway I was not aware of?” At least she’s not questioning why I expected her to be in control of the realm of dreams. “Most ponies do not even recognize when they are in one of my conjured dreams.”

With a smirk, I look the Princess right in the eyes. “Most humans don’t have such vivid cyan eyes, your highness.” I respectfully lower my gaze before continuing. “Besides, for me, that was too coherent a dream. Why did it change like that in the end, though? That was incredibly cruel of you.”

“It was not I that directed the dream that way, young one.” Her voice is soft, but there is no hiding the affronted tone. To my surprise, I feel a booted hoof on my withers. “Grief is but one powerful emotion. It is one of the few powerful enough to dispel certain magical arts, such as dreamshaping. Your grief over the events of the past two days shattered my grip on the dream, and your subconscious took hold.”

Looking back up at the Princess, I can’t help but feel confused. “How...” My eyes widen with realization. Of course Twilight would write to the royalty. If Luna is here in my dream, then she knows where I am. She could simply be stalling for time; the Royal Guard could be bearing down on my location, and I would be able to put up nary a fight. I’ve been used... again! My own sleep has betrayed me now!

Scrambling to my hooves, I quickly back away. “Stay back!” My growl reverberates through the darkness, shaking even the ground beneath me. “I will not be used again!”

The Princess’s appearance flickers once in the darkness. Her coat darkens to match the shadows, while her pupils elongate into slits. “Please, calm down!” The vicious tone of Nightmare Moon chills me to the bone. “I mean you no har—”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I scream, and the very fabric of unreality shreds itself around me.
> Resolve
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clip-clop of my hooves on the well-worn path into Ponyville is my only accomplice as I make my way into town. The morning's silence is eerie—foreboding almost—and does nothing for my shaky resolve, even with a light amplifying crystal wrapped in my tail. It's bad enough when you wake up fearing an attack by the Royal Guard that never comes. When the whole town is deathly silent, a whole new level of unease sets upon you.

Luna most certainly knows where I am, so why have I yet to be set upon by the guard? She was clearly manipulating my dreams, but there is no purpose to it unless her intent was delaying. Since awakening on the pile of blankets in the den of the Crusaders, there has been no greater thought on my mind, save one: what do I do now?

The logical choice is to run and hide until the end of this all, or lay down and let the Guards come for me. What would that accomplish though? Running and hiding is what I've been doing this whole time, isn't it? All that's gotten me is trouble. Running away to Equestria has only made my emotional burden skyrocket. By running away from Lyra, I got wrapped up in the Pound Cake tragedy, and discovered that Twilight is some sort of impostor. Now she's probably deceived the Princesses with some sort of lie.

No, I think I've done enough running. Nopony can see that impostor Twilight for what she really is. Maybe if I can show everypony the phony she is, I can do something worthwhile. I'm not just going to lie down and die quietly. If I have to cease to be, I'm going down in a blaze of glory, and the lavender mimic is going down with me.

But how to do it? Certainly, my magic seems to have returned along with my resolve, but what is the worth of the ability to lift things, set fire to water, and create bright light against the powers of the supposed personal student of Princess Celestia? I mean, I suppose I could use the cells in her body to set her on fire, but I don't think that'll win me any friends.

If she's some sort of shapeshifter, I'll have to get the drop on her in order to reveal her true form to everybody. If I can prove that she's a fake, I might be able to earn a bit of trust from the Princesses. They've got to be able to do something for me. They're only preventing mind death; it's nothing like resurrecting the dead, so it's gotta be doable!

So if I'm to get the drop on her, there has to be a plan; walking into this without one would be absolute suicide. If I'm not careful, she'll just have me bound in hoof-cuffs and have me hauled away, never to be heard from again! Flaming water is out of the question, and just hucking a rock at her from behind won't work. It's gotta be something honorable, too. No jumping out of the bushes and scaring the shit out of her.

No throwing rocks, no fire, and no bush-jumping. What can I do with telekinesis and really bright light then? I mean, I suppose I could blind her and kick her in the face, but is that any different from jumping out of the bushes? Not really. Though... I suppose if I made a very specific duel challenge, it could be considered fair play, but I would still need a clincher.

I guess this is the line of thinking that lead me to linger a bit longer at the den. The memory of the light amplifying crystal lodged in the ceiling gave me an idea. That thing made a dark room bearable in the moonlight, and just right to make sleep impossible as the sun rose, what could that thing do with a high intensity light cantrip? The very idea of a miniature sun is too much to pass up. If I do that, though, I'd almost certainly be blinded for hours, if not days.

That gets me thinking as I walk; Pinkie Pie stashes everything around Ponyville in case of emergency. I could probably check the hollows of a few trees and find some eye-patches or a blindfold. Not only that, but a blindfold would probably provide some psyche-out factor. If nothing else, me showing up in the center of town with my eyes covered may imply to everybody around that something has happened to my eyes, and distract from what I’m up to until it’s too late. 

I grin to myself, breaking out into a trot. This day will be just perfect if I have anything to say about it. It has to, because I want to—need to—live.


- - -


Somewhere between finding a blindfold and getting to the center of town, I think I figured out why nopony is around. Without my knowing, I seem to have come across the Equestrian equivalent of a day of mourning. That’s really the only explanation I can come up with that doesn’t delve into that crazy conspiracy shit. Well, that, and it’s really damn early in the morning.

Still, that gives me more than enough time to embellish my appearance for the crowds. Crouched in a bush, it only takes a bit of unraveling of bandages and a little nip to an innocuous place on fetlock, I’ve got more than enough blood flowing to gouge out my eyes and stain my cheeks, and the blindfold for good measure. Stopping the bleeding is then as simple as licking my wounds and rebandaging it. Ponyville is in for a real show.

Peering out of the bush, I wait. It’ll do me no good to step out of the bushes blindfolded and have nopony hear my announcement if there’s nopony around. No, instead I wait until I see a good number of ponies—even a few very recognizable faces—before I decide to make my grand appearance. It’s only when I see Rainbow Dash land at a nearby market stall that I know exactly how to go about it.

Donning my bloodied blindfold, I boldly step out of my cover. Immediately the air in the marketplace has changed. Gone is the low hustle and bustle of ponies buying and selling and moving about; it doesn’t take eyesight to know that all eyes are suddenly on me. It isn’t even so much the feeling of being watched. There’s just that subtle shift in the air. 

Then the hushed whispering starts. Before long, it’s no longer concerned whisper, but audible conversation. There’s a mix of shock and concern in their voices. This is of course no great surprise; I mean, if some guy showed up in the middle of the same supermarket as you, all bandaged and bloody, you’d probably freak too.

“Soren! There you are!” There’s no hoofsteps or even the sound of flight. Rainbow Dash is just there. “You look like you’ve been through Tartarus! Lyra and Bon-Bon are out of their wits looking for you. Even Twilight is worried!”

I continue staring forward, but flick my ears in her direction nonetheless. “Oh, good morning Rainbow Dash.” I try not to sound too excited. “Yes, I do believe Lyra would be worried about me, if nothing more than because I hold her life in my hooves.” Turning my head in her direction, I can’t help but let a slight smile crease my lips. “Speaking of Twilight Sparkle, I was hoping you could pass on a message to her.”

Coughing into the fetlock of my bad leg, I clear my throat. “I hereby challenge Twilight Sparkle, student of Princess Celestia and bearer of the Element of Magoc to a duel.” When I make my words heard, a shocked murmur erupts from the gathering crowd. “The duel will be a battle of wits, magic, and physique, until one competitor becomes unable to continue.” More shocked murmuring erupts from the crowd, followed by a sense of rising excitement. “Terms of victory are as follows: if I am the victor, Twilight will release her hex confining me to Ponyville, allowing me to live out the remainder of what little time I have left as myself somewhere away from it all; if Twilight wins, I submit myself to remaining peacefully in Ponyville, causing her no more trouble for as long as I remain me.”

“W-what is all this?” Rainbow Dash says, taken aback by my challenge. “Why would you want to fight Twilight?”

“The last time Twilight and I saw each other, we did not part amicably.” In spite of my apparent injury, Rainbow fails to smother a laugh as sight is mentioned. Given how things must look, it is a rather bad pun when I think about it. “Rather than let the animosity and indecisiveness fester, it would be more sensible to put all our cards on the table and duke it out, not unlike your iron pony competition with Applejack.” 

Okay, so that’s probably a really bad comparison, but I stick by my words. What I’m doing is essentially challenging Twilight to a brawl; those two simply entered an athletic competition and in the end still didn’t solve who was the better athlete. “Besides, it’s my understanding that Princesses Celestia and Luna may be making an appearance here today.” This evokes a bit of a startled cough from Rainbow Dash, seemingly confirming my suspicions that the Princesses arrived during the night. That still doesn’t explain the lack of Royal Guards though... “I can think of no better way to greet royalty than with a grand show.” This last part really seems to have riled the Ponyvillians.

“Do you think you can remember all that for Twilight?” My tone is flat as I speak. “I mean, it would be rather disloyal to not give her all the details of my challenge.”

There’s an annoyed grunt from Rainbow Dash, and what sounds like a mumbled “Yeah, fine.” There’s a beating of wings and I can tell she’s gone. In the meantime, I continue standing—waiting—in the center of the market. Ponies are still standing around me, speaking excitedly among themselves. Without Rainbow Dash holding all of my attention, I can actually hear some of what is being said. Needless to say, not everypony is happy-excited. There are quite a few of them who seem angry.

It doesn’t really shock me, in all honesty. Today is only the day directly following the death of a child, and here I am acting like a deplorable dick. Of course ponies are going to be upset; I’m here turning a day of mourning into a fight. They have every right to be pissed off with me, but they should also be pissed off at not-Twilight. It’s her fault Pound died. That fake is the reason they’re all in mourning.

Still, this has to be done, not just because that impostor has to be exposed. If I sit by and do nothing, I’m doing nothing to validate my existence. If I don’t even have a reason for being, I may as well just lay down and let the brain-rewrite happen... and I’m not just going to lie down and die.

After time passes for a good while, and things calm down in the crowd, there’s a commotion. A flick of my ears in the direction of the commotion, however, tells me that it is not the arrival of Twilight Sparkle and a contingent of Royal Guards or the Princesses. It’s just two very angry ponies making their way through the crowd. Suddenly, a very bad feeling fills my stomach.

“Oh, let us through already!” a mare cries out, her voice almost vicious.  “I want to meet her! I want to meet the pony so disrespectful as to start a fight when half the town is in mourning!”

Oh, this is bad, so very, very bad. I know that voice anywhere. That is unmistakably Cup Cake, and if she’s here, then the pony coming up through the crowd with her is her husband Carrot Cake. Even with my eyes bound, her voice is more than enough for my imagination to conjure images of the pudgy blue mare and her scrawny yellow husband trotting through a rapidly parting crowd. 

In my sound-enhanced mind’s eye, Mr. and Mrs. Cake come to a stop mere feet from me. For the briefest moment, I imagine their disdainful look loosening into mere unease as the pair gets their first look at my battered appearance. Then, all at once, their demeanor solidifies once more into barely contained contempt.

There’s a low growl before anypony speaks. “You! What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Cake demands, his voice full of spite. “How dare you mar this day of mourning with such petty nonsense! Don’t you know we’ve j-just lost our son!?”

Turning my head in the direction of his voice, I let a frown cross my face. “I know that too well, Mr. Cake.” There’s no way I can control the shaking  my voice. “That is why I must go through with this.”

Something strikes me across the face, hard. There is no doubt that somepony has just given me the equivalent of a slap. Blood fills my mouth as my teeth cut into my cheek. “Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Cake’s shaky voice rings in my ears before she slaps me once more. “What gives you the right?”

Unmoving, I let the blood pooling in my mouth dribble down my chin. “What exactly do you know of your son’s death?” I whisper dryly, simultaneously angry and afraid. “What exactly did they tell you? Did they tell you that somepony could have saved him—stopped him from going into the Everfree—if that pony hadn’t been hexed to stay within the Ponyville boundaries?”

“W-what are you trying to say?” Mr. Cake stammers, taken aback. “What does this have to do with your petty vendetta against Ms. Sparkle?”

I can feel tears spilling from beneath the blindfold, streaking my cheeks with bloodied tears. “I’m trying to say that I could have saved your son!” My voice trembles as I say this. “I was right there! I almost caught him before he ran into the Everfree, but no, right when I could have caught him in my hooves, I was teleported away, because I got too far from town!

“Your foal died because Twilight Sparkle put that damnable hex on me! He died because she wouldn't fucking listen to me!” I shout, now sobbing. There’s an outcry from the crowd at this accusation. Even the Cakes gasp. I feel sick to my stomach, and it’s only an empty stomach that keeps me from vomiting everywhere. “If I don’t do this, the guilt will kill me long before this stupid unicorn brain back-up finishes overwriting my very identity!”

Another hoof strikes me across the face, much stronger this time. Again, I make no movement to defend myself. “So y-you’re telling us you’re sullying this day just so you might salve your besotted soul?” Mrs. Cake is incredulous with rage, but there’s something else just barely tinging her voice... pity. For a quick moment, I’m afraid I’m about to be struck again. There’s a loud sigh, and the sound of a pony walking away from me. “Come along dear... Pumpkin must be absolutely miserable if we’ve been gone this long. Let us leave this foolish unicorn to her foolish endeavors.”

Unbelievably, the two simply walk away, leaving me once more standing in the center of town, surrounded by gawking locals. After that encounter with the Cakes, I’m particularly shaken, and not just physically. Am I right in doing this? Am I just plain mad? Could I have simply been mistaken about Twilight? What if she could have listened to reason? All at once, my resolve for this duel crumbles.

Not long after the Cakes leave, the crowd begins buzzing with conversation about what just happened. They all seem very mixed. On one very understandable part, I’m the topic of some rather vilifying discussion. Given what I’m doing, that’s to be expected. Surprisingly, though, there are also a few ponies of the opinion that Twilight isn’t right; mentioning her bewitched doll and the altered parasprites. One thing that seems consistent among the group is the raised interest in the duel.

Suddenly, I’m not so sure about this fight. I was so confident that what I am doing is the right thing, but what if I am just a foolish mare with a petty vendetta? It feels like I’m fighting for all the wrong reasons now; is this really about proving Twilight is some sort of impostor and refusing the possibility that she’s just not as infallible as I thought her to be? God, when I look at it like that, I really do seem a bit crazy, don’t I? But I can’t be crazy! Crazy people don’t think they’re crazy!

“Soren. I’m here,” a cruel voice cuts into my my musing. “What is all this about... and what happened to you?”
> Strife
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Soren! What’s happened to you?” That’s Lyra this time, without a doubt. Whether it’s simply the dream, or if my overwritten brain is beginning to project her as a pony, my mental image is of a gray and silver pegasus mare. I can feel her approaching more than hear her. “Why did you run away? Why are you doing this?”

It’s rather strange that she’s not asking what I did to her body, but I don’t dwell on the thought. I’m still too focused in the general direction I heard not-Twilight’s voice, trying to work out whether or not I should go through with this. Something has felt wrong ever since the Cakes left. There’s been an almost overwhelming sense of power in the air, and I can’t shake the impression that I’m being watched by royalty.

“You wouldn’t understand just how I feel right now, Lyra.” I shy away from the mare’s attempts at fussing about my appearance, carefully tucking the crystal wrapped in my tail safely beneath my belly. “The rage brewing in me, knowing that I could have saved that foal, isn’t something I can just let go of.”

“How is dueling me going to change anything?” the lilac mare asks with a cold laugh. “You’ll be beaten miserably, and Pound will still be dead!”

That comment is too much for me. I let out an angry snort before baring my teeth in her direction. “That may be true!” My angry snarl draw frightened noises from the crowd. It almost makes me wonder if any of them has experienced rage on such a level that it demands bloodshed. “If I can make you feel even an ounce of my pain, that’s enough for my heart. If baring myself to you does nothing, then you’ve revealed to me the true nature of the mare I thought I idolized.”

More of that cruel laughter breaks out from not-Twilight. “Is that all?” she says, her voice pure vitriol. “Do you have any idea how much your stupidity pains me?”

“How can you say that like you don’t even care!” The shout draws anxious murmuring from the crowd. “Enough talk! Do we have a duel, or not?”

“If it stops your endless nattering, then yes, we do have a duel,” she says in a snide tone I thought not possible to hear in Twilight’s voice. “Lyra?”

“Yes?”

“Please provide a countdown to the start of the duel.” The tone in Twilight’s voice changes for just a moment, shifting from malice to unease. “It’s only fair that he has some sort of warning when this contest begins.”

I find myself being lead away from the bushes, and being stood presumably facing Twilight. Presumably, nopony wants the blind mare to accidentally trip over the bush, wounding herself further. It’s a noble gesture, clearly marking that it is not the impostor Twilight leading me. A hoof brushes against my cheek before Lyra whispers in my ear, “You don’t need to do this!”

Yes, yes I do.

“Are both duel participants ready?” Lyra asks in a shaky voice. I hear a committal noise from the impostor across from me, and I myself feel compelled to nod. “Alright. On three, the duel will begin! One...”

Memories of childhood bullies and the beatings the brought cross my mind. My heart begins beating terribly fast, and time seems to crawl to a slow. I’m acutely aware of almost every pony in the audience drawing silent.

“Two...”

My eyes ache for sunlight behind the blindfold. Soon! Yes, soon enough my eyes won’t be the only ones aching. Hopefully, this will be over quickly though. The sooner I can expose this fake to the royalty I know is watching, the better.

“Three, go!”

Whipping my tail from beneath me, I send the light amplification crystal arcing high into the air. At the very same moment, I begin pouring magic into a light spell. Instead of focusing the magic into the tip of my horn, however, I direct it towards the crystal. I can’t help but grin slightly as I can feel my magic resonate with the crystal.

Much to my relief, shouts of pain erupt not just from the crowd, but not-Twilight as well. I might have overdone it with the light spell though; not long after everypony cries out in pain, I hear a loud hum from the crystal before it shatters, jagged shards raining down on me. One such shard lodges in my shoulder.

Knowing that I only have one chance, I press my advantage. Running forward, my magic tears the blindfold from my eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see—truly see. Just as my eyes adjust to the light, I catch a glimpse of black carapace and green flame transition to lilac. I knew it! Motherfucking changelings! I’ve gotta get her to reveal herself again! This time when nopony is blinded!

Just when the impostor blinks away the last dazzle from the improvised flash-bang, my back hooves connect with her chin in an unpracticed buck. Instantly, the changeling’s head snaps back before she goes tumbling to the ground in a heap. I know it’ll take more than that to down the beast, let alone make her reveal herself.

Again, the only thing that makes sense is to press my advantage. All at once, I’m upon her, straddling her back with my hind legs while putting her into a headlock with the front. It’s much harder to do with these equine legs, but I can manage. It’s actually kinda strange, knowing that I’m essentially choking her with my forearm and the first part of my hand rather than my bicep area and forearm. Equine anatomy is a bit weird like that.

Too bad I allowed myself to be distracted by such a thought. Clearly I wasn’t exerting enough pressure to stop her breathing, otherwise she’d have passed out and reverted to her true form. Pressing her newfound advantage, the not-Twilight slams me off of her back with a concussive blast of magic, sending me tumbling end over end. I can’t help but scream in pain as the crystal shard lodged in my shoulder is driven further in.

In a heartbeat, the changeling is standing over me. “Stupid cheating human!” She reaches out a hoof and prods my injured shoulder, eliciting another scream. “Can’t even engage in a proper wizard’s duel.”

I stare up into her cold eyes, defiantly. “I never said this was a wizards duel, you foolish impostor!” I croak. She looks down at me, seeming distraught that I’d seen through her disguise. It only takes a moment for me to press my own advantage over her hesitation. Doing the only thing that comes to mind, I bite down on her nearest leg.

The changeling dressed as Twilight cries out an indecipherable curse as she stumbles backwards. Huh... I thought changelings bled green... not red. No! Now’s not the time to think about that now! I take advantage of her pained distraction and scramble back to my hooves and increase the distance between us.

For the first time, I get a good look at the crowd around me. Almost everypony is gathered, watching the duel. The only parts of the mane six I don’t see are Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie. The others are all here watching with mixed fear and horror, even Rarity. Not far from them, I see a diminutive, silver-gray near-pegasus huddled up against Bon-Bon, terrified. Don’t they see what is happening? I’m saving them from this sickening changeling! Why are you all looking at me like that?

Who I don’t see worries me more than who I do. There’s not a single royal guard, and I can’t see either princess in the crowd. Still, I can feel that air of royalty watching. If Luna and Celestia aren’t here, then who? Certainly not the honeymooners... Chrysalis!? Is Queen Chrysalis also here? Shit!

I scold myself for getting distracted as a magenta aura—that’s not right, changeling auras are green—encompases my body, forcing me to the ground. It’s as though the local gravity has increased a hundredfold. The changeling in Twilight’s skin makes a chiding noise of some sort. “It’s impossible for you to win, you know.” she says, cool and confident. “Your spirit is admirable, but you really must yield.”

“Never!” I scream, attempting to force myself upright. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to somehow stand. Sweating from the exertion, I stare into that fake’s icy eyes. She, like everypony in the crowd, looks mortified that I can stand. I’m a bit scared myself. “Why don’t you make this easier on us both, changeling, and just show everypony your true face!”

The localized gravity field strengthens, and something finally gives. There’s an audible pop from my sprained leg, and all at once it buckles, spilling me onto the ground, my wounded shoulder open to attack once more. I can’t actually hear anything beyond my own agonized screams, but I can imagine more than a few ponies have gone pale or even lost their stomachs upon hearing the sound. I certainly should by all rights be sick.

A numb feeling fills my stomach as I glare at the changeling. All of my senses—especially my common sense, which is practically tingling—tell me that I should concede defeat so that I might still live. Something primal inside me, however, screams to me that this slight cannot go unpunished, and I rather agree. I’m down, but not out.

In spite of the agony I’m in, I shift my position and bring my mouth to my shoulder wound. Wincing slightly, my teeth close on the great crystal shard jutting from my shoulder. A guttural scream escapes my throat as I twist my head, wrenching the shard from my shoulder and sending it hurtling towards the lilac impostor in front of me.

I slump my head on the ground as the crystal blade flies harmlessly past her head. In spite of it all, I’m grinning like a madmare. Maybe I really am crazy? What sort of pony would do these sorts of things? Spitting blood from my mouth, I let out a small laugh before lighting my horn.

“You can’t win Soren,” Twilight says, sounding more than a little worried. “Stop this before you hurt yourself!”

“You’re wrong about that, changeling!” I laugh ruefully. “You might not feel it, but there’s a sizeable shard of that light amplification crystal hovering just a few millimeters from the base of your skull. With just a twitch, I can pierce your brain-stem.” 

In spite of my victory, I feel sick. Why does the changeling look so terrified? They’re just a hive mind, aren’t they? Death should mean nothing to a drone! “Show them your true face, changeling. Show them what you really are and return the real Twilight to us. Do this and I might just let you return to your hive alive!”

A mare in the crowd is screaming. I’d turn to see who it is, but I’m too blinded by tears and blood that has washed back into my eyes. Hay, I’m lucky that I can still make out Twilight through all of this. Right now I just want to rest, never mind finish this fight.

“This has gone on long enough!” a regal voice announces. The sky suddenly seems a lot brighter... Oh fuck. “This duel is over, Soren Friedrich. You have rendered your opponent unable to continue. Let her go.”

I cast my eyes clouded upward toward the source of the bright light. Sure enough, the regal Princess Celestia is flying directly above Twilight. “B-but your majesty!” I sputter, half choking on blood and saliva. I tighten my magical grip on the crystal. “She’s a changeling! If I let her go, she’ll escape and we’ll never find the real Twilight!”

“Is she really?” The Princess’s question sounds so innocently confident. A golden haze spreads across my vision, and an instant later the blood and tears wash away from my eyes. “Look around you, young one. What do you see?”

I struggle against my agony to do as Princess Celestia asks of me. The crowd has pushed back a fair distance from the last time I looked. Everypony looks terrified or piteous, but more than that, they seem confused. Applejack, as frightened as she is, has imposed herself between Rarity and the makeshift ring—between us. Rainbow Dash likewise is standing between me and Bon-Bon and who I can only assume is Lyra. The common expression on all of their faces is terror.

“I don’t get it...” I whisper, crying. I turn my gaze back to the impostor Twilight as Princess Celestia lands beside her. “Anypony could hear how sadistic she sounded! Twilight isn’t like that!”

“Soren...” It’s unmistakably Lyra. “You’re the only pony hearing these things. Twilight’s only been trying to help you the best she can!” She sounds really choked up. “Yeah, we made a mistake! Twilight and I need to live with that guilt for the rest of our lives! Isn’t that enough?”

My blood freezes. “N-no! Stop!” I croak, levitating the crystal shard closer to me. Taking advantage of the slip-up, Twilight ducks fearfully behind the Princess like a scared foal hiding behind her mother. “You’re trying to confuse me!”

A troubled look dawns on the Goddess’s face. With a shake of her head, Celestia looks beyond me, and speaks. “Luna, it is time.”

An intense desire to sleep fills my head. My eyelids grow heavy as I try to fight to stay awake. Something isn’t right! Staying awake has always been easy for me. “Do not fight it, child,” a silky voice croons in my ears. “Rest now, and know that you are in good hooves.”

No! I’ve gotta... I’ve gotta... gotta...
> Convalesce
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The steady, soft beeping of some sort of machine draws my focus away from an amazingly restful, dreamless sleep. When I say restful, I’m not exaggerating; I feel like a new mare after this sleep—so much so that I’d rather stay asleep. Unfortunately, I’m just one of those ponies who’s up once she’s up. At least it’s peaceful, wherever I am..

Hmm? That’s odd... I’m not a mare or a pony though, I’m a human—or at least I should be! I can remember that much at least. Hay, I can remember quite a bit about my human life, in addition to a fair bit of somepony else’s life. Strange that the last thing I remember is Lyra carrying me up to bed after drinking too much. I don’t recall any beeping machines in my room though...

Tentatively, I raise an eye lid. Immediately, my senses are assailed by a sterile-white stone ceiling and equally white stone walls. To my right is an IV Rack with some sort of fluid drip plugged into my right foreleg. Right beside my hoof is some sort box with a button on it—a call button. Yup, I’m still in Lyra’s body and—what a darned surprise—I’m in some sort of hospital!

An attempt to roll onto my side is met with pain and resistance, causing me to cry out in pain. A shudder wracks my body as my right shoulder throbs in agony. This in turn leads to my apparently injured left foreleg to thrash inside of its full-leg cast, causing me even more pain. In addition to my injuries, there are also straps keeping my forelegs relatively still. At least I can still make a grab for the call button if I need anything.

At least I have time to think things over, get the lay of the land—that sort of thing. I’m in a hospital room, like yesterday, but it’s different from the room in Ponyville; there’s none of that rustic architecture. One of my legs has been put in a cast, either broken or dislocated, and something has happened to my shoulder. Both forelegs seem to be strapped down to—I assume—prevent me from causing much injury to myself.

A slight flick of my ear also reveals that they have some sort of lead clipped to my ear. Is it one of those—darn, what were those called?—pulse oximeters? Yeeesh, what exactly happened to me? Did I get up in the middle of the night and drunkenly stumble down the stairs? I know I don’t have the best record with stairs as a pony, but I thought I was past all of this. I should be hung-over, too, but I’m not. Curious...

Huh, there’s another oddity. Why can’t I even think profanities now? Come on, I know I’ve got it in me! Darn! Horseapples... Ponyfeathers? Sod it all to Tartarus, when did I get so far along that my ability to swear has been overwritten? I mean, there’re still so many memories of Earth rattling around inside my head to overwrite.

With a frighteningly loud roar, my stomach announces its presence. I guess no matter whose brain engrams I have, hunger is still hunger. Again, however, I’m stricken by a curious sense of missing time. I ate a lot of food at the party last night, and I never felt all too peckish in Lyra’s body to begin with, so why do I feel hungry enough to consider eating hay-fries?

Well, I guess if I’m to get anything to eat, I have no choice but to press the call button and let hospital staff know that I am awake. It’s not like I can get up to go find food anyway. With a quick flick of the fetlock, my hoof depresses the call button. A soft hum of magic resonates from the box beneath my hoof for a full fifteen seconds before I release it.

For a full minute, nothing happens; it’s just me and the silent, sterile room. Then, the door swings open without much warning, revealing two equally white mares. One, a unicorn mare with a stethoscope draped over her withers and lab coat, gives me only a cursory glance over her clipboard. The nurse, a younger pegasus clad in an adorable little nurse’s cap and a red mane that instantly makes me think of candy canes, gives a shy smile as she peers around the doctor’s legs.

“Good afternoon, Miss—” The doctor glances at her clipboard. “—Soren. I’m Doctor Forceps, and I’ll be your attending physician during your stay. This here is Candy Stripes, my daughter.”

The little pegasus grins and waves a hoof. “Hello! Momma says I’m gonna help you!” I glance incredulously at the doctor. Candy Stripes? As in a candy striper? As if catching my confused look, she quickly adds, “What? I’m a Certified Nursing Assistant!” She looks so young!

“I must say we don’t get many patients transferred all the way to Canterlot from Ponyville, let alone one in as good condition as you are.” A look of embarrassment crosses the doctor’s face. “Oh drat... I keep forgetting to ask patients this question, but how are you feeling? Any pain or discomfort outside the obvious?”

My cheeks redden as once more my stomach makes itself known. “Um... Aside from being hungry, nothing really.” I reply softly. “Wait a minute... You said I’m in Canterlot? How exactly did I get here? The last thing I can clearly remember is being carried up to bed after one drink too many.”

Doctor Forceps’ expression blanks as she reads the chart. “It doesn’t actually say,” she says in this painfully neutral tone. “All that they’ve asked was that you receive the best care, and to keep you comfortable until their specialist can tend to your less obvious conditions.”

Before I can ask who or what she was talking about, an announcement goes out across the intercom, paging the good doctor. Quickly, the white mare trots toward the door. “My apologies, Miss Soren. I really must go.” Glancing at her daughter, the doctor quickly adds. “Come along Candy. You can bring her lunch in a bit.”


- - -


When Candy returns, she’s balancing a generous tray of food on her head. Even from my unmoving position on the bed, I can make out a large salad, a glass of apple juice, a blob of mysterious green stuff, and a cube of infamous lime-green hospital gelatin. There are also what appear to be a fork and spoon on the tray along with the food. That’s good, because I don’t think I can hold the tray up like this.

As she trots into the room, I attempt to levitate the tray from her head onto my lap. Much to my surprise, I am unable to tap into my magic abilities. Am I burned out again? Confused, I glance up at my horn. Clamped around the base of it is what appears to be a hexagonal ring of obsidian of some sort. To say that it reminds me a little of a nut would be a bit of an understatement.

“Sorry about the magic suppressor,” the young CNA comments with a smile. With what seems to be a practiced motion, she nods her head forward and ever so gently slides the tray of food onto my lap. “It’s standard protocol to lock down a unicorn’s magic for one with your injuries.”

“What are my injuries, exactly?” I ask, eying her up as she gently hops up onto the bed beside me. “I don’t exactly remember much.”

Candy looks pensive for a moment, before nodding towards the chart hanging at the end of my bed. “When you were brought in, the pastern and shoulder joints on your left foreleg were completely dislocated, and there was a deep puncture wound on your left shoulder.” I watch as she deftly plucks the fork off the tray with her flight feathers, and begins jabbing at some lettuce.

Leaning forward as far as my restraints and injuries allow, I accept the offered forkful. As I chew, I try to wrap my head around my injuries once more. The more I think about it, the more I get a feeling of missing time. “Right, and there’s nothing to give me any idea how that happened?” It’s impolite to speak with your mouth full, I know, but Candy gives off an air of casualness in spite of her eager professionalism. “I’m seriously drawing blanks here, and the more I think about it, the timeline doesn’t add up. It’s really scaring me.”

After offering me the glass of juice, she gives me an appraising look. “Try not to worry too much about it,” she says softly, brushing a lock of mane out of my eyes with a wingtip. “If it’s important for you to remember, it’ll come to. Inversely, if it’s important that you don’t remember, you’ll continue to forget. Likewise it could very well just be an effect of the medications.”

Finishing off the salad, I give her a skeptical glance before looking anxiously at the mysterious green stuff—perhaps pureed alfalfa. I can’t help but feel that she knows more, but is refraining from telling me, either because she's wont to withholding certain details from patients without the doctor present, or because she was specifically told not to. While not knowing certainly makes me uncomfortable, it’s a relatively easy decision to not press the issue. I’m feeling relatively stress free and would prefer to keep it that way.

Looking suddenly anxious, Candy asks, “So... how do you know the Princesses?” 

Her question is just so off-hoof that I’m not completely sure that I heard her correctly to begin with. Hay, I practically choked on my first spoonful of the mysterious green sludge. “I-I what?”

The candy-cane mare looks flat-out embarrassed now. “Well, it’s just... I was there when you were brought in yesterday evening.” she squeaks. “I just figured you had to know them if Princesses Celestia and Luna were the ones to bring you in.”

Wait, what? So, I was brought in by the Princesses? Wait, put that aside for a second. She just confirmed that I’m missing at least a day. That makes this at least my fifth—maybe even sixth—day as a pony. If I still have this much of my mind left this far along... This lifts my spirits immensely.

Oh but I really should answer poor Candy here; she’s staring at me expectantly. “I wouldn’t say I know them—I mean I know of them—but I’ve never met them as far as I know.” I put on an amused smile. “I’m just as surprised as you are that royalty are sponsoring my convalescence.”

The remainder of lunch passes silently. Every time that Candy looks like she’s about to ask something, she just freezes. Likewise, I find myself drawn more and more into what happened in the time I don’t remember. What happened after the party? How did I get into this condition?

Finally, after I’ve finished the last of the lime-green jello—it tasted nothing like lime, by the way—the young CNA has this look about her. “Momma said you had some guests who wanted to see you after you’re all fed and lucid.” She seems particularly excited about this. “Once you’ve been seen by your friends, Princess Celestia’s specialist should be ready to see to you.” Taking the empty tray in her mouth, she hops weightlessly off of the bed. “I can bring them in now, if you’d like.”

I suppose there’s no harm in seeing visitors. It might give me a better idea of what in the hay is going on. “Yeah, that’d be wonderful.”

As the young pegasus scampers off, I can’t help but wonder who my guests are. Maybe Sweetie Belle and Rarity have come to visit. That’d be nice, I think. Oooh! Or maybe it’s Applejack! We got along pretty smashingly at the party. Or how about—the opening of the room’s door interrupts any further speculating. First through is Doctor Forceps, followed by Candy Stripes. 

After a moment’s pause, an unfamiliar, diminutive gray pegasus. Through an untamed silver-white mane, I can see wary blue eyes peering at me. There’s an anxious, almost frightful look about her. When I look at her, there's just the vaguest sense of familiarity in those eyes. When did I meet this adolescent filly though?

That question answers itself mere seconds later as a familiar cream mare steps through the doorway, moving to stand reassuringly by the young pegasus. With those unmistakable blue and fuchsia curls, it is certain that I’m looking at Bon-Bon. For what feels like a quick eternity, my heart fearfully skips a beat at the sight of her, and an uncomfortable twinge rushes through my nethers. But if that’s Bon-Bon, then the filly is...

“Lyra?” I whisper shakily. “But...”

The guests don’t stop there, however. The next pony to step through the door is none other than the Queen of Adorkable herself, Twilight Sparkle, but I almost don’t recognize her as she enters. Her gait is one of defeat, and her head is lowered almost apologetically. Through her unkempt mane, I can see bags under her tear-stained eyes and a look of lingering fear.

Wait! What am I missing? What happened yesterday? I—

Momentary pain flashes through my head, and I thrash against my bonds. That pain quickly becomes a series of images. A diapered pegasus foal darts along a forest path. The throbbing phallus of an aroused stallion blurily dances before me on a bed. Twilight Sparkle stares almost brokenly at me in the library. 

Suddenly, I’m outside, on the ground staring up at Twilight. My entire left side is in momentous pain, and my right shoulder aches as I feel blood trickling down my side. My horn is alight with an amber glow, gripping a vicious crystal shard in telekinesis just millimeters from the back of the lavender mare’s skull.

My stomach churns as something inside me screams for me to perforate her. My gaze shifts to Princess Celestia, and she beckons me to stop. Still that murderous desire presses on. Why can’t she understand that Twilight must die? Why must Twilight die?

Again and again, these images cycle through my head, becoming more and more painful each time. Even as they happen, I look in fear at everypony in the room. What have I done? What have I become? What is going on?

Unable to hide from it all, I scream, letting tears flow free from my eyes.
> Surrender
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shame and guilt washes through my body as I thrash futilely against my bonds. As I scream in self-disgust and fear, I care nothing for the agony I’m causing myself. Compared to what I’ve been through—the mental strife and disarray of it all—the physical pain of broken and battered limbs is nothing. Yet without this pain, what am I?

In between my frenzied shouts of pain and despair, I can loosely make out bits of conversation around me. The voices are completely indistinct to my ringing ears; just one pony could be speaking, or all of them together could be speaking. That much doesn’t matter so much as what is being said.

“Is he having another episode?” one pony asks.

“Se can’t be! She has too many antipsychotics in her system!” another cries out.

The more I scream, the clearer the past two days become in my mind. No longer am I seeing just flashes of images and feelings, but entire days on a nigh endless loop instead. The longer it goes on, the more violent my struggles against the bonds become. When the days begin asserting themselves several times per second, my struggles peak, and the bonds tear, setting me free. Just as suddenly as the images begin, they stop, as does my screaming.

Through my tear-stained eyes, I see the two unicorns present the hospital room lighting their horns in preparation of a spell of some sort. I can even hear the doctor speaking. “Candy, honey, go to the nurse’s station and get Nurse Tender and one of the orderlies,” she says in a tone that betrays her calm expression. “Remember to bring one of the stronger sedatives.”

Even as she says this, however, I struggle to roll my body over and hide myself beneath the pillow. It’s not the easiest thing to do when one of your forelimbs is encased in a device designed to keep it from moving or being flexed, and it really is just as painful as you might imagine. Still, after a bit of spastic flailing of an encapsulated limb and some tears, I have a pillow safely over my head and a blanket drawn over my body.

It’s kind of foolish to think that being covered in a blanket and having a pillow covering my head could bring you safety, but it does. I think it’s the the likeness of the warm embrace of the womb that instills this sense of safety. Nopony can hurt me here! Given what I’ve put myself through, I don’t know why anypony would want to put me through more than I’ve already been. It’s as safe a place as any to cry, and that’s what I intend on doing

The room around me remains silent—apart from me sobbing like a child—for a long while. The echo of approaching hooves alerts me to the approach of Forceps’ reinforcements—the nurse and orderly presumably here to wrestle and drug me and force me into stronger restraints. It’s only natural that they would do that; it’s certainly what would happen in a hospital on Earth.

Much to my surprise, the assault never comes. Instead defense comes from a rather unexpected source. “I’m terribly sorry, Nurse Tender, and you as well Stronghoof; my call for your aid was perhaps made in haste,” admits Doctor Forceps. “It would seem the appearance of her guests induced the resurgence of repressed memories, causing a panic attack. Once she was able to ‘hide’ herself, she calmed right down.”

The doctor’s words seem to assuage the tense air in the room. Over my sobbing, I hear two sets of retreating hoofsteps. The fact that I’m not about to be tackled, wrestled and drugged is only somewhat comforting. I’d still be alone for a while. Given that I just flipped the hay out, however, I don’t think that they’ll be likely to leave me all on my own now that I’m effectively free.

“Doc, if it’s possible, I’d like to get some time to myself,” I whimper hoarsely from beneath the pillow. “I know you’re not likely to leave me on my own, but I’d really like if my... friends came back in a bit. I really need to sort through the mess that is my mind.”

Somepony in the room—I can’t tell who—releases a sigh of what sounds like relief upon my use of the word friends. To be honest, I’m not sure if I even have the right to call them my friends after what I put them through. That somepony seems pleased with my choice of words eases my pain a bit, but still...

“Well, girls, you heard her,” the good doctor says after a few moments of silence. “I haven’t the slightest idea what the poor mare has gone through, but she sincerely sounds like she needs some space.”

“He, doctor,” Twilight verbally counters. “His mind is male, he’s just in somepony else’s body right—”

With a hitching sigh, I peek out slightly from beneath the pillow. “No Twilight; it’s alright,” I murmur in a manner rivals Fluttershy in softness. “With all the magic my real body absorbed, I don’t doubt that the sex-change spell is permanent now. I can accept that now. I have to.”

From beneath the pillow, I can just make out Twilight’s face. Given how she looked when she came in, I could never have thought she could look more upset. It isn’t like I’m admitting defeat; I’m just being a realist. You should understand that more than anypony, Twilight.

“Alright, out with you! Shoo!” Candy quickly interjects before the conversation can draw on any further. “If it’s alright with you, Momma, I’ll stand watch in case she needs anything.”

Startled by Candy’s straightforward manner, Lyra, Bon-Bon and Twilight put up no struggle as the young pegasus herds them out of the doorway. It’s almost comical the way she pushes the Lyra out with her forehead. Given momentary time alone with the doctor, I look to her with sudden worry.

“Hey Doc?”

She turns to me with only momentary hesitation. “Yes, Soren?” I’m kinda thankful that her gaze isn’t some cold analytical stare, like I’m some puzzle to be solved. To her, even just being ‘another patient’, I’m still a pony. “Are you in pain?”

Beneath the pillow I shake my head no. “No more than I ought to be in given the stupid stunt I just pulled!” I mutter weakly. “I just had a question... Two days ago, I went into estrus, but I’m not feeling the symptoms any longer. I was unfortunately involved in a drunken tryst that first night... if you get my meaning. I guess what I’m trying to ask is—”

“‘Am I pregnant, or did my estrus end early because of stress?’” she finishes my question understandingly. There’s no judgement in her voice, despite having heard that I am in a borrowed body and possibly pregnant. “Unfortunately, dear, a mare’s estrus cycle doesn’t just stop like that. If it would ease your mind, I can perform a relatively simple spell that will be able to tell us whether or not there is in fact a fertilized embryo inside you.”

“Please, do it...”


- - -


A half hour elapses before my mind has cooled down from smoldering wreckage to warm crater. Have I mentioned just how much thinking hurts sometimes? Seriously, try imagining how messed up a family dynamic is when the mother of a foal was not occupying her own body at the time of conception, her marefriend was temporarily made a stallion who bedded the pony occupying the mother’s body at the time in a drunken threesome. My brain literally drives itself in circles trying to figure out what part—if any—I play in the long run.

Candy, for all her youthful enthusiasm, is doing a very good job of keeping her distance. It could be that she doesn’t know whether to congratulate me or feel sorry for me. She unfortunately ended up on the wrong end of me talking aloud to myself. The things she’s heard would make her toes curl, if she had any.

At last, though, I think I’m ready to confront Lyra and Bon-Bon. With a forlorn sigh, I look to the door. “Candy, I think I’m ready to see my guests.” My tone is nearly completely flat. “If you could, I’d like to see Lyra and Bon-Bon, before seeing Twilight. There are still some things I need to get into words before I see her.”

Giving me a hesitant look, the aspiring nurse flicks her ears nervously. “You don’t have to see your friends if you aren’t up to it.” Her tone is almost pitying. “In fact, I insist that you tell me now whether or not you’re really ready, or I’ll send them away for the day!”

I don’t think my frown could possibly contain any more contempt at that moment. You don’t mess with a mare when she’s trying to confront her demons... especially when her demons no longer have a penis or fingers! Luna preserve me; I’m supposed to be healing, not being tormented in as many ways as possible. “I’m fine, really!”

She doesn’t seem impressed by my resolve, but nonetheless trots out through the door. Even as Lyra and Bon-Bon enter, I feel a twinge of apprehension, but it’s easy enough to clamp down on it. This is something I need to do, otherwise this... insanity is going to drag on. It is bad enough that they both look at me as though their minds aren’t decided as to whether or not I am dangerous.

“Soren, liste—” Lyra begins.

“You don’t need to apologize this very moment, Lyra.” I shift beneath my bedding before tossing the pillow off of my head and attempting to roll over. Thankfully, Candy is there this time to help me, and the experience is nowhere near as agonizing as it was before. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just want to... talk at you, I guess. Will the two of you listen?”

I only wait long enough to catch their nods before continuing. “Let me start by saying you ruined my life, Lyra, make no mistake about that.” My voice is cold as ice, and even Candy flinches at my tone. “Despite my isolation and joblessness, I was quite content in my life before you came along with your overeager use of magic and human obsession. That is a life of normalcy that I can never go back to, even if my body could somehow become human again. I’m loyal to my friends, but this is something I can never forgive you for.”

Bon-Bon looks as though she’s about to make some sort of condemnatory comment in Lyra’s defense, but I silence that with a click of my tongue. “In spite of all that has happened and all you put me through, you’ve still been there for me.” I soften my icy glare. “Even if Bon-Bon told you that you should take responsibility for your actions, I know deep inside—because I know you almost as well as myself at this point—that you were going to do the right thing in the end anyway.

“Yeah, we had our share of right kerfuffles, but you tried to make things right.” In spite of myself, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “It is because of what you’ve done—to and for me—that I’m not holding anything against you. No—not even that illicit drunken rendezvous.” My vision darts to the cream mare before I nod in her direction. “I’m not even angry, Bon-Bon. We were all drunk, not just me.”

I sigh, looking away from them all. “I’m just sorry you had to see me really lose it yesterday.”

All at once, another presence joins me on the hospital bed. At first I’m convinced by the brush of a feather that the young CNA is going to adjust my IV lead or something, but then a gray pegasus throws herself on me in a hug. When I turn my head enough to see Lyra, I’m surprised to see that she is practically crying all over my bandaged shoulder.

“You stupid jerk!” she cries, hitting my chest weakly with one forehoof. “You scared me half to death when you ran off, and... and...” Looking up at me with those teary eyes like she is, I can’t help but feel bad. “When we heard somepony had wandered into town, banged up and bloody looking to duel Twilight... I’d thought the worst had happened when I saw you.”

There’s a sudden groan from the bed as Bon-Bon climbs up on the bed. The larger mare pulls Lyra off of me, pressing the smaller pegasus’s back into her belly in an almost motherly looking hug. “Heartstrings, baby, the worst did happen,” she coos into Lyra’s ear. “H—she had a nervous breakdown, and fought like a cornered beast. If not for the Princesses, she may very well have killed Twilight!”

The look on Bon-Bon’s face betrays the reassuring tone of her voice. It’s clear that she’s not completely comfortable with me after seeing me like that. I really don’t blame her. There’s a certain off-putting factor when you account for the fact that this raging psycho is occupying her lover’s body.

Eager to change the subject away from my earlier psychosis, I let out a heavy breath before smearing a smug look on my face. “So... About the other night...” It amazes me how a gray pony and a cream pony can visibly pale at the drop of a hat. “Wild night, huh?”

“Soren, I said I was sorry, and I gave you my word I wouldn’t do anything to breach your trust again,” Lyra says anxiously. Bon-Bon doesn’t say anything, having gone from pale to beet red so suddenly. Someone definitely remembers what happened in more vivid detail than I. “What more do I have to do to make this up to you?”

“I wonder...” Making a show of tapping a hoof against my chin, my knowing eyes dart over to Candy. Knowing what I’m doing, she returns a playful smile. “I suppose if anything, you two should have fun while you can.”

“What?” croaks Bon-Bon.

Leaning forward, I rest my hoof on Lyra’s forehooves. “Let’s just say that so long as nothing bad happens, the two of you aren’t going to be getting a lot of restful nights.”

“What is that supposed to—oh!” It’s cute how a couple can have a revelation in stereo. Just watching that realization dawning on their faces is almost worth it. Their expressions shift from bewilderment to recognition, and then to worry. It’s so adorable!

Lyra takes her reaction one step further when her expression becomes one of glee. “Bon-Bon! Did you hear that?” She squirms out from beneath her lover before turning and pressing her—my—lips firmly against Bon-Bon’s. “Oh Bonnie! We’re going to have a foal!” she exclaims headily as the two part.


- - -


For all the preparing I did for this, I am totally mistaken in having thought that facing Twilight would be awkward. It’s nearly impossible, as it turns out. Every time I look to her to speak, a lump forms in my throat. How could I have thought I was ready to face her so soon? Just yesterday I had a makeshift knife ready to pierce her brain stem, for crying out loud!

It doesn’t help in the least that Twilight basically hasn’t said a single thing since I called her back in. In all honesty, it wouldn’t surprise me that I broke her. Or maybe she thinks she broke me? “Twilight, if you’re worrying that you broke me, don’t.” Oh horseapples! Did I say that without even realizing? “I broke me. Nopony else.”

Finally, I bring myself to looking directly at her. Something about her expression is seriously scaring me. It’s not the crazy ‘I snapped and am now going to hex a doll’ look or even the defeated ‘I’ve failed and now my friends hate each other’ look; what I am seeing is a devastating mix of these two looks. Her mane is disheveled, and she’s just staring at the floor looking like she wants nothing more than to find some dark place to lay down and die. What, did she go stew in what she’d done after being sent out?

I really know that feeling, so the least I can do is attempt to assuage it. “Look... I may have said some really terrible things, Twilight.” That has her attention. Her chin raises ever so slightly, and her ears have pricked forward. Her gaze remains locked on the floor. “You’ve read those psychology textbooks front to back—I know you have. You should know better than anypony that I wasn’t in the right state of mind to be making any of those accusations, let alone have any real meaning behind it.”

Breaking her gaze with the floor, she looks at me. “But... my neglect—” Darn it... I really got to you back then... didn’t I, Twilight? Dear Celestia, this is aggravating me. Given my mental state, I’m the one who should be so darned sorrowful and blaming myself for the loss of the foal, not her!

“Sod your darned neglect, Twilight!” I interrupt, raising my voice more than I ever intended. “You did nothing wrong! Yes, it was a mistake the cost a life, but you know what? It’s not your fault, or Lyra’s fault. It’s nopony’s fault! Tragedies happen!”

“But—”

“NO!” I swat the call button off of my bed. “You do not get to lump the blame on yourself. Nopony could have predicted what happened to Pound.” I begin trembling, not only because I’m seriously worried for her own state of mind, but because I’m realizing painful things. “I should probably be thanking you, darn you!”

Her attention is fully on me now. Some of her misery even seems to be slipping away, only to be replaced with confusion. “Say you hadn’t bound me to the confines of Ponyville or placing a taboo on the Everfree or whatever it was that you did.” I look at her very seriously, tears rimming my eyes. “What would have happened?”

Twilight looks at me in plaintive consideration. I can almost hear her wondering what any of that has to do with things. “You would have gone into the Everfree after Pound.”

I slap my good hoof against my thigh. “That’s right!” I cry emphatically. “What would have happened? Nopony can be sure whether or not I could have saved him, but I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have succeeded. The cartoon can show me all sorts of scary and dangerous beasts in the Everfree, but nothing compares to things in real life. I’d be just another casualty of causality if I’d gone in there.”

“Still, you were so angry at me!” She seems genuinely confused now. “How can you be so casual about this now?”

I let out a shuddering sigh. Yeah, anger was very present when I attacked her verbally, and even more so in the duel. At that time, I was angry because I blamed her out of grief. There still is a bit of anger there... I mean, the least they could have done was tell me that I was bound to Ponyville. “I still am a bit angry, at both you and Lyra,” I whisper with a sniffle. “If you’d just told me that you were going to bind me to ponyville for my own safety, I would have gone to get help instead of trying to corral the poor foal myself.”

“Soren, I’m sorry.” For the first time since Twilight got here, she doesn’t look completely miserable. If anything, she looks slightly relieved. “I truly am.”

“I know you are, Twilight. For what it is worth, I’m sorry too.” I look away again. “I can’t forgive you for the scar in my soul, and I know that you can’t forgive me for almost killing you. We all have our sins to live with though.”

Letting out a small giggle, I look back to her. “To answer your other question,” I say with a laugh, reclining back onto my pillow. “I can be so casual about this now because it’s all I can do not to lose my mind again.”

It’s a sobering statement for both of us. It’s very true though. Time and time again, I’ve allowed myself to cool down if nothing less than to keep me from doing something stupid like canicide. It’s almost necessary when your genetic stock includes somepony who has anger issues. It’s a wonder I didn’t become violently angry once during my stay outside of my little episode.

I wonder silently to myself when the Princesses specialist is to arrive. It is well into the afternoon now, and still there is no sign of interruption. Could their specialist have been delayed? Or are they listening even now, trying from afar to gauge my reactions ahead of time? For that matter, what sort of specialist are they? Now I’m really—a knocking at the door interrupts my train of thought.

“I hope our presence is not an unwelcome one.”
> Compromise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I hope our presence is not an unwelcome one.” The voice speaking reverberates throughout the room. No, it’s not the room it’s reverberating in; it’s my mind. I know that voice! The owner was somepony I remember speaking to. 

A momentary twinge of mental pain passes through my mind as the memory returns to me as a stricken look crosses my face. Yes, that is definitely Princess Luna, but somehow, I don’t think she’s just visiting for fun. If Princess Luna is here in an official capacity, that means Princess Celestia is probably also here. If Celestia is here...

Twilight must be able to read my face, or mind, or something. Seriously, it’s almost like the moment the thought crosses my mind, she looks straight at me. “Don’t worry Soren,” she reassures. “The Princesses know your situation, and there aren’t going to be any sanctions imposed on you.” There’s a wistful tone in her voice, as though she wished she could say the same for herself.

“I’m not worried about sanctions,” I shoot back quietly. “You’re Celestia’s protege, and quite possibly the closest thing she has to a daughter. Did you forget I tried to kill you? She’s likely to banish me to the moon, or stick me in a prison... or stick me in a prison on the moon!”

“My goodness, no!” a regal voice sounds out from near the door. Wrenching my gaze from Twilight, I see both Princesses Celestia and Luna standing in the doorway, having let themselves in. The amused looks on their faces leaves me feeling rather off-balance. “That’s the second time in the last five years I’ve heard a pony express such expectations.” She stifles a good-natured giggle. “Where on Earth do ponies get these ideas?”

I can’t help but stare for a few moments. Instead of my impending doom, I’m greeted by heartfelt laughter. This is not at all what I expected. Yet still, the Princesses are watching me, as if honestly expecting an answer. “It was something Twilight said a long time ago, back when Fluttershy borrowed Philomena.” I let out a nervous titter before looking to Twilight. She has this look of disbelief on her face, wondering how in the blazes I know any of this. “Twilight, when this is all over, you should really ask Lyra to show you ‘the show’.”

It’s the most quiet thing in the world, but I can just barely hear her mumble, “When this is all over...” There’s just this sad, sightless look on her face.

“She should really show everypony—I mean you, Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and of course you would both be welcome as well, your majesties,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood. “Hay, between the you and the Princesses, somepony might actually figure out how the show is possible. I’m sure all of you would find it rather fascinating.”

Unfortunately, my attempts at lightening the mood fail miserably. Instead of brightening at the prospect of trying to better understand the relationship of the two realms, she only retreats towards Celestia, particularly when I mention her friends. More and more I'm getting the impression that I am missing something or misreading the atmosphere in the room.

Before I have the opportunity to rescind my ramblings, however, Princess Celestia clears her throat, snapping my attention to the royalty. “Soren, I should hope you have some idea or expectation of why Luna and I are here,” she says softly. “From what I saw of your creativity, and what Luna has told me from her glimpses into the workings of your mind in your dream, you are a bright individual.”

I glance haltingly at the Princess of the Night, not liking the idea that my mind has been read. “Since I’m pretty sure now that you’re not here to personally arrest me for attempted murder, assault with a surprisingly deadly weapon, and disturbing the peace, I can only fathom that Your Highnesses have taken a personal interest in my well being.” Given how sure I feel, it wouldn’t surprise me that I don’t sound the least bit sure. “Since I have yet to meet your ‘specialist’, I am guessing that one of Your Majesties is the specialist.” 

At an approving look from Princess Luna, I decide to continue. “Seeing as aside from self-inflicted stupidity, there’s nothing else wrong with me physically,” I reason. “Therefore it has to do with the whole memory redundancy thing. I imagine that because one of your domains, Princess Luna, is the realm of dreams, magic pertaining to the mind is also one of your areas of expertise. Therefore I can only assume that you have the power to help preserve what remains of my mind, yes?”

The three of them stare dumbfoundedly at me, as though trying to figure out how I could come to the right answer with some sort of non-pony logic or something. I meet their stares with an equally confused look. “What? It’s the sort of thing I’d write if I were the one writing a universe.”

The writer’s pun seems to have gone over even Twilight’s head, but given the rather dour mood, it’s not surprising. Celestia has this rather curious expression that shouts ‘not sure if planning world domination or just trying to be funny’. I’m not even sure where to begin reading Luna’s expression.

A good minute passes before anypony says anything. Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly depending how you look at it—the first one to speak is the very one I’d singled out as the one who is likely to save me. “Shall we begin then?”

Just like that? No explanation of what is to happen or anything. Wow, I always thought Luna was the blunter of the two, but this is pushing it. “What does ‘beginning’ entail, if I may ask?”

The Lunar Princess gives me a curious look. “The mind is a most peculiar thing,” she explains. “Ponies can study it for years and never firmly grasp its innermost mechanisms, yet still they all postulate that one’s dreams are a window into their mind. What I propose is a linked dream state.”

It’s a fair point, but for a short moment I’m almost ready to ask how that could be if she shaped everypony’s dreams. Thankfully, a pang of common sense slaps me and points out that she would have to shape the dreams of too many individual ponies. No, she would probably just dart from dream to dream and help those who are suffering. In all likelihood, Luna only shaped my dream in the loosest fashion, before she entered to glean any insight from the situation.

I’m also a bit hesitant about dreams right now. While it was fine when I woke up today, I was also not aware that I’d lost my mind at the time. There’s this lingering fear that if I go to sleep now, I’m going to be confronted with horrific imagery, manifestations of my guilt, or—Celestia forbid—another of Lyra’s erotic memories. Can you blame me with the record I’ve had with sleep?

After taking the time I mull this over, I look into the diarch’s eyes and nod. “Let’s find out just how far the rabbit hole really goes, shall we?”


- - -


Floating formlessly in the infinite blackness, I can’t help but feel a little confused. Luna had said we would be delving into my mind, so where in the hay am I? I know I can be really scatterbrained at times, but I swear I’m not empty-headed like this. I’m actually kind of insulted.

“There is no reason to be alarmed, Soren,” a voice calls out, seemingly from nowhere. “Nor was any insult intended. You are presently in the intermediary realm between dreams and wakefulness.”

Well then, looks like the princess is here too, and she can read my thoughts. Saves me having to speak I guess. It makes sense that if this is indeed some sort of linked dream that there would be no predetermined shape to me or the world around me. Still, I suppose it’s better if I separate individual thought from directed thought, and think aloud.

“So is this something akin to some sort of hypnotic trance?”

There’s an amused sort of laughter emanating from behind—or as close to behind as you can get when you’re completely formless—me. “It is closer in likeness to a lucid dream, but the principle upon which we began is not too far off from hypnosis.”

Huh. Lucid dreams, huh? Never had much luck with those. There’s been the odd painfully vivid dream, but never a lucid one. Not that I particularly dwell on it.

“While that is rather a shame that you have not had the pleasure, we must not become distracted from our purpose.” Luna’s mental tone is sharp but not scathing. “Due to the nature of this state, there is an issue of time. Time moves slower here than it does in the waking realm. We must preserve the most of you that we can before the exchange spell elapses and you are returned to your own body.

“We must act quickly and accordingly. Firstly, we need to construct a dreamscape,” she instructs. “Only then will we be able to interact tangibly with your mind. As I am only your guide, you must do the honors of giving form to this reality.”

Give it form, huh? Well then... Dream, I command you in the name of Princess Luna to take form. No? Please? Ugh... That didn’t work.

“Simply imagine a setting and it will take form.”

“Oh! Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, this being some weird cousin to a lucid dream and all. Lets see, a place...”

That’s as far as I get before a reality begins to take the form of an oddly-shaped room. Four of the walls, the floor, and the ceiling are all a beautiful black volcanic glass. In spite of this, the room is brightly lit, seemingly illuminated by the many large pearls inlaid in the floor and ceiling. 

What catches me most by surprise however are the two extra walls in the room. The two parallel walls do not match the volcanic glass motifs of the rest of the room; instead, each wall looks like a silken tapestry—one aquamarine and bearing a golden lyre, and the other midnight blue bearing a silver crescent moon upon a black splotch. Automatically, my memories flash back involuntarily to the room from that nightmare.

“This is certainly one of the more interesting dreamscapes I’ve visited.” Princess Luna chimes in. Out of sheer knee-jerk reaction, my gaze darts toward the wall bearing her cutie-mark. The spot bearing her cutie mark begins to ripple, and a regal-looking onyx door pushes its way through the silken wall. “Did you intend for this, or is this a product of your subconscious?”

“I have no idea.” I can only stare dumbly as the door swings open, revealing a human girl, not much older than twelve. Her mid-length light-azure hair is a stark contrast to her alabaster skin, but markedly co-ordinated with her cyan eyes and the frilly cobalt nightgown covering her body. Can’t forget that darling little obsidian tiara, either. Frankly, it reminds me too much of one particular artist’s work. “Oh dear Celestia! Why are you human and why do you look that way?” I can’t help but blurt it out. Why did it have to be loli-Luna?

“I only took on the appearance that seemed most befitting of the situation. There was one readily available for my use in your surface memories.” she says pointedly, one eyebrow arched. SWEET CADANCE, NOT THE CLOP MEMORIES! “What is this loli you worry of?”

I am not discussing internet pornography with a diarch. No way in Tartarus... “Wait, you said befitting of the situation?” I muse aloud. Without even thinking, I bring a hand up to stroke my hairless chin in contemplation. Wait, hand? I’m a human again! I can’t help but look down at my body. Unsurprising or not, my consciousness has definitely taken a more feminine appearance. Why did it have to be the tartan kilt and dress shirt of my high-school’s female uniform though? “Nevermind. So, what do we do now?”

The small Princess smiles thoughtfully and folds her arms in front of herself, seemingly relishing in the sensations of being bipedal. “The first step would be to make contact with Lyra’s memory imprint, and reason with it.” I can tell by her curious expression that she misinterpreted my look of shock at her statement. “In a mind-delving like this, it is only natural for a unicorn’s memory imprint to take on a manifestation that can easily be conversed with. 

“Before my banishment, it was a regular practice for unicorn scholars to commune with their memory imprints as a form of enhanced memory recall.” she explains, a tone of wistfulness creeping into her voice, as though she is speaking of a lost art. “The denizens of our minds remember everything, and can easily be one’s closest of allies, or their worst enemies.”

A chill of fear creeps into the back of my mind, and the temperature in the room perceptibly lowers. “You don’t say...” Oh no! If what she says is true, I’m going to have one very upset brain-ghost on my hooves.

“Fear not, for she can bring you to no harm here.” Luna soothes, catching my surface thoughts. “Regardless of what may have happened inadvertently in the past, she is more likely afraid of you than you are of her.”

That isn’t as reassuring as it should be. Then again, I pretty much accidentally initiated a feud with Lyra’s memory imprint, and then lashed out when she tried to overwrite me. Now the Princess is telling me we must find her. What comes next? Asking her to please hold off on rewriting me so that I can return to my body as intact as possible?

“Exactly.”

Reflexively, I cover my face with a palm and sigh inwardly. I’m really not going to get used to having her being able to read my mind here, even if it’s just because I’m broadcasting on all frequencies. It’s not like there’s the option to ask her to stop reading my mind, either, because I’m pretty sure we’re in some sort of mind-meld here.

“Pardon if this sounds presumptuous, your Highness, but perhaps it would be better if I say little during this encounter.” Inadvertently, I find myself thinking more of the aquamarine unicorn. “If nothing else, it might save us any time-consuming misunderstandings. So how do we find her?”

Glancing toward the aquamarine wall, a wave of wry humor washes through me. As though responding to my mere question, the area around the cutie mark begins to ripple, presenting a door. Unlike the time in the dream or subspace highway, however, the door is not a heavy iron door befitting of a prison, but instead an elegant french door, its panes of glass revealing only blackness beyond—definitely not the sterile white corridor or the frightening meaty one either.

Unlike Princess Luna’s emergence however, the door does not swing open so much as it explodes. From the darkness beyond erupts a familiar aquamarine unicorn, as though thrown. As the physical manifestation of Lyra’s memory imprint crashes to the floor and I stare at her prone form, a pang of regret floods my heart.

Compared to how I probably looked in the hospital, this instance of Lyra looks absolutely wretched. Her mane and coat are both terribly disheveled, and her eyes are completely bloodshot. That’s not why she looks wretched, however. Segments of her form are simply... gone! It’s like somepony stuck her in Photoshop, and dragged the eraser tool across portions of her body, leaving her completely see-through in places. One hoof  floats completely free from her torso, while one of her flanks is just not there. The worst part is her face, however. Half of her jaw and cheek no longer exist.

The poor thing looks up at me and lets out a piercing wail, attempting weakly to scramble to her hooves. All at once she begins screaming incoherently, her every cry echoing painfully in my own mind. There’s so much hate and fear in those cries that it breaks my heart. I did this to it—to her. I cannot help but shrink away from her knowing this fact.

Chancing a glance to the Princess doesn’t do anything to bolster my spirit. She’s staring at the embodiment of Lyra’s memories with a look akin to unfettered horror. Her own eyes part from the sight for only a moment, to look at me. The light in her eyes all but screams, “What sorcery is this? What have you done!?”

To my surprise, however, she doesn’t speak reproachfully at all. “To damage a unicorn’s memory imprint like this is no easy feat,” she says softly, approaching the damaged image of Lyra cautiously. “Few magics can do even this much damage. Lacking in any magical expertise or strength, I can only fathom that you had a very strong desire to live.”

Embarrassment washes over me as memories of that dream so long ago flood my mind. “Sparing you the vulgarity—not that I could repeat the words at this point—I believe my sentiment was that I was going to take her with me if I had to die.”

Luna nods, crouching down within reach of Lyra. Much like a person would offer her hand to an unfamiliar animal to smell, the Princess does the same in attempts to assure the avatar that we mean no harm. “There there, little one. We do not wish to hurt you,” she soothes.

The not-quite-Lyra gives the Princess a wary glance before nuzzling her hand with the still-existent side of her face. “Please, Princess Luna! You have to save me!” she sobs. “This body snatcher won’t give me my body back. It was so horrible to me, and it made me do a terrible thing!”

I’m not going to lie; I feel like I’m a steaming pile of manure right now. Through all of this, I never once considered that Lyra’s memory imprint could actually be aware. Back when I was hearing her voice, there was no doubt in my mind that I was just suffering from stress, especially after she stopped talking—or did I simply stop listening?

“Ease your mind, child, and know peace.” Luna croons softly, running her fingers reassuringly through Lyra’s mane. “She did not intend you harm. Do you not remember the willing exchange the two of you had undergone?” The unicorn shook her head. “She only attempted to defend herself when your body began to attempt to overwrite her after a head injury. Soren knew not what she did at the time.”

“But... I’m broken now!” Lyra’s avatar sobs some more. “How can I complete my purpose the way I am? I must complete my purpose!”

Luna shakes her head, still smiling softly. “No, you don’t.” She rests a fingertip on the end of Lyra’s muzzle. “When this is all over, your mind—your real one—will be returned to you and all will be well and whole once more.”

Unfortunately, Lyra doesn’t seem to be having any of it. She’s peering past the Princess, glaring at me with hateful distrust. “I still don’t trust her.”

Before Luna can say anything, I kneel on the floor and bow, not unlike a Muslim’s prayer towards Mecca. “Please, Lyra. You have my sincerest apologies for my accidental intrusion and the following assault. It was never my intention to hurt you, but please do not overwrite more of my mind before the swap elapses.” I plead, my voice cracking. “You have my word that if I in any way betray you or harm you further, Princess Luna herself will purge my very being, and nothing will remain.” From over her shoulder Luna gives me a sour look, but makes no attempt to contradict me. “So please, let me retain some semblance of my identity before this all ends.”

The Lyra avatar turns her head at such an angle that the entire lower portion of her face is completely see-through. Her brows are furrowed in thought, so she is at the very least considering it. Occasionally, she will look in my direction and then quickly looks back away. If I didn’t know better, I might say that she’s seriously considering this. “Fine,”  she says at last.

Luna jumps up excitedly, causing her gown to rise and momentarily reveal her bare behind—why isn’t she wearing panties? She turns to me and claps her hands in front of her. “Alas, our business here is concluded,” she says, beaming. “All in all, this was almost too easy. For now, rest—both of you. When you next wake, all will be well.”
> Recompense
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wind blowing through my mane pulls me out of my sleep. Rising and stretching my arms above my head, I can immediately tell something is different. For one, I’m on a large pillow instead of the hospital bed. Another thing, I just rose up onto all fours from a prone position with my legs folded comfortably beneath me, which shouldn't be. Finally, I apparently have arms—or some close analogue—to stretch.

That’s not all though. Without even opening my eyes, I have an unusual sense of my surroundings, as though something is giving me a mental picture—albeit an incomplete one—of the area around me, as well as currents of air. For example, four feet to my left, there is a hospital bed with an injured unicorn mare napping comfortably on it. Just past her, there is an open window. Anything that is downwind of me, however, is surprisingly blank.

I can even see myself in a sense, and all at once the stretching of ‘arms’ makes more sense to me. It’s not an arm that I’m stretching at all, but instead a wing. I’m back in my body then. Heaving a sigh of relief, I let a smile envelop my face. There may even be tears of joy streaming down my face. It’s all over!

A small giggle to my right—an apparent blindspot to this newfound extrasensory perception—catches me off guard. My eyes snap open as I jerk my head to face the source of the amused eruption. Unsurprisingly, the source of the laughter is the young CNA, Candy. Being in a smaller form than Lyra’s body, Candy is now a few inches taller than me, even without the cute nurse’s attire.

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” she whispers, smirking. “I know exactly how you feel. I was amazed the first time I actually felt the Wind Sight too.”

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, not quite paying attention. Yeah, it’s kind of nice having a name for a sixth sense, but that’s kind of hard to care about having a new sense when you’re still coming to terms with the fact that you aren’t inhabiting somepony else’s body any longer, and that your own body is radically different from when you left it.

“Oh! If you want, I could hook you up with crash course in flying later on,” she says, prodding me cheerfully. “It wouldn’t cost you anything, since it’s technically rehabilitation. Well, I suppose from what your friends told me, you weren’t really a pony to begin with, making it habilitation, but that isn’t the point; it’s completely covered under Equestria’s free healthcare!”

For the first time since waking up, I look directly in her eyes. “You’re qualified, right...” I jokingly ask in a forced tone of hesitation. “Nah, I kid. I’d love that.”

From the bed behind us, we both hear a pained groan. Caught up in being in my own body, I’d completely forgotten about Lyra, but a glance at the bed quickly reminds me that Lyra is pretty banged up. For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, I can see Lyra full-on and not just from random reflections on glossy objects or in liquids. She looks absolutely terrible—even worse than the personification of her memory imprint—and she’s glaring right at me with reddened eyes.

“I’m really happy you’ve got your own body again,” she grumbles, not at all reinforcing her statement. “Unfortunately, somepony put my body through the wringer, and I have a terrible migraine for some reason.” Lyra gestures a hoof toward the door. “Just bring me my Bon-Bon, and let me get some rest... and turn off that darn light when you go.”


- - -


Since being tossed out of Lyra’s room, I’ve basically spent what seems like forever walking aimlessly around the hospital and answering Candy’s questions about Earth and humanity. She’s a very professional pony, but she’s still got lots of youthful curiosity. She’d ask things like “What’s it like there?” or “What are your people like?” You can probably imagine how difficult it is to describe completely foreign concepts like computers—yet they have things like pulse oximeters—or automobiles when the closest analogues you have at hand are arcade machines and horse-drawn carriages and none of the relevant technical knowledge to make the technologies sound feasible.

“If there’s one thing you’ll miss the most about being human or your home, what would it be?” Candy asks, finally. 

This is the question I’ve dreaded most, because I’ve given that question a lot of thought while answering her others. Through all the questioning, I’ve been able to skirt the topic of human diets and the consumption of meat, but the thing I will miss most is meat! How would she react? She’s been pretty professional up to this point, but this is like the dreaded topic in fan-fics, right?

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but the answer’s meat.” I break eye contact before I continue. “My people are omnivorous, but the majority of protein in our diets comes from animal flesh. Poultry, fish, beef and pork, we eat it all.” My eye wanders just the slightest bit in her direction. To my amazement, there’s no look of disdain or disgust. I suppose being a nurse in the capital exposes her to carnivorous beings like griffons. “They aren’t sapient there, just beasts. They never built their own cities or anything like that.”

She looks thoughtful after a moment. “Well, I can’t say your reasoning is the best, but you do what’s in your nature, right?” she says cheerfully. “It’s not like you’ll be completely out of your element.”

I look at her, agape. “It’s not like eggs are that big of a stretch, but still...” Shifting my wings anxiously, I look away. “A hayburger just doesn’t compare to a nice steak... or even a tuna sandwich!”

Two hooves grab me gently, and suddenly I’m staring into Candy’s violet eyes. “I love tuna sandwiches!” she exclaims. “What? Pegasi love fish!” She must be reading my confused look. “Oh! You probably didn’t know if you were living with an earth pony and a unicorn, but pegasi often complement their diet with fish and other seafood. It’s kind of hard to graze on grass over large bodies of water, if you catch my meaning.”

Pegasi can eat fish. Sorry, this is kind of shaking my world here. Pegasi can eat gosh-darned fish! I don’t think I could be more elated to hear this news. So what if I wasn’t much of a seafood person back on Earth? This is as close as being told I’ve won the lottery as I’ll ever get!

“Please tell me this hospital has a cafeteria,” I say flatly.

“It does.”

“Now, please tell me you have tuna sandwiches there.”

“We do...”

With that, I tackle Candy to the ground in a great big hug. Screw hayburgers! I’m having tuna! “Take me there, please!” I whisper excitedly into her ear. “If I can have a tuna sandwich, I will officially be the happiest pony in this hospital, and you will become my all-time favorite pony outside of the Royal Family!”

Suddenly, a thought strikes me and I can’t help but roll off of her, breaking out in hysterical laughter. I mean seriously, imagine how this looks from the outside. One young mare has the other young mare pinned to the floor, whispering passionately in her ear about fish. I doubt anypony in Equestria would get the point—or would they?—but it amuses me like you wouldn’t believe.

“C’mon, get up you silly filly!” Candy whines, prodding me in the side. “If you keep rolling around on the floor howling like a loon, I’m going to get you fitted for a straitjacket.”

“Alright!” I giggle some more as she prods me just underneath one of my splayed wings. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna pee all over the place. You don’t—literally and metaphorically—want that on your hooves, do you?”

Candy quite hurriedly pulls her hoof away at the mention of urination. I don’t blame her; nobody likes walking in someone else’s pee. “Fine, just get up so we can get a some food in you,” she says, smirking. “I’m pretty sure half of this wing heard your stomach over your laughter. You’re probably delirious with hunger; that’s the only way to explain this outburst.”

If only she knew I’ve always been this screwy. She might just drop a load in her drawers, were she wearing any. “You’ve never met a mare named Pinkie Pie, have you?” It’s not a question so much as it is an appraisal. At any rate, she doesn’t take the conversational bait.


- - -


Over lunch and the buzz of the cafeteria, I once again find myself in conversation with the young mare. We’re nothing alike, but still I find myself interested in what she has to say. Somehow, we went from discussing lunch to discussing the future. I remember asking her what she planned for her life. At the time, I already knew she strove to be a nurse, but I was genuinely curious where she wanted to go from there.

After telling me how she wanted to go into pediatrics—not unsurprising given the cutie mark of a teddy-bear holding a candy-cane and a stethoscope—she turns the question on me. I honestly don’t know how to answer it. I’ve only just gotten my body back, and it’s still sinking in that I can’t ever go home. I haven’t even given my future in Equestria a single thought.

“I dunno, Candy,” I mumble to the table after trying to think about it for a few moments. “I’ve been so busy trying not to lose my mind for the last five days that I didn’t even give it any thought... I mean, if push comes to shove, I can always fall back on my writing...” My voice begins to hitch as my thoughts begin to flow. “B-but I’m not sure I can even f-f-focus on my own happiness w-when there’s a family out there mourning a f-foal that I still can’t help but b-blame myself for the loss of.”

It’s only as I finish my stuttering mess of a rant that I realize that the cafeteria has gone deathly silent. Not only is it unlikely that everypony heard that last part, it’s practically impossible given how quietly I was speaking. Looking up, I see Candy prostrating herself toward the doorway. Ominous...

“Soren, I had really hoped you would not blame yourself for what has transpired.” Before I can turn my head to gawk at the doorway, I hear Princess Celestia’s voice call out. It sends a shiver through my spine for no discernible reason just thinking that she’s here to see me. “You won’t ever be happy with that sort of attitude.”

I really don’t know what to say to this. Is she trying to tell me ‘Don’t worry; be happy’? Am I really stuck in some sort of faulty logical loop? My throat is completely dry now, in spite of the nice, moist tuna sandwich in my belly. “Be that as it may, your Highness, I can’t help but feel the need to do something for them, even if they’d rather never see me again.”

In spite of the fact that all eyes are clearly on Celestia, this disturbing feeling of all eyes being on me just won’t leave. Then, as if someone threw up a signal flare, all the doctors, nurses, and patients in the room suddenly have somewhere to be. Every mare, stallion and foal file neatly out of the room until only the Princess and I remain.

At this point, Princess Celestia makes her way over to the table, and plants herself across from me. “I understand that being displaced from your own world has shaken your very life to the core, but you mustn’t allow your bad experiences to condemn you to misery.”

I look at her weakly, ready to break off eye-contact at a moments notice. With a hitching sigh, I ask, “Your Majesty, is it really true that not even you or Luna can depetrify a pony after the creature that caused the infliction has been killed?”

A sad look of world-weariness takes hold of the Princess’s face. “Sadly, we cannot, my little pony. The magics behind a cockatrice’s glare are too primal and chaotic for even an alicorn to cure.” I could swear there’s almost this unspoken implication that Discord could fix it. “My sister, niece and I are not as infallible as my subjects would so like to believe.”

“I know, Your Highness,” I reply softly. “Nopony could have predicted just how strong Chrysalis was. That wasn’t your fault.” 

She gives me this questioning look, no doubt wondering how I knew, before letting out an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, that is one of my most shameful moments,” she says softly. “Nopony should watch helplessly as their charges are used for food.”

Part of me compels me to nuzzle and comfort her, but a hard-coded respect for her—another hoof-me-down from Lyra, no doubt—won’t allow it. “So there’s no cure then?”

“Sadly, no.” Her tone of finality is disheartening. “Our top alchemists and magi have struggled to find a way to resolve this and many other magical ailments for centuries, but to no avail. The search for this particular cure has long since been abandoned.”

Alchemy... There’s an interesting little tidbit, but what form is Equestrian alchemy—potions and the like, or a conversion and manipulation of matter a la Fullmetal Alchemist? “Princess Celestia, forgive my otherworldly foolishness, but is it safe to assume that alchemy can best be summed up as potion-making?” The Princess looks at me curiously, but ultimately just nods. “Is the study of alchemy something only unicorns and zebras partake in, or are there alchemists of all races?”

“Alchemy is a much less magic-intensive study, relying more on the innate magical properties of ingredients than the alchemist’s own magical nature,” she explains in a soft, seemingly practiced tone. She probably uses this same voice when teaching her apprentices. “Unrestricted by the user’s nature, alchemy is a popular choice of study for non-unicorns who wish to become scholars of a magical realm.”

What am I even thinking? She said it herself that many have tried for centuries to uncover the cure to petrification and failed. Why would I expect to accomplish as an alchemist what they could not? The best I can do is provide an... unequine point of view. Surely my human nature can’t just solve anything. Still, if I can make even the least bit headway, my work could become the basis on which future alchemists could find a cure. Wouldn’t that be enough?

“Ah sister, you have found her!” a voice intercedes before I can begin voicing my thoughts. Unsurprisingly, for nothing really surprises me these days, a quick dip into Wind Sight reveals Princess Luna standing in the doorway. “I had been hoping to speak to her in regards to her recompense before her discharge.” The dark princess trots contentedly toward the table and takes a seat beside her counterpart. “What have the two of you been discussing?”

Celestia turns upon her sister with a rather worrisome smile—is this where the Trollestia meme really comes from? “Why sister, I do believe she was just about to ask to study your most favorite of magical disciplines.”

Luna turns her eyes to me with a curious look before returning her attention to her sister. “She wishes to learn Tulpa?” she asks, rubbing her chin with a hoof. "I'd have thought she'd be more wary of delving into having entities inside her head."

“No, sister,” replies Celestia in a flat voice. “Alchemy, remember?”

A blush creeps across the darker sister’s face as realization strikes her. “Oh!” she says. “Yes, well, that makes much more sense.”

Frankly, I’m not sure what’s happening. Is this some sort of inside joke that I’m missing? Is Celestia roping Luna into a really strange prank? I am so woefully confused now. “Um... Tulpa? What?”

Again, Luna flushes crimson—no easy feat for a pony a nice dark shade of blue—and quickly looks to me. “Never you mind that,” she instructs hastily, drawing a derisive snicker from her sister. “So, you wish to study alchemy?” I nod, suddenly finding myself drawn into her gaze. It’s almost as though she can see my thoughts, which I realize isn’t that absurd a thought given my last venture into the dreamscape. “Your motivations seem honorable enough—even noble—but in your own words, tell me why either of us should sponsor you.”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. There’s the hanging implication there that she’s already come to a decision and is just waiting for me to come to the same conclusion she has. “For one, you yourself mentioned recompense. That in itself implies a debt on your parts. Instead of repaying me monetarily, you could easily convert that debt into an education. Even if I cannot cure petrification, you have a bright young mind in the field of alchemy, and I come out with some transferable job-skills,” I offer, smiling as I watch Luna’s own smile grow. “Who knows what fun I can create?”

The two sisters look rather satisfied as the converse among themselves in private. By conversing in private, I mean that they must be speaking telepathically or something, because they’re just staring into each other’s eyes. Maybe their consciousnesses have left their bodies and they are now conversing on some private plane of existence. I really don’t know. They’re just... staring at each other!

Finally, Princess Luna lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s two birds with one grain, I suppose.” She turns back to me. “If you truly wish to become a scholar and practitioner of alchemy, we can certainly arrange that as your recompense. That will not only cover the remuneration for your troubles, but it also takes care of the quandary of your living arrangements, as you would be provided a dormitory at the university here in Canterlot.”

“What of the knowledge of Equestria that I lack but will undoubtedly need?” I ask, wholly serious. “Certainly Equestria has some sort of Graduate Equivalency Degree that I would need to take before attending the university, but I can only learn so much on my own in a short period of time.”

Surprisingly, Luna is not the one to answer my question. Instead, Princess Celestia angles her head downward to stare at the table. “That will not be a problem,” she says in that same sad tone that Twilight spoke in just yesterday. “Twilight will be taking a... sabbatical from her friendship studies to return to Canterlot for lessons of her own.” Oh. Oh! Now Twilight’s sorrow makes so much more sense. “I can arrange for her to tutor you for your education certification.”

I really don’t know what to say. I mean, Twilight is being taken away from her friends for an extended period of time as a result of her involvement in what has happened. It’s kind of disheartening to realize that my presence has irreparably altered the life of somepony I once idolized. “I-If she would have me...” I mumble. Raising my voice to a more audible level, I ask, “If she must return to Canterlot, might you permit her one last extended gathering with her friends, and Lyra and Bon-Bon? Lyra and I have something I think all of you should see.”

Celestia seems taken aback by my consideration for her pupil. Perhaps she still expects me to be angry with Twilight—I don’t know. The point is that I’m clearly showing unexpected generosity or kindness. “Consider it done, Soren.”

“No your Majesty,” I say softly. “I can’t be Soren any more. If I am to be a citizen of Equestria, I need a proper Equestrian name.” I glance at Luna and smile. “Thanks to you, Princess, I have one.”

The Princess certainly seems to have caught my drift. “From this day forth, let it be known that the human Soren Friedrich is no more,” she says in mock officiality. “In his place will forever stand the mare Silver Script of Canterlot.”
> Epilogue: Dear Equestria Daily
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Equestria Daily,

Many months ago, you received an email from me. In that email, I included a link to a video that I have no doubt rattled the very core of the Friendship is Magic community. I want to assure you that my recording was not the least bit fake. The community may for the most part have forgotten the video, but even in my new life, I have not.

As was mentioned in my video, Equestria is real, and I went there. I’m still there, for that matter. A lot of extenuating circumstances began to stack up from the moment that accursed body swap began, culminating in me never being able to return. For one, the realm of Equestria is not as accommodating to non-magical beings as fan-fiction writers might hope. As it turns out, the ambient magics of Equestria begin flooding your body the moment it gets there, and because your body isn’t designed to handle such thaumaturgic radiation, the your body changes into a form that can. So while I bungled around Ponyville in the midst of a psychotic episode, my Lyra-occupied body was transforming into a pegasus pony.

Then of course, I suppose it’s only natural to go into the details of the previously mentioned psychotic episode. Yeah, I guess I don’t handle stress all that well. Y’see, Pinkie decided to throw me a ‘Welcome to Equestria Party’. You’re all thinking “Oh, a Pinkie Pie Party, what fun!” When you’re in a mare’s body and in estrus, and suddenly half of the Mane Six and Bon-Bon are all stallions because of magic cupcakes, no... Not fun. That’s not to say I didn’t try, but when you get smashed, you do stupid things... like having a drunken orgy with a mare-turned-stallion and her lover-in-my-body. That’s where it all began going downhill.

When I woke up, hungover and aching from sex, I did not react well. Hay, it would not be hard to say that I overreacted. I basically accused Lyra and Bon-Bon, who were no more sober than I was, of raping me, and then went to try and calm myself in a park near the Everfree. Fate is a twisted, fickle mare it would seem. Having saved a filly’s life only a day earlier, I guess I expected that I should have been able to save Pound Cake, or at least stop him from wandering into the Everfree and getting petrified by a cockatrice doomed to die. That, it turns out, makes it permanent, and no magics or known potions can fix it.

Instead, the moment I reached the edge of the forest, I was whisked back to the library. Lyra and Twilight didn’t trust me not to wander out of town and get lost, so they placed an anchoring charm of some sort on me. Needless to say, when I found out I felt upset and betrayed, especially when I later found out that pound was for all intents and purposes dead. Well, I became paranoid beyond belief and broke down. I couldn’t fathom how Twilight could be so reckless with her magic, and I convinced myself that she wasn’t really Twilight.

I’ll spare you the details of my descent into madness and how I spent the night in a burrow beneath a tree, or how I first encountered Princess Luna in the dreamscape. Know only this. Equestria isn’t as perfect as everyone might think, and mistakes do happen, even when that mistake results in an intense psychotic episode culminating in the attempted murder of your favorite pony.

Things have been rather different since the switch-back. For one, I’ve had to get used to a new body all over again. Despite the Crown recognizing that I’m of legal age, I still get a lot of trouble because I’m a diminutive pegasus mare who looks no older than her early teens. The doctors say that I’ll always be this small, so I guess I’ll just have to cope with it. At least I made a friend in the hospital. My nurse/CNA/new best pony was kind enough to teach me to fly, and I’ve never been more grateful.

Sadly, my presence in the world of Equestria isn’t without its costs. Because Twilight’s recklessness ultimately cost a life, she’s had to return to Canterlot for a short break on her studies on friendship for a refresher course on responsibility. Princess Celestia isn’t cruel though. She’s still permitted day trips to visit her friends; Twilight just has to remember where her responsibilities lay. I’m still not sure which of us is more uncomfortable with the arrangement where she has to tutor me for the Equestria equivalent of a GED. Since my GED is her responsibility though, I’m always forced to tag along when she goes back to Ponyville, not that I’m complaining.

Lyra and Bon-Bon have their own issues to deal with now that Lyra’s pregnant. I think that in itself is why Celestia did not enact any major punishments on them for what happened while we were all wasted or for failing in their responsibility for me. It’s not like she can run a pregnant mare out of her home or send her to prison. Honestly, I don’t know who is happier now. Originally, Bon-Bon seemed leery of the idea, but if the last letter I received is to be believed, she’s really warmed up to the idea and is now doting on her lover and daughter-to-be.

I’ve also seemingly created a monster. Because I kept referring to things I couldn’t possibly have known and talking specifically of the show, I had no choice but have Lyra play all of Seasons 1 & 2 of Friendship is Magic for Twilight, the Princesses and the others. Pinkie Pie loved it. She’s so obsessed that she even insisted on being at Lyra’s every Saturday since Season 3 began, something I sadly haven’t had the time to do. According to Pinkie though, the series is eerily accurate at times. That’s all I can usually understand now that she’s slinging pony memes all the time.

As for me, I decided to give my family one last goodbye. It was really rather bittersweet. I mean, I got the closure, but my parents told me that for all intents and purposes their son is dead. At the time, I couldn’t have known just how badly they’d taken it, but they've gone into serious denial of what happened, and simply reported me missing. I’m pretty sure there’s even going to be a segment dedicated to me in the newly revived Unsolved Mysteries, if Lyra's correspondence isn't off the mark. It’s probably for the best that they pretend I’m just missing.

Until I complete that GED with Twilight and enroll at the Canterlot University to study Alchemy, I’m not sure how relaxed I can be. I’m incredibly thankful to my friend Candy Stripes and Doctor Forceps for volunteering to house me until then, but I’ve never been particularly comfortable living off the goodwill of others outside of family. Then again, family is more than bloodline here in Equestria, and Candy and her mother have been nothing less than family to me. Even if I don’t make it as an alchemist, I think I’ll always have a place to call home.

Your once faithful reader,

Soren F.
Seven Fates
Silver Script

P.S. The Princesses are considering opening diplomatic relations with Earth, but don’t expect Equestria to be the newest vacation hot-spot anytime soon. If anything, it’ll be at least a decade or two before that happens, and probably a lot longer before you can even consider visiting Equestria as you are.

P.P.S. Lyra should have received my finished manuscript for Displaced, so expect that to receive a completion update from her in the near future.