> The Alchemist's Heart
>  by Seven Fates
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Lyra and Bon-Bon,

I suppose I should start out by apologizing for not writing in so long. I know, I know! I promised to write more in my last letter, and I’ve betrayed that promise. In my defense, things have been pretty hectic up here in Canterlot. I can only imagine that things are shaping up to be pretty interesting down in Ponyville these days.

Twilight’s been working me ragged these last few months. After all, my proof of equivalent education isn’t going to study for itself, she keeps telling me. Honestly, things have been kind of weird between us lately. Even though she says she’s gotten over the whole business where I went crazy and basically tried to murder her, I can’t help but feel she still blames me for Princess Celestia dragging her back to Canterlot for remedial lessons in responsibility. At least the cram sessions all stopped when I took the exam the other day.

Once while she was tutoring me—I’m still not sure why the princess insisted Twilight be the one to help me—she got kind of frustrated when I mentioned you, Lyra, and said you got off easy. Please don’t be too angry with her about it; after all, we’ve all been under a lot of undue stress from that unfortunate turn of events. Still, I don’t think what she said is exactly true. Yeah, you might have wanted this foal, but you’re certainly suffering for that stupid drunken night we shared with Bon-Bon while she was a stallion. 

Speaking of which, I feel bad for you about the whole morning sickness thing, and all that, but that’s karma for you, I guess; for better or worse, you’ll be getting your work-out in responsibility for the next two decades. Speaking of karma, how is chaperoning the Cutie Mark Crusaders treating you? I certainly hope they’re keeping you on your hooves. From what I’ve heard, being bone-idle during your pregnancy can lead to some pretty harrowing foaling.

Aside from the whole obsessive study enforcement, things have been pretty swell here in Canterlot. Doctor Forceps and Candy Stripes have been plenty accommodating to me since I was tossed out of the Canterlot Public Hostel. I still can’t believe the administration there sided with that lecher just because I bit him! Why was he even trying to climb into my bed at two in the morning? The rooms there aren’t even co-ed! Then again, given my history of dangerous behavior, it’s only natural for them to be wary.

Sometimes, I wish I could have stayed in Ponyville, at least until I’m able to apply to the University. Unfortunately, it was made pretty clear on my last few visits that hardly anypony is comfortable around me after my vicious display in that duel. While everypony was nice enough to not say anything during the Season 1 and Season 2 marathon, it’s clear I’ll never fit in. Applejack is decent enough to be nice to me, and Pinkie is... well... Pinkie. Either way, she keeps in touch. Rarity and Fluttershy made any excuse they could to keep away from me on my last visit. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m not sure who holds more contempt for me, Rainbow Dash, who accidentally loosed a storm cloud on me, or the Cakes, who have effectively seen to it that I’ll never enter Sugarcube Corner again. Even if I was comfortable with the idea of staying with you two—no offense, but the whole drunk sex thing has me a bit leery of a lot of things now—I don’t think I’d be anything but an outsider there.

Oh! Before I forget, I need to thank you for your little care packages, Bon-Bon! I really enjoyed all the treats you send. I just hope you don’t mind that I’m sharing them with Candy and her mom. It’s the least I can do to repay their kindness. Yeah, I know part of my recompense covers housing until I’m in the University’s dormitories, but sharing is caring, y’know? Seriously though, I really love the sweets you send, and for what it’s worth, I really appreciate the way you wanted Lyra to take responsibility back when this all started. Take care of yourselves, alright?

Sincerely,

Sliver Script

P.S. Have you found out whether it’s going to be a filly or a colt yet?

P.P.S. I never thought to ask before, since it kinda blew my mind when I first thought about it it, but if I was the one inhabiting your body during the conception of the foal, what does that make me? Third mom, godmother, or some weird previously unimagined familial link? You’re welcome for the mind-buck.
> Chapter 1: Mornings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Remember, don’t stay in bed all morning,” a voice calls from the other side of the bedroom door. I’ve known this voice for months now. Candy Stripes, whose mother was kind enough to take me in, is giving me my morning wake-up call. She’s my closest friend and has been ever since I nearly lost my mind and wound up in a Canterlot hospital. “Don’t forget you need to find out today whether or not you’re getting your Equivalent Education Certificate.”

With a groan, I peel my face off of the piece of parchment that I fell asleep on. Looking down, I see my notes for a potential writing project are smudged and covered in drool. From the looks of things, I fell asleep in the middle of a late-night brainstorming session again, and I can only imagine that part of my gray-furred muzzle is smeared black. “Sorry Candy,” I croak back. “I fell asleep at my desk again.”

As the door is pushed open, I point my bright blue eyes toward the intruder. Unsurprisingly, Candy looks absolutely immaculate. Her candy-red mane is tied up nicely in a bun, topped with that same adorable nurse’s cap I saw her wearing when I first met her. Not only that, but her coat and feathers have that nice, healthy sheen. Then again, as a Certified Nursing Assistant, she always has to look her best.

With an unamused snort, she glances over my posture quickly. “You really shouldn’t fall asleep like that,” she admonishes, flicking an ear indignantly. “That posture really plays havoc with the alignment of your vertebrae. That’s no good, especially for a pegasus of your diminutive stature.” Her frown softens into a wry smile. “Still no luck on your project?”

I snort as I reveal my my ink-streaked face. “Maybe, I’ll never know though.” I lower my neck and pick up the dreadfully smudged parchment in my teeth, displaying the completely smudged parchment. “It turns out that I still can’t just faceroll.”

Again, I manage to confuse my best friend with my human humor. With a shake of her head, she asks, “How often do I tell you that you’re so weird?”

Falling onto my side after the sudden onset of paresthesia, I grin goofily at her. “On average, or just the last week alone?” I reply playfully. As she covers her face with a hoof, I let out a small giggle while I scramble onto my hooves. “Probably more often than I should be proud to admit.”

With an amused snort, Candy backs out of the room. “Anyway, Mom has a double shift today, and I’m working the newfoal ward.”

Passing her outside the door, I shoot her a goofy smile. “Finally wooed that hunk of a stallion Dr. Lovechild into taking you under his wing, so to speak?” I ask, playfully crossing my hoof in front of my chest and fluttering my eyelashes. It’s all a jest, really, as I’ve never met or seen the stallion, and have no interest in relationships whatsoever. It just really amuses me seeing Candy get all flustered. “Oh, the scandal; if your mother knew you were flirting your way to the top, why she’d die of shame!”

Exactly as expected, she puffs out her reddened cheeks and begins stomping on the spot as she fumes. It’s so cute that I can easily visualize steam shooting out her ears. “Oh, go soak your head!” she finally shouts as I trot into the bathroom. “You’re as bad as a gossiping noble.”

Closing the door, I make for the sink. “You still love me!” I call back playfully. “See ya tonight, okay?” Now, to scrub that darn ink off of my pretty little face. Once that little embarrassment is taken care of, I can worry about washing up. Oh, but then I have to take care of my mane and tail before I can worry about lunch. Just thinking about it is making me miss not having to worry about a tail or long mane.


~ 1 ~


No matter how many times I see Canterlot—and believe me, in the period of six months of living here, you see it an awful lot—I can never get over the feeling of disbelief. It’s not some sense of I’m-actually-here unreality; all of that wore off after the third month. It isn’t even the physically improbable castle that hangs off the side of the mountain like a holster that gets to me. Instead, for some reason I can’t help but be reminded of 16th century Florence. There’s just something about the architecture that gives me that deceptive sense of familiarity.

Honestly, it’s probably a side effect of too much video games and movies. That’s one of those things you don’t even take for granted until all you have at hoof are plays, novels, and the odd primitive arcade machine. Those plays and novels are plenty interesting, sure, so it’s not too hard to supplement my needs for entertainment. Still, there’s something to say about growing up in a high-tech society and being forced by circumstances to adapt to a low-tech one; Equestria needs computers and its own internet.

The one thing I will say about it is that this lack of digital media gives me a lot of time to get lost in my thoughts. Whenever I’m not cooped up in my room trying to write—you’d think given how free I am from distractions, I’d have no problem getting all sorts of writing done—I often find myself aimlessly wandering the streets of Canterlot. During these times, I often think about nothing and everything all at once. I suppose daydreaming is a rather apt description.

In these wanderings, be they flight or simple walk, I find the most curious places. Less than a week after starting my studies for the EEC exam, I wandered into Pony Joe’s—you know, the coffee shop everypony ended up at in the Best Night Ever—without even knowing how I got there. I was only supposed to go out for a short trot, but instead I found myself halfway across Canterlot from Twilight’s—or rather, her family’s—place.

More curious than the fact that I was able to so casually walk in and order an iced cappuccino was the sense of nostalgia I got from the place. I know anypony in my horseshoes would liken the place to their favorite coffee shop back home, but Pony Joe’s honestly reminds me of a cross of Tim Hortons crossed with a Second Cup. None of that stuffy expensive atmosphere of a Starbucks.

As I trot past a small cafe, I debate stopping for a quick cup of tea. How could I not when these Canterlot cafes all have this wonderful blend of tea not dissimilar to Chai? It’s a crime against my palate to say no, but now isn’t the time. After all, the Equestrian Education Bureau closes its doors for a week following the end of the last trimester of the school year, and today is the last day before that happens.

I could easily blame them for not grading my exam sooner, but honestly, that’s just a load of horseapples I’d be telling myself in order to feel better. My exam results were available to me yesterday—the very day after I took the darn exam! In my defense, I was wiped and deserved an afternoon of sleep. If Twilight hadn’t insisted on ‘final revisions’—read: cram session—the night before the exam, my circadian rhythm would be fine right now.

Mentally, I shrug the thought from my mind. Luna preserve me, I really need to pay more attention to these winding streets. It’s bad enough you need to cross through the labyrinthine Market District just to get to the Government and Education Districts from the Canterlot Residential Zone, but this is the fifth time I’ve passed this tiny curio shop.

“Pardon me for asking, young miss,” a dry voice asks from behind me, scaring the daylights out of me. “Are you by any chance—and I mean you no offense—lost?”

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I see a peculiarly dressed gray stallion trotting up behind me, his blue-gray braid poking nicely from beneath his strange little hat. I can tell he’s not a unicorn, but he could easily be packing wings under that getup. “Sorry?” I reply with a confused smile. The strange pony’s clothes, primarily the short-sleeved brown tunic layered over the long-sleeved white shirt, with the red scarf and the yellow-orange sash reminds me a lot of a Tibetan monk or perhaps something out of China. “Yes, I got a bit turned around, but why would that be offensive?”

I catch a glint of confusion in the stallion’s eyes. “Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that most pegasi take pride in their sense of direction.” As I glance at my own wings, I can’t help but laugh. How could I be so clueless? At least he’s never heard of Ditzy Doo down in Ponyville, if that business with the Winter Wrap-up is to be believed. He cocks his head curiously, allowing his purple-rimmed glasses to shift awkwardly on his muzzle. “May I perhaps interest you in this magical compass? It’ll always point you where you need to go! For you, just twenty bits.”

Oh of course. This mare is lost. I should make her feel bad about her sense of direction, and then compound that by offering her some worthless trinket for an inflated price. “I’d love to stay and listen while you try and peddle your questionable wares, but I really have somewhere to be.” I flare out my wings to make a point.

“Please, reconsider. Captain Rum Starling’s compass is quite the artifact to own!” I ignore his plea, and begin beating my wings to generate some uplift. Then he begins to mumble under his breath. “Blast that Trixie... If she hadn’t exploited my love for bits, I wouldn’t have sold her that damned Alicorn Amulet. All she had to do was not use the amulet, but no... Took over a small town, she did. So of course, the Royal Guard tracks the purchase back to me, and suddenly I can’t even sell an enchanted kitchen sink!”

Trixie, huh? “As interesting as that sounds, sir, I’m sorry!” I take off to the south. “Maybe later I’ll stop by to hear about what ‘The Great and Powerful Trixie’ has been up to.” Not ten minutes later, I’m back in front of the curio shop, feeling like an idiot. When did my sense of direction get this bad? I always thought I had a pretty decent sense of direction back on Earth. Then again, it’s really simple to memorize and follow a straightforward route.

With a sigh, I push my way through the candlelit shop’s door, causing a small bell by the door to tinkle.. Immediately a feeling of embarrassment creeps over me as I look at some of the randomly assorted items here. First I notice a claw-mirror that supposedly shows you yourself in other realities; I only see myself as I am now. Next, I pass by a display of crystal orbs that, according to the plaque, allow you to turn whatever you want into various kinds of cheese. Finally, before approaching the counter, I pass a display case with a plaque announcing the Crystal Skull of Equitor, an artifact supposedly the key to accessing alternate realities. This whole place is definitely feeling like a waste of time.

Still, in spite of the ringing bell, the curiously dressed stallion is nowhere to be seen. Did he go off somewhere and forget to lock up, or did he simply not hear the bell by the door? It doesn’t help any that my eyes are barely at counter level here. I mean, I can see a little countertop bell that I could push with my hoof if I could reach it, but short of flying—the last thing you want to do in any place full of antiquities—there’s no way I can interact with it.

“Hello?” I call out meekly, peering around at the shop’s bizarre wares. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, sir, but is the offer for that compass still on the table?”

There’s a loud crash and a muffled curse from somewhere in the back of the shop, beyond the door behind the counter. Just barely, I can make out that stallion shouting, “Just a moment!”

A few moments later, the door into the back slides open, revealing the bedraggled merchant. As he shakes what looks like a draconequus antler from atop his hat—I’m not sure I want to know—he smiles softly. “Hello again, young miss.” His voice is kind, and without hidden motive. “Had second thoughts about the compass, did you?”

If his tone had been inundated in sarcasm or the such, I probably would have replied in kind; after all, sarcasm begets sarcasm, if you ask me. “Ah, hehe, yes... or at least my sense of direction did.” I mumble, my cheeks flushing scarlet. “I take it this compass of ‘Captain Jack Sparrow’—”

“Rum Starling!” he corrects, quickly.

“Yes! I take it that this compass of Rum Starling’s has some sort of interesting tale accompanying it.” I know I don’t really have the time for it, but the way he tried to sell it earlier tells me that he’s probably as much a storyteller as he is a curio merchant. “What can you tell me about it?”

The quaint fellow perks up at my interest. “Ah! You’ve been to a curio before, haven’t you little miss?” He sounds most cheerful at this. “Yes, the tale of Captain Rum Starling is a rather tragic one. Once an honorable Captain of the East Neighpon Company’s merchant navy, Starling was renowned for his impeccable sense of direction. Wherever he wanted to be, he would find his way there.

“Nopony knows how he came about this wonderfully gifted sense of direction, for he was neither pegasus nor unicorn. He was a seafaring earth pony, through and through. In those early days of intercontinental trade, it didn’t much matter so long as he got to where he was supposed to be, and by Celestia he got the job done.

“Captain Starling lead a very rewarding career with the merchant navy, amassing a horde of bits that rivaled that of a young drake. He was often suspected of piracy for how much he owned, but there was no proof of any wrongdoing on his part. Most simply suspect that he often used his knack for ending up where he needed to be in order to find rum-running jobs on the side.

“When he finally decided to retire from the seafarer’s life, he married a barmaid and settled into a small home in a fishing village. For many years, he regaled his mare with jewelry and trinkets, and treated her like a princess. Next to his love, there was nothing she valued more than the compass he bequeathed to her as a necklace on their wedding day, the very compass his father had given to him on his deathbed.

“One day, after venturing out to the docks to get some kelp from one of the trawlers that had come in that morning, he returned home to find the place ransacked. Upon rushing upstairs in search of his beloved, he found her murdered in a pool of her own blood. The remains of the cord that once held the compass lay ruined at her side.

“As the story goes, his ability led him to the dilapidated doorstep of his wife’s murderer. Blinded by his grief and rage, he tore through the ramshackle shack’s door with the muscles born of decades of life aboard a ship. He cared nothing for the stolen riches or even the heirloom he’d given his wife. Starling wanted blood repaid with blood. He began mercilessly beating the stallion inside, with no intent to stop.

“It was only when he caught a good look at his wife’s bloodied murderer that his blood turned to ice and his murderous rage faltered. The stallion that lay before him was none other than his own brother. When he asked his brother why he had robbed him of his greatest treasure, his answer was the compass. His brother, it would seem, felt that it was him and not Rum Starling who rightfully owned their father’s heirloom, and bore much hatred for his brother for all those decades after their father’s passing, and upon seeing Starling’s wife wearing the compass in the village one day, he could take it no more.

“Wracked by grief and fraternal betrayal, he took back the compass and left his brother laying there, crippled and dying. In the end, he ended up carving his wifes name—Cornflower—into the compasses lid before throwing himself and the compass into the sea. They say when he perished, his gift embedded itself in the compass.” 

The antiquities dealer produces an ancient but well preserved closed-faced compass, a fairly new hide cord looped through the top—just the right length for a pony of my size. “This has been making its way across Equestria and lands beyond for more years than can be verified,” he says proudly, opening it to display the name Cornflower carved in the tarnished brass of the lid. “It will always point in the direction of the place you most wish to be. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

I can’t deny it, that’s a pretty darn interesting story. I have no doubt it’s rather abridged, but it sounds like something I’d read about back home. There’s only one problem. “If this is such a priceless and vaunted artifact, why are you selling it for just twenty bits?”

With a free hoof, the stallion presses his glasses further up his muzzle, until they reflect the light in such a way that seeing his eyes are rather impossible. “Ah yes... By all reports, this particular item is... cursed. Misfortune always follows it,” he says dejectedly. “I can only think that this is true in some sense, given my recent luck. If that discourages you, I apologize for wasting your time.”

I stick my hoof up in a warding gesture. “Hold on! I didn’t say no.” A few moments of rooting in my saddlebags produces my coin purse. I count exactly twenty bits onto the countertop in front of him. “I don’t believe in curses, good sir.” He pushes the compass across the counter and pulls the coins to his side. As I drape the cord around my neck, I smile to him. Even if this is a crock, I’ve still bought a compass, so at least I’ll be able to figure out what went wrong and get over to the Education Bureau. “Even if I did, they say misery enjoys company, so why not misfortune?”


~ 1 ~


Whether by quirk of fate or by the whim of a magical trinket, my next attempt to make it out of the Market District goes off without a hitch. The compass’s abilities have not been oversold if my passage over the Government District is any indication. Instead of pointing me north, it points in the general direction of the Education District. I even make sure by making an effort to project a desire to go home. Almost immediately the needle spins and points towards the CRZ.

After a few minutes of flight, following the device’s direction exactly, I find myself directly on the doorstep of a large building that back home could very well have been the Capitol Building in Washington—if it was all colors of the rainbow and two thirds its size. I don’t think I could make a worse pun than the one standing here before me... “Whoa, this is like the education capital of Equestria.”

“That it is, little filly,” a zebra stallion by the steps comments. “But being late would be rather silly. Hurry now, if you have an appointment, or only time will be your ointment”

Part of me wishes to make my own barbed comment, particularly regarding the little filly comment, but he is certainly not mistaken. The amount of time I spent walking in circles and then listening to the curio merchant has severely limited the amount of time I have until they close up for the day. Instead, I hurriedly run up the steps, shooting the zebra a sour look and a flash of my tongue.

Having never been in the Capitol Building—or even in D.C. for that matter—I can’t rightly say if the interior of one is anything like the other. What I can say is that the interior is a stark contrast to the exterior. Whereas the outside of the building was brightly colored—how in Tartarus did I miss this?—the antechamber is completely white like marble or moon-rock. The edges of the chamber are almost entirely seating, as though they expect a lot of ponies to visit on appointment. Who knows, maybe they do?

Near the back of the chamber, right in front of the only other exit, is a large circular desk, at the center of which sits a pale yellow bespectacled unicorn mare. As I make my way up to the desk, I see that the mare is rooting through papers anxiously, glancing occasionally at a clock on the wall behind her. Looks like she’s eager to get home to her family.

Unfortunately, like almost all trappings of the adult pony world, the desk is not designed with the vertically challenged such as myself. The top of my mane is probably barely visable to the mare above. This has been an almost constant problem for me since the ambient magics of Equestria forcefully changed my original human body and I was returned to it after spending a week in the form of a fully grown unicorn mare. 

It’d be easy to say I’ve gotten used to it, but honestly, I haven’t. When you spend the first twenty-one years of your life as a biped—spending the last ten just short of six feet in height—you just can’t get used to being literally half your original height. Even the wings don’t particularly help, as there are many situations where flying is quite inappropriate. For example, I could easily just hover in place at eye-level with the mare at the desk, but the gusts of air generated by my wings would probably scatter her papers, and that would be rude.

Instead, I do as I’ve done in the past. Rearing up, I gently rest my forehooves on the edge of the desk. “Excuse me, ma’am?” At least my voice is that of a mature mare, and not one that matches my appearance. That would just make everything even harder for me.

“Oh! Hello!” she exclaims upon noticing me. “How can I help you today?”

Glancing hesitantly at the clock behind her, a smile graces my face. “I’m here for the results of my EEC exam,” I reply cheerfully. “I’d also like my certificate, if I passed.”

A knowing smile crosses the mare’s face, as she adjust her glasses. “Of course!” she exclaims. “Name, Cutie Mark, date of birth, and residence?”

“Silver Script, not applicable,” I reply, blushing at my own lack of a cutie mark and preparing for her surprise. “Dee oh bee, twenty-first day, tenth month, one nine eight one post-Harmony. My residence is Apartment D, Windsong Place, E-Block, Canterlot Residential Zone.”

The mare gives me a curious look, that could have been about my blank flank, or my odd assessment of the calendar. It’s probably both. There’s no real reason that I say it like this; for some reason equestria has the same Gregorian calendar as on Earth. I can only assume that it came from Roam out in the Zebrican Empire or the Griffon Kingdoms. I don’t think I ever cared enough to find out.

The mare shuffles through her papers before ducking into a drawer in her desk. “Ah yes, miss Silver Script.” A larger envelope levitates out of the desk. “Please look over this,” she says tonelessly.

Gently tearing open the envelope—you’d be surprised just how rigid yet flexible a flight feather on a pegasus is—a rather thick piece of paper slides out. I reflexively grab it the falling slip with two primaries on my other wing, as though they were two fingers on my hand. “Are these my results?”

Even as the receptionist trills her own affirmative, I’m already reading over the sheet of paper. I won’t lie about my results on the Equestrian History portion of the exam; they’re hardly anything to brag about, but I got enough questions right in order to pass. I think what saved me were the questions about Discord and Nightmare Moon, and the relating present day questions.

My mathematics score fares far better. Apparently their mathematics aren’t nearly as advanced as expected, since I was able to substitute a far more efficient formula than the one I was asked to use on the exam. I really like the fact that one of the ponies responsible for going over my results felt it important enough to include a comment on my results page. 

“No cutie mark, but possesses exceptional mathematical skills for a pegasus of her apparent age. Very curious,” I read aloud, casting my eyes away from the paper to gauge the receptionists reaction. She barely bats an eyelash, but I can tell from a twitching in her cheek that she’s trying desperately not to smile.

I move on to the more important parts of the exam for my intentions and stare intently at the results. My physics and chemistry may have been a bit rusty, but it was apparently enough to get a grade necessary to get in to the University’s alchemy programme. I won’t be in the gifted class, but I should be able to do well enough. It’s not like alchemy in this world is as much chemistry as it is magical interactions between ingredients.

Finally, I look at the magic portion of the exam. This is definitely where a lot of my free points on the exam stem from. Because I am a pegasus, this portion of the exam was technically optional, but at Twilight’s advice I made sure to get some understanding of magical theory as a fallback for any mistakes I made in other sections. It also helps that some of these principles are used in alchemy.

Looking up at the yellow unicorn, I frown. “It doesn’t say on this slip whether I passed or not.”

“Turn it over deary,” the kindly mare explains, finally smiling.

Following her instructions, I turn the slip over. To my surprise, what I thought was an exceptionally thick sheet of paper is actually an envelope with the results of my exam printed on it. Does that mean I pass or fail? If I’m a failure, am I going to find a slip of paper saying ‘Better luck next time’?

With a heavy breath, I slit open the second envelope.


~ 1 ~


There are many things I would have been ashamed to do as a human that I can and do get away with in the body I have now. The most obvious thing one might think of when comparing humans to ponies is regarding shame is nudity. Hay, I’d have been arrested for strolling around nude in the city I used to reside in. That, however, is not what comes to mind right now.

For me, the most shameful thing that comes to mind while walking around town was not having a completely stoic expression on my face at all times. As stereotypical as it may have been, even I was not immune to the male stigma on publicly expressing emotions. Any time that I did have to cry, I tried as much as possible to do it in private or only around my closest friends.

As I walk the streets of Canterlot, I can’t help but wonder where this all changed. Did it happen when I was trapped in Lyra’s body, slowly suffering a partial memory overwrite? Is it all just a side effect of having a different brain chemistry than a human male now? What if ponies are just more in tune with their emotional side than humans? Is that why there are tears rolling down my cheeks right now?

At least the mares and stallions aren’t casting disdainful looks at an over-emotional man. Instead, everypony is being really kind. More than once, a couple stops me, asking if I’m okay. In some ways, I guess I’m still very much the same pony—person—as I used to be, because regardless of whether or not I’m okay, I’d still tell those kind ponies that I’m fine.

When I finally stop in front of a door, I take a moment to ask myself the obvious question. “Am I alright?” With a quick shuffling of my wings and saddlebags, I clop my hoof against the door three times. “Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

For a few moments, there is no response. Inside, I can hear the muffled sounds of heated conversation. It sounds like they have guests; maybe I should come back later? Intending to leave and come back later, I turn my head to make sure I don’t bump into anypony when I back into the street, but just as I do so, there’s a click of a lock.

“Hello?” somepony asks as the door creaks open. Turning my head back to the door, I see the small purple-green form of Spike, a confused arch gracing his scaly brow. “Oh, hey Silver! So how did it go?”

“I passed, Spike,” I say with a relieved sigh, letting tears of elation once more stream down my cheeks. “I did it!”

> Chapter 2: Family
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I did it!” I exclaim, feeling my elated tears dampening my cheeks.

The young dragon looks at me expectantly. “That’s great, Silver,” he replies in a congratulatory tone. “Um, do you want to come in?”

My ears prick forward as the sound of conversation flows more freely through the open doorway. “Are you sure? It sounds like you have guests visiting,” I offer, hesitantly. “I really wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Spike glances hesitantly at my bulging saddlebags, eager for his expected treat. Every time I come by, I always bring some doughnuts for everypony. You can guess who liked it more during the study sessions. “I’m sure Twilight wouldn’t mind too much if it’s just for a few minutes; she’ll probably glad to hear,” he says, beaming. “We just received word that we’ll be heading back to Ponyville, so there are some guests here to wish us well!”

“Well, I suppose I could stay and share my mid-day snack with everypony,” I tease. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a parting gift?”

“Aww, can’t I have both?” Yes, he can, but it’s more fun if I make him think he has to choose. “I thought we were friends!”

I giggle at his comment. It’s hard not to. He’s just so naïve, but at the same time, I think that’s because he’s been pretty sheltered. Everypony is too kind to screw with his head, but that’s because he spends too much time around mares. “Relax, dude!” I pat him on the shoulder as I slide past in the doorway. “Nopony razzes you enough! You’re a growing boy, but easy prey! I thought with all the time I’ve been around you would have helped you recognize when a pony is being cagey.”

An adorable look of dawning realization fills his eyes as he leads me into the Sparkle family’s sitting room. He doesn’t have to show me in, of course; he’s just doing that in hopes of getting a bigger share of the doughnuts in my bag. Too bad for him! I already ate the jelly-filled ones. “Don’t tell Twilight, but I’ll miss you.”

“Why, ‘cause I don’t mind helping you with your chores when Twilight’s not looking?” I giggle, elbowing him in the side. “Or is it ‘cause I let you use my wing as a pillow when you’re napping during the late sessions?”

Spike ejects a puff of smoke from his nostrils before slapping me on the side in good humor. “Nah,” he says coolly. “You don’t treat me like just a kid. Everypony will explain things to me when they think I need to know, sure, but you actually level with me. It makes me feel equal.”

“So show her you’re ready to be leveled with, little dude,” I say with a chuckle, still looking at Spike, as we enter the sitting room. “That’s all I’m saying on the matter, though; I’m not getting blamed for inciting any rebellions.” 

All at once, I feel as though multiple pairs of eyes are on me. “What rebellion would you not be blamed for inciting?” a masculine voice questions.

Oh ponyfeathers! I know that voice. Still, maybe it was just a figment of my imagination. Slowly, ears drooping, I turn my attention away from the young dragon to the source of the voice. My blood turns frigid as Princess Cadance, Shining Armor, and Twilight Sparkle come into my field of view. Why did they have to be visiting today?

It’s not that I have an intense dislike for either member of the royal couple. If anything, I genuinely enjoyed seeing their wedding and the drama unfolding. Even for a case of ‘sudden big brother’, Shining Armor seems like a real good guy. Unfortunately, Shining is nothing if not protective of his little sister. When you are the pony who nearly murdered the Captain of the Royal Guard’s sister in a fit of insanity, you’d develop a healthy fear of the guy too. Still, I was hoping not to encounter him just yet. I managed to avoid him for six months, after all.

“It was just a t-turn of ph-ph-phrase,” I stutter, quickly ducking behind the slightly smaller dragon for protection. “S-Spike was j-j-just asking how to g-get ponies to level with him and stop t-treating him like a ch-ch-ch-child.”

The white stallion continues glaring at me for another moment, but relents after a quick an elbow from his pink wife. “Shining, that’s enough! You’re scaring her!”

Then, all at once, Princess Cadance and Shining Armor break off into their own hushed conversation. I can barely make out anything being said. The only things I particular pick up on are the terms ‘insane’ and ‘locked-up’ from Shining Armor and ‘infirm’ from Cadance. I have a good idea of what they’re talking about, but I really don’t want a good idea of what is being said.

Instead, I trot over to Twilight, who is now shifting uncomfortably on the couch, looking back and forth between me and Shining Armor. She probably expects some sort of fight between us. Surely she knows better though. I’m just a diminutive pegasus mare, and her brother is a Prince, a highly trained guard captain and unicorn. Part of her still expects my mostly male personality to lead me into dominance bouts. I don’t do that sort of thing though; never did. Anything that she usually classifies as such a thing from me is just me not putting up with nonsense.

“Look, Twilight,” I begin saying after a few moments to think. “I know what happened between us in the past prevents us from having the sort of friendship you share with Pinkie Pie and the others, and some part of me still holds you and Lyra responsible for all that happened to me during that week of Tartarus... I just want you to know that I’m grateful for everything you’ve gone through in order to help me—even if I didn’t exactly come off a grateful at the time.

“For what it’s worth, I still consider you my friend.” I smile in what I hope is a disarming manner. “You might not see it that way, but you’ve done more than any other tutor really would. A normal tutor would only have helped with one specific subject. You went out of your way on more than one occasion to expose me to relevant information. Hay, you even found a hooves on way to help me learn those difficult details. Regardless of your grievances told you, you never half-flanked the job. If that’s not friendship, I’m a lobotomized lemur piloting a blimp.”

If Twilight looked at all uncomfortable before, all of that is very clearly done with. If anything, she looks to be on the verge of tears. “I know this is hardly enough to repay you, but I brought gifts to you and Spike, in addition to the usual fare.” At that, I duck my head into my saddlebags. I’ll say right now that I sucked at gift-wrapping, even as a human, so it should come as no great surprise that my gifts are wrapped in brown packing paper and tied off with string.

When I set the gifts down on the table, I nod towards Spike and Twilight. The dragon immediately disregards the obviously book-shaped gift and goes for the smaller box-shaped one instead. As he tears away the wrapping, ignoring the string entirely, his eyes lock confusedly at the take-away box. With a nod and a cocksure smile from me, he opens the box, revealing a large ruby-encrusted cupcake. His eyes light up, but Spike remains completely speechless.

“I know how much you missed Pinkie’s cupcakes, so I put in a special mail-order to Sugarcube Corner,” I explain, watching the bemused look on Twilight’s face. “Pinkie was more than happy to help out when she knew it was for Spike. She even delivered it personally a week ago.” What I don’t say is that she popped out of my desk drawer to do so. Seriously, if that pony took over parcel deliveries, she could make a killing. “It might be a bit stale now, but she assured me that it’s mostly jewels anyway so that wouldn’t bother you so much.”

When I look back to the dragonling, his face is already being stuffed with the cupcake. “Thank you!” he manages to say as he chews, spraying me with flecks of ruby. Say it, don’t spray it, dude. “It’s delicious!”

Meanwhile, Twilight continues to eye her wrapped gift anxiously. “Go on, Twilight, I’m sure it’s a lovely gift!” Cadance says, urging Twilight on. Honestly, I wasn’t completely sure about this one. I mean, I know she owns every book in the series, but this seemed like the right gift for her. Still, Twilight doesn’t make a move.

“I really thought you’d like it Twilight,” I say softly, trying my best to give her my attempt at Apple Bloom’s puppy-dog eyes.

Just like that, Twilight wraps the parcel in her magenta aura and begins carefully stripping the packaging. “Silver... I already have this book,” she says, looking at the very aged copy of Daring Do and the Quest for the Sapphire Stone she’s just finished unwrapping.

In spite of the supposed rejection, I can’t help but smile. “Look on the inside cover, Twilight!” I say excitedly, unable to suppress a giggle. “You’ll be very surprised!”

When she does so, she releases the book with an excited squeal and simply stares at it, tears rimming her eyes. Concerned, Shining Armor glares in me while levitating the book over to the couch he shares with Princess Cadance. “To my number one fan, Twilight Sparkle, signed—” He looks back to Twilight. “—A. K. Yearling. Twily, this is—this is the copy I bought you for your fifth birthday!”

“But I... I lost this in Magic Kindergarten when I was a little filly! How?” She levitates the book over and wraps her forelegs around it in a hug.

“You know how I keep getting lost here in Canterlot?” I ask rhetorically. I’m pretty sure we both remember the time I ended up outside the Griffon Kingdom’s embassy when I was just going to the restroom. “One of those times, I found myself  in a little used book boutique. At the time, I had been thinking about getting you a gift as thanks, so I asked if the owner had any interesting books. When she mentioned having a signed first-edition copy of Daring Do for one hundred bits, I was a bit hesitant, but I asked to look at it, regardless. Color me surprised when I saw the copy was addressed to you. I wasn’t sure if it belonged to another Twilight Sparkle until I found this photograph—” I pull a small picture frame out of my other saddlebag and place it in front of Twilight. The picture inside is a faded photograph of a certain young stallion and a little filly. “—tucked in the back.”

Twilight stares at the photo, still clutching the book tightly to her chest. “I still don’t understand how it ended up there,” she says, tears running down her cheeks. “I don’t care, either. This is probably one of the most thoughtful things anypony has ever done for me. Thank you, Silver.”

I stand right in front of Twilight, grinning. “It’s the least I could do for the mare that helped me pass.” With a giggle, I add, “Next time, snacks are on you.”


~ 2 ~


A short while later, I exit the Sparkle residence. It’s not for want of staying; I just get the feeling that I was interrupting something when I showed up. If Shining Armor and Cadance stopped by for more than just a goodbye—announcing Cadance somehow got Shining Armor pregnant, for example—I may have made things more awkward by intruding. Conversely, I could just as easily have provided some emotional headway by softening the air or something like that. Who knows?

Just as I ready myself to take off, however, I hear the front door to the residence open and close behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, Shining Armor brushes past me. “Walk with me.” His words are barely audible given the liveliness of the street, but they’re very clearly an order.

Not wanting to disobey the Prince—it’s very clear that I’m not in the clear with him—I trot after him with great haste. He wordlessly leads me through many winding streets, not bothering to look back to verify I’m following. By the way his horn is glowing, he’s probably watching me with his magic, either sizing me up or determining whether I’m going to make a break for it.

All the while, various scenarios are going through my head. What if he’s taking me to a guardhouse for holding, deciding that the princesses shouldn’t supersede due process in favor of time served in reference to the events culminating in my situation? What if he’s super upset that I almost took his little sister away from him and is now taking me to a convenient place to kill me and dump the body? 

When he leads me out into a garden pavilion overlooking the CRZ and the palace on the opposite side of Canterlot, a sickening thought crosses my mind. What if he’s here to give me the option of begging his forgiveness or otherwise become indentured to him and Cadance, for whatever purposes they can imagine. The prospect of being a concubine—even one to a royal couple—causes my insides and nethers to clench in fear.

“Come.” He motions me to stand beside him, and then sweeps his hoof across the vista in front of us. “What do you see when you look out at Canterlot?” he asks flatly.

Unsure of what he wants, I decide to err on the side cautious honesty. “When I look out there, I see an incredulously colorful city that up until six months ago I didn’t imagine actually existed, never mind thinking that I might be living here one day,” I reply in a controlled tone, trying to hold back my unease. “I see a reminder of the life I’m now bound to, just as I do when I gaze in the mirror each morning.”

He gives me a calculating look before nodding and looking back out at the setting sun. “When I look upon Canterlot, I see my home. More than that, I see the faces of the ponies I am meant to be protecting as Captain of the Royal Guard and a Prince of Equestria,” he says wistfully. “Sometimes, my duties take me to faraway places like the Crystal Empire, and it is not always possible to protect those I care about.

“Four months ago, I received word of an incident that had occurred two months prior.” Shining Armor’s steely gaze returns to me. “Not only was an attempt made on my sister’s life, protocols regarding violent offenses were completely disregarded. Instead of being set free, the offending pony should have been imprisoned and put on trial.” The Prince sighs and shakes his head before looking at me once more. “The princesses have always been rather soft on their subjects, especially when they have some sob story. Maybe in your case, what you went through did equate time served. That should have been decided by a jury, though.”

Oh horseapples! I’m getting murdered for sure. At the same time, though... “I don’t disagree,” I reply softly, drawing a surprised look from him. “In my world, I would have gone before the courts. Given that I know that I did the things I was accused of and know that they were wrong, I would have made a plea of insanity. Maybe the jury would believe the truth in my words, and I would be sentenced to a mental health facility. Maybe I would have gone to prison. I was honestly just as surprised as you were at the generosity of Their Majesties.

“At the same time, if you were in a strange new world with nopony to turn to, and suffered the same losses and events I did, would you not accept the chance to be given a new life?” I look at him imploringly. He doesn’t answer. “There isn’t a day that goes by where I’m not reminded of what could have been. If I’d been even just a bit more deluded, there is no doubt that I would have done the unconscionable. I have to live with that—and other scars—for the rest of my life.”

Shining Armor nods soberly before smiling. “You aren’t anything like I imagined, you know.” I raise an eyebrow curiously. “When I first found out about the incident, I rashly sent members of the guard to watch you and to send me reports on your movements; this was before I had the entire story. At the time, I only knew that a pony attacked one of the elements of harmony—my own sister—using the body of another. With some of your wanderings, I was convinced you were some devious being—possibly an avatar of Discord—sent to destabilize Equestria, but what you did for Twilight —giving her that gift—doesn’t fit with any of that.”

“I have no sense of direction here in Equestria,” I admit, blushing. “I tried going to the restroom in your family’s house, and somehow found myself in front of the griffon embassy. That was within the first week of studying with Twilight. I got better-ish though.”

The laugh that came from Shining Armor is so mirthful that it surprises me. “That’s what you were doing: trying to find a bathroom?” he cried out, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “How do you even do that?”

“The same way I get lost in every other part of the city.” I look away. “I think too much, and pay too little attention to what I’m doing.”

He quiets down after a few moments. Just as the sun crosses the horizon, he clears his throat. “Cadance and I will be in Canterlot for a while for personal matters.” So that’s practically a verification on my pregnancy guess. “When I brought you out here, I was going to warn you that I’m keeping an eye on you, waiting for the first slip-up, and then send you straight to the brig.”

“Seems reasonable given my history.”

“Yeah,” he replies, sounding once again surprised. “Just... keep yourself out of trouble. You seem like a nice pony, and I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“Yes, your majesty.”


~ 2 ~


The rest of the evening passes quickly once I return to the apartment I share with Dr. Forceps and Candy. The latter hasn’t returned home from work yet, and the former probably won’t be back until particularly late tonight. Given that most of the time they’re particularly tired when they return home from the hospital, and that they usually either pick something up or eat a pre-prepared meal from the icebox, I generally make it my business to make sure that they can always come home to a warm home-cooked meal.

As I pull the mason jars of crushed tomatoes and kidney beans from the pantry closet and set them upon the counter near the stove, I can’t help but reminisce about my first days as a pony, and the first day I spent living in Canterlot. It was foolish for me to have listened to Lyra when she told me that tomatoes and potatoes were toxic to Equestrian ponies. I mean, why would ponies cultivate foodstuffs that they couldn’t eat? Why even make potato chips? I still remember how foolish I felt when I flipped out when they served pasta with a marinara sauce at the boarding house I was staying in at the time. Is it bad that I never wonder if Lyra ever figured out where the anonymous parcel of feces came from?

After I have my primary ingredients set out, I begin grabbing everything else I need, starting with the bag of rice. From a cupboard beneath the counter, I pull out a large steel pot, and a mixing bowl. Once I pull my step stool I move on to the spice rack, dropping the necessary spices into the mixing bowl and sifting them well to make the seasoning. While I would love to add some jalapeno peppers to the mix, I’m the only pony in this household with the stomach for spicy foods. Hay, the meal is almost too spicy for the others with just the seasoning alone. At least the rice helps ease the spiciness of chili.

Cooking may not be my special talent, but darned if it isn’t one of my favorite time-passers. It’s one of those things you can set your mind upon and just do it. Yeah, standing over a pot of meatless chili can get a bit boring, and there’s not much to do until dumping the rice in, but it certainly gives you time to think about a great number of things. 

More than anything, I think I’m probably going to have to make a visit to Princess Luna’s Night Court. I trust the princesses to keep up their word about my restitution including education, but it never hurts to be completely sure, even if they have been nothing but kind. Besides I think it might be kind of nice to see the princess again.

Once the chili is finished cooking and I have served myself a bowl, it’s just a matter of leaving the remaining chili on low. That way their supper won’t be cold just because they come home late. After that much is done, I finally allow myself to fill my belly. Say what you will about human cooking, the taste of home is what drives a mare in a place not quite her own. Yeah, Candy and her mom have been great to me, but I sometimes feel more like that freeloading friend that they’re getting paid to house.

There’s no rattling of keys against a lock when Candy Stripes finally comes home; crime here in Canterlot is low enough that nopony gives a second thought to leaving doors unlocked when they’re home. It’s just as well that I was already used to such a thing. If I’d come from a city high in crime, I have no doubt that my first reaction to hearing the door opening would be to panic.

While washing my dish in the sink, I watch her trot relaxedly through the door. “Mmm, that smells good!” she exclaims as she trots eagerly over to the stove. “You must be in a pretty good mood.”

I watch her with amusement as she retrieves a bowl brom one of the cabinets. She always seems to have such a good handle of my personality. Even with my quirks, she never misses on these apparent cues that I give off. “How did you know?” I would be lying if I didn’t wonder how she picks up on these things.

“I’m a Certified Nursing Assistant, silly!” She says this as though it answers everything. Upon seeing my flat expression. “I work with ponies of all sorts every day. If I can’t get a feel for their mood, I can’t possibly do my best to help them and make them comfortable. You’d be amazed what kind of odd cues you get from ponies if you spend enough time with them.”

I can’t keep the expression of cautious skepticism from my face. “What cues are you getting from me, then?”

Candy sets her bowl down on the table in the apartment’s small dining area and gives me a good minute-long stare. “Well, right now I can tell you that you’re being purposely difficult.” She lets out one of those playful ‘I had a long day and am screwing with you’ giggles. “I know you’re in a good mood because you cooked some zesty food. Things you cook reflect your mood. Take what you cooked when you were feeling anxious about the exam for example; you cooked mashed potatoes and steamed some veggies—kind of a glum meal, if you ask me.”

That’s fair enough; it certainly is the sort of thing somepony could pick up on. “Yeah, I suppose I am in a pretty good mood.” I reply, smirking. “I passed my exam, made Twilight cry, and was almost pushed off a residential overlook by a prince—all-in-all, a pretty good day.”

There’s a cough of disbelief from Candy as she stares at me, her face still dipped into her bowl of chili. “I could have sworn you just said a prince tried to murder you,” she whispers. “I mean, I understand about Twilight, since you wouldn’t shut up about how you thought that book was a great idea, but why would a prince try to murder you?”

“Well, it’d hardly be murder... Inconvenient, sure, but I’m a pegasus,” I reply with a grin before stifling a yawn. I coyly decide to not tell the truth and leave her thinking something hinky is up. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go get some sleep. Really exciting day! I’m sure my parents would be proud...”

At that, I stretch before trotting my way out of the kitchen. Of course, no bedtime is complete without a trip to the little—and no, that isn’t a joke about my diminutive stature—fillies room. It’s not just that I need to pee desperately, but I’ve also need to take my sleep aid. I used to have difficulties falling asleep when I was a human, and that difficulty seems to be one that didn’t vanish when Equestria converted my body. Oddly enough, it never seemed an issue in Lyra’s body.

The difficulty falling asleep is only half of my issue though; since becoming a pony, dreaming has been a problem for me. While I used to love sleeping, my dreams—when I’m lucid enough to remember them—have become frightening and rather unpleasant. Thankfully, even here in Equestria, over-the-counter sleep aids make dream recall much more difficult.

After taking care of my feminine duties, washing my face is next. It’s just one of those odd things that feels strangely nice when you have fur. The way the cold water cascades through my fur is just so refreshing. Ultimately it’s a pretty good way to help get into a routine. If I wash up, I know that next is time to brush my teeth and take my sleeping pills. Sadly, routines cannot always be followed. For whatever reason, I failed to take notice that I was on my last sleeping pill last night. “Drat!”

Trotting sadly into my room, I don’t even bother closing my door. I’ll just flop onto my bed, bury my face in my pillow, and try to fall asleep. Looks like little ol’ me will be going cold-turkey tonight. Oh, why oh why did I have to think about my parents tonight?
> Chapter 3: Compunction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	When I open my eyes, I’m not in my bed. There is birdsong and morning light all around me. As I take in my surroundings, I realize that I am not only in a wooded clearing; I’m not even in Equestria anymore. Straight above me are high-voltage power lines, and I’m lying in the middle of a track worn into the ground. The longer I stare, the more I realize that I’m on a power line access road, and a familiar one at that.

Slowly, I push myself onto my hooves, but that’s child’s play. My mind is too full of questions right now to contemplate my hooves. The obvious question is how I ended up on Earth again. My real worry is the why—not just why I’m on Earth, either. Picking my direction along the access, all I can wonder is why I’m so close to home.

All paths eventually lead to a choice, and this one is no different. Do I take the path that branches off, heading into the subdivision proper, or do I continue on until I reach the brook that crosses through the back yard? Chancing a glance at my wings, I sigh. There are no pegasi on Earth, so cutting straight through the subdivision would be inadvisable.

Seeing as my choice has been made for me, on I go, picking my way through the bushes and mud pits worn into the path by recreational vehicles. It’s a nice little walk, but the whole time, I feel as though something is... off. When I visited Earth to make my goodbyes, my family was hardly accepting, so why would anypony bring me back here.

Regardless of whether or not my family likes it I’ve still gotta find a way to get word to Equestria. I don’t belong here any more; there’s no place in this world for an Equestrian pony on her own. Not only that, but ponies will notice I’m missing. How could they not notice that I’ve seemingly vanished from the world without a trace?

Oh... Right. I get lost easily. Candy might just figure I’ve wandered off somewhere and gotten lost. Yep! I better get on that then. Now, let’s see... I remember this little bog at the bottom of the hill here. So... that means the brook is probably about a hundred meters ahead.

It’s curious though. Since the power line access is between the subdivision and the highway, you’d think that I would be able to hear all the highway traffic. There’s no cars or eighteen wheelers passing by. There’s not even the sound of motorcyclists hotdogging it up the highway going one-twenty. There’s just... nothing—nothing but the birdsong.

Part of me wishes to simply fly up and take a peek at the highway, but the sensible part of my mind knows better. The idea of just flying might become too appealing to turn down upon seeing the lack of cars. All it takes is a single driver to see me, and then things go south real quickly.

Instead, I spread my wings, and glide relatively effortlessly over the bog. It’s nothing compared to flying hundreds of meters above the ground back in Equestria, but again there is this disconcerting feeling that something is off. Even though I’m just gliding through the air close to the ground, there’s no drag in the air at all, like I’m gliding along a greased surface. 

There’s this nagging feeling that these oddities should be bothering me, but I somehow can’t bring myself to care. It’s like there’s this voice whispering ‘blame the unreal and unreasonable on whatever brought you here’ in my ear. What’s worse is that it is so... easy to listen to. Much easier than the one that warns me not to go through with this.

So just like that, I land on the far side of the bog like nothing other my presence in this world is wrong. It’s easy enough to walk this path without getting lost because it’s one I’ve walked dozens of times in the past. I know it well because it’s not Equestria, if that makes any sense.

Finally, walking down the middle of the brook, I reach the backyard of my old home. Aside from a new layer of paint on the pool deck and its enclosure, everything else looks like it’s seen better days. The whole yard is almost overgrown with weeds and scrub brush, like without me there to mow it, they can’t be bothered to care any more. Despite the obviousness of it, nothing strikes me as odd about the overgrowth.

I don’t bother trying to pick my way through the mess of the yard and the expected spread of dog droppings between me and the lower sliding door. Instead, I just leap up into the air and thrust forward using my wings. As all good things do, my luck comes to an end soon after, as I careen straight into the glass pane like a drunken magpie. At least it saves me having to knock.

All at once there is an eruption of barking and snarling on the other side of the door as I flutter a few feet above the cobblestone outside the door. Three cloudy black masses shove the curtain aside and begin baring luminous white fangs, snarling some more. These beasts of red eyes and smoke aren’t anything like the dogs I remember... Just what in Tartarus is going on here?

“What are you doing here?” a hateful, masculine voice calls out from my right. Cautiously, I turn my head, only to be revolted by what I see. Now, on Earth, when you hear a voice, you expect to see a person when you turn to look, right? What you don’t expect to see is something akin to a completely naked fleshy mannequin, with only a smooth patch of skin where its face is, standing on the pool deck. When it speaks, again, there is no movement to indicate a jaw or anything of the such; it’s as though it’s speaking into my very mind with the voice of my father. “You’ve already taken our son from us. What misfortune do you have in store for us this time, you winged little monster?”

Slowly, I back away from the house and away from the thing speaking with my father’s voice. “D-dad?” I fearfully stutter. “W-what’s going on... What happened to your face? The dogs?”

“Magic happened, you fucking little idiot!” another familiar masculine voice shouts from above me, my ears twitching at the word fuck. I look up at it and cringe. A skeletal figure, unburdened by flesh glares down at me from the patio with empty eyes. “After your little ponies took you away from your family, the whole world went to fucking shit! Electronics no longer worked, and people started getting sick—so many mutations! All because you forsook your humanity!” Again, my ears twitch each time the thing swears. Did I really sound like that before part of Lyra overwrote me?

“That’s a lie! I didn’t forsake anything!” I scream back, furthering the distance between us. “I was stuck as a pony and they didn’t want me! What was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t make any serious effort to turn back, did you!” the living skeleton jibed. “It’s because you wanted to be a pony all along!”

“S-shut up!” I cry. “I did make an effort, but Twilight said—”

“Fuck Twilight!” he shrills. “You ruined me, and now I’m going to ruin you.”

What? “W-who are you?”

Suddenly, I notice the sack in his skeletal hand. At least, I think it’s a sack. It’s kind of fleshy to be just a sack though... “I’m the humanity you threw away, you stupid cunt!” he laughs, pulling the sack over his skull, revealing it to be the face and scalp that were once my own. “C’mere so I can kill you!”

Things happen very quickly as he says this. First, the glass pane of the sliding door shatters, loosing the dogs as I turn to fly away. At the same time, the monster wearing my face points a skeletal digit at me, and a fingerbone flies at me. Unbelievably, the bone projectile shreds through the base of one of my wings, shattering the bone and sending me tumbling to the ground in absolute agony.

The dogs are upon me immediately, biting and tearing. I try to scream out in pain and fear, but one of the dogs latches onto my throat and tears it out. Despite the agony of being torn apart and drowning in my own blood, I can hear that monster laughing in my voice. What is worse, I can hear the clicking of bones as it walks towards me, clapping as one of the dogs rips open my abdomen.

I want to ask him why he is doing this to me, but without vocal cords it’s difficult to say much of anything. Despite this, thing smiles in recognition, as though it can read my very thoughts. “Why?” he says, sneering. “Because I can. Don’t worry, what I’m about to do won’t hurt at all.”

The skeletal monstrosity kneels beside me, and the dogs back off immediately. Baring his teeth, he reaches down and shoves his hand into my chest cavity. I writhe in agony, choking on my own blood, as his hand presses further and further into my chest until I feel the cold lengths of his fingers clench around my heart. 

Finally, he leans down next to my ear, cruelly stroking it with his free hand. “I lied.” he whispers. With a heaving yank, he pulls my heart free from my chest.


~ 3 ~


Earsplitting screaming jars me out of my sleep. It’s absolutely blood-curdling, as though somepony is being murdered. It isn’t until the door swings open and two bleary-eyed ponies burst in, staring worriedly at me through the darkness, that I realize that the screaming is coming from me and I stop. After a few moments of crying, I realize that the ponies are Candy and Forceps.

When I finally calm down enough that I’m only sobbing and sniffling, the good doctor plods over and perches herself on the side of the bed. I can see the genuine concern in her eyes as she conjures a box of tissues. “Silver, dear, are you alright?” she asks, offering a reassuring smile.

Shaking my head, I let out a whimper. “Not really...” I morosely croak. “It was such... a nightmare...”

Candy quickly joins the impromptu gathering on the bed by nestling down on the other side of me. “We can talk about it, if you want...” she says softly, pulling me into a light hug. “We’re here for you, you know.”

It’s true enough; Candy and her mother are always there for me. Even though they aren’t obliged to, they treat me like family. They claim its the pony way, but I honestly can’t say that some other pony family might have taken to me the way they have. I think it’s more because they’re lonely without Candy’s father in the picture. It’s because of this that I just can’t bring myself to burden them with my emotional baggage.

“I know... I know!” I reply, trying to shrug away. “It’s just, I don’t think either of you will understand or like what I say. I’m broken in a way normal ponies can’t understand.”

Forceps and her daughter exchange a look. “We won’t force the issue then.” she says, eying me sadly. “I just wish you’d open up. Bottling it up and hiding from it with sleep aides doesn’t solve anything.” She shakes her head. “Just remember how we met, okay?”

Ouch... That’s a low blow. You don’t just remind a gal that she has a history of mental illness like that. Especially not when the implication is that I’m somehow a threat to myself. Before I can answer, though, it’s Candy’s turn to speak up. “If you won’t talk to us about it, at least promise to talk to somepony about it. I’ve only ever heard somepony scream like that after something terrible.”

Who would I even talk to about that dream? It’s hard enough just figuring out who to trust. I haven’t been able to go making friends with all the prep I’ve been doing, and I don’t want to break Candy and her mother. If I went to a shrink, I would be dividing the amount of time and focus I’d be able to dedicate to my alchemy studies. I don’t even know if the university will accept me if I’m actively seeking mental help. Not only that, but how would it look for Princess Luna if her first sponsorship looks like she’s losing their mind even before. Princess Luna...

At that thought, I spring off the bed with sudden vigor. The two watch me with intense concern as I rifle through my chest of belongings in the still dark room. It doesn’t occur to me to light a candle as I search for my cloak, but at the same time, I don’t really need light to find it. After all, it’s right where I left it: beneath a fair amount of clothes for a human-turned-pony.

Tossing it over my shoulders and clasping it in the front, I turn back to them. “I’m going to go visit the Night Court.” I explain. “I need to make an appearance anyway, and—” I glance at the clock illuminated by the moonlight. “—given how late it is, there probably aren’t any ponies petitioning. Even if there are, I’ll have plenty of time to think my way through this.”

“Silver, please, just talk to somepony.”

I push open my window, and glide down onto the streets.


~ 3 ~


Like most ponies, I have never been inside the Canterlot Castle before. I often stare at it from a distance, but I never have it in me to visit the Day or Night Courts. It’s kind of silly when I think about my arrangement with Princesses Luna and Celestia. There’s just this intimidating something about the place that prevents me from ponying up and visiting. The nobles are a likely excuse as they are, after all, a judgemental lot, and would not bother to mask their disgust at some lowly commoner filly wasting the princesses’ time. That’s probably the reason why I stick to written correspondence.

Still, this need to be done, and I need to stop being just a cowardly little pony. No matter how long I stare up at the castle spires, I’m not just going to be magically teleported into the castle. All I can do is suck it in, get the job done, and ignore those stuffy blow-hards. It’s time.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I march onto the castle grounds through the main portcullis. Aside from lanterns lining the main walk and the moon above, there isn’t much in terms of light out here. I imagine the main grounds are a lot more impressive during the day. After all, it’s more than just a cobblestone walk that is lined by grass, lanterns and darkness at the moment.

As I march on, my way is barred by gilded doors. A unicorn guard, dark gray in a steel-blue barding, steps forward to intercept me. Locking his golden eyes with my blues, he orders plainly, “State your name, from where you hail, and your purpose for seeking audience with Her Majesty.”

There is no offense taken to the brusqueness of the guard. It is his duty to ensure the safety of the royalty, and it is one worth taking in the most serious light. Looking up into the stallion’s eyes, I remove my hood before speaking. “Silver Script of the Canterlot Residential Zone,” I reply in my clearest voice. The next part is a bit more tricky, because even though I might not take titles seriously, the Royal Guard does. “My purpose is to discuss an arrangement  previously made with Her Royal Highness, Princess Luna.”

The unicorn raises an eyebrow at the vagueness of my statement and stares, as though he’s trying to figure out whether or not the diminutive shrouded pony before him really has business with Princess Luna, or is simply some guttersnipe filly hoping to meet the princess. After a long moment, he nods and returns to his post on one side of the door. “Proceed into the entry hall, and wait with the other petitioners,” he directs, igniting his horn and pulling open the large doors. “Word will be sent ahead with your description, name, and purpose so that a guard may present you.”

Nodding politely to the guard, I walk through the newly provided opening. The following entry hall is nothing short of grandiose. It’s a long and cavernous—not to mention lilac!—chamber, well lit by magelight torches and decorated heavily by tapestries and stained glass. The red carpet, upon which stands a file of ponies waiting patiently for an audience with the Princess, stretches along the length of the hall, branching off at every side hallway that bisects the entry hall. I can only guess that the princesses take their audiences in the throne room itself.

The line stretches on about thirty bodies in length, and the ponies in line ahead of me are nothing if not varied. There are unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies of seemingly every shade, but that’s the normal for Equestria. What catches my attention is the minotaur at the head of the line, and the grizzled looking group—gaggle, murder, flock?—of griffon mercenaries lined up behind him. If I didn’t know better than to expect to see every character I’ve seen in the show at some point, I’d swear that the minotaur was Iron Will.

Unfortunately for me, the pony right in front of me looks frighteningly similar to the most obnoxious ‘member’ of the Royal Family, Prince Blueblood. That compass rose in combination with that light amber mane and tail is unmistakable! I just hope he doesn’t take notice of me. From all the rumors I’ve heard, Blueblood comes in three varieties, mood permitting: salacious flirt, nasty drunk, or spoiled child disguised as a stallion. 

None of those particularly appeal to me, especially given the smell of alcohol radiating from his clothes. He’s going before the princess to petition something, and he’s smashed out of his gourd; who does he think he is? Why did the guards even let him in? Does being a noble and supposed nephew to Celestia and Luna really give a pony the power to be a drunken lout and not be reprimanded?

I’m not completely sure, but I’m pretty sure he’s also talking to himself. Given that his words are slurred and that he’s mumbling, he’s barely at all understandable. The only thing I can figure is that Blueblood is here because he doesn’t approve of the princesses doing something for the commoners—something that the nobles clearly don’t think we deserve. Can’t have us lowly commoners getting special treatment from the royals! That would even the playing field! It’s all I can do not to let out a derisive snort, and attract the drunken noble’s ire.

Instead, I choose to stare at the nearest tapestry until the line moves on. It’s a really bland piece, but it beats staring at Blueblood’s behind the whole night. Each time the line would move forward, I would move on to the next tapestry or stained glass window—each more boring than the last. No matter how long I wait though, the line doesn’t get any longer. Either the guards or refusing any more entries, or this really is the dead end of the Night Court.

The most interesting thing during the entire wait is the moment when I look away from the tapestries to see the minotaur—from the three quarter profile, she’s clearly female; there’s no hiding breasts on a bipedal mammal—from earlier bound in chains, being passed off to guards by the griffons. So they were bounty hunters. I can’t help but wonder what she had to do in order to get a bounty on her head, paid directly by the Princess. Eh, maybe that’s the closest Equestria Courts can get to extradition.


~ 3 ~


Once that little bit of entertainment is done with, the boring nature of the hallway quickly begins to wear away at my exhausted mind. I barely even notice the fancy windows and wall hangings. Aside from moving when the line moves forward, I’m barely aware of the passage of time. I’m just so tired.

It would be apt to point out that I’m not even aware that I’m standing in front of the door until the doors swing open and a furious Blueblood is being escorted from the throne room. The stallion is just shouting like a madmare. “Thish ish an outrage!” he slurs, struggling against the telekinetic grips of two unicorn guards. “I will not shtand idle while shome ushelessh commoner livesh off of the taxesh paid by the noblesh, and getsh a univershity education at no charge while my own shishter hash to pay! What ish it to be a Prinshe or Prinshessh if we pay for our tuition like the commonersh?”

Dear Celestia, he’s been mumbling about me this whole time? He was here because of me? I have to say that somehow I did not see this coming. Really though, how couldn’t I? Nobles definitely have access to the resources needed to find out about the spending of the crown, so why wouldn’t they know that the princesses are essentially sponsoring me until I have a sustainable career? Of course they’d only care that the princesses are doing something incredibly generous for a commoner—an immigrant, at that—and not the why.

At least he doesn’t know who I am or what I look like, making it simple enough to just avert my eyes and pretend I’ve seen nothing. Soon enough the guards drag him past, and I’m no longer required to look away. Honestly the whole situation was awkward, and a part of me is glad that he didn’t know what I looked like.

Finally, one of the guards beside the door motions for me to come forward. I acknowledge him with a nod and follow his lead into the throne room. While nowhere near as long as the entry hall, the throne room is every bit as wide, and no less lilac. The stained glass windows in here are much more interesting, depicting many familiar scenes and a few unfamiliar, as well. The banners hanging from the ceiling bear Princess Luna’s colors and cutie mark, offsetting the purple of the walls quite well.

Now, you’d think that the first thing I’d look at upon entering the throne room would be the princess herself, but it’s not really every day you get to just walk into the throne room. All of those details are ones I’ve taken in at just a cursory glance as the guard leads me up the red carpet towards the raised dais of the throne. Flanking either side of the steps up to the throne are two unicorn mares bearing Luna’s night guard motif.

“Presenting Miss Silver Script of Canterlot,” the guard side me announces loudly, almost causing me to flinch as I direct my gaze up at Princess Luna. The princess looks back at me, and smiles as she rises from the throne. “She claims to have prior dealings in business with you, Your Highness, but it is almost time for the dawn. Will you take her audience now, or shall she be asked to return tomorrow night?”

I take a cue from the guard and kneel before her, bowing my head forward. “Please, stand,” Luna directs, and I do so. “It’s alright, Sir Cutlass. I would actually prefer to discuss her business in the sitting room after I lower the moon. There are matters I wish to discuss with her that are of a more personal nature.”

The guard, Cutlass, gives me this appraising look before looking questioningly at the princess, as if to ask if this is wise. He’s probably thinking by my unkempt silver mane that I’m hardly worthy of her presence. It only takes a raised eyebrow and a slight frown from Luna to convince the guard that she knows what she is doing. She’s an all-powerful alicorn after all. It would doubtlessly be simple for her to cleave me in half with but a thought.

Without another word, Sir Cutlass leads me back out of the throne room, through most of the entry hall, and through a side corridor. It kind of bothers me that the princess wishes to see me in private, but I’m doing my best to ignore that spark of paranoia in the back of my mind. After leading me through an absolute maze of passages, the unicorn stallion opens a door with his magic and ushers me in. “Please wait in here and don’t do anything suspicious. I will be directly outside this door.”

I look wordlessly at the guard, ruffling my feathers anxiously. Is it bad that I want to tell him that he has nothing to worry about unless he counts cleaning a pony-shaped stain off the floor as worrisome. If anything, I’m the one who would need protection from a princess. After all, I’m just a wingy pony with a head full of crazy. I don’t even have a horn with which to gouge eyes—or thumbs; I don’t even have thumbs!

There isn’t time to reassure myself that the princess doesn’t wish to harm me as I watch the sun rising through a large window in the sitting room. I’ve been so lost in my introverted old ways that I haven’t even taken a good look at the chamber beyond the fact that there are two large couches and a coffee table between the two. Hay, aside from unconsciously moving toward the window, I haven’t done anything since entering the room other than fretting.

When Luna arrives, it isn’t with the accompaniment of a closing door or even the crack of magic; she’s just there. The only reason I know she’s there is because she speaks to me. “Soren, we need to talk.”

My ears twitch at my original name, and I turn to face her. “Have I done something wrong, Princess?” I ask, quickly turning my eyes to the floor. This is probably about Blueblood or the lack of in-person visits.

“In a sense, yes. Please sit down,” she directs me to one of the couches with a gesturing hoof. Even as I follow her instruction, she conjures a tea set on the table, complete with a steaming kettle of what is unmistakably chamomile. After we’ve both situated ourselves on the couches, she gives me a sympathetic look. “Before we talk about what you are here for, please tell me about your dreams as of late.”

The shock that crosses my face is maybe a bit unnecessary. Of course Princess Luna of all ponies would know about my dreams. Did she see that dream? “I don’t actually dream much, or rather if I do, I don’t remember most of them.” It isn’t a lie, even if it somehow feels like one. “I have troubles getting to sleep, so I’m pretty reliant on sleep aids. The first dream I remember in a long time was tonight.

“I found myself back on Earth, not far from my family’s house. It felt real enough that my first reaction was to go to my parents.” I explain, feeling my voice go hoarse. “When I got there, everything was so wrong. My father had become this indistinct, faceless mannequin-like creature. H-he accused me of taking myself from them. He called me a monster!

“That’s not even the worst part, either.” I’m suddenly very aware that I’m crying again. I raise a hoof to wipe my tears, and then notice a cup of tea floating before me, wrapped in a midnight blue aura. Gingerly accepting the cup, I take a sip in an attempt to calm myself. It doesn’t help, just like turning into a snake; it never helps. “The worst part is that I was confronted by something I’m pretty sure was me. It blamed ponies for bad things happening on Earth. It accused me of forsaking my humanity and then said that I didn’t even try to become human again...

“It loosed the dogs on me. After having my throat torn out, he tore my fucking heart out!” I scream. Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach, having realized I’ve just sworn for the first time in six months. The first time in months that I swear, and it’s right in front of the princess. I lay my ears flat against the side of my head. “I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have... I-I—”

“Stop, please!” Luna says softly. “It’s o—”

“It isn’t, your highness!” I whimper, staring at the couch cushions. “One dream shouldn’t bother me so much, so why do I feel like everything I do is a betrayal of myself?”

“One dream isn’t enough,” Princess Luna agrees. “But this isn’t just one dream, my dear subject. It’s a recurring nightmare.”

I shake my head emphatically. “This is the first time I... It isn’t is it?” It hits me that sleep aids tend to hamper dream recall. Staring at the her, I ask, “Wait, are you telling me that I’ve been having this nightmare every night since I started with the pills?”

She nods sadly. “Every night that I have peeked into your dreams, yes, but you do not hear my words. It’s as though you don’t want to listen.” Does that mean her voice was the one in my dream telling me not to go home? “You are bothered by your fears that you’ve abandoned who you are, aren’t you?”

I don’t know. Have I really been having that nightmare out of some crazy sense of self betrayal? That can’t be; I’ve never stopped being true to myself! Yeah, I stopped swearing like a sailor, and my thoughts have been a lot less violent, but that is a result of Lyra’s imprint! Isn’t it? But what if it is really a subconscious admission of defeat that I made? I look pleadingly at the princess. “Why am I broken?”

To my surprise, she rises from her couch and moves over to the one I am occupying. It’s unfathomable that she would nestle herself beside me, draping her wing over my back, drawing me into her warmth. “You’re afraid, not of ponies around you or where you came from. It’s yourself that you fear.” she says soothingly. “You worry that who you are is not somepony others can accept. You pretend that your feelings of abandonment and betrayal aren’t real because confronting them would be admitting that you are an outsider.”

I look up at her in wonderment. Is she really... “When I first returned to Equestria as Princess Luna, everypony feared me. I convinced myself that there was no place for fun or being friendly with my subjects, as was proper in the days of old. It was a lonely existence that I thought was required of me. If ponies needed a polar opposite of warm and playful Celestia, I would give them a scary and unpassionate Luna.

“It worked, for a time, but the longer the charade went on, I became lonelier and more jealous of my sister,” Luna explains in a melancholy tone that I can feel more than I can hear. “It was only when I found out about Nightmare Night that I could take it no more. I felt besmirched and mocked by this celebration, not understanding that in spite of its dark nature, ponies took delight in the fright of my legacy.

“Twilight Sparkle and her friends changed all of that.” she continues wistfully. “They showed me that I did not need to be an imposing figure of authority, to be feared by my subjects. More than that, though. They taught me that I was hurting and deceiving myself by disallowing friends and fun. I was betraying the part of me that yearned for the love of others.”

“When you realized this, and took these changes to heart, you became much happier, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” She levitates her own cup of tea before her and drains what remains from the porcelain piece. “You will be much happier if you stop deluding yourself that you aren’t bothered by all this. While it might be true that you have ‘gotten over’ everything that has happened, you have not comes to terms with these things. You simply play the happy pony and press on, hiding from yourself.”

Her words bring a sense of relief to me. They are entirely true, I realize. She of all ponies knows most of all what is going on in my mind, because she went through the same thing. It’s time to be true to myself. “You know, if anypony else had said what you just said to me, acting like they knew how I felt, I would have called them a lying sack of s-shit, and threatened to put my horseshoe so far up their arse that they’d be tasting iron filings for weeks.” She gives me a shocked look for a minute, before stifling a giggle. “Maybe you’re right. I may very well have gotten too caught up in being a pony that I stopped being myself at some point.”

“Promise me you’ll be truer to yourself in the future, Silver Script.”

I can’t help but smile at her. “I’ll try, Princess,” I say with a slight giggle. “I can’t guarantee I’ll have much time to dedicate to being me, assuming our deal is still on.”

“Indeed! I imagine you will be quite busy at the university.” She has her own smile spreading across her face. “I would not renege on our agreement after my nephew’s little display tonight. It is high time that he and his obnoxious toadies learn a lesson that royalty is good to its word, and that ponies who aren’t as fortunate as them deserve every bit of  privilege that they do.” Trollestia be damned; Trolluna is best troll princess.

I smile up at her appreciatively. “So, how is this going to work?” I ask, and then flush red when I realize that what I just said could be misconstrued. “Do I just go into the admissions office once the off-week is up, sign some paperwork, and present them with some sort of proof our dealing?”

“Something like that...” she says with a mischievous look that I don’t quite trust.

> Interlude I: Clear
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

Wow, I never thought I’d ever be writing one of these things, especially given that cliched Dear Diary opening, but the doctor suggested that writing about the goings-on in my life might help cope with all the crap going on. That’s actually the first thing I’ll be writing about. After my last in-person encounter with the princess, she insisted before I left that I should see a therapist. That kinda goes in the face of what I expected—and wanted—but I guess given her own experiences, Princess Luna holds mental health in paramount. Kinda devious to make it a mandatory part of our arrangement, but I suppose it is something I need to deal with after all.

Mostly, it bothers me that the princess doesn’t trust me to deal with my own problems. I mean, I know these things aren’t the sort of thing you can fix on your own, but at the same time it feels... wrong to be forced into getting help. Yes, I should be thanking her for this, but given how independent I am, this takes out any choice in the matter. At least Luna promises that therapy will not conflict with my education.

Because of this, I’ve been tasked with visiting Dr. Clear Conscience, a psychiatrist that the princess herself highly recommends, on a regular basis. Once a week is a bit much to ask given that I only have a month to prepare for my studies. Not to mention that once my studies begin in earnest, I will be at an obvious disadvantage. Still, it is a thing worth doing if it means that I will not so easily succumb to insanity once again.

Clear Conscience is a nice stallion. I know it sounds cliche to say that he cares about his patients, but he really means it in his expressed interest. That first session was rather shocking for me. Instead of being sat down and asked to tell him about my life straight from the get go, Clear caught me completely off guard by telling me about himself. He told me about how he lost his mother to mental illness—despite her seeing a psychiatrist at the time—and how that shaped his career. He said to me that if a psychiatrist couldn’t show their patients that they actually cared, they had no place treating the infirm.

It was following that speech that he asked me to tell him a bit about myself. I told him right off the bat that everything I was going to tell him would sound absolutely crazy—a regrettably offensive choice of words—but that it was all true. He stunned me by admitting, and I quote, “If I hadn’t known of most of your unique background ahead of this session, I would probably say that the Ponyville incident was instigated by a form of paranoid schizophrenia developed from an underlying case of post-traumatic stress disorder, resultant of another incident.”

I’d be lying if I said that he didn’t catch me off guard there. I was fully expecting to be strapped into a straitjacket right away. Instead he just smiled and asked me what’s been troubling me as of late. After explaining how hard I’ve been studying for my certification, I went on to talk about the dreams that I’ve been suppressing with sleep aids. The content of the dream that I had on the date that I met with the princess really seemed to scare him. He asked me to start writing in this diary about the things in my mind...

So here I am. Maybe this will even be good for me.
~Silver Script, January 14th, 2002 PH 


~ Interlude ~




Dear Silver,

I’m really sorry about replying to your letter so late. Some featherbrain in the postal service sent it half-way to Neighpon of all places, and it only got here yesterday. Can you believe it? It took them this long to figure out their mistake and get me your letter. I just wanted to get that out of the way with so that you wouldn’t think we’ve been ignoring your letters.

Regarding what you said about Twilight, I actually spoke with her just the other day. I was at Sugarcube Corner with Cutie Mark Crusaders—taking them for a treat—when suddenly she just walked in, fresh off the train. In all the hubbub of an instant Pinkie Pie Party, I got a few minutes to talk with her. After thinking about what you said, I decided that I would apologize to her for everything. Everything that happened to her was a result of me trying so hard to prove to ponies that humans were real and bringing you here, after all.

Given the way you described how she felt about me, I would have thought that I would be the last pony she’d want to see. Amazingly, she was happy to see me too. No, I didn’t get it at the time, either. Still, when Pinkie tasked the Crusaders with gathering everypony for the party, we had an opportunity to sit down and talk about our lives. I expected her to be harsh on me like you mentioned in your letter, but instead she was surprisingly nice. She even admitted to saying the sorts of things that were mentioned in your letter. Instead, she says she has a newfound respect for me, not because of what I’m going through, but because of what I will go through. She said that teaching you gave her a lot respect for mothers—somehow. I’m not sure if that means you’ve been a bratty little filly or if it’s a good thing.

She said... it’s hard teaching a pony everything they need to know about the world, and that sometimes they’ll disappoint you, but what’s more rewarding than seeing them do right by you is when they do something selfless and incredibly precious to you. I don’t know what you did for her, but I think you really made an impression on her. Things are going to be alright between us two, I think.

I know you were being vindictive when you put that idea about me chaperoning the girls into their families heads, but really, I am thankful for it. Sure, I learned a heck of a lot about responsibility just from that one chaotic week with you, but I’ve learned even more from the girls. I’m fully expecting to need a lot of patience once our filly is born—yep, you heard me; it’s a filly!—and working with the Cutie Mark Crusaders has been nothing if not a trial in patience and responsibility. If only I had enough paper to tell you all the trouble those three can get up to. Oh! Another plus is how great I feel!

You keep saying that you’ll never be anything but an outsider in Ponyville, but you’ll always have a place here if the university doesn’t work out for you—congratulations, by the way. Bon-Bon and I have done a lot of talking, and because of your unique role in our daughter’s conception, you have a special place in our herd. I really do think that she’d love to have an Auntie Silly. Just keep that in mind, okay?

Good luck with your plight at the university, Silver. I sincerely hope you can achieve your goals there. In the meantime, I really need to get my hooves going. The Crusaders want to go mountain climbing today, and I intend to talk them down to just taking a hike through the highlands. Please come visit again soon. I really hope that you’ll be here in August for the foaling. It’d mean alot to us.

Take care,

Lyra Heartstrings


~ Interlude ~


Dear Diary,

I know that school doesn’t start until April third, but that’s no reason for me not to do a bit of research beforehand, right? I mean, I’m probably going to be studying for at least a year before I actually get an opportunity to work on a cure for petrification, but without preparation, I won’t have any idea what to do. Just a bit of research, and I’ll at least know which direction to go.

It’s this line of thought that has holed me up in the Canterlot Public Library and Archives for the last two days. Over this period of time, I must have pored over every book pertaining to alchemy available there—which is admittedly not a lot—and cross-referencing the even fewer references to petrification. The best luck I’ve had was stumbling across a copy of Equestrian Alchemy: a Complete History just yesterday. Even then, it didn’t tell me a whole heck of a lot.

From what I can tell there are only a handful of focuses in the alchemy of Equestria, all of which have been pretty thoroughly scoured for a cure to petrification. In fact, there are only three schools of alchemy that seem to be taught here in Canterlot. The first school—and most obvious track in a cure for petrification—focuses on Restoratives, including potions that accelerate healing, or cures for poisons. This is an obvious dead end if after a thousand years no such cure has been found in this school.

The next school—one that hasn’t seen as much attention in recent years—is Combat Utility. This school obviously focuses on medicines that increase a soldier’s efficiency in the field of battle or increases a single pony’s potency in battle, or poisons used to disable their enemies. One unicorn actually created a poison that, when ingested or splashed on a pony’s coat, slowly petrified them. Granted, they never pioneered a cure, but they managed to replicate the effect pretty darn well. From what I can tell, this track is also an optional course for field medics in the Royal Guard. I don’t think this’ll get me where I need to be, though.

Finally, there’s Miscellania. No, I’m not joking; they literally dump everything that does not fall under the first two schools into one category.That means  pony libido enhancers are part of the same category as potions that alter a pony’s eye color. Lazy, I know, but I guess they don’t really care enough to create multiple schools. This one has a lot of potential, if only because it has a lot of options.

Interesting enough, though, there is no mention of transformative potions. I mean yeah, some ponies have apparently created solutions that can temporarily increase the size of a stallion’s genitalia—as if those things aren’t dangerous enough already—or make a mare’s teats swell to unnatural sizes, but that’s about the extent of Equestrian transformative alchemy. There’s absolutely nothing like the zebra solution that Pinkie got from Zecora.

Speaking of zebra alchemy, there’s next to nothing on the subject. I’ve found a few references here or there—all of them regarding the effects and results, never the potions themselves—but other than that, absolutely nothing at all. I’d probably have to ask a zebra about it, but I have this theory that their alchemy is a tradition passed down by word, or that it is forbidden from print for some reason.

Anyway, I’ve got this crazy little idea I’ve been nurturing in case I can’t figure out anything in the normal schools. It probably means I’d have to make at least one trip into the Everfree, and maybe spend some time around a zoo or something, but it’s definitely something I can fall back on. I’d do that right now, but really, I want to have a firm knowledge of how alchemy works, and how a potion’s magical ingredients work together with one another.

Enough about alchemy though. This isn’t an alchemy research diary, after all. This is about my feelings and crap like that. Still, I can’t help but get a little anxious when I think about alchemy. It’s hard not to, knowing the cost of failure. That’s a foal’s life for fuck’s sake! I just get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me feel... guilty for being idle.

That’s another thing Clear Conscience wants to work with me on. In our last session, I dropped the bombshell about Pound Cake, and how my guilt surrounding the incident is my entire driving force behind my studies. He’s already pointed out that the guilt is unfounded and that I’m on the verge of an obsession. I’ll concede that this is exactly what it is. I don’t care though. This is bigger than me. 

Isn’t it?
~Silver Script, January 23rd, 2002 PH


~ Interlude ~


Dear Diary,

I had a dream last night; it wasn’t a nightmare for a change, but somehow that makes it all the much worse. In the dream, I was a human, back on Earth with my family. We were on a vacation in Cape Breton, and walking the three dogs along Dominion Beach. I remember reminiscing to them about the dog we used to take for walks along that same beach so many years before. In spite of the sorrowful note, we were happy together.

I remember waking up crying at two in the morning—hell, I’m still up and that’s why I’m writing this now—because of that dream. It was like somepony pushed a dagger into my heart and began to twist vigorously. All I could do for a good forty minutes was sob incoherently and apologize to nopony in particular. It felt like—and still feels like—a dam has burst inside me.

How fucked up is it that I refuse to even think about it... that I won’t even acknowledge the pain of being rejected by my parents, even in my sessions with Clear? Why can’t I just admit that I feel so conflicted about getting close to anypony because of how hurt they’ve left me? It’s so easy to blame others, so why should I always shoulder the blame and the guilt and the sorrow?

For that matter, why hasn’t he ever asked me about my parents yet? It’s clear as day that I’ve avoided the subject, and that it hurts, so why wouldn’t he approach the subject, recognizing it as important? Is he waiting for something in particular? Is he waiting for me? It probably is my responsibility to broach these things, but how do I even go about it? “So yeah, let’s talk about my parents, who in my time of need turned their backs on me. Let’s talk about how in denial I am that I would latch onto a random tragedy as a driving force rather than my own!” Yeah, that sounds about as stupid as I feel right now.

Just another bit of crazy to work over with the therapist on my next appointment.
~Silver Script, February 1st, 2002 PH


~ Interlude ~


Dear Diary,

Tomorrow’s the day my lifestyle changes again. The entrance ceremony and all of that happens tomorrow at the university. I realize after having registered that I kinda had the wrong impression of how the school actually works. For some reason, I expected to be going to classes solely focused on alchemy in some neglected old building, and staying in some attached dormitory, but the counselor that helped me set everything up explained that all alchemy classes take place in the same building as other classes. Heck, she basically said there was a ninety percent chance that my roommate wouldn’t be in any of my courses or even the same year. 

At least the dorm isn’t co-ed. I’m not sure I could handle being around a stallion when I should theoretically be entering estrus soon enough; it is almost spring after all. It isn’t that I don’t trust stallions, either. Due to the bizarre inversion compared to Earth, most stallions are pretty docile. Any that aren’t usually run businesses, or enroll in the guard like Shining Armor. Either way, it doesn’t really have anything to do with the stallions. 

I just... I’m not sure I trust myself not to do something stupid. Sure, I was drunk when I bedded with Lyra and Bon-Bon, but some part of me was still curious. Since that time though, I’ve given very little thought to things of a sexual nature. If this came up in one of my sessions with Clear Conscience, he’d probably say that I’m traumatised, and maybe that’s true. I’m worried that I might hurt somepony for the wrong reason... or that I’ll be hurt.

When that half-asleep stallion wandered into the mare’s section back in the boarding house all those months ago and started crawling into my bed, did I really have to bite him? Was that what a normal pony would do? I could have tried to wake him, or barring that, I could have screamed! Why, then, did I jump straight to biting him? There’s self-preservation instincts, sure, but that was a grossly exaggerated response to something startling.

Maybe I should talk to Clear Conscience about this? I mean, the topic is kind of inappropriate if taken the wrong way, but at the same time, he’s supposed to be helping me to stop being damaged goods, right? If I can’t be open with him, we’ll never make any progress. Then again, compared to certain other issues, I think this much can wait.

That’s enough about my non-existent sex drive though. Even if I’m the only one who is reading this thing—if I find out otherwise, I might just decide to find out how many buckets a pony can fill with blood—I don’t wanna start talking about stuff that might get pervy. It’s bad enough I give off pheromones that make me more appealing to the opposite sex. Celestia forbid I accidentally become aroused and give off the wrong impression.

Anyway... since I don’t really have family here in Equestria—yes, Lyra and Bon-Bon said I’ll always have a place in their herd, but I dunno—Candy and Forceps promised to be there for the entrance ceremony. I never realized how dependent I was on their support until now. These entrance ceremonies... they’re an opportunity for families to show their support. They care about me enough to support me like family. I still can’t get over that acceptance.

The entrance ceremony itself, coupled with the whole trimester school year reminds me whole lot of Japan. I once asked about the origins of this system, and you know what they told me? It was something brought over from Neighpon by an exchange student who later became the head of the whole Equestrian education system. Some unicorn mare by the name of Henscratch. Go figure, eh? Makes me kinda miss all those little things from home. Maybe I should look into Neighponese comics for nostalgia’s sake.

Anyway, that’s all for tonight. I really need to get to sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow after all.

At least all of my dreams aren’t self-loathing nightmares now.
~Silver Script, February 2nd, 2002 PH
> Chapter 4: Ceremony
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	With a heaving yawn, I rinse my toothbrush and gently place it back in its nook by the sink using my primary feathers. Being awake this early in the morning is always a bother, but on a momentous day such as this, there’s good reason for decent grooming. I’m making a first impression for more than just myself, after all. This is Luna’s first official sponsorship. I think it’s for that reason in particular that I’m taking a near obsessive level of attention to my appearance and hygiene. I still have a bit to take care of, but at least I’m clean, preened, and not at risk of posing as a real offense to anypony’s nose.

Content with my hygienic needs, my focus changes to my personal appearance. Practically bouncing into my bedroom, I cannot help but reflect on everything that I’ve read about the entrance ceremonies. Of course ponies should always be dressed up nicely for fanciful events. For mares, this would usually entail a fancy dress, but being not completely in synch with my femininity, the outfit I have planned is much less emasculating. I mean, yeah, it still has feminine elements, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t have been comfortable with as a guy, either.

With a smile, I push my clothing chest open with my muzzle and quickly begin pulling out the clothes I have in mind. First out is a soft, black corduroy turtleneck that I bought in a little boutique here in Canterlot for a fair price. It’s made from an incredible type of cotton that is warm on the cold day, but on a warm day you don’t even notice it’s there. I think the cotton itself comes from plants in the Crystal Empire.

The next article out is a dark olive green mini-skirt that I just had to have; it matches perfectly with the elastics I use to tie off my unruly mane. Nopony really knows why ponies wear skirts—never mind miniskirts—given that their tails all act as their own personal privacy screens. I guess they just like the look of it; I know I do.

Finally, the thing that really pulls this outfit into something special is the white thigh-high stockings. Sure, they have their place in intimacy like human lingerie, but outside the bedroom socks and stockings seem to be a sign of confidence. The stockings themselves are pretty, yet durable—no need to worry about getting a run in them, either; this material is like kevlar for your legs. You could probably be hit with dragon-fire and poking out of the ash pile would be your perfectly roasted legs.

I slip everything on at a leisurely pace, humming a jaunty tune. Rarity would probably have some minor gripe about my ensemble, but even she would have to admit that for a former male, I didn’t do too badly with the outfit. Indeed, I can’t help but strike a few poses in front of the mirror after everything is on and adjusted. This really is a pretty nice outfit... but something’s missing.

“Silver, you forgot to brush your mane again!” Candy’s voice chides from the doorway. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going to the ceremony with that bedraggled mess.”

With a guilty smile, I turn to face her. A single sidelong glance at the mirror reaffirms what has already been said; my mane is a mess. “Sorry... That’s the one thing I can never get used to doing.” Truth be told, I still want to just shave it all off on occasion; tangles are painful! Can you imagine though? A bald mare movement?

“It’s almost time to go, silly! Just how long were you dancing in front of your mirror?” she continues, trotting into the room. She eyes the saddlebags I’d managed to fill with most of my belongings the previous night and shakes her head. “Want a hoof with the brushing? It’ll go quicker if I help.”

Oh, right! That’s the other reason I don’t usually brush my mane. See, Equestrian ponies are a lot like terrestrial horses in that they are inclined to help groom their friends or members of their herd. Some sort of trust thing, by my understanding. Either way, I enjoyed having my mane done when it was Lyra doing the brushing, and while Candy lacks fingers, she’s far more adept with a brush.

I smile and nod. “Yeah, that’d be swell.” Candy looks around the room before giving me a questioning look, and its only until she stares at me for a few moments that I realize that she has no idea where my brush is. “Oh! Saddlebag, left side; beneath my diary.”

Without ceremony, Candy strolls on over to the bed and, using her muzzle, pushes open the saddlebag before dipping her head in. I can’t see from my angle, but it’s easy enough to know that she just pushed my diary off of the brush. Mere moments later, she’s back at my side and running the brush through the still-damp tangles of my mane.

“Sho, ‘re ya e‘cited?” she asks, forming her words as best she can around the handle of the brush.

“Kinda...” I flinch as she pulls through a particularly bad knot. “I’m anxious as all heck; I know that much. Lately, it just feels like each time I’m about to get comfortable somewhere, something comes along and I have to move on. I mean look. Everything I own—aside from that disposable toothbrush in the bathroom—is packed into either my saddlebags to come with me to the ceremony, or in my clothes-chest to be picked up by the moving company contracted by the university. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

“Understandable,” she replies, putting down the brush. Through the corner of my eye, I catch a momentary look of despondency cross the young mare’s face. “You’ll always be welcome here if things don’t work out. I know we’re going to miss your cooking.”

I can’t help but let out a little nicker at that. “Only my cooking?” I ask in a playful tone as I allow her to pull my mane through an elastic. “I know you enjoy having some non-medical personnel around to talk to. I’ll miss you too Candy. You and your mom have been good to me.”


~ 4 ~


The trot through Canterlot is unlike any I have done previously. Unlike every other time, there is no casualness about this trip. Everything is oddly muted today—the air heavy with oncoming change—and all I can think is how odd it would be if I were to wake up in my own bed, having slept in. It’s just the sort of thing I wouldn’t dream of—so slice of life—that I would never see it coming.

The morning itself is rather cool for April if Candy’s idle chatter is any indicator. As we trot along ahead of Forceps, I’m only half-listening to the younger pony’s criticism of unicornian weather control; I’m too busy continually checking the magical compass I tucked away beneath the collar of my sweater. After all, I have the worst sense of direction in the party, and it would seem that I’m the de facto leader...

Honestly, I think that half of the reason I get lost so easily in Canterlot—and I’m not just saying this to salve my own terrible sense of direction—is because of its layout. If you think of the city proper as a circle, you have four quarters: the Canterlot Residential Zone, the Educational District, the Market District, and the Government District, which is further divided into the Palace, a large selection of government branches, and what is colloquially known as Nobletown to everypony else. If the city were simply just divided into four quarters, it wouldn’t be so bad, but instead you have that labyrinthine Market district that is more like a tree trunk than a quarter in that it has tendrils snaking its way through each of the three other districts. If you take even one wrong turn, you could end up in the same part of the district no less than three times before you get out. Other ponies always say that it makes sense to them when I comment on it, so maybe I’m just brain damaged?

Regardless of that, it only takes us thirty minutes to get to the university. I honestly think the others are a bit surprised at how well we made out in regards to time. In fact, I recall one of the two—I don’t remember which—saying something about my musty old compass getting us lost. I just don’t think they understand the concept of waypoints, which is apparently how this thing operates sometimes. Heck, I bet this thing could get me to the center of the hedge maze in the castle gardens, no problem.

That’s just me procrastinating on going inside the university’s atrium though. Now that I mention it, the building  looks less like a school than it does a massive pyramidal greenhouse. The surrounding buildings look more like school buildings, but only just. Each building is a different color and shape. There’s even a spherical one that doesn’t even touch the ground aside from a stem-like staircase reaching up from the ground. Why is everything so damn colorful and nonsensical in this place?

At the urging of Doctor Forceps, I trot toward the main door. Standing beside the door is a rather familiar looking unicorn mare, but it takes more than a few moments to recognize the gray pony with the purple and white mane. The trio of five-pointed stars on her flank only solidifies what is already going through my mind.

“Good morning, Silver Script!” Twilight Velvet calls out as she notices me approach. “Aren’t you glad my little Sparkle’s tutelage has paid off for you?” Yes, I recognize the older mare from my visits to the family’s abode during my studies. It almost completely escaped me that she’s one of the astronomy professors here at the university.

“Yes ma’am,” I reply a more relaxed tone. Seeing more familiar faces makes this all much easier for me. “You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you. The flu is just the worst, isn’t it?” Hearing that, Forceps perks up and seems far more interested in the mare, so I quickly shift gears in the conversation. “So do I just go in and join the crowd or...”

The older mare smiles before tilting her head toward the door. “Just go on in and head toward the gathering in front of the stage at the center of the atrium,” she explains. “Another member of staff will take your signed paperwork and you’ll be seated with the rest of this year’s new admissions.” Glancing at Candy, she adds, “Guests will be seated in stands to either side.”

“Thanks, ma’am!” I reply, hurriedly dashing into the atrium, with Candy hot on my hooves. Of course, with the way my skirt catches the displaced air, it’s no wonder she’s complaining about my modesty. It’s not like my tail is raised or to the side though, so why should it matter? 

Still, I decide to afford the younger pegasus a glance over my saddlebags, just in time to see Velvet and Forceps breaking a friendly hug. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that the two know each other. They are in the same age group, after all. For all I know, they’re old friends, or even cousins. Still, it’s enough to almost trip me up as I approach the crowd of first-year students—all seated on plush-looking pillows set out on the grass before what looks more like a massive wooden plinth than a stage—and another member of the staff.

“Please present your paperwork and be seated,” the unicorn stallion says gruffly. “We are due to begin shortly.”

With an affirming nod, I duck my head into the right saddlebag. Nudging aside sheaves of parchment paper disturbed in the transit to the university, I quickly find and retrieve the appropriate scroll. My head is barely out of the saddlebag before the proctor snatches the scroll up in an acid-yellow aura. He takes a few moments to read over the contents of the scroll before nodding, and I could swear there’s even a trace of a smirk on his lips.

This leaves me feeling rather irked and slightly confused as I make my way towards one of the few empty pillows left in the crowd. It isn’t easy, and there are quite a few tails and saddlebags stepped on or over in the process, but I finally find myself seated and relieve myself of my saddlebags. I mean, yeah I could have simply flown over the group, but I reckon one of the many visible nobles would complain if I so much as disturbed their manes with a breeze. 

The unicorn mare beside me looks like one who might make such a complaint. She has that tall slender figure I’ve only ever seen on a number of ponies, mostly royalty, and her posture suggests she probably has a stick up her arse about something or other. At least she’s pretty. Her brilliant gold mane is pulled neatly into a french braid that neatly covers her light-red neck. She’s even dressed like a noble wearing a royal purple gown. Maybe she fancies herself a princess?

A quick glance toward the stage tells me that they aren’t quite ready to commence the ceremony, and I feel half-inclined to dig a novel out of my saddlebags. Just when I ready myself to find a distraction, I catch a glimpse of movement in my peripheral. The red noble beside me is leaning in my direction, regarding me with a blue-eyed stare, as though she is contemplating my attire. After a moment, she nods and smiles. “There are just so many commoners here this year,” she says in that condescending upper-crust accent. “Can you believe that Her Majesty Princess Luna herself is sponsoring one of these low-bloods to come here? A foreigner, at that!”

Oh Goddesses... she thinks I’m a noble. On top of that, she’s one of those snooty holier-than-thou types. If I tell her I’m not a noble, she’ll start a scene here and now, and then it’ll be everywhere before I’m even housed in my dormitory. “That isn’t to say that commoners don’t have their uses,” I reply carefully. “Nobility is built on the backs of commoners, after all.”

The regal unicorn raises her eyebrow before nodding slowly. “Yes, quite.” She doesn’t look all that impressed with my viewpoint, but it seems like she at least understands it. “My apologies, but in the scandal of it all, I’ve failed to get your name.”

My ear twitches at the tone of her voice, and the implication of what she just said. How stuck up is she? Ask my name before introducing herself? “Silver Script, pleased to make your acquaintance...”

“Are you any relation to the Silverblood nobility out of Manehattan? Or are you of the Ponyville Silvers?” she asks, completely disregarding the etiquette of introducing herself. “I do so love the quality items those small-town nobles create.”

“Though I have spent time in Ponyville, I am of no relation.” Is it really so much to ask that you have the decency to tell me your name, you pompous ass? “And you...?”

“I am Princess Aqua Regia, youngest daughter of the Blueblood line, and sister of Prince Blueblood the forty-second.” The mare puts forth one of her bejeweled hooves, as if expecting me to kiss it. I just stare dumbfounded at the hoof as I let it all sink in. Not only is this mare expecting me to kiss her hoof, she is the very sister that a drunken Blueblood harassed Princess Luna about. Why does the universe have to have a sense of humor? “Yes, I do suppose mention of my brother and the purity of my bloodline has that effect on some ponies. For this once, I’ll forgive your rudene—”

“Fillies and gentlecolts!” I look to the stage, giving silent thanks for the convenient interruption. Standing at a podium on the great wooden plinth—er, stage—is a large white unicorn stallion who strikingly resembles Fancypants, only with an ochre mane and no moustache. He’s undoubtedly the dean or chancellor of the university. “We are gathered here today to welcome the newest additions to this prestigious gathering of Equestria’s best and brightest.

“First and foremost, Canterlot University is the pinnacle of higher education institutions.” The stallion smiles out upon the crowd of attentive students. “As representatives of the best and brightest Equestria has to offer, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. That being said, any students caught bullying or sabotaging their peers will be expelled.”

A low din of approval rises from the crowd around me. Seems like nopony here likes the idea of their education being sabotaged by their classmates. Only one pony seems to disapprove of the dean’s proclamation, and she’s sitting right beside me, as though she’s used to stabbing ponies in the back in order to get her way. It’s like the longer I’m beside this mare, the more I don’t want to be near her. So many bad vibes and feels are coming off of her.

“There are a few changes to the first-year curriculum this year...” The stallion continues to speak, listing off changes to various courses running in the school. Because they don’t directly pertain to my own needs, I only half-listen to his speech. “Finally, for all fledgling alchemy students, the curriculum has been altered. The first trimester will consist of Alchemy Fundamentals, Safety, and Introduction to Potions. The summer trimester will consist of Independent Research, where you will present findings to your class at the end of each week. The end of this trimester is marked by your choice of study for the following one. In previous years, students were required to gain experience in all three schools of training, but at the suggestion of Princess Luna, this practice has been abandoned as it weakens one’s abilities by introducing conflicting ideologies from the different schools. As such, the final trimester will be one of your choosing.”

That last part doesn’t make much sense to me. Everything I read implies that the three schools, outside of purpose, all use the same basic training. Are the books mistaken? Or is there something historians and the like aren’t getting right? Maybe there was something about it in the restricted books. There were a great many books that I wasn’t permitted access to without a university identification or written permission from somepony with valid credentials.


~ 4 ~


There’s no telling how long I’m lost in thought. By the time I return my attention to the speaker, he is telling the new students that they will in line up in front of one of many professors to receive a room assignment. Sure enough, when I look in the direction indicated by the dean, I see a row of older ponies of alternating sexes—Twilight Velvet included—off to the back of the gathering. Well, at least I have a reason to get away from the snooty pony beside me.

Not waiting for Aqua Regia—like Blueblood, I refuse to acknowledge her as royalty—to talk to me again, I use a well practiced kick to get my saddlebags back on and quickly make my way around the other students. I’m not the first to line up in front of Twilight’s mother, but I’m still pretty close to the front of the line. It only takes a few moments before the hundred or so new students are all lined up in even files in front of professors.

“Alright, fillies! My name is Twilight Velvet. I am the first-year astronomy professor, and I will be your dormitory’s den mother. Come with me and I’ll get you all situated with your dorm mates,” Twilight Velvet announces to her file of students. Turning her back on us, she gives only a cursory glance back at us before leading us towards one of the sides of the atrium. “This year the dorms are named for the signs of the Equestrian zodiac. We will be heading to Sagittarius Hall. Stay close now.”

To my surprise, instead of going through the nearby exit, she leads us toward a concrete staircase descending into the ground off to one side of the door. A glance past the students behind me reveals a stairwell opposite of the one Velvet is leading us down. It’s rather curious that the dorm halls would be subterranean given all the hazards of living underground with minimal technology. Carbon dioxide comes to mind as one such threat. It’s not like there isn’t space to build dormitories on the university premises.

Descending into the ground, I almost expect the utilitarian metal hallways of a Vault-tec Vault. Instead, at the bottom of the stairs I’m greeted by the sight of a stairwell that goes down another level and cozy wooden hallways not unlike a Hobbit hole. Unlike the Tolkienian Hobbit abodes, however, the hallway lighting comes not from candle or hearthfire, but by gemstones. Surely it is a sight unlike any other I’ve yet seen here in Equestria.

As our new den mother leads us down the circular hallway, she begins directing the mares ahead of me into seemingly random rooms. She never assigns the same room to two first-years though; it’s almost as though she knows which rooms are already fully occupied and which are not. Common sense tells me that being the supervisor for this dormitory, she’d have to know.

Leading the group around a corner and into another hallway, Twilight Velvet turns to me and smiles. “Alright, Silver Script! You’ll be rooming here with Gale,” she says, pushing the door open. “She might be a bit different from what you’re used to, but I think the two of you will get along nicely. Oh, and your belongings should be delivered in the evening.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply, peering warily into the oddly domed room. “Have a nice day!”

I watch in silence as the group moves on down the hall before slipping into my new room. It begins to dawn on me just how different the architecture of this dorm is compared to anything I’ve seen in all of my life. The place is perfectly circular, matching the braced wooden motif of the hallway outdoors. Verily, the room is quartered by intersecting flying buttresses, upon which are mounted the magical light sources. Recessed into the walls on opposing sides of the chamber are two large beds. Beside each bed stands a desk and chests for one’s belongings. 

Drifting momentarily from the welcoming sight of a warm bed, my eyes alight on a door opposite of the one I stand before. Unlike the door through which I entered, this door is painted a pastel green. I can only imagine that on the other side of it lies a fully equipped bathroom. Had I drunk anything before the event, I might very well have given myself reason to venture inside. Not now though.

The excitement of the day’s events is a bit more than I’ve grown used to. A desire to lay down and rest before exploring presses against me in an almost overwhelming blast. Casually trotting toward the left bed, I cannot suppress a loud yawn. I gently allow my saddlebags to slide to the floor in a gentle heap beside my chosen bed. I could take the small, maroon blanket that I’d packed away in my saddlebag—one of only a few mementos from my former home. Instead, I lazily crawl onto the bed, not bothering to shed my clothing.

I can only guess at how long I lay there in the half-light of crystal-lit chamber, dozing face-first in a pillow. Time is a fickle bedfellow when you so desire to sleep, and without windows to observe the rise and fall of the sun, time becomes immaterial. At least the bed is a comfortable one.

That is not to say, of course, that I do not gain a few moments of shut-eye. Through half-imagined daydreams, I can make out the opening and closing of the room’s main door, followed by a curious clicking along the wooden floor. It draws nearer and nearer before a new weight disturbs the bed.

“You’re on my bed, child,” a gruff voice whispers in my ear.

My eyes snap wide as I roll away from the source of the sound. The last thing I see before my head strikes the alcove’s wall is the frightening grin of a fully grown, rosy brown griffon staring back at me. All too soon, the dim veil of unconsciousness draws over me, robbing me of my senses.

> Chapter 5: Line in the Sand
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pain lances throughout my skull as the first vestiges of consciousness return to me. A few moments pass before I realize the source of my discomfort. There, right at the back of my head, is a large knot of flesh. The pain itself is being spurred on by something agonizingly frigid—like an ice pack—pressed up against it. What in the name of Tartarus did I do last night?

With a groan, I pull myself off of the ice-pack and the pillow beneath, displacing a familiar maroon blanket that was draped over my still-clothed form. Wait, wasn’t that in my bag? “Ugh,” I groan, rubbing the back of my head. “What the heck happened?”

My eyes wander across the crystal-lit room, dancing from surface to surface until finally locking on the griffon pacing in front of the opposite bed. Oh right! I had the shit scared out of me and knocked myself out. Good job at making first impressions, I’m sure that’ll go over great.

Hearing my voice, her head snaps in my direction and she straightens the rosy brown feathers on her wings. “Oh thank Artemis you’re awake!” she cries out, none of her earlier gruffness present. The griffoness sprints over to my side, a worried frown contorting her... beak?  “I swear on my forebears, I didn’t think you’d flip out like that! Are you okay?”

I can’t help but look at her in confusion. Was she just trying to play a prank or something? “Eh, it’ll take a lot more than just some head trauma to do me in.” I mutter, rubbing the tender back of my head with a hoof. “With everything I’ve been through, minor brain damage would be a welcome addition.” I can’t help but let out a small laugh when I think back to the events of just almost a year prior. “I’m Silver Script. I’m your new roomie, I guess!” I exclaim, offering a hoof to shake.

The griffoness—Gale, I recall Velvet calling her—looks at me in confusion. “Uhh... I’m Gale... Gale von Gilcrest,” she replies with a light accent, gingerly taking my hoof into her talons before shaking. “I’m sorry about scaring you, I forget that ponies usually have a bad reaction the first time they meet a griffon... Given how young—”

“First, I’m not as young as you think I am; I’m twenty-two,” I interject, quickly. “I’m just stuck in this diminutive pony form. You didn’t scare me because you’re a griffon, either. You being so close and me being half-asleep triggered a natural flight response... and now I sound like a complete arsehole.” My hoof is quick to withdraw from her grasp and cover my face. “Sorry, the noble I had to sit beside in the ceremony really raised my hackles.”

Gale only stares at me in disbelief, allowing her claw to drop back down to the floor. “You’re not scared of me?” she asks, incredulously. “You know griffons are predatory, eat meat, and in the past even ate ponies, right? That doesn’t bother you?”

Pushing off my blanket—did she go through my bag looking for something that might comfort me?—I crawl out of the bed. Immediately, I feel the need to disrobe; as a pony, being clothed for too long simply leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “No, why should it?” I ask in a dismissive tone as I pull my sweater off. “Up until a year ago, I ate meat and I was damn proud of it. I’m just glad I can still eat fish.”

Turning my head to face her as I smooth and fold the sweater on the nearby desk, I can’t help but be a bit concerned by the look on her face; I think I broke her. “Ate meat...” I hear her whisper to herself. “But ponies hate meat! Most get sick just imagining eating animal flesh!”

Dropping my skirt to the floor, I can’t help but give her a playful grin. “You live in a world full of magical ponies and princesses who raise and lower the moon,” I begin, trying not to laugh as I wiggle my flank to emphasize my blank flank. “Will it come as any shock to you that I was not always a pony?”

If my statement about eating meat gave the griffon pause, her beak is completely agape now and her eyes look like she’s trying not to let them cross. I might even say she looks dizzy. Sliding my stockings down my legs, I can’t help but think that it is time to change the subject. “So, about the bed situation... Was I really in your bed? I can take the other one if it’s an issue.”

For a moment, she says nothing, instead looking like she needs to lay down now. When she does speak, it’s dazedly so at first. “Huh? Oh, no. I just got in when I decided to surprise you,” she says, abashed. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.” Gale looks like she can’t help but stare. “You weren’t always a pony? What were you, then?”

Placing the last of my shed clothing on the desk along with my sweater, I sigh. “Can this be a story for another time?” I ask hesitantly. “We’ve just met, and since we’re going to be living together for the next year, I shouldn’t unload all of my crazy on you now.” My stomach lets out a low growl, alerting us both to the fact that I’m hungry. “How long was I out, anyway?”

Not speaking, Gale directs a thumb—er... talon—toward a wall clock mounted on one of the buttresses. That thing wasn’t there before; I’m certain of that much. It must have come with my befuddled roommate. Either way, it’s clear by the big hand that I’ve been out for a while. It has been long enough that not only have I missed lunch, but it is also close enough to dinnertime.

Again, my stomach loudly announces its presence. This time, my rumbling tummy is loud enough to snap the griffoness out of her stupor. She looks at me with a raised eyebrow before smiling awkwardly. “You... uhh... you wanna go get some grub, k—Silver?” she asks, quickly biting down on her words. “Sorry, griffons don’t mind being called kids when they’re young. Ponies are just so sensitive and—” She looks at me. “—you don’t care, do you?”

“Unless you talking about sensitive ponies leads to me eating sooner,” I reply with a wry grin. “Nope.”


~ 5 ~


Gale is almost too eager to lead me to the ‘chow hall’. However, instead of leading me up the concrete stairs and out of Sagittarius Hall, she leads me down two levels and through a corridor that, if my general idea of the layout is correct—not that it speaks for much given my sense of direction—is taking us somewhere beneath the center of the atrium. The further we get down the corridor, the more the architecture changes into something more traditionally Canterlot in style.

While she leads me towards the mess, she tells me a bit about herself. Surprisingly, instead of something guard or combat related, she’s here on an—anthropological, no equinological; damn it, let’s just go with sociological—purpose. She has an intense interest in folklore, and wishes to study folkloristics so that she can preserve the folk tales they all grew up with for future generations. I kinda had her figured for linguistics or early childhood education.

Now, a big part about being lead somewhere is that the other party is generally in front of you. That in itself isn’t particularly a problem. Unfortunately, I am once again reminded of the fact that Equestrian and Griffon societies aren’t big on pants. You know how cats walk with their tails held high when they’re happy about something? I’m beginning to think that griffons are related more to the domestic house-cats than lions in that aspect.

Now, it’s not like I’m purposely looking, but like I said, being lead means that the other party is in front of you. Coupled with her display of happiness, and everything is on display. From her very feline vulva—trust me, when you have a happy siamese in your face and trying to get your attention, you’re going to get an eyeful—to her pert little... Damn it, no! I am not going to be that guy who can’t keep his eyes off of the other guys in the locker-room—or girl, for that matter.

Just as I try to shake the stupid thought out of my head, however, my face ends up bouncing embarrassingly off her own behind. If Gale is at all perturbed by this little accident, she makes no indication. Instead, she waits until I come up beside her—blushing, might I add—before sweeping a claw across the air before her, urging me to take in the large chamber before us.

“Here we are, Silver Script,” she says, shooting me a sidelong grin. “Every dorm funnels into here, so you get to see everyone almost guaranteed, twice a day. That can be either good or bad. For a griffon like me, it means time with my own kind.” 

She leads me into the large mess hall. Tables fill the near side of the hall, with two separate service counters on the far side—griffons lined up before one, and ponies at the other. In addition to the separate lines for food, there is a clear line drawn in the metaphorical sand between the griffon and pony populous. There’s a small portion of the hall where the tables are occupied almost exclusively by griffons.

“I suppose it means time you can spend together with other nobles,” Gale comments, nodding in the direction of an approaching unicorn. Sure enough as Applejack is honest, there’s a familiar red unicorn approaching. As if there was any doubt to whom it was, the mare’s gold french braid dances regally on her withers.

“Silver Script, dear, how delightful it is to see you again!” the mare calls out in that posh accent. As soon as she says this, all eyes in the room are on us, as though she’s already made her royal status known to all. “How unfortunate it is that our earlier conversation was interrupted. Shall we resume over dinner?” Aqua Regia glances at Gale for only a moment. “Your bodyguard is of course welcome to join us, provided she can eat a civilized meal.”

 As she draws nearer, I can just make out her cutie mark. It looks almost like a drop of gold—acid, more like it—being dropped on a half-melted bar of platinum. It’s almost like her special talent is her corrosive personality. Turning my gaze away from her cutie mark, I look her in the eyes. Sure, I could be polite, but honestly? Her bigotry sickens me. It just pisses me off so much. It’s not just the bigotry, though. It’s everything that she stands for that really gets to me.

“Firstly, this is my roommate and friend, not my bodyguard. You must be pretty bigoted to just assume that she’s a warrior because of her species! So high and mighty of you!” I say loudly, baring my teeth and letting my ears fall flat against my bed. There’s a loud gasp from a number of noble-ponies at a nearby table, and an appreciative cat-call from a nearby griffon table. “I also think that you and your bloodline have a terrible penchant for assuming, and we have a saying where I’m from. Assume makes an ass of ‘u’ and me.” I glance at the mule at a nearby table. “No offense.”

Looking back at the so-called princess, I have to bite back the low growl rising in my throat. “Back at the ceremony? You went and assumed that because of my small size and confident, tradition-challenging wardrobe that I was one of you—a trust fund brat. I was hoping my comment about nobility riding the backs of commoners was enough to clue you in, but it seems I was mistaken...” I say, my face now crimson with frustration. “Leave it to a pony related to the fool that drunkenly accosted Princess Luna to go making stupid mistakes like that. Take your noble privilege and shit on it for all I care. A stuck-up noble like you is of no use to me.”

The mess hall is absolutely abuzz with conversation now, but I don’t care; I just want to grab a bite to eat, and this stuck-up noble is in my way. Given the high ceiling present in the chamber, I have just enough space to leave the stunned wretch fuming on the spot. So that’s just what I do; I take off over her head, and land at the end of the pony line.


~ 5 ~


In spite of all of the stares and whispers springing up around me, I manage to get through the line and to the service counter without issue. “Quite a spot of drama and it ain’t even the first day of classes,” the server observes, idly. “What can I do ye for?”

I take a moment to scan the menu placards behind him. “I guess I’ll take the tuna alfredo and a glass of sweet apple cider.” I could have chosen the hard cider—there are more than a few alcoholic beverages on menu, and Celestia knows I probably need one after all that—but as I’ve probably said before, I’m still not comfortable with alcohol. “Go big or go home, right?” I reply to his earlier remark. “I’m sure I made a lasting impression.”

“Ayup,” the stallion dryly remarks, filling out my tray and placing a cider-filled glass on it. “Ain’t seen nothin’ like that since that Blueblood whelp attended. Ye might have won over the regular folk, but ye best sleep with yer back to the wall, lest ye be findin’ daggers in it.”

… Great. I always forget how stabby nobles get when somepony wrongs them in fiction. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I groan, taking the tray into my teeth before scampering off.

The trip through the cafeteria, on the other hoof doesn’t go nearly as well as just going through the line and acquiring my dinner. As I wander through the rows of crowded tables, I’m met with awkward glances, furtive shakes of heads. More often than should not, a pony throws a glance in the general direction of Aqua, who is sitting smugly at a large table surrounded by her clique of glaring toadies. Yeah, mister server pony, you got this all pegged right.

“Oi, little lassie!” a heavily accented voice calls out. “Don’t’cha be standin’ there all sad-like!” Turning my head in the direction of the voice, I spot a table occupied by two large griffons. An Irish griffon? Seriously? Accents, how do they work? “Ya done right by us folk, so come sit a spell, an’ we’ll treat ya right in turn.”

Initially, I feel inclined to politely reject his offer and instead take my meal back to the dorm room, but a thought strikes me, and I’m drawn back to one of my sessions with Dr. Clear Conscience. “You have a terrible habit of  pushing ponies away, Silver,” his voice echoes in my mind. “If you treat everypony like your enemy, eventually they will be.” He’s right, too. I’ve already alienated myself from a majority from the student body in the most spectacular way possible. I can’t afford to slap aside an offered hoof just because I might want to brood over my own stupidity.

As if to reassure me, Gale seats herself at the very table offering me hospice. “It’s fine Silver; this crew’s cool,” she soothes, setting her own tray down. “‘Won’t meet a more pony-friendly bunch in all the land’, isn’t that what you always say, Gearalt?”

“Aye,” the Irish-sounding griffon grunts in reply. “Come on now, little lassie.”

Taking one last look around the hall, I shrug and set my own tray down beside Gale’s and seat myself on the cushion beside her. “Hi,” I say sheepishly. “My name is Silver Script. I only look diminutive, so please don’t treat me like a kid.” All three griffons at the table raise their eyebrows at the comment. “Not much to say about me... I’m here to study alchemy, hoping to crack the cockatrice petrification equation. I don’t tolerate stupidity or bigotry, as you’ve probably already seen.”

“Well then, I see you’ve already met Gale here,” Gearalt the griffon says, nodding. “I’m Gearalt of the Shillelagh Highlands, and I’m a bard.” He gestures a talon at the huge scarred griffon beside him. “This here’s Gaius Germanus. He’s a former gladiator, and is gonna to become an officer in the royal guard for some reason.” I watch in amusement as Gaius punches Gearalt in the shoulder. “What? It’s weird ‘cause ye can’t rightly speak with yer throat torn out, can ye? Used to wrestle bears, he did.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” I say, happily taking a bite of my meal. “I’m just glad not everyp-everybody—now there’s a word I haven’t used in ages—is afraid of those stuck-up nobles.”

Gale and Gearalt both laugh at my statement, as though it’s funnier than it really is. The mute of a brute beside the griffon bard can only make so much as a chuffing noise, which might have been humorous if not for his grizzled appearance, before using his claws to make a series of motions. Honestly, it doesn’t seem all that different from American Sign Language, though it doesn’t help me all that much. I never had a need to learn it.

Thankfully, Gale is quick enough to pick up on my confusion and translates for her friend. “‘Takes a lot of guts to stand up pony-folk nobles. See how long until she tries to have you arrested,’ is what he said,” she explains, snickering at her own attempt at a gruff voice befitting the warrior before her. “Enough about those walking coin purses, though. Our food is getting cold.” As if to emphasize her point, my own stomach rumbles in agreement. “Let’s eat.”

She doesn’t have to say that twice. If I was a quick eater as a human, taking cutlery out of the equation just speeds up the process even more. Choking and whether or not I even taste what I’m eating is a valid concern, I suppose, but it’s just the way I am. Why waste a large amount of time eating when I can do it quickly and have more time to do other things? 

Still, this tuna alfredo is just as good as anything I can cook, if not better. Given the number of nobles attending the university, I reckon it’s only reasonable that they’d have some really good cooks working here. Even Gale’s food smells good. Turning my eyes from my own decimated dinner, I look at what Gale is gingerly picking away at with a fork. “Is that a chicken caesar salad I smell?”

All at once, my seemingly innocuous comment draws looks of guilt from the griffons at the table as they look at their own meals. Even Gale, despite me having told her earlier that I wasn’t always a pony, looks ashamed of her dinner. None of them, it seems, thinks to question why I would be able to recognize the scent of cooked animal flesh. It’s all just shame.

“It’s been so long that I’m not even sure I can remember what chicken tastes like.” I sigh, wistfully looking at the scrap of meat speared tauntingly on Gale’s fork. The combined stare of all three griffons is enough to make me realize that I’m drooling. Wiping the drool away with a fetlock, I just look at Gale. “What? Being a pony is hard when you have to give up one of the best things about being omnivorous. Honestly, I have to wonder if Candy and Doc Forceps were lying about meat making ponies sick just ‘cause it doesn’t match their idea of natural. It smells good enough to me.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Gale replies, avoiding my pleading look.

“Just a single bite, please?”

“C’mon, Gale, I don’t think a little nibble will kill the little lass,” Gearalt goads, grinning as Gaius lets out his own amused little chuff. “‘sides, I kinda wanna see this.”

The female griffon’s shoulders sag as she buckles under peer pressure. “Fine,” she says, offering me the fork. “Just a little bite.”

Gingerly, I lean my head forward and take the piece of meat between my teeth and pull it from the fork, drawing many gasps from nearby tables. As the succulent juices of well-cooked chicken squeeze forth from the piece of meat, I nearly melt with joy. That flavor is unmistakably chicken, and it is glorious! There’s no revulsion or sudden illness. There’s just me, the chicken, and happiness welling within me. There is absolutely no way I’m going to regret this.

By this point, however, nearby ponies are whispering rather feverishly among themselves. Occasionally, I can make out some parts of their conversation. ‘Mare of Thrace’ comes up incredibly often, along with such lovely phrases as ‘crazy’ and ‘doom us all’. I don’t care though. At least I got chicken.

“Heh,” I say almost drunkenly, swallowing the piece. “Tastes just like chicken.” After that, I burst into laughter, unable to contain my amusement at my own joke. Reaching over, I nudge Gale in the shoulder with a hoof. The three griffons all look slightly disturbed, but can’t help laugh nervously. “Hey, Gale! It tastes like chicken!” I cheer gaily, before falling backwards on the cushion beneath me.
> Chapter 6: Connive
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“That’s it, get it all out,” Gale soothes, gently rubbing my back with one claw, while the other holds back my mane. “You are not a clever pony, are you?”

“I might—” My face flushes again as a surge of bile and what little food remaining in my stomach rises in my throat. Quickly, I force my face back to level with the toilet seat as the vile burst clears my lips. All I want to do right now is sob like the little filly I look like, but that would mean choking on my own vomit. Finally, as the last of my stomach contents empty themselves into the waste basin, I afford myself a sigh of relief. “I might have taken offense to that if I myself had not used those same words to describe myself in the past,” I wheeze morosely. “This shouldn’t be happening after just one bite of chicken. If it were food poisoning, you’d be sick too! It’s not fair.”

I look up at Gale with bloodshot eyes. She’s been here with me for the last half-hour—even when a crew of movers came in with our belongings—since the onset of nausea, and she’s been nothing but patient. “In retrospect, sharing the chicken probably wasn’t the best idea... Being an avian species, we aren’t particularly fond of eating other avians—there’s a lot of red tape surrounding the good meats—.” The griffon looks thoughtful as she fills a glass of water before passing it to me. “We use certain seasonings to make it more palatable for us. They don’t all work out well with ponies.

“Story goes that a griffon thane was hosting some pony dignitaries, but all of his foods, even those lacking meat were seasoned with a particular spice that he favored—a blend of a dried paste of groundcherries and salt.” She watches me as I down the glass of water. Once I’ve finished, I pass the glass back to her before laying on my side on the tiled floor of the restroom. “The ponies enjoyed the food quite well, almost to the point of intoxication, but an hour after eating, they became violently ill. The thane realized that, though the ponies lived, they did not take well to to the spice, and ordered his kitchen staff to only use the spice on the meals of visiting ponies he wanted to be rid of. I don’t know if the story is true, but for griffons, the spice is a rather popular seasoning for chicken.”

“That explains that then,” I reply dryly, feeling my stomach clench once more. “Magical griffon spices keep me from eating one of the best meats around.”

Gale looks at me pointedly, before apologetically shaking her head. “Let’s get you into bed; you’ll feel better if you rest.” She slides a claw beneath me in order to help me up, but I shrug off her assistance after I’m on my own four hooves. In spite of my impetuous rejection of her help, she remains by my side until I reach the bed. “I’ll leave a glass of water near your bed for you. Try to get some sleep.”

Drawing my blanket over myself once more, I nod appreciatively at her. “Thanks for being here,” I whisper, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for making a scene. You’ll probably get a lot of flak for associating with me, now.”

I hear an amused snort escape her nostrils, before she speaks. “Nah, you didn’t do anything bad. I mean, yeah, we might get more guff from some toadies, but most ponies won’t mess with griffons.” She even allows herself an amused chortle as she makes her way across the room. “I don’t think too many ponies will mess with the terrible meat-eating mare. We could even call you Deimos, just to mess with them.”

Nuzzling my pillow, I can’t resist giggling. Gale is definitely an individual I can get along with. “Do all griffon dishes contain that spice?” I ask, wearily. “I kind of like the idea of being some sort of boogeymare... It coincides with something Clear’s been telling me... to be truer to who I am.”

I hear the depression of bedsprings on the opposite side of the room. “I’m sure we can get you some jerky or a pork chop. Tell ya what; I’ll slip you some of my bacon at breakfast,” she replies. “Now go to sleep.” Switching to a firmer tone, she says, “Lights dim.” Almost instantly, the dim light radiating from the crystal light-sources cuts out completely, dropping the room into darkness.

Not quite asleep, I’m left alone in the darkness to reflect upon the day. It is not unexpected that I feel incredibly mixed about today’s events. On the one hoof, I’ve alienated myself on two fronts. First, I have essentially pissed in the faces of the nobles. That in itself is going to make ponies incredibly unwilling to associate with me, since they are going to be fearful that the nobility will do something to them. I suppose it’s only fair though. The power of money is far reaching, and a noblepony can probably make a commoner’s life into Tartarus itself.

It certainly doesn’t help, then, that I was so excited by the thoughts of once again tasting meat—real meat, and not just some damned fish—that I didn’t bother thinking of the consequences. I let myself go moist between the haunches over a piece of chicken, and what do I have to show for it now? Everything I ate is now sitting in whatever amounts to a Canterlot sewer, and I’m almost wishing I’d died from it instead of lying here feeling sick. Luna preserve me! The other pony students probably fear me, if the Mares of Thrace legend is relatively the same here.

On the other hoof, look at how far I’ve come. Instead of living off of the goodwill of a friend and her mother, I’m here at the university, with my first day of class tomorrow! I’m one step closer to my dream, each day being another step. If all goes well, I could even be half-way there by the summer trimester. At the very least, I’ll have a better idea of how much further I have to go.

Not only that, but I’ve made a friend with a griffon—three griffons, I hope. Even if Aqua Regia and her noble cronies do cause me trouble, Gale seems like the type to stand up for her friends. I don’t know how regular Equestrians think, but if a griffon got up in my face, I would probably curl up in a ball and piss myself. She’s just so stable, and nice—like Twilight Velvet knew that Gale was exactly the kind of roommate I need.

Alas, even an overactive mind such as mine cannot fight off the grip of proper sleep for long. Soon, it is just me, my pillow, and dreams of bacon dancing upon my bed. I just hope Luna isn’t watching me tonight... I really don’t want to have to explain myself. Well, I don’t care one way or another, I just don’t think she’d approve.


~ 6 ~


In the midst of brushing my mane in front of my new desk, I’m interrupted by a knock at the door. With a glance at the clock, the question of who could be visiting at half past seven in the morning crosses my mind. It isn’t Gale, since she’s holed up in the bathroom right now, and I highly doubt it’s room service either. Who then, could it be?

“Just a moment,” I wearily answer. I may not have a mirror handy, but I’m sure I’m at least presentable right now. Honestly, the bath is probably what did the most good for my appearance, so I shouldn’t look like shit right now, even if I still feel it.

Removing the brush from a strap on my hoof, I quickly discard it on the desk with the rest of the school-unrelated belongings that I removed from the saddlebag. Fighting back a massive yawn, my hooves lead me toward the door. Turning and pulling on the knob, I can’t help but frown at the lack of locks in the dorms. It would be so easy for a pervert or an assassin to get in here.

“Oh! Good morning, Mrs. Velvet.” Opening door reveals the dorm’s supervisor. The mare honestly looks kind of distressed—her face contorted into an uncomfortable grimace. “How can I help you this morning?”

“I regret to inform you, Silver,” she begins, clearly not liking what she has to say. “You have been summoned to the Chancellor’s office. There have been some disturbing accusations made against you, which, should they prove true, may result in your expulsion. The accusations are grave enough that a ranking member of the Guard has been summoned for this meeting.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Covering my face with a hoof, I moan to myself, “It’s too early in the morning for this shit.” I glance back at my table, sizing up my saddlebag. “Mind if I bring by saddlebag? I get the impression that it’ll be too late for me to grab it before class by the time this is over.”

The elder mare’s grimace softens into a slightly amused yet annoyed look. She actually looks like she’s contemplating admonishing my confident optimism, but says nothing on the matter. Instead she simply replies, “As long as you are quick about it.”

Wow, she really isn’t kidding about this being serious. While she’s never seemed the playful type, I have never seen her agitated to the degree of terseness. Hurriedly, I trot back over to my desk to grab my bags before joining Velvet in the hallway. I almost want to leave a note for Gale, telling her that I won’t be joining her for breakfast, but it’s pretty clear that this is serious.

Faced with no other choice, I follow the mare down the corridor and up out of the dormitory. Upon exiting Sagittarius Hall, she leads me out of the grand atrium and along a walkway lined with fanciful flutterpony statuettes. Our path takes us around many of the curious buildings on the campus before finally leading me to what looks like a small greenhouse sitting in front of the base of the impossibly standing lollipop-like building.

The greenhouse is nothing spectacular. You can’t even see the inside from out here, like it’s made from the same one-way glass used in police stations. If that is the dean’s office, it’s... something else. Kinda creepy really, but it isn’t like I have much of a choice on the matter.

Pushing the door open, Twilight Velvet pokes her head in to speak. “Chancellor Modest, I have Silver Script here to see you, as requested.”

“Very good, thank you,” a posh voice replies from within. “Send her in please.”

Turning to me, Velvet gives me a knowing look. “In you go,” she says. As I move past, she leans in closely to say, “If you have indeed done no wrong, as your attitude suggests, I dare say the representative of the Guard will be sympathetic.”

I don’t have an opportunity to inquire as to her meaning, for the moment I cross the door’s threshold, the opening seals itself. Instead, I’m left facing two large white unicorns. The first is of course the ochre-maned Chancellor Modest, who I remember clearly for his long sermon yesterday, sitting behind a large rosewood desk with a scowl on his face. I can only assume that his full name is Modest Pants or something of the such. The stallion is literally the spitting image of Fancypants.

The identity of the other stallion isn’t immediately obvious because of his officer’s regalia and helmet. It’s only after I take in the uncomfortable stare of the stallion that I realize that Prince Shining Armor is reprising his duties as a Captain of the Guard while Cadance is in Canterlot for the duration of her pregnancy.

“Miss Script,” Modest asks, steepling his hooves before him. “Do you know why you are here here this morning?”

I give Shining Armor a barely perceptible nod before looking the stallion in the eyes. “I have an idea of where the truth of the situation lies,” I reply in a measured tone. “Of the accusations that have been made, I haven’t the slightest.”

The stallion gives me only a raised eyebrow as he contemplates this. He mutters something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like the word interesting, before levitating a sheet of paper before him. “You stand accused of bullying, sedition, treason, and crimes against nature.”

You would think that hearing charges like those, you would be surprised on all counts, but the only ones that actually surprise me are the treason and sedition accusation. How do you even get those from anything that I’ve said or done in the last twenty-four hours? “Sedition? Treason?” I answer in a clear tone of confusion. “What?”

“Yesterday evening, we received a complaint from one of your fellow students, insisting that you bullied her in the middle of the dining room in front of all of your fellow students, making several seditious remarks regarding her lineage, before finally committing a treason against the crown by partaking in the flesh of an animal and laughing.” He gives me a flat look before returning his gaze to the paper “This is also the crime against nature listed in the complaint.”

A glance at the Prince off to the side reveals that Shining Armor has turned slightly green at the mention of a pony eating meat. “Given the severity of these charges, we feel there is no other course of action other than your immediate expulsion and remanding you into the custody of the Royal Guard pending trial.”

“WHAT?” I shout as my hind legs give out beneath me. My voice reverberates loud enough in the room to be a reasonable facsimile of the royal canterlot voice; why else would a glass vibrate across the great rosewood desk? “I’m sorry, but what? I’m to be given no chance to defend myself?”

“There were several witnesses to corroborate her statement,” Chancellor Modest replies. “I see no reason to tarry on such frivolities.”

“Prince Shining Armor, please!” I turn my pleading eyes upon him. “You know me to be better than this. What would a ward of the crown pose to gain from ‘treason and sedition’? For that matter, would Her Majesty Princess Celestia entrust such a corrupting influence with her most cherished and faithful student?”

The Prince furrows his brow in thought. A long moment passes before shaking his head. “You wouldn’t have anything to gain,” he replies. “Twilight said that you lost everything after what happened last year. I don’t believe you would be that foolish.”

“The rules are clear! She needs to be expelled!” Modest slams his hooves on the desk, causing a sound of rattling bits to come from within the desk. The stallion catches himself and sucks in a heavy breath before continuing. “What would you have me do? There are too many corroborating statements against her, and surely she would say anything to get out of being expelled!”

“My Prince, surely the Royal Guard has methods for getting the truth out of seas of deceit,” I whimper, shrinking in on myself. “A truth ward, a lie detection spell, anything?”

Again, Shining Armor furrows his brow. “There is a spell that permits interrogators to enter the minds of suspects, and relive memories through their eyes” he answers, shifting anxiously on the spot. “It is, however, very invasive and can cause mental scarring if used incorrectly.”

I brighten up slightly, clapping my hooves slightly. “Yes! Do that! If you need my consent, you have it!” I reply eagerly. “The sooner we can get this all cleared up, the sooner I can go back to class.”


~ 6 ~


Fifteen minutes, an invaded sense of privacy, two vomiting stallions, and a solved problem later, I’m left making my way to the building housing the Alchemy Fundamentals classroom. Thankfully, the building is far closer to the atrium and the dorms than it is to Chancellor Modest’s office. I even have enough time to hit the cafeteria and get a snack, although I think better of it.

The whole time I spend trotting among the other students in the hallways, I can’t help but think back to how I dissuaded Shining Armor and the Chancellor from the crimes against nature accusation. Once I had explained the nature of my species of origin, the fact that just because herbivores are still capable of consuming meat, and that I only ate what was served in the cafeteria, there wasn’t anything that they could hold against me... except the fact that I willfully choose to eat meat as a pony. Even then, that’s a personal choice, and not necessarily any more a crime against nature than my being a pony.

The university buildings, it seems, are all sectioned by year, subject matter, and threat-class. The guidebook sitting in my saddlebag explains that a building will always host subjects of a similar nature. Higher threat-classes—those arts that have destructive potential—are segregated into secure locations, with the lollipop-shaped ‘Wizard’s Tower’ housing the most dangerous studies of arcane arts.

Thankfully, the interior of the building is not at all like the general layout of Canterlot. Things are all laid out with meticulous logic. The far wing is dedicated to the three first-year alchemy courses. Even now, trotting past the medicine wing—convenient, being right next to the wing were accidental poisonings are likely to occur—I can see the door to the Alchemical Safety classroom. 

That isn’t the one I want, though. I’m not in there until I’m certified in the Fundamentals. It’s an interesting thing, the curriculum layout. Instead of multiple courses each day, you get a few hours daily in a classroom for a week or two, until you pass examination on the subject. Once you are certified, you can go on to the next level of study. I’m not sure if it is to fit the curriculum better into the trimester, but Introduction to Potions is definitely the longest of the three courses in the trimester.

Finally, I come upon the door I’m searching for—Alchemy Fundamentals. Already I can hear the conversation of students not yet reined in by a professor. Eagerly, I nose the classroom door open, and all conversation stops. Every eye in the lecture hall turns to face me as I enter, and then the whispering begins. Each desk here in the hall is occupied by a pony that was present in the communal cafeteria last night.

In spite of it all, I’m somehow not the least bit shocked that Aqua Regia sitting in the back of the hall, surrounded by a few suck-ups. Even as I calmly pick my way to an empty seat near the middle of the room, my eyes never leave the conniving ‘royal’. The expression on her face, despite obvious attempts to keep a calm look about her, says it all. She’s shocked that I’m still here, angry about it, and trying her best to look innocent. The eyes give it all away.

Pulling up a seat in the corner of the room nearest the professor’s desk and lectern—kind of necessary when you’re the uncontested shortest pony in the room—I place some parchment, an inkwell and a quill before me. After patiently waiting a few more minutes for the class to begin, a pure-white unicorn of unarguable antiquity enters the classroom. His beard and eyebrows literally remind me of a the haircut given to a schnauzer.

“Good morning, students! I am Professor Calcification, and this is Alchemy Fundamentals,” the elderly stallion says joyously in a raspy voice. As he speaks, he levitates a stick of chalk against the massive blackboard behind him, writing out Alchemy Fundamentals and underlining it by extending the final letter. “By the end of this course, you will be expected to know all of the six basic substances found in common ingredients and how they interact, the four substances that alter properties of alchemical reactions, the effects of alchemical toxicity...”
> Chapter 7: Dinner and a Show
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“... for tomorrow, I want you all to have written a small essay on what alchemy means to you,” the elderly professor says, closing today’s session. “This concludes the day’s class.”

With a yawn, I rip my gaze from Professor Calcification and look down at my desk. The parchment paper I set out for note-taking is completely covered in my barely legible mouth-scrawl. Still, it’s a day’s worth of lectures captured almost seamlessly in Equestrian script. All-in-all, it’s something I feel proud to have accomplished.

Once I’ve packed away my notes into the saddlebag opposite my supplies, I rise out of the seat and look around. It almost feels like somepony has their eyes on me, but there’s no one else in any of the seats behind me. In fact, it seems like all of the other students left the moment the professor concluded the lesson. But if the other students—that wretch parading around like a princess included—have left, that would leave only the professor.

“Excuse me, young miss,” the professor asks, sauntering up to my desk. His eyes are gleaming with some sort of withheld emotion or idea. “There are not many diminutive mares such as yourself here at the university. The most peculiar rumor is going around that Princess Luna has granted a diminutive young mare, such as yourself, her blessing and is sponsoring her education.

“They say that students picked by the princesses are usually a peculiar sort, but always the brightest in some aspect,” he says, smiling. “Take Princess Celestia’s chosen pupil, Ms. Twilight Sparkle, for example. The girl’s a magical prodigy, but has always been lacking in the social skills. A wistful old fool such as myself can only hope that he has the opportunity to educate Princess Luna’s blessed. Might I ask your name, dear?”

Things are getting incredibly creepy. He’s just staring at me with what I recognize now as longing. Warily eying the unicorn, I swallow gently before speaking. “Silver Script, sir.”

“Silver, eh?” The stallion chuckles to himself before turning away. “Silver is a very useful material in alchemy and enchanting. Not only is it naturally magic-conductive, it is incredibly rich in aether and albedo, and is said to have an effect on creativity and femininity when used properly in certain potions. Interestingly enough, the traditional astrological glyph of the moon is often used in association with alchemical silver. Silver is even baptized in moonlight to fight the more dangerous creatures of the world. Here you stand, a pony named for silver in the midst of rumors of the Moon’s chosen.”

I can’t help but smile. This old stallion is far sharper than his elderly exterior lets on. Not only has he basically figured me out, he’s done so using the most curious logic. The fellow clearly isn’t just for show. “I can’t say I know what you’re talking about, but if Her Majesty has given me her blessing—” I reply sweetly, “—what right would I have I to flaunt it?”

The two of us share a laugh, though neither of us can particularly tell why it’s funny. “Anyway, professor, I really need to get going.” My stomach lets out a practically vicious growl. “Things happened this morning, and I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast.”

Professor Calcification nods sagely. “A pony of your modest stature must still eat properly,” he acknowledges. “If you have any questions regarding the coursework, please remember my office door is always open in the afternoon.”

Hopping from my seat and returning my saddlebag to my back, I return the teacher’s nod. “I’ll remember that,” I say before trotting off to the dormitory.


~ 7 ~


When I reach the dorm room, I partly expect to find Gale waiting for me with a plate of bacon. Kind of a goofy thing to expect, seeing as we’ve only just met, and she has places to be too. In all fairness, I blame my stomach and my rekindled taste for flesh. It’s not like I ever bought into that stupid “Women belong in the kitchen; make me a sandwich,” bullshit—I have a vagina now, so that’s kind of stupid to perpetuate that upon myself—but part of me recalls her saying something along the lines of getting me bacon and wants to hold it to her. Call me childish and you wouldn’t be wrong.

It’s clear by the time I’ve unloaded my saddlebag and relieved my bladder that Gale isn’t around—still in class, probably. Part of me wants to just leave for the cafeteria and accidentally wander up to the griffon counter and order up a burger—a real fucking burger—and die of happiness. That hungry part of me says that Gale will probably find me eventually.

Instead, I delve into my saddlebags once again to retrieve a sheet of parchment, my inkwell and quill, and a piece of ribbon. I could easily just run off to the cafeteria and fulfill my imaginary bloodlust, but my thoughts of things that are owed reminded me that I owe somepony something as well. Dipping my quill in the ink, I ready myself for the letter I need to write.

Dear Prince Shining Armor,

I’m sorry that you had to be involved in today’s nonsense, but I honestly think you really saved my flank today.  I feel I owe you many things following this. Chiefly, I owe you my thanks. I dare say Princess Luna would be incredibly sour to hear that I’d gotten myself expelled before my first class.

Beyond that, I owe you an apology. This isn’t just about the meat business, though I admit that the incident plays a large part in it. I reacted poorly to the bigotry, and now I’m almost sure I have the Blueblood line out for blood, and any number of upstart nobles pining for Aqua Regia’s favor willing to do her bidding.

That’s another thing I wish to mention. You may have also noticed it during that meeting as well, but when Chancellor Modest slammed his hooves on his desk, I couldn’t help but notice the distinct sound of a bag of bits being disturbed. Now, I’m not making accusations, but even the Chancellor admitted that the charges made against me were outrageously overzealous, so for him to go forward with such ludicrous complaints without even wanting to hear my own side in things, he had to have been bribed. Even then, he’s the Chancellor of the University of Canterlot! I doubt that he’s scraping by, so surely he’d have to have been been offered a pretty substantial bribe—more than something one might carry to a school, even if you are a spoiled rich girl. I’m not saying that this is up your alley, but it would certainly be worth investigating.

I also owe you congratulations. Back when we met in March, I figured that if you and Her Majesty Princess Cadance were here in Canterlot—away from the Empire—you were here for one of two reasons: illness, or pregnancy. Seeing as neither you or the Princess appeared ill that day, that leaves only a foal on the way. I wish you two the best of luck, and hope your child is a bouncing bundle of joy. Oh, and don’t worry. I’m not gonna blab.


~Silver Script

Contented with the letter, I roll up the parchment and tie it with the ribbon, but my mood immediately sours when a realization strikes; I can’t give it to him right this instant. Chances are that I won’t see Shining Armor any time soon unless something else major happens. Why, then, did I even write this letter?

Disgusted with my own shortsightedness, I deposit the scroll on my desk. Groaning, I flop onto my back and stare across the now upside-down chamber. Opposite of me is Gale’s desk, already covered in belongings and little knick-knacks, unlike my own, which is simply a dumping ground for my saddlebags and a convenient writing surface. Hanging above Gale’s desk, however, is something that catches my attention—a calendar.

Now, it’s probably the silliest of all things to catch my eye, but it’s no great secret that the passing of days doesn’t always register in my head. Most of the times I look at a calendar, I find myself asking myself where all the time goes. Today, however, I realize that in all the excitement—chaos is more like it; Discord would be elated, I’m sure—of the last few days that I’ve completely ignored the date. The first unmarked date on the calendar reads Tuesday, April the fourth.

I had my first session with Doctor Clear Conscience three weeks ago today. That means I have yet another appointment with the good stallion, but I’m not at all eager about the prospects of seeing him after everything that has happened today and last night. After all, I do have things that I need to talk to him about. There is even a certain subject that I think I’m ready to broach with him. Maybe this will be just the sort of stress relief I need.

A loud growl escaping my stomach reminds me that I’ve been putting something else off now. I chuckle at my own ignorance of my body’s needs. Were I still human, living happily at what was once home, I never would have gotten into this state. Particularly, I recall that the grazing habit I’d developed in my late teens ensured I never had to hear my stomach growling in hunger. Then again, that’s why I was corpulent as a human.

Rolling off of my back, I stagger to my hooves. Yeah, I’ve definitely been putting off mealtime for far too long. My legs are all shaky and I feel like I could stoop as low as killing and eating Aqua Regia of all ponies... Er, wow. I really need to not ever think that again. That’s disturbing not just on the level that I was welcoming of the idea of murder and cannibalism; no part of Aqua Regia will never enter my mouth, with or without my consent. 

Staggering toward the door, I frown. “Why am I so crazy and stupid?”


~ 7 ~


Upon entering the cafeteria, the stares of the students are exactly as I expected. I imagine more than a few rumors of my failed expulsion and nature as a cannibal have made their rounds around the student body. The sudden silence at my entrance certainly gives credence to the idea that I’m at the very least a social pariah now.

Ponies and griffons alike exchange glances while taking furtive glances around. It’s almost as if they’re looking for something, but nothing is happening. Just more of that awkward silence. Am I missing something? Is a pail of cold water supposed to drop on my head?

Finally, a slow clap erupts from one of the griffon tables. A quick glance reveals the griffon bard, Gearalt, to be the source of the applause. Slowly but surely, other griffons begin clapping. The sound lightens my mood almost immediately as it becomes clear that I’ve seemingly won the approval of the university’s griffons.

What comes next, however, catches me completely by surprise. The sound of hooves stomping joins the raucous griffon applause. Ponies all around the chamber erupt in applause and cheering as I pick my way through the tables toward the serving counters. Maybe the server yesterday spoke the truth. Maybe I really have won over the common ponies?

Almost hesitantly, a stallion detaches himself from one of the tables and places himself in my path. I recognize him almost immediately as being one of the ponies from my class. “I saw what you did, last night,” the stallion says loudly. “It takes a lot of courage to stand up a noble like you did. The fact that you’re still here means that you’re really something else. While we might not approve of your... dietary choices, know that we’re cheering you on.”

Wow, wasn’t expecting that one. “Thanks,” I meekly reply . “I might be a special kind of crazy, but I’m glad to hear it.”

With that over, the applause dies down and every student in the room returns to their meals and conversations. Left free to get my meal, I trot forward until I’m at a point between the two service counters. Almost unthinkingly, I saunter toward the griffon counter—much to the chagrin of the ponies in the cafeteria. What can I do but drool? The smells coming from there are intoxicating.

The griffon behind the counter gives me an amused smile as I study the menu. “What can I get for you, little bird?” he asks in a tone somewhere between mocking and teasing.

I don’t speak for a few more moments, still deciding on what I want. The hamburger looks like a good choice, but I’m not sure if it’s just completely ground pork, or if there’s ground beef. Is that even a thing here, given the sentience of cows? “How tender is the pulled pork?” 

My inquiring tone is steady, momentarily stunning the griffon. I don’t think he honestly expected a pony could ever sound so casual about ordering meat. “Well, I reckon it should be tender enough for your herbivorous little teeth, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Sounds good then,” I reply. “I’ll take that, with a side of salad. None of that stuff with the chicken though.”

The server gives me an appraising look before nodding and disappearing into the kitchen. When he returns, I’m happily greeted by the sight of a pile of pork between two halves of a bun with a side of salad, all placed conveniently on a tray. Quickly thanking the server, I bugger off with my meal.

On pure instinct, I make my way toward the table occupied by Gearalt. When I finally get there, I’m rather disappointed to find that the griffon is there by himself. Gale and Gaius are nowhere to be seen. There’s just Gearalt, his meal on the table in front of him, and the guitar clutched in his claws.

“Afternoon, little lassie,” the griffon bard greets, idling strumming his guitar. “Keepin’ up the meat diet, I see. Good on ye. Don’t ye be payin’ the judgemental ponies any mind.”

“Yeah.” I take my pulled pork sandwich between my hooves, and am instantly transported to some sort of nirvana upon biting into it. “This is what’s been missing from my life.”

“Glad to hear,” he replies, closing his eyes. Eventually, he begins strumming more than just idle notes. This time, it’s an almost jazzy tune. “Been trying to work a little tune up for my class. Can’t seem to get it right though.”

I close my eyes and listen to the tune he’s piecing together. I’d like to say that I’m startled to find it familiar, but to be honest, I’m all out of surprise. “Not trying to criticize or anything,” I comment, taking another bite of my meal. “This is the sort of tune that works better with lyrics.” Almost as an afterthought, I cock my head. “Mind if I spin you a line and see where we go?”

“I wouldn’t have pegged ye for a songbird, but sure.” He grins widely. “From the top.”

As Gearalt begins once more, I shift anxiously while ticking away the notes in my head until the jump-in point. “Fly me to the sky, and let me dance about in space. Let me see what fall is like on the lunar face,” I begin in a shaky soprano, once more closing my eyes. “In other terms, hold my hoof. In other terms, pony, kiss me.”

I pause, listening once more to his jazz-laden strumming, waiting for my hop-in point again. “Fill my life with joy, and let me dine just a bit more. This is what I crave for, and I come back wanting more,” I sing, becoming more at ease with my singing voice. “In other terms, don’t be rude. In other terms, pass the food.”

Exhaling, I open my eyes and smile. “So how was that? I thought it sounded pretty good, even if I’m no Sinatra.” 

The bard just gives me this half-cocked smile, while shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear ye were serenading yer sandwich. Kind of creepy, tell ye true.” Sure enough, I look at my hooves and my sandwich  is still clutched firmly between them. A low applause erupts from the tables around us. “It’s a moot point though. The crowd loves it.”

Looking around, many of the griffons and ponies at nearby tables are clapping and stomping their hooves in approval. “I guess not too many ponies expected dinner and a show,” I note with an amused chuckle. Glancing around, I take note of the stallion I spoke to earlier. He’s one of the few who isn’t applauding. Instead, he covers his face with a hoof and shakes his head.


~ 7 ~


Walking back to the dorm room, I’m lucky enough to spot Twilight Velvet along one of the hallways. She’s just standing there in front of one of dormitory doors, like she’s just finished chatting up the occupants of the dorm. At first, I consider just walking by and making straight for my room, to ready myself for my upcoming meeting with Clear Conscience. Memory of the letter to Shining Armor rises to the forefront of my mind, leaving me little choice but to freeze in my tracks behind her. 

“Hello again,” I greet as she turns away from the door. “That was quite the crazy turn of events this morning, wasn’t it?”

The unicorn mare flinches in surprise at my unexpected greeting. After taking a moment to calm herself, she affords me a weary look. “Good afternoon, Silver,” she replies in a tired voice. She glances back at the door she had just exited before giving me a smile. “Are all of my charges going to be troublesome this year?”

I lower my head in apology. “I deserve that,” I answer, before returning my gaze to her. “Problems with another student, ma’am?”

Velvet shakes her head with a bothered look on her face, beginning to walk away from the door. “In addition to your near expulsion, I’ve had reports of three fights, two anxiety attacks...” She glances at me over her shoulder as I follow suit. “Now the poor thing in the room back there is adamant that coming here was a mistake. She wants to leave tomorrow.”

“Did she say why she wants to leave so soon?” I ask, sympathetically. “Is she homesick?”

“Not at all,” velvet replies sadly. “I’m not sure I should be telling you, but given that there’s only one context to her fears, I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you.” She pauses to look around before continuing. “She’s worried that a cannibal mare—I believe she referred to a rather ancient legend regarding four meat-eating mares—here in the university is going to come and eat her in her sleep. Her roommate found her hurriedly packing, muttering about a gray demon. I managed to talk her down, from leaving, but I think she still wants to be in a different hall.”

In spite of my already pale appearance, I’m fairly certain I blanched upon hearing this. Did I really traumatise somepony to the point that they think I’m some kind of Hannibal Lecter in pony skin? “Oh jeez.” It’s all I can utter in my stunned state. We continue on a bit longer down the hallway, growing closer to my dorm room.

“I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable in me telling her why you’re the way you are,” she says warily. “If she could hear that, she might not think you’re so bad, but I know that your past is a bit touchy for you.”

Spotting my door ahead, I stop on the spot. “What’s her name?” I ask firmly. “It might be best if I go talk to her in your stead. I want her to know that I’m not a monster, and I figure it’s better if she hears it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Turning to face me, Velvet gives me an unsure look. “Are you sure?” At my vigorous nod, she continues, “Her name is Ice Blossom. If you could speak with her, or—better yet—befriend her, that would be wonderful.”

“Sure, no problem,” I reply, softly. “I’ll stop by to see her after I return from my appointment.” I smile glancing at my door. “While I have you here, do you think maybe you could do me a favor? I have a letter of thanks and apology I’d really like to get to Shining Armor for saving my hide today, but I have no idea how long it’ll take to get to him through official channels.”

She smiles knowingly at me. “If you can help me with Ice Blossom, I think I can help you with your letter.”
> Chapter 8: Admittance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s funny, the way things work. Up until recently, I blamed myself for something that was completely out of my control on a near daily basis, but now that I have context for what is and isn’t resultant of my actions, I can’t help but feel really stupid. Leave it to the mother of the pony I nearly murdered to put things into perspective.

“Even recently, I’ve still been deluding myself. I would tell myself that I want to find a cure for petrification not because I feel responsible, but because I genuinely want to. Wow, was I ever wrong, doc.” Pausing, I glance away from the ceiling to appraise the creme stallion occupying the chair opposite of the chaise longue I’m on. The unicorn strokes his gray Santa Claus beard idly with one hoof as he takes notes. “You were right when you said I was obsessed, but I just didn’t know how badly I was letting it affect me.”

Clear Conscience tilts his head, giving me a disarming smile. “Oh? Tell me about this change in opinion.” His tone is not at all judgemental “Did something happen?”

Rolling onto my back, I give him an upside-down frown. “Well, to tell the truth, I’ve been deluding myself into thinking that my actions and opinions weren’t affected by my obsession. I thought as long as I was justified in my research and I could find a cure, everypony else could go choke on a dick as long as I left my mark.” I blush at the frankness of my rather obscene phrasing, but I make no effort to correct myself. “Instead, I’ve just been a really anti-social pony because of it.

“Yesterday, at the entrance ceremony, I sat beside a member of a very prominent noble family. For whatever reason, she thought I was a noble, and perhaps sought for me to become one of her many sycophants,” I explain, feeling my gorge beginning to rise as I recount the incident. “When my roommate—a griffon—showed me to the cafeteria, the noble assumed she was a bodyguard...”

“You didn’t like that,” he observes, noting the tone of my voice.

“I was pissed off in a way I haven’t been since I came to Equestria. Here I am in what is, for all intents and purposes, paradise with some narrow-minded noble automatically assuming that the griffon beside me is a bodyguard or underling!” I say, my voice rising in intensity with each syllable. “See, back on Earth, we have an expression: racial stereotyping. The basic concept is that you apply negative stereotypes to people of ethnicities other than your own. White people are all racist. Black people are all thieves. Asians are all mathematical geniuses. That kind of shit. Obviously, griffons are only good for bounty hunters and bodyguards, right?”

Sighing, I flick my eyes away. “Needless to say, I kind of lost it.” I sheepishly attempt to droop my ears in shame, but of course it isn’t the most simple thing to do when you’re upside down. “I chewed her out in front of the entire cafeteria, not just for being a bigot, but for assuming too much.” Letting out a heavy sigh, I return my gaze to the ceiling. “I told her in no uncertain terms that I had no use for ponies like her and to ‘Take your noble privilege and shit all over it for all I care.’”

Clear flinches visibly at my phrasing. “Ouch,” he comments. “I take it that didn’t turn out very well.”

“Eh, could have been worse,” I flail a hoof dismissively. “There was an attempt to get me expelled, but somepony I knew really helped save my arse. That’s not particularly what’s bothering me now, though.”

“Oh?”

Rolling back onto my belly, I rest my chin in my forehooves. “I was so riled up that given the opportunity to eat meat again, I jumped at it. I didn’t give a second thought to how it might affect the other ponies,” I solemnly moan. “I mean, yeah, I got the opportunity to reclaim something of myself I’d lost in becoming a pony—don’t even try to convince me to give meat up again—and I even suffered a bit for it, but do you know what I found out today?”

His query is ripe with concern at the rising anxiety in my own tone. “What did you learn?”

“Some poor young mare nearly quit the university because of what I did last night.” I sniffle and try to hide myself. “I know this is actually my fault—unlike Pound—because of the things she was saying. I traumatized the poor girl into thinking that I’m some vicious cannibal mare out of mythology. Mare of Thrace my fetlock.”

“So you feel guilty for the way others are being affected by your choices now that you recognize what things are actually a result of your actions,” he surmises.

“I guess so,” I mumble, turning my head to look out the window. I’ve been here for nearly an hour, and the sun is already making its last stand on the horizon. Soon enough, Princess Luna will be raising the moon, and this session will end. Glancing back at the doctor, I see his quill wrapped up in his magic, scribbling furiously away on his notepad. “After this session is over, I’m actually going to try to ease the fears of the young mare. Luna knows it’s the right thing to do.”

 Doctor Clear Conscience looks at me with poorly veiled pride. It takes me a full moment to realize why he might be proud of me. “Very good, Silver,” he expresses softly. “You’re learning.” We exchange silent stares for a long while before he clears his throat. “Now that we’ve cleared that section of your troubles, I was hoping we could discuss next week’s top—”

I don’t bother letting him finish. “My parents.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Next week, we are talking about my parental abandonment issues,” I explain. “I was ready to get that out of the way this week, but I like to ramble like a damned idiot, it seems.” That last part immediately draws a disapproving glare from the therapist. Go figure, right? I engage in an act of self-recrimination, and the doc gets cross. “Okay, sorry. I know insulting myself does nothing for my self esteem. Can you please stop giving me that look?”

Sighing, Clear closes his notebook, placing it aside. “Alright, so I’ll see you at our next session, then,” he says, shaking his head. “Just make sure to discuss an alternate time for next week’s session with Lacy before you go. I have to be out of town at our usual time.”

With a vigorous nod, I hop off of the chaise, and trot over to the door. The pile beside it, my cloak and saddlebags, is exactly as I left it. Sure, it’s messier than hanging it on the coat rack in front of which I dropped my belongings, but I’ve always preferred keeping my things together when I’m out. I always have, and always will.

I wordlessly pull on my cloak and lope out the open door. That’s something else I’ve never gotten about Clear Conscience. He has this really odd concept of an open door policy. The door remains open as a sign of trust in both him and the respect ponies should hold for the privacy of patients in a therapist’s office. It’s kind of scary the way he thinks, but what’s worse is that it actually makes sense in that strange pony way. At least the open door policy expedites the comings and goings of patients. 

Soon enough, I’m rounding the corner in the hallway and passing his secretary’s desk. In fact, my timing is apparently so good that I’m here just at the right opportunity to hear Lacy Locks saying, “For the last time, Prince Blueblood, your alcoholism counselling sessions are on Thursday; not Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday.” When I look, sure enough there’s Blueblood, drunk as a skunk. “Further, if you continue  coming here while intoxicated, I’m going to call the guard.”

The pompous noble, in all his pickled glory, puffs up his chest and scowls at the secretary. “How dare you speak to me—a prince!—with such impudence!” he growls, his volume increasing with every syllable. “You will address me as Your Highness, or Your Excellency in the presence of my subjects.” 

To accentuate his point, Blueblood envelops his horn in a shimmering blue field of magic. All at once, I feel a pain at the base of my neck, just above my withers, as I’m jerked across the room and held floating between the mare and stallion. As the secretary and I exchange our own pained looks, the intoxicated aristocrat begins a tirade about lowborn pegasi and earth ponies learning their place in life.

Now, I’d like to pretend that I had some sort inspiring speech that would convince the willpower-impaired aristocrat to leave peacefully and work on restoring his public image. Unfortunately, no words come to me. All I can think about is the magic being used to hold me here, noting a shiver of fear spreading through my heart. I force myself to look away from him.

Given all that’s happened to me because of magic, it’s no real surprise that I’m uncomfortable with magic. After all, my entire life was altered—ruined might be a term I would use if I were feeling more dramatic—by the magics of one little unicorn and her magical world. Wouldn’t you be hesitant about it if every time the word floated to mind, you are reminded that this world isn’t your home by choice?

Most of the time though, it’s not an issue. It’s, for the most part, a facet of everyday life for ponies. It kind of helps that nopony willingly gets into your personal space with it. Okay, yes, you do have unicorn doctors, nurses, and the like who are very hooves-on with their magic, but there’s a certain degree of trust involved, as with all medical professionals. Even living with Candy’s unicorn mother, Forceps, it was never really a problem. Living with a unicorn, you get used to it, just as she gets used to your personal boundaries.

Unlike the casual levitation of objects or a physical scan from a doctor, however, Blueblood’s magical grip just feels... wrong. There’s no other word to describe it, really. In addition to the pain it is inflicting, there’s this lingering sense of perversion radiating from it. The aura is cool, cruel, and unfit to rule.

In a way, it almost feels as invasive as the spell Shining Armor used to delve into my mind alongside Chancellor Modest in order to prove my innocence. I remember in that instance that there was a pulling sensation at my mind that—in spite of my over-eager consent—left me feeling rather violated, baring my memories and very thoughts for both to see. It’s no surprise that the stallions felt ill, afterward; my disorganized mind showed them more than just what they needed to see. They may or may not have also born witness to a certain drunken tryst many moons ago.

Blueblood’s cruel levitation spell pulls at the base of my neck, and so too is my discomfort practically projected back unto him. I’m almost certain that he is aware of my unease, and even reveling in that fact. Being used to getting his way, it only makes sense that he would know spells that would continue to allow him to do so. It is for this reason—this cruelty and sense of invasion—that I am afraid.

I bite back my fear and random thoughts—oh how he could just snap my neck like a pretzel—and return my pleading eyes to him. All I manage to say through the pain of being magically held by the scruff of my neck is, “Your Highness... Please! Let me down!” I even whimper pitifully as I speak. “You’re h-hurting me.”

Blueblood is not at all gentle as he puts me down. In fact, putting me down is probably not the most accurate phrase to apply to the situation. It’s more like he dropped me. He dropped me on my goddamn face. I’m not exactly sure how I ever managed to go a year without bumping my muzzle—misadventures as Lyra aside—but this is easily one of the more painful things I’ve experienced in Equestria. It’s right up there with having a shard of crystal stabbed through my shoulder.

Even as I rub my muzzle in pain, I can hear Lacey shouting, “Yeah, add assault to the list of things I’ll call the guards for, you lout.” Through tear-filled eyes, I watch that royal arsehole trotting off indifferently through the door. That sight is quickly blocked by Lacey offering me a hoof up. “Are you okay?”


~ 8 ~


After being cooped up in that office for an hour and then subsequently being rudely held against my will, my wings ache to be put to use. It’s just as well. The streets are oddly crowded for this time of night and it does nothing to ease the claustrophobic sensation welling up inside me; I’d swear there’s some sort of festival or celebration going on, but for the life of me I can’t imagine what it is.

To make things worse, ponies are just standing around. They aren’t making any efforts to move out of the way, or even walk for that matter. Ponies are just scattered inconveniently about the street, staring expectantly up at the mountain—Unity Summit, Twilight’s tutoring reminds me. A look to the sky reveals absolutely nothing out of the ordinary aside from the lack of air traffic.

Much preferring a quick flight to the normal slog through the labyrinthine city, I push off from the ground and let my wings take over for me. Why not, right? Have wings, will travel, as they say. Within moments, I’m rising up above the rooftops. It might even be the most cliched thing in the world—fuck knows it’s the punniest—but after being subject to boorish Blueblood’s abusive touch, the ability to take flight and escape the crowd is positively uplifting.

There’s another reason I’d much rather fly: as great as Starling’s compass is at getting me where I need to go, the thing is conspicuous as all hell when you keep whipping it out to make sure the needle didn’t change direction. That’s not even taking to account the hide cord; the magical artifact must have spent time in the possession of an omnivorous or carnivorous being at some point, because nopony would wear such a thing around their necks otherwise. Come to think of it, I think that’s why that curio merchant was so eager to sell that thing. Maybe I should ask—

Any thoughts I might have had slip from my mind when I cross over a park not too far off from the university and something bright and noisy streaks by on my right. There isn’t enough time for me to get a good look at it, but I’m smart enough to recognize that keening whistle and accompanying static hiss. Even if I wasn’t, there’s no mistaking the next few screamers flying up past me. “Oh you have got to be kidding me!” I shout to nopony in particular, as I screw my eyes shut to protect my retinas. “Did I seriously just fly into a fireworks display?” At least if I rely on a pegasus’ perception of air currents, I should be able to anticipate their paths enough to not get hit.

All at once, this peaceful flight over Canterlot feels more like I’m piloting a fighter jet through a hail of anti-aircraft fire. So many are coming so close to hitting me that my coat is practically standing on end from the fear. Only split-second jerks to the side save me. What would happen if one struck me?  Would I simply plummet to the ground, leaving a bloody smear on the cobblestone walkway?

Just as suddenly as the wave of screamers began, it ends just as quickly. I heave a sigh of relief as I flick my eyelids open, noting that I’m still headed directly for the university atrium. Somepony must have seen me and called an emergency stop to the display until I’m safely out of the way. Glancing down at the ground though, I see nothing until a bright flash fills my vision, and a resounding bang jerks me slightly off-course. “Fuck!” I scream out in pain, as my overexposed retinae get an unhealthy dose of bright light.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t blink away the black spot in the center of my vision. A panic fills my gullet as the situation hits me; I’m literally flying blind, and nopony knows I’m up here. “This really is not my day.” I whimper as I pull my eyes shut. There’s no other option, then. I’ve gotta pull myself into a lower flight path until I can feel the rooftop’s effect on the air currents. It’s dangerous in that I could very well get caught up in a blast, but my only other choice is to guess when I’m over the university grounds.

“Here goes nothing...”


~ 8 ~


By the time I’ve reached the stairwell to the Sagittarius dorm, there’s still an enormous black spot eating into my vision, and I feel like my mane may have been on fire at some point during my flight. A normal pony would probably be panicking at this point, and by all rights I should be panicked that I might be more than just flash blind, but I honestly am not thinking straight today. Getting blown up a couple of times in one night tends to do that to you.

Unfortunately, the air in hallway is flowing in the wrong direction for me to be able to clearly get a mental image of the path ahead. Being blinded even temporarily is a problem for most ponies, and not having the use of a secondary sense such as Wind Sight or magic would put them at a major disadvantage. Pegasi, on the other hoof, have another card in play, however. Whereas a unicorn or earth pony might have to hobble along with one hoof against the wall, a pegasus can just stretch out one wing like an arm and use her primary feathers to trace along the walls and doors. It works for mazes, so why not your dormitory, right?

Instead of heading straight down the hall and three doors around the bend—not that I counted, I just remember—it’s probably best that I stop by my own dormitory first. Not only do I want to drop off my cloak and saddlebags, I need to wash up. There’s no doubt that if my mane is singed, the rest of my coat is probably dirty and smells of smoke or chemicals. As much as I might enjoy smelling like arson, the mare I’m going to be visiting is scared enough of me without me looking like I just burst through the gates of Tartarus.

With a groan, I push open the door, hoping that I am not mistaken and pushing open the door to the wrong dorm room. The fact that there are no locks on these doors is worrisome in that regard. “Gale?” I call out, leaning against the open door. “You in?”

“I’m right here, can’t you s—whoa!” I hear her reply. Well, that answers that, she’s definitely here, and by the sound of it, she’s over at her own desk.. “Silver girl, what happened to you? You look like you got too close to the business end of a dragon!”

“Every end of a dragon means business, Gale” I can’t help but rely on a droll tone of voice. After all, my eyesight is still gone, I’m probably more than a little scorched, and I still need to visit the pony who thinks I am evil. Putting up with somepony ragging on dragons is honestly not on my to-do list. “There was a fireworks display this evening that I was not made aware of. Turns out sharing a flight path with a large starburst is like getting too close to the sun.”

It doesn’t take eyesight to know when you’re being stared at, and I’m definitely being stared at. “Wait, so are you blind right now?” she asks, suddenly a lot more concerned.

“Just a smidgen,” I chuckle, closing the door with my back hoof. Theres no point standing in the doorway, so I extend a wing to the wall and make my way over to my own desk and bed. Another thing that doesn’t take eyesight is the shucking of a cloak and saddlebags, which I’m glad for. “I’ve kinda got somepony to go see, and she’s already a bit skittish of me, so tell me the truth. How bad do I look?”

Gale plods across the room and makes a circle around me. At various points, she runs a claw across various points on my coat or mane. “Your coat isn’t so bad. A shower will probably help in that respect, but your mane is probably a lost cause.” There’s a bit of a bit of a snicker. “You’re probably going to need a cut.”

“Great,” I grumble.

After making my way into the ensuite bathroom and a harrowing ordeal in the shower, I feel presentable enough for what I need to do. I’m not going to win any beauty contests if my mane is singed enough that I need a haircut, but after a quick brushing—what is it about grooming each other that ponies and griffons find so enticing?—and an explanation of why I’m going to visit the aforementioned pony, Gale seems to be content that I’m not going to scare the pants off of anypony.

I can somewhat see again, but you could still practically walk right up to me and buck me in the face. I wouldn’t see it until the last possible moment. It’s certainly a wonderful handicap to be walking into a potentially hostile situation, even if—at worst—it should only end in screaming. After all, it doesn’t mean she’s not going to fight back if she feels threatened. That’s cornered-animal instinct territory right there, which is something I’m all too familiar with.

For that reason, I am a bit more tentative making my way down the hallway. Back on Earth, I would probably be pepper-sprayed if I showed up on the doorstep of a woman utterly terrified of me. For all I know, I’ll get a canister of bear repellant in my face if they even open the door. It still needs to be done, regardless of my potential for further misfortune.

Strangely, there’s nopony else about the hallway tonight. Even the dorm rooms I pass on the way are completely silent. Everypony is probably off observing the fireworks commemorating whatever event or holiday I’ve forgotten. This thought gives me pause. “Will she even be home?” I can’t help but ask myself aloud. It’s a valid concern. This Ice Blossom could very well be out watching the display this very minute. Maybe this was a mistake? No. I can’t walk away without trying, not after I gave Velvet my word.

Arriving at my destination, I allow myself a momentary pause of silence before knocking loudly on the door. There’s no answer right away, but that doesn’t mean there’s nopony there. Again, I knock in an evenly paced three-beat accompanied by my voice. “Hello?” I call out, suddenly conscious of my voice. Would she recognize it? “Is Ice Blossom in?”

No response comes from the other side of the door. The quiet reigns long enough that I’m convinced that she isn’t in, but just as I turn to scarper, the faint scraping of hooves on the other side of the door. Still, no answer comes. Even after another minute of silence, nopony replies.

“Ice Blossom?” I once again ask in a soft voice. “My name is Silver Script, and I was hoping we could talk for a bit.”

“Go away!” a heavily accented voice screams from within the dorm room.

Yup! She definitely remembers my voice. “This is all a misunderstanding!” I cry, put off by her insistence that I am going to bring her harm. “Look, I spoke with Twilight Velvet—you know, the dorm’s matron?—and I heard that you wish to leave Sagittarius Hall, if not the school, because of what I did in the cafeteria. I just wanted to talk to you about that. May I please come in?”

“No!” she screams once more. “You are just telling me this so that I will let down my guard! You think me to be foolish and naive like lamb, but I am not! You will not eat me!” Her voice is shrill and frantic, but still her accent is unmistakable. There’s something to be said about the way one pronounces certain characters, and the way she struggles with her Ls, I cannot help but be reminded of non-native English speakers from the Far East.

Difficulty strikes as I struggle against my desire to stomp my hooves in frustration. Still she insists that I’m some heartless monster here to gobble her up. Is this how Princess Luna felt on her first Nightmare Night? Bloody hell! “I’m not going to eat you, damn it all!” I reply, losing my cool. “Oh no! I ate the flesh of a non-sapient species other than fish! Watch out! I must be a damn cannibal! Do you even hear yourself? 

“Nopony bats an eyelash at griffons, but Celestia forbid someone who grew up in a culture much unlike anything these ponies can understand simply has a little nibble of chicken without causing a great to-do,” I continue ranting at the door. Once I realize that yelling at the pony I was attempting to calm down isn’t helping, I hang my head in shame. “I guess hoping I could ease your fears was too much to ask. You’ll never let an outsider like myself speak up in my defense. Instead, I just sound like a spoiled child.”

With a sigh, I turn away from the door. Blinking away tears, I take a shuddering step in the direction of my dorm, not even bothering to extend a wing to the wall for guidance. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for yelling and wasting your time Miss Blossom.” It’s a bit late to be using respectful titles, but what the hell; I can at least surrender as gracefully as a pony can when they’re shaking with anger and disappointment.

Luna preserve me... Did I really just attack the pony I was supposed to be helping over something incredibly petty as an indignity? She plans on leaving the dorm because she’s convinced I’m going to eat her. All I had to do was calmly try to reason with her, but instead, I lose my shit and yell at her. If this is how I help, maybe I belong in an asylum.

“You sounded so sincere about what you said,” that incredibly accented voice calls out when I’m just near the corner. “Do you really come from a culture outside Equestria or the Griffon Kingdoms?”

“More outside than you know,” I mutter wistfully.

“I... also come from afar,” she says. “Perhaps I was quick to be swept up in fear of the unknown. So quick I was to forget that Equestrian culture is so unlike my own—so much more accepting of outsiders.”

I turn my head back to face her, thankful that I can vaguely make out her appearance. That’s good; if I am starting to see again, that means my eyesight is returning to normal and that I didn’t completely burn out my retinae. “You’re Neighponese, aren’t you?” It’s honestly not that far of a stretch to imagine. For one, she speaks in that manner where Ls come out as Rs, and her Equestrian comes off rather stiffly. That her own people are less than accepting of outsiders or the unknown is not dissimilar to the Japanese. Sure, they tolerate outsiders who respect their ways, but like everybody else, you’ll be treated like an idiot if you act like one. Given all the other strange congruities in the world, and my previous suspicions that Neighpon is in fact this world’s Japan, I feel confident enough banking on this.

“I... yes.” She seems caught off guard by that. Her frost-white posture shifts nervously, and I’m sure if I could make out her expression, it would be one of surprise. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Just the accent, really,” I reply, smiling weakly. “The rest was based on speculation. I could tell you about it, if you want. I mean, I’d have to tell you my entire story for it to make much sense, but I don’t mind.”

Again, Ice Blossom shifts anxiously on the spot in front of her door. “I... Do you promise not to eat me?” It’s not so much a question as it is a tease. I still nod in order to appease her. “I have time for a story.”


~ 8 ~


“Let me start off by saying that this story is going to sound insane to you, and not just because I very nearly went insane once,” I joke as I lay down on the floor in front of her bed. “There are probably going to be a lot of things that won’t make much sense, but please bear with me until the end of my tale.

“I wasn’t always a pony. Heck, I wasn’t always a mare, either. I used to be an omnivorous creature called a human. The best way I can describe it is a tall, bipedal ape without much fur. Needless to say, humans aren’t native to this realm—another universe operating on entirely different principles, really. Humans evolved alone—for they were the only sentients to be found—on a world without magic or Celestia and Luna raising the sun and the moon.

“Because humans did not possess the innate magics of pegasi, unicorns, or earth ponies, and bereft of things such as claws or tails, they had to rely on ingenuity to survive. They created tools to fend off predators, and hunt prey animals. If an environment proved inhospitable, they would find ways to change them in order to do so, such as building shelter, or agriculture. I could go on and on about the evolutionary path of humans, but that would be straying from my point. Needless to say, they are very advanced technology-wise.

“My story starts one day, almost a year ago, when I received a perplexing communique from a unicorn of this world. She claimed to wish to partake in a cultural exchange of sorts through switching places. Ideally, her spell should have placed me here in Equestria while she would appear in my world, but it misfired, instead stranding me in her body on my world, and her in Equestria in mine. Needless to say, my family was not the most understanding on the issue.”

I watch contentedly as the implications of a trans-dimensional spell sinks into her pretty little head. No, really! Ice Blossom is a really pretty mare, and I’m not just saying that. Her mane is a beautiful frost-blue that perfectly offsets her snow-white coat, and is styled not unlike Princess Luna’s before the regent regained her power.

“Over the next day or so, a great number of misfortunes befell me—none more dire than a head injury that managed to activate a rather unfortunate unicornian biomagical process. Memories and a voice that were not my own began to seep into my head. My mind was being overwritten.

“Meanwhile, in Equestria, my host was living it up in my body. She was having such a great time partying and becoming intoxicated that she very well near had my form gelded. After all, she was unused to the different brain chemistry of my male, human body. But for the fact that a very important pony stuck her neck out for both me and my host, I’d still be male today, if not—sadly—a eunuch. Instead, a spell was cast on my human body to make it female.”

I watch Blossom’s heterochromic eyes flick away in disgust at hearing what Lyra had gotten up to. In her grassy-green left eye, I recognize condemnation, while in the yellow right I see only pity. Part of my imagination insists that she yearns to say something along the lines of how dreadful that must be.

Before continuing, I shoot her a knowing smile. “Upon hearing about my condition, my host contacted the very unicorn who prevented the gelding for guidance. She quickly set out attempting to find some way to bring me to Equestria in order to attempt to prevent my mind from being replaced. Not a day later, the unicorn and another friend showed up in my world to bring me to Equestria.

“Everypony likes to think that their first days in Equestria were happy days for all; mine were anything but.” I look down, away from the earth pony before me. “I mean yeah, I saved a filly’s life, went to a spa, and had a Welcome-to-Equestria from the town’s resident party-pony, but that same day, just as much bad occurred all on that one day. 

“My host’s body had just entered estrus, making things awkward enough for me, but as the day went on, I noticed my body—the one being occupied by the pony that caused all this—was changing at a terrifying rate. There was nothing to be done, sadly. My human body could not handle all of Equestria’s ambient magic, and all the magic it had been exposed to instigated an irreversible process.

“To make the situation worse, I was foolish enough to allow myself to become intoxicated at the party.” I can feel my cheeks burning at that memory. “In my drunken stupor, I did some... things that my sober self simply could not cope with the next morning. It must be said that my mental state at this point was incredibly fragile.”

“What happened?” Blossom can’t help but ask. It’s kind of amusing just how interested in my story she is. Would it be that interesting to other ponies? Hmm... That’s something to look into. No! I’ve got a story to tell right now, never mind writing about it.

“Something really stupid that couldn’t have been prevented happened—something my fragile mind insisted I could have prevented given my proximity.” I look up at her sadly. “Thinking about it now, maybe in saving a filly the previous day had instilled a bit of hero syndrome in me, and part of me wanted to save somepony else. It took me until just recently to realize how stupid I was about it all.

 “When I failed, something inside me broke. I became angry and paranoid of the ponies trying to help me. It got to the point where I said some really horrible things before jumping out a window and running off into the night. Can you believe I was convinced that the unicorn trying to help me had been replaced by a changeling?” With a self deprecating laugh, I look away from her again.“The next day, I showed up in the middle of town, and publicly challenged the unicorn to a duel. By all rights, I should have been creamed right from the beginning, but in my hysterical fervor I fought like a mare possessed.

“I very nearly killed the mare... and that sick, broken part of me believed it would have been the right thing to do,” I whimper, unable to keep tears from my eyes. My crowning moment of awesome in defeating Twilight Sparkle in battle, something I should by all rights be proud of is forever tainted by the fact that I accomplished it all with the intent to kill. “If not for convenient royal intervention, I very well could have become some sort of monster.”

Much to my surprise, Ice Blossom lopes off of her bed and before I can even react, she pulls me into a hug. “Bakemono ja nai! You’re not a monster,” she whispers gently into my ear. “I know that now.”

There’s something incredibly funny about hearing Japanese—sorry, Neighponese—after being away from it for so long. It reminds me of the small things I really missed from back home. I can’t help but start giggling, and she is quick to join me. Returning her hug, I softly speak into her ear. “Thank you for listening to my story—and believing me—Ice Blossom. There aren’t many ponies who haven’t already been aware of my situation who have heard this story. Do you still plan on leaving Sagittarius Hall?”

She shakes her head, which in this position feels suspiciously like nuzzling. “No... I understand now that you are just different because of where you’re from.” Pulling away, she graces me with the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen. “We are similar in that sense.”

Just when I think things are working out, however, the door creaks open and in trots a unicorn bearing a striking resemblance to a certain famous DJ pony. “Whoa, Icy! Don’t panic, but the Mare of Thrace has invaded our room and is right in front of you!” the mare exclaims in a panicked, if not overly dramatic. Her horn begins glowing, and a low sound begins filling my ears. “I’ve got this! You get to safety!”

Backing away from Ice Blossom, I frown as the tone increases in bass and intensity. This cannot be fucking happening. I am not about to get bass-blasted by some Vinyl Scratch wannabe simply for making a friend, am I? Is fate really so cruel?

“Chill Beat, stop! Stop!” Ice Blossom shouted frantically. “She is harmless!”

The unicorn doesn’t listen at all. Instead, the bass tone peaks before a concussive force slams into me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” I moan as I tumble off into the wall. The last thing I see before I black out completely is the earth pony shouting at the unicorn. “Worst... character introduction... ever...”
> Chapter 9: Routine
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Look, are you sure you’re okay?” Chill Beat asks as I struggle against her magic grip. “I can take you to the infirmary if you’re not. That’s totally within my power, you know.”

I look at the unicorn in disbelief. Even if she wasn’t guiltily flicking her eyes back and forth between me and Blossom, my disbelief stands. She has the nerve to pick me up with a levitation spell, and then ask me if I’m alright just because I’m squirming uncomfortably. Excuse me for disliking being held against my will, even if my captor is being much gentler than that lout Blueblood.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been blown up, stabbed, crushed in a gravitational spell, fallen down a flight of stairs, nearly drowned, self-defenestrated, flown through a fireworks display, and torn from my own universe; it’ll take more than being hit with a bass cannon to put me down,” I say through clenched teeth. “Speaking of which, I would very much like it if you let me go. Gently.”

Instead of doing as I ask, Beat—I refuse to think of her as Chill because reasons—just stares at me in confusion. “Huh? You’re free to go any time!”

“Onee-chan!” Blossom’s voice draws both of our attentions. I may not be well versed in Japanese or Neighponese or what have you, but even I’ve read enough manga to recognize big sister when I hear it. “You are still holding her with your magic!”

“Wait, you’re sisters?” I can’t help but blurt as the unicorn in the room realizes her mistake and drops me. Of course, she seems to have forgotten my request for her to put me down gently, and I hit the floor with a yelp. “Ow! I said gentle damn it!”

Embarrassed at her crass treatment of me, she rushes over to my side to help me up. “Sorry, that’s my bad!” she exclaims. Once she’s got me on my own hooves again, she gives me a not too subtle once-over, checking for any more injuries she might have inflicted. “More to the point, we’re half-sisters. We share the same mother, but we have different sires.”

Watching the two stand side-by-side, I can’t deny that the two are clearly related. Their coats and manes are fairly similar in hue. The most striking and obvious difference between the two is obviously the fact that Chill Beat is a unicorn while Ice Blossom is an earth pony, but there are several other differences, as well. Beat has a bichrome mane styled after the infamous Vinyl Scratch, while Blossom’s pretty monochrome mane reminds me most of dear Fluttershy. Then of course, having different fathers, it would seem Beat didn’t inherit the heterochromia; her eyes are a solid gold.

I suppose it’s no great surprise that the racial stereotypes seen in the fan depictions of Neighponese are somewhat accurate. Both girls bear eyes that are remarkably narrower than any I’ve seen thus far, and they’re remarkably lithe—even the earth pony sibling. That’s about as far as it goes though; Beat’s horn isn’t curved, nor does it bear different pattern fluting. It may be a bit pointier than most, but it’s in no way as sharp looking as that of Princess Luna. 

Strangely enough, something that I don’t think fans have gotten right—not that they could have predicted it—is their ears. Take a regular capital A and bow it out, and you essentially have standard Equestrian ears. The ears on Blossom and Beat, however, are more like the ears you’d see on an elf... or a Vulcan. They’re naturally angled back a bit, and far pointier. I think I can go so far as to say if I slapped a bowl on Blossom’s head and cut the mane jutting out beneath, she would be Equestria’s best Vulcan pony.

“I wouldn’t have thought having different dads would have broken her,” the unicorn sibling observes, jarring me out of my thought. “What’s up with that?”

Crap, did I really just space out to a noticeable degree while I had my internal monologue? “No, you didn’t break me. I think I’m just a bit tired,” I mumble shaking my head. “Being assaulted by two unicorns and flying through a fireworks display—”

“That was you?” Beat interjects with a laugh. “Didn’t you know about the New Moon Fireworks celebration?”

“—will do that to you,” I finish my sentence, glaring at the unicorn for her interruption. “One last question before I head back to my room.”

“Shoot,” Beat says, walking over to a desk on the far side of the room. “What’cha wanna ask?”

I give Ice Blossom a guilty look before turning back to her sister. “How come you don’t speak like your sister?” I ask with earnest curiosity. “You’re both Neighponese, but I don’t hear an ounce of accent from you. Why is that?”

“Well, that’s kinda two questions, but since they’re asking the same point, I won’t make a fuss,” she replies, her ear twitching slightly. “I was born in Neighpon just like my little sis here, true enough. Even spent most of my foalhood with Mom’s herd. They were happy times, those days I spent with Mom, Dad, and Ice Blossom. We were all really close.

“But there came a time when Dad yearned for greener pastures, so to speak.” Her voice is completely wistful and bearing regret. Watching her sister, her eyes even glisten a bit. “I was just barely a teen at the time, and I didn’t really understand why he wanted to leave the herd and cross the sea. At the same time, I thought the prospect of going to a new place and hearing new kinds of music so exciting that I couldn’t help but beg to come with him. I didn’t realize that in doing so, I’d be leaving Mom and Ice Blossom behind.”

She looks back at her younger sister. “Still, I went along with Dad, and spent my adolescence here in Equestria,” she says, smiling knowingly. “That’s why I have no accent and speak Common Equestrian so fluently.”

Her story leaves me wishing to ask more, but I really am tired, and I haven’t even started on my ‘What alchemy means to you’ essay yet. “Thank you for telling me your tale, Chill Beat,” I reply softly. “I’ve gotta head back to my own chamber right now, but I hope I’ll see you both again.”

As I trot toward the chamber’s door, I hear a rather mute, “You can count on it.” That brings a smile to my face. Mission accomplished!


~ 9 ~


The meaning of alchemy is by no means a simple question. For one to even answer the question of what alchemy means to them, they must first have some understanding of what alchemy is, and for what purposes it serves. Their answer is intrinsically based on their understanding.

Alchemy is, as defined byMagical Arts and Abilities the application of the knowledge of magical properties of ingredients—mundane or other—to produce an intended magical effect without the prerequisite of being a unicorn. There is, of course a question of how much of this is truly magic, and how much is purely chemical reaction. Is the explosive and irritant, Trichloramine, a result of the reaction between chlorine and ammonia, or is it entirely based on the alchemical properties accompanying the ingredients in which these compounds might be found? Perhaps it is both, or neither. As old as alchemy is, there has never been a consensus on where to draw the line between the two.

Dependent on the school of thought, alchemy has entirely different purposes. For those of medical mind, alchemy is a tool with which ponies may treat illness and injury without the presence of unicorns, be it by choice or circumstance. Formerly, alchemy was recorded as the preferred form of medicine in predominantly earth-pony and pegasus settlements, though with the medicinal magic boom of 1472 PH, alchemy quickly fell out of common practice in favor of the availability of unicorn doctors.

For those of a more combat-oriented mind, alchemy is a tool for destruction and domination of the battlefield, and a favorite of assassins. Of particular note, a minotaur ambassador visiting a den of dog men—more commonly known as diamond dogs—was killed with a poison that caused all of his flesh to crystalize. It is unfortunate that the use of alchemy instigated the short-lived War of the Diamond Bull—one of the only recorded wars of extermination in Equestria’s history—when the ambassador’s companion witnessed the ambassador’s crystalline form devoured by the den’s occupants.

Others argue that alchemy is a tool to allow ponies to exert an extended degree of control over their own lives. In all reality, this line of thought is often used to frivolously exploit alchemy in favor of convenience or to make up for one’s perceived inadequacies. There are so many variations of the teat and stallionhood engorgement recipes that this school is often mistaken for one of shallow cosmetics, thus overlooking more practical uses, such as giving a barren mare the milk to nurse her foals.

Personally, I believe that this last ‘miscellaneous’ school of thought has a lot of unrealized potential. So many of the ‘frivolous conveniences’ present can be put to far better use than simply changing a stallion’s coat color without dyes or giving a mare different colored irises.  Cosmetics potions, given their low-toxicity and long-lasting effects, could be better put to use in the realms of espionage or witness protection.

It is for this reason that I believe alchemy can be used as a means to better ourselves. Through alchemy, we can push ourselves to create new solutions to problems that would otherwise require personnel that may not be present. Whereas today a high level unicorn would be required to cast a cloud-walking charm on earthbound ponies for a visit to a pegasus community, in a matter of decades a pony would only be required to drink a potion and climb into a hot-air balloon. As blasphemous as it may seem, alchemy is a doorway to transcending the mundane and a step toward better understanding the true power of our benevolent goddesses and leaders.

~Silver Script


~ 9 ~


“It looks good—no spelling or grammar mistakes as far as I can see,” Gale says with an impressed tone, passing the roll of parchment back to me. “But...”

I look at her expectantly, feeling more than a bit irate that she’s not being a bit more forthright. “But what?”

She looks at me with a frank expression, and I can’t help but notice that the plumage around her neck looks a bit ruffled. “You’ve only had a single lecture in that class,” she answers flatly. “There’s no way in Tartarus all of this was covered in one day. You aren’t making things up in order to impress your professor, are you? I mean, if he’s cute, it doesn’t hurt to flirt but...”

Upon hearing me dry heaving, she quickly stops her line of thought. “Never, ever suggest that again,” I groan. “Firstly, I’m definitely not into stallions, and even if I was, I am not going to sleep my way to a good grade. Second, my professor is absolutely ancient. That’s disgusting.”

“Finally, I didn’t make up an ounce of that,” I say, unusually proud of the results of my pre-trimester studies. “I had a lot of time on my hooves last month, so I kinda read every source-material on the subject available at the Canterlot Public Library and Archives. It wouldn’t be lying to say that they had to chase me out with a stick at closing two days straight.”

The griffon just stares at me with those unblinking eagle-eyes, either stunned by my answer, or still processing it. “Wow,” she finally snickers. “If I didn’t already know you could be kinda badass, I might have teased you for being such a nerd. Seriously? You’re probably going to be so bored for this entire trimester.” She stops laughing long enough to look thoughtful. “How are you going to keep from going bored?”

I actually have to stop and think about this. What she said is entirely true; I probably have gone over a majority of this term’s coursework, so what does that leave me with? Aside from homework assignments and class-work, I’m going to have a lot of spare time on my hooves until Alchemy Fundamentals is complete and I move on to Safety, and then Introduction to Potions. Hell, this could be a particularly long trimester if that’s the case... And then there’s the Independent Research for the length of the trimester!

With a blushing grin, I look at her. “Hey, just because it’s university doesn’t mean I can’t live it up like a college student, right?” I snicker. “I’m making friends, so it would be stupid not to hang out with them. If that means more mess-hall concerts, so be it.”

“Wonderful.”


~ 9 ~


So it goes that my life once again falls into routine. Ponies love to say that routine is synonymous with boring, but honestly? None of them realize the meaning behind why they find it boring. It isn’t boring because nothing is happening. Instead, the boredom comes from the repetitiveness associated with a stable life—a sane life. They get used to the circumstances stemming from their way of life, and some yearn for change to come and make thing interesting.

For many, however, routine is a necessity in their lives. Hardworking ponies like Applejack use their routine as a gauge of their livelihood. Every morning, they set out on their prescribed path through the day, accomplishing what they need to in order for their lives to thrive. Certainly, all work and no play makes Homer something something, but more than adhering to their routines, they know how to shuffle them up to make time for friends.

For me, routine gives me purpose. If I have a place to be, I’m less likely to faff about with something unimportant. Thats how my life worked going to school before I entered Equestria, and it’s how it worked while I lived with Candy and studied under Twilight. There’s no reason to ever let that stop just because I’ve got a lot of free time on my hooves now, right?

Even if my days are cyclical, the fact that I have places to be and ponies to see is more than enough for me. It matters not if every morning consists of me waking up, attending my hygiene, acquiring bangers and mash—never was particularly fond of bacon on its own; sue me—and heading to class. That’s just part of life.

Thankfully, even as the days go by, I manage to not bore myself in class. Despite seeming old and tired in that first lecture, Professor Calcification is actually incredibly lively and enthusiastic about teaching his subject. The old chap is incredibly hooves-on about things, and entirely unique in his teaching methods. In a way, his methods remind me a lot of my father, in that he is the only stallion I know who could successfully use a crossbow, balloons, and marshmallows as visual aids in a lesson about the reactions between certain substances.

The old fellow is kind of growing on me, to tell the truth. I mean, yeah, it was awkward that first day when he chatted me up after class, but after he told me how much he enjoyed my report—that cloud-walking part really caught his eye—I kind of look forward to our talks after class. Particularly, he enjoys throwing scenarios at me, and tells me to think up a way to use alchemy to solve the problem. Granted, some of my methods are a bit bizarre or extreme—I think he’s still mad about the time I suggested using mustard gas in order to disperse a squirrel invasion—but he insists that it’s my lateral kind of thinking that leads to progress. I’ll miss the old bugger when we move on to the next course in the term.

Sure, sticking around with the professor leads to some nasty rumors, most originating from Aqua Regia’s inner circle, but nopony seems to be taking them very seriously, much to Regia’s chagrin. Somehow, I get the impression that she still can’t fathom why I wasn’t expelled, even today. Not only did I remain, but the Chancellor even stepped down, citing a family emergency. She was absolutely livid after that announcement. She still tries to get me with childish problems from time to time, but unless she uses magic I don’t even notice.

After class and my mental sparring sessions with the elderly unicorn, I usually head off to the cafetorium for a bit of lunch. From time to time, I even manage to get Blossom and Beat to join me with Gale, Gearalt, and Gaius—I jokingly called the group the GGs, short for the G Griffons, and it kind of just stuck—at our usual table at the cafeteria. It was a bit awkward the first time the ponies joined us, but after a promise that they wouldn’t be eaten, they’ve kind of just fit in. Beat gets along great with Gearalt, if you can believe that, though I can’t help but think that they’re conspiring on some big musical number.

Ice Blossom is probably the shining point in my life right now. There isn’t a minute that goes by where I’m not thinking about the next time the two of us can just hang out and talk. I dare say I might be the teensiest bit infatuated with her, but it’s not like I’d know it if bit me in the arse; maybe I just don’t understand the concept of love. All I know is that I really enjoy spending time with her, and she seems to enjoy it too. Our homelands are a particularly enjoyable topic for us both—just a little happy reminiscing for two mares far away from home.

As sure as clockwork, when Tuesdays roll around, I’m on the couch in front of Clear Conscience, working through my problems with him. I may not be the most competent or confident patient he’s ever had, but the damn guy just doesn’t give up. Surprisingly, in our last session he was observant enough to notice me flinching every time he’d levitate the tissue box over to me, and suggested that I am developing thaumaphobia—the fear of magic. 

At first, I thought he was out to lunch, but when I think about it, is that so far out there? The longer I think about the way unicorn magic has affected my life, the more I can’t deny that I have a right to dislike it. Maybe I am a bit scared of magic. After all, if it can be used to delve into a person’s very mind and relive events, who is to say that it could not also be used to alter events in memory—to alter their very being? For every wonderful thing it can do... it can be twisted into a weapon. I think that’s part of the reason I’ve been spending so much time around ‘non-magical’ ponies—and griffons—lately.

“Just another thing to work on in my sessions with Clear,” I mutter, pushing my deck of playing cards to the side. What I really need to do right now is stop recapping the last month while playing solitaire, and spend more time studying for the exam on Monday. Just because I know most of the coursework from memory, it doesn’t mean I can slack off. Twilight—Sparkle and Velvet both—would be disappointed in me if I didn’t work hard.
> Interlude II: Time
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I really can’t believe I almost forgot about this thing. You’d think with all my free time I’d be able to write an entry practically every day. Instead, all I do is sleep, wake, eat, go to class, and hang out with my friends. Seriously, it’s like the fucking punch line to some lame-ass joke... “A unicorn, a pegasus, an earth pony, and three griffons walk into a cafeteria...” Bloody hell, I can’t even believe I let myself write that, that’s how stupid it is.

Shit’s been pretty normal for the last month—as normal as it can get in a land of colorful ponies can get, at any rate. There’s quite a bit to catch up on, but I’ll try to only cover what really matters. After all, if I wanted to cover the unimportant stuff, I could very well go into the noticeable changes in the consistency of my stool since I started eating meat again.

Meat sounds like a good point to start...


~ Interlude II - The GGs ~


“Are you seriously telling me you have sushi in Neighpon, but no yakitori or nikuman?” I ask incredulously as I walk between Chill Beat and Ice Blossom through the cafeteria. It only makes sense to ask about your favorite asian foods, right? “What kind of world is this?”

Blossom shoots me a rather ill look. “It is not that we do not have them, Silver,” she says shaking her head. “Neighponese ponies simply do not partake in such barbarous meals.”

I’m about to ask what she means by that when Beat bumps her shoulder into mine. “Relax, she didn’t mean anything about your habits,” the mare answers coolly. “You did not seriously expect ponies to be the only residents of Neighpon, did you? We have griffons, dog people, and even dragons! They all love those kinds of meals.” With a wry look, she adds, “Just don’t expect us to know the recipe.”

Unfortunately, I really can’t tell if griffon’s meat eating will be a problem. Drawing up just short of my regular table I stop, and give my company a weary look. “I know you both wanted to join me for lunch—Celestia only knows why—on our off day, but you know I usually sit with a bunch of griffons, right?”

The two just look at me, dumbfounded. Clearly that much has been forgotten since the group progressed out of the dormitory. Exchanging uncertain looks, the two take an involuntary step back, only to bump into a griffon I recognize all too well. “Sorry there, pretty lassies,” the griffon says, smiling. “Didn’t mean to be bumpin’ into ye.” Looking past the Neighponese sisters, Gearalt smiles. “Silver, me little songbird, how are ye doing today?”

I treat the griffon with a voluminous grin and jerk my head at the girls. “Just getting ready to have lunch, Gearalt,” I reply smoothly. “My two friends here wanted to join me for lunch, but were having second thoughts after they remember the company I keep at the dinner table.”

“That so?” asks Gearalt with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I can promise ye both as sure as my friend assured Silver here only days ago that we’re the most pony-friendly bunch in all the land.” He gives both mares a disarming smile—how does that even work with a beak?—before nodding. “Do right by us, and we’ll treat ye right in turn. Come, don’t be afraid.” He points toward the large griffon seated at the table—my destination. “Gaius there don’t bite none, ‘less you give him a reason. Gentle as a teddy-bear.”

I smile as Ice Blossom relaxes a bit. There’s just something about that griffon that makes him easy to be around. Could very well be that if life were a tabletop RPG, you’d look at his character sheet and see all his attribute points were poured into charisma. Fitting for a bard, though, isn’t it? Without any prodding, she sits down across from the mute gladiator and allows her saddlebags to slide to the floor. 

Beat, on the other hoof, is just staring at Gearalt in wide-eyed wonderment. It’s almost rather concerning, because aside from the tell-tale warning of an aura around the horn, a unicorn’s magic is unpredictable. Memories of being struck down by some high bass put me on high alert. “Yo, Beat,” I whisper, poking her in the side with a hoof. “You’re kind of staring.”

She doesn’t at all listen to me. Instead, I realize that she’s not staring at Gearalt, but rather the guitar strapped across his back. “Is... is that a Griffson LC-3?” she asks excitedly. “Seriously, is it?”

The griffon looks confused, and maybe a little scared. A griffon scared by a little Asian unicorn—what the hell is the world coming to? “Uhm... ye—?”

“Oh my gosh! I’ve never seen one up close before! They’re so rare here in Equestria!” Beat squeals. A pink aura ignites around the tip of her horn as she shuts her eyes, and for a moment, I fear she’s about to levitate the thing off his back without his permission. Instead, the gentle twang of a guitar being strummed fills the air. “Now there is a beautiful sound.”

Opening her eyes, the unicorn looks back to Gearalt, smiling. “You’re a bard, right?” she asks, taking a seat at the table. “Have you done any public displays?”

“Well, just the other day, Silver here sung the whole cafeteria a pretty song,” he answers with a grin. “All the while I laid the groundwork with my guitar. The crowd went wild and—”

I don’t listen to what the griffon says next. This is a mess-hall, and I am here for food. Trotting off toward the griffon service counter, I ponder what I should eat this afternoon. Perusing the menu while the line moves on, my eyes lock on an old favorite: spaghetti with meatballs. Fuck. Yes.

When it finally comes my turn to order, I ignore the griffon’s regular little bird comment—an annoying nickname that, along with songbird, has spread through the school’s griffon ranks—and place my order. The entire walk back with my lunch is torture, feeling the weight of my tray on my back and smelling its contents.

I’m so hungry that I could even go in for seconds, but as I sit down at the table, my appetite falls away. Sitting across from me are Gearalt and Beat, grinning like two cats who just ate a bucket of canaries. They’re just sitting there... grinning, and I don’t like it.

At least Blossom gets along with Gaius without looking conspiratorial, right?


~ Interlude II ~


... so that was a pretty good day.

That’s not to say all days are good ones. In fact, there are some days that I’d rather not go out at all. Aqua Regia, rather than giving up on me in her failed attempt to get me expelled, has gone about a different method of showing her disapproval of me.  The worst part is that, because she’s so inconsistent about when she does things and the presence of her toadies to back her up, complaints of harassment against her get put aside as unsubstantiated.

It started out with little things like trying to get me caught ‘passing notes’—a ploy that failed miserably when I played goat and simply ate the square of parchment instead of passing it on. That quickly shifted to childish things like using magic to pull my seat out from beneath me when I sit down in class, and pulling my hair. It doesn’t help that she quickly discovered that I dislike magic. Stealing my ink pot and taunting me with it is a particular favorite of hers.

I didn’t think anything could get more embarrassing than being cornered in a hallway by a levitating cucumber...


~ Interlude II - Heat ~


Entering the classroom, I can’t help but fight a wave of embarrassment. Every stallion in the room momentarily looks in my direction before flicking their eyes away, a uniform blush creeping across their faces. Then of course you have the nobles crowded in back, smugly crowded around a wickedly grinning Aqua Regia. A few of the mares in the seats around my own give me sympathetic looks. It doesn’t bring me any comfort though—nothing will. 

“Except a stallion!” that unfamiliar,  purely biological part of my mind suggests in a hopeful tone. In spite of my sexual preferences—that is to say, I would rather mares to stallions for specific reasons, but would prefer remain asexual—my body readies itself for breeding, and there is unfortunately that biological impulse to find that perfect stallion to produce the best offspring. 

Without a doubt, that cold, clinical way of thinking takes the fun out of things, but the only reason I am able to walk into the classroom at all is because I’m able to fight off my body’s impulses enough to remain rational. Half of me is embarrassed about this admittedly natural-for-my-body process, and wants nothing more than to just head back to my dorm room, wrap myself in my blankets. “... and clop!” the part of my brain most receptive to endorphins whispers.

To say that my body is in a constant state of arousal is a gross understatement; my entire body—for lack of a better analogy—feels like cunt. It’s hard to really explain the concept other than the fact that pretty much every single sensation I’m exposed to is over-stimulating my brain—even the parts of me that aren’t erogenous zones. Just imagine what all the rubbing of my haunches is doing to my psyche.

Taking a seat at my desk, all I can think is how unprepared suffering through the effects of Lyra’s estrus left me. It’s easy enough to blame not reading up on this—after all, I knew this day would come—but my expectations were skewed just a bit from my experience as Lyra. Perhaps part of the memory overwrite blessed me with some of her subconscious coping mechanisms. If that’s the case, I’m really starting to regret having her personality features purged from my mind.

After an eternity—as much as five minutes can be counted as such—passes, Professor Calcification enters the classroom looking rather disheveled, as though he had a rough night. Then again, it’s spring, mares are in heat, and there is his missus. Is it so unlikely for—oh fuck no. I am not thinking about old ponies having sex. Bad estrus! You’re almost as bad as the random bullshit I used to think when I was a human!

“A-hem!” From the podium in front of the blackboard, the stallion sweeps his gaze across the room, as though tallying something. “I had originally planned group activities for today, but an incident at home resulted in the misplacement of my lesson plan.” Many of the students including myself groan at the implication. “Seeing as many of you are just as bad off as my wife, I get the impression that group activities might not be the best idea.

“Instead, you may consider this an independent study period—” Ick, don’t use that word! “—and I release you on your own recognizance.” He smiled tiredly. “Some of you may prefer to take this time to cool off, but know that I will be present here for the entire period for assistance with your classwork. Do what you will, my students.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Did I just hear right? We get the class off because seemingly half of the mares in the class are in heat? I’m not sure whether I should be whining about preferential treatment—after all, we wouldn’t get a free period just because half the stallions in the class popped a boner—or be thankful that Calcification is a merciful dude.

I don’t even bother stopping to thank him or apologize for leaving—I’m sure he’d understand, after all—before grabbing my bag and dashing full-tilt out of the classroom. All of this excitement—har har—has terribly upset my bladder, and it’s taking all of my effort to not wet myself before I get to the loo. By the by, that isn’t an ‘if you know what I mean’ statement accompanied with the waggle of eyebrows.

Without giving it a second thought, I push my way through the Little Mare’s Room door and quickly make my way into a stall at the end of the empty room. Not even stopping to contemplate the squat basin-bidet combination as I so often do, I just get right to my business for, like, the third time since I woke up this morning. As much as I’ve had fantasies of being a woman, this much isn’t what I had hoped for.

Once I’m certain I’m not going to dribble on the floor, I linger a bit longer just to make sure I don’t also have to make a secondary deposit as well. Say what you will about how good it is to eat meat again, but it doesn’t play all that nicely with the digestive tract. You won’t hear me say that I’m straining just to be sure, but I remain just long enough to notice that the room is no longer empty.

Initially, I assume it’s just a group of giggling mares flocking to the restroom, but my assumptions are squashed immediately as I exit the stall. The giggling mares, as it turns out, are in fact Aqua Regia and a female entourage. “Aqua, I sincerely hope you aren’t here to subject me to another levitating cucumber,” I say dryly, sweeping my gaze across her crew. A sense of dread fills me as they begin to flank me. “I would assume that a member of the royal family is above such childishness.”

As expected, Aqua Regia puts on an expression of mock offense, and a disapproving din erupts from her followers. “Oh dear, you’ve really got it bad,” she answers in an oh-so-concerned voice. “Let it be known that I am a merciful princess, and am always willing to help a subject in need. Aren’t I girls?” Her lapdogs all laugh, but it does nothing to hide the malicious looks on their faces. “I can help you out with your little heat problem... if you’ll let me.”

Her tone of voice is nothing if not disturbing. “You can take your help and shove it up your plot-hole,” I growl, not liking how her subordinates are backing me into a corner. “Go fuck yourself!”

“But my darling subject, that’s what I want to help you with!” she chuckles menacingly. As her horn ignites in a sickening acid-green aura, forming a small solid sphere of magic before her, she nods towards her goons. Immediately they lunge toward me, grabbing my forelegs and pinning upright against the wall. Aqua Regia approaches slowly, brandishing the magic sphere with a perverse grin. Leaning close to my ear, she whispers “You’ll thank me for this later.”

[Naughty Scene start. To skip the cloppy bits, hit Ctrl + F and type in ‘Naughty Scene finish’.]

Staring into her eyes is almost enough to distract me from the sensation of the sphere probing around my nethers—almost. It begins gently enough, with the glassy magical sphere trailing up my haunch, leaving a static-tickling in its wake. It isn’t until it grazes my nether lips that I realize with a gasp that it isn’t static at all, but instead that the small orb is vibrating at an insanely high frequency. 

Biting into my lower lip, I struggle to suppress a moan as the vibrator traces along my vulva. It’s an effort I fail miserably at, but I have to make an effort to fight back. I don’t care if getting off might ease some of my tension! I refuse to allow this! “Lemme go!” I mewl, feeling my cheeks reddening as my unwanted arousal begins trailing down my legs. “I swear on Luna’s—naaaah!”

That’s as far as I get before I feel that tingling warmth dancing at the back of my slit tantalizingly. I defiantly screw my eyes shut, allowing an inaudible “No, no, no, no, no!” to escape my mouth as that orb presses greedily against my clenched vaginal muscles. Try as I might through clenching and thrashing, I can’t keep the object from invading my warmth. The slick on my thighs and vulva was already working against me, so when a secondary magical presence grazes the bundle of nerves that is my clitoris, my vagina winks involuntarily, granting the magical vibrator access to my depths.

Unable to resist the pleasurable buzzing sensation inside me, I moan very loudly, eliciting an amused titter from the crowd. If not for the two mares holding me upright, I’m pretty sure I’d curl up into the fetal position and cry for my mother. Well, okay... Maybe I wouldn’t cry for my mother. I might moan something that might come close to mommy, but in all honesty, I don’t think I can trust my mind to string together an intelligent sentence.

Still... as that magical little vibrator pulses away in my violated vagina, the rational part of my mind can’t help but wonder why they chose a bathroom that anypony could walk into to do this to me. Aren’t they afraid of being ca— “Iya!” Impossibly, the sphere divides inside me, its twofold sensations almost literally creaming my brain. It’s like, suddenly all of my brain has been crosswired with my clitoris, and the intense vibrations originating from just outside my hymen are doing a great job of stimulating that through the rest of me. There is nothing in my mind but pleasure.

My muscle control decimated, my head lolls to the side and my eyes sort of just hang open as I hang—moaning and mewling weakly—in the grasps of the two mares at my sides. The wicked harlot in front of me is grinning viciously, though her mouth moves as though speaking from time to time. As much as possible for my moist little mind to imagine, I think she’s saying something to me. A swirl from the pair of vibrators inside me makes it impossible for me to understand a word she’s saying, so instead, I make do with drooling on myself. There’s just so much intense energy dancing in my groin that I almost don’t want this to stop. In spite of myself, I feel the corners of my mouth pull up in a smile.

That seems to draw an amused reaction from the perverse noblemare. I can’t remember if that’s good or not. If it amuses her, that means this keeps happening, right? I... I want this, right? My eyes try to focus on Aqua, trying to make sense of this. She hates me, so why is she subjecting me to this intense pleasure? Maybe we got off to the wrong hoof? Or maybe...

In a moment of sheer brilliant pleasuring, she withdraws one of the orbs from my vagina, and runs it up the length of my dripping vulva before pressing it up against my pleasure button. In that instant, with nigh continues waves of electric pleasure rocking against my body and my mind, a stunning moment of clarity strikes me as my eyes roll up into my skull and my juices gush out of me. I’ve not once indulged in self-gratification—not because I was uncomfortable with my body, but because I was afraid I’d like it... and I do.

The mares at my sides let me fall to the ground in a heap, and by some miracle of physics, my saddlebags land directly on my back in the very position they were mounted when I was forced against the wall. The sound of laughter is full in the air, but nothing anypony says makes any sense to me as I lay face-down, basking in the afterglow of my first orgasm in nearly a year. I can’t help but let out a contented sigh, renewing the laughter in the chamber.

[Naughty Scene finish]

Unsure of how long I’ve been laying here, I struggle on rubbery legs back into a standing position. “There, was that so difficult?” a voice croons into my ear. Opening my eyes, I see Aqua Regia smiling earnestly. “I bet you feel so much better now.”

“Yes,” I answer bleary-eyed, as the reality of what just happened kicks in. She did this to me, and I just sat here and let it happen.

With a rather sadistic smile, she turns to the side. “Now, I’m willing to forgive your transgressions. All I require of you is for you to do the same to me.”

The mare all around me giggle in that perverse sense of pleasure that bullies so often do when they’ve completely dominated their victim. “... I don’t have any magic though,” I whine. “I can’t possibly do what you did to me.”

She only turns her back on me and lifts her tail, revealing her puffy, winking vagina before glancing over her shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to improvise then,” she croons. “That is, unless you don’t want my forgiveness. Do you really want all the trouble we give you?”

I stare bleakly at her winking, dripping slit, unsure of what to do. The smell of my earlier arousal, and her present arousal fills the room, making my already disheveled mind complain all the more. “No,” I whisper, leaning close to her vulva. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to be left alone.”

It is at that exact that a stallion flies—no, is thrown—through the door. Soon after, a very familiar griffon pushes her way into the room, shouting and throwing anypony dumb enough to get in her way. “What in the name of Artemis is going on in here!” Gale screams, alternating her gaze between me and the princess. “Silver, what is this?”

For a quick moment, all the neurons in my brain began firing on all cylinders, and a plan forms itself in my head. Pressing my muzzle right into her folds, I let my mouth hang open as though readying my orifice to please hers. Much to my disgust, Aqua Regia moans in pleasure, causing even more mocking laughter to erupt from her group.

Her moans quickly turn into screams—much to my delight—when I bite down hard on that wretched nub of a clitoris. The noblemare is floored in agony as she brings her forehooves back to protect her royal cunt. The others cry outrage at my slight, but are seemingly stunned by the angry griffon just inside their circle.

It’s at this point that I scramble across the floor, spitting in disgust and hop on Gale’s back—I dare say she’ll be pissed later when she realizes how moist I am and how much is soaking into her fur—while jabbing my back hooves into her sides. “Gale, let’s get the fuck out of here before she regains her senses and decides to murder me!”


~ Interlude II ~


... Yeah. That’s by no means my proudest moment. Not just going all ‘Hi-ho Silver, away!’ on Gale’s back, either. I allowed myself to be cornered like that, and I allowed that to happen to me. Gale has tried to get me to talk about it, but what happened back there is going with me to the grave.

Aqua has been a bit leery of me since, but that hasn’t stopped her from spreading rumors about me. Not that it matters. It’s almost worth it having seen her walking around funny for the next few days, unwilling to admit what happened. How could she and her friends say anything without confessing to rape? After the last time, I think she realizes that even if she tells some lies, I apparently have some way of getting the truth out there. Either way, I’m perfectly content to let that hang over her head, knowing that it gives me some protection from her.

Maybe it was my estrus speaking at the time, but I was actually tempted at one point to write a letter to Princess Luna, much like Twilight’s  friendship reports. If I recall correctly, the idea was all rather lewd and consisted of nothing more than me telling Princess Luna that I had my first orgasm in months and that I’m not afraid of clopping now. I’m almost certain, though, that I’d be executed for sending the princess lewd correspondence.

It’s almost a shame that a family emergency has lead to the temporary cancellation of any further sessions with Doctor Clear Conscience. The secretary never said what was going on, but mentioned that he was going to be in Ponyville with family until the crisis is over. If I recall correctly, though, his sister and niece lives in Ponyville, so I can only imagine one of them is going through some sort of personal schism that requires his expertise.

I’d like to say I’m angry about that issue, but honestly? I’m too busy prepping for the end-of-term exams before being sent off to the week-long course for Alchemy Safety. Got a lot of studying to do and all that. At least I have motivation to do well. I kinda-sorta-maybe tricked Ice Blossom into taking me on a totally-not-a-date date if I do well on my exams...

I’m also looking forward to poker night. Best time I ever spent, teaching these guys Texas Hold’em.

~Silver Script, February 7th, 2002 PH
> Chapter 10: Grading
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The feeling of the ground shaking beneath me draws me out of my slumber. I realize with a start that I’m not in my room when a breeze washes over me. Wearily and warily, I force my eyes open and look around me. What I see causes my jaw to drop.

I recognize the setting immediately, despite having never been here in my life. When you do enough research about a place to be able to describe it, you’ll never forget it. Towering above me is a flagpole that could only be on Liberty Island, not far from the Statue of Liberty. Curiously enough, there are only ponies and a single human standing around me. Chief among them are Princess Luna and Twilight Sparkle, but with just a glance, I quickly realize I’m surrounded by the rest of the mane six and the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

All of them stare at me confusedly. Twilight looks uncertain as she looks from me to the human. “Warren,” she asks. “Why did you turn Discord into a filly?”

The human shrugs—something I imagine to be quite uncomfortable, seeing his chest bound and one arm in a sling. “It wasn’t me,” he says passively, adjusting the ill-fitting glasses on his face. Crouching down in front of me, he extends his hand as though allowing me to sniff him. “How did you get here, little pony?”

Warren... No way... I stare at the man incredulously, taking in his unfamiliar face and orange-blonde hair, and those curious green-flecked magenta eyes. “Warren? Warren Ashland?” I whimper.

Exchanging a wary, almost concerned look with the Princess and Twilight. “You... know me?”

Unable to contain my amusement, I laugh loudly. “Oh wow,” I giggle. “This is fucking rich.” The ponies watch on in horror as I break into an uncontrolled laughing fit. “Really, this is too much!”

“What’s so funny?” one of the Crusaders asks. I couldn’t tell who with how hard I’m laughing. “None of this is funny!”

“Oh but it is, my little ponies!” I bark. “You see, none of this is real. You aren’t real, Warren. You’re just a character in a made-up fanfic based on the world these ponies live in. The humor is that if I’m here... it means I’m dreaming!

“If I’m dreaming, that means I can do whatever I want!” I say gleefully. “Like this...” I blink and all the ponies in front of me are gone. In their place is a large pile of disembodied human breasts. “You see, Warren, you’re just a figment of my imagination—something invented for my amusement and that of others.” 

I giggle playfully, looking from the pile of breasts to Warren’s own blushing expression. It’s rather cute that even upon being declared a non-entity and naught but a projection of my mind he remains so... animated. It almost makes me feel bad knowing that he won’t exist soon. Blinking again, he’s returned to the form of a small yellow unicorn colt, as I first wrote more than a year ago. “Cheer up, Goldenrod!”

He looks at me in horror, shifting on his hooves uneasily. “Why are you doing this?” he whines in a much higher tone. “I don’t understand!”

Looking thoughtful for a moment, I give him a sincere smile. “That’s okay, hon,” I tease. “In a moment, you won’t even exist, and then I’m going to invite the mare of my dreams to frolic on this gigantic pile of tits.”

“What—” is as far as he gets before he’s gone, literally in the blink of an eye. Left alone to my devices—devices meaning breast mountain—I can’t help but feel absolutely giddy, and maybe a bit drunk with power. After all, this is just a dream, so I can pretty much do anything I want until I wake up, right? I could even be a human again if I wanted to.

Try as I might though, I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. It’s not that I don’t want to; if anything, being human again is the one thing I want most in the world. Why can’t I do it then? Looking deep into myself, I search desperately for that mental image of myself, some memory of my reflection, anything! No matter how hard I try though, one face keeps coming up—one silver, very equine face. It’s the face of Silver Script—me.

As quickly as my excitement rose, it plummets back to the ground at terminal velocity. Any shred of giddiness or happiness at being able to experience a lucid dream is gone now, replaced by a deep melancholy. Leave it to me to take a good thing and make it bad in the blink of an eye.

Sullenly climbing the pile of breasts, I barely notice the dream world crumbling around me. The pile doesn’t even feel like flesh. Sure, it’s warm and soft, but it feels more like a well-heated cloud or maybe even my bed. I don’t even feel like conjuring up a dream image of Ice Blossom. Instead I settle on imagining up a plushie of the best Princess, and cuddling it much as a child might.

So, I lay there embracing a stuffed simulacrum of Princess Luna atop a pile of breasts, just avoiding thought. Not only am I a bit curious about how long I can prolong this state without doing anything, I wish to know how long it would last with my mind unthinking. Of course I’m not ever not thinking, and it quickly occurs to me whether or not one can fall asleep in a lucid dream and re-enter a normal sleep-state.

Too soon I am robbed of that curious objective as an adorable voice speaks out from close to me. “For a pony of such curious dreams, I must say this is tame even for you, Silver Script.” I look around, startled by the invasion of my dream, and clutch the doll closer, as though it could possibly protect me. It is only when that voice speaks once more that I pinpoint its origin: the doll is talking. “Is something the matter? My subject?”

Crying out in surprise, I unwittingly send Princess Luna’s plush form spiralling through the air. “W-why do you think something is wrong, Your Highness?” My body sinks into the pile of mammaries until only my eyes peer out at the royal effigy now standing at the base of the pile.

“Even if you weren’t cuddling an admittedly cute representation of myself atop a mountainous gathering of human mammae, I could not miss your dream bubble,” she says through that unmoving mouth of the doll, though there is no tone of disapproval. The Princess doesn’t even need to see my face to know I am confused. If I can feel my confusion rolling off of me, she certainly can as well. “Never before have I seen one of my subjects attain lucidity in their dreams, only to turn the atmosphere sombre.”

With a sigh, I pull myself out of the pile, mentally dismissing it as I descend before the princess. “I can’t remember my own face,” I croak. “I don’t remember what I used to look like as a human.”

Luna cocks her head, eliciting from my mind a momentary ponderance as to why she hasn’t assumed a more articulate form. Try as I might, I cannot seem to alter the doll she is projecting through. Is she trying to comfort me by staying in this form?

“You feel like who you were is being eroded by who you are?”

Shaking my head, I resist the urge to look into her eyes, as that would mean looking down upon her. “Not as such, no.” Sucking in a breath, I lower myself to the floor in order to look her in the face. “I feel like who I was is completely different and incompatible with who I am now. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve actually thought about becoming human again. Even if it is an impossible goal, it shouldn’t have taken me this long to realize that I’ve ignored it for so long that I can’t even remember the face I was born with.”

“You have been busy,” she reasons.

“Silver has been busy,” I reply, looking away. “Soren’s been dead for months now, I think, and the thing is that I’m not sure I like who Silver is over who Soren was.”

“... and who is Silver to you?” the Princess asks curiously, managing to pull back my gaze. “What do you see yourself as?”

My eyes widen at the question. Who and what is Silver Script? “She’s a very hurt mare, struggling to fit in a world she only pretends to understand. Everything is so foreign to her and yet so very the same.” Luna nods along, as though she’d expected this much. “Only recently has she even come to grips with the indelible fact that she is a mare and that she should not deny herself self-indulgence because she’s holding onto memories of what she was and what she’s been through. If only she’d come to terms with that on her own,” I answer, turning sour on the last note, making abundantly clear that it isn’t something I want to talk about..

“Soren used to spend so much time debating things only to ultimately come to an answer at the last minute, and yet Silver is far more spontaneous. Whereas he would try many things and end up sticking to none, she practically does things as she goes and sticks to them like glue.” I feel my cheeks dampen slightly. “She’s everything that he wasn’t. It makes me feel... less than human, being this mare.”

“Is this what scares you? Losing your humanity?”

“It scares me to death!” I sniffle, shutting my eyes.

Once again startling me, Princess Luna—and I don’t mean doll-Luna—nuzzles me, bidding me to rise. “My dear subject,” she says smiling knowingly. “You’re scared because you’ve misidentified your identity as your humanity. While your identity has been irrevocably altered by your experiences and learnings, your humanity will never leave you. Your humanity—your ways of thinking, feeling, and acting—is something you’ll never lose. While you are becoming more like a pony with each passing day, in the end, your equinity is ultimately building on the foundation of your humanity.

“Unless you let something terrible and evil take hold of you, you’ll never need worry about losing either. Remember this.”


~ 10 ~


Sitting down at my desk with a stack of exams and an answer sheet, I smile at the professor before withdrawing my quill and ink bottle from my saddlebags. “I know I offered a five percent bonus on the final grade of anypony who volunteered to assist me in grading the exams, but I think it’s safe to say you’ll do perfectly fine without an extra five percent bolstering,” Professor Calcification says in that dusty voice of antiquity. That much is true, though, as my grades have consistently held near ninety-four throughout the term. “Go on, I’m sure you have plans with your friends. I don’t mind.”

I can’t resist a chuckle as I peer at the rest of the classroom through the corner of my eye. As my head inclines to indicate the rest of the room, the corners of my mouth pull upward into a knowing smile. “Sorry, sir,” I reply sincerely. “I volunteered because I knew nopony else thought they needed to do so. It seem like I’m implying that you need my help, but you aren’t a young stud any more. You might not need help, but you’ll certainly benefit from it.”

Professor Calcification nods. “Thank you, Silver Script. You’re very kind,” he says, submitting to my stubborn offer of help. “You’ll drive your special somepony mad like that, but I think you’ll definitely be there for them when it matters most.” He pauses to give me a playful wink. “Now, just remember to follow the answer key for the multiple choice, true-or-false, and fill in the blank portions of the exam. As much as you might want to grade them based on their spelling and grammar, as long as they include points listed in the short-answer questions and essay portion of the key in the appropriate answers, they get the points. You get five discretionary bonus points per exam to deal out for any outstanding answers. Once you’ve done your stack, go on and join your friends, alright?”

There’s no opening for discussion there, since he’s clearly no more enthused about the part of actually grading the exams than I am. Of course, it’s no great surprise. This is the most important piece for the grades of many ponies, and he would have to take it very seriously. Barely a moment has passed and he’s already hard at work poring over the exam in front of him.

Following his lead, I pull the first exam packet off of my stack and set it beside the answer key. As I give the multiple choice and true-or-false sections a couple of run-throughs to ensure I have it memorized, my eyes are drawn away from the key to the name written on the cover sheet, and I nearly laugh out loud. Scrawled in an almost childish form of the Equestrian script is Princess Aqua Regia, the i’s in her name dotted with hearts and everything. I’d almost call it cute if I didn’t already know her as the hateful witch that she is.

If I said that I’m not at all tempted to grade her unfairly, nopony who knew what she did would honestly blame me. Heck, it was hard enough just getting Gale—the only individual to date who knows what happened, and that’s because she wouldn’t stop asking until I told her—to drop the idea of hunting her down and tearing out her liver. The last thing I want is more attention drawn to that issue. Even if Aqua did get her just desserts, everypony would know how little a fight I put up, and then the rumors would spread. Any reputation I have would be ruined, and all of my friends would probably be ashamed of knowing me. It’s embarrassing enough admitting that I was sexually assaulted by this mare. 

A bit of bile rises in my throat when I realize that I’m defending not reporting her after what she’s done. She did more than just rape me while her accessories held me down and watched. It isn’t even about the dignity she robbed me of; I managed to regain a bit when I... ugh... No, what she did was worse than just rape. She forced me to discover my body sexually—to realize through the most twisted of methods that there is something pleasurable for me as a mare—and thus robbing me of becoming truly comfortable in it. Were I a foal and not a human-turned pony already having been intimate before, I’d go so far as to say she stole my innocence.

Why shouldn’t I get to make her life a living hell? I have every right to! Still, if I go out of my way to sabotage her exam, I’ll be no better than she is. Looking through her multiple choice section, I wouldn’t need to put a lot of effort into that anyways. No, seriously. Some of these questions are the easiest ones on the exam, and yet she answered that alchemical silver is rich in rubedo and vermillion! Given the effort she put into tormenting me, you’d think she’d at least know the properties of the material I’m named for. To make things worse, her answer to whether or not the crucified snake, named for Neighcolas Flamel—seriously, Equestria?—represents removing the volatile aspects of a potion is false! It’s like she didn’t even pay attention at all.

Going further into her test, I’m almost at the point of noticing a pattern. If I look at the answer key, and imagine it as a cipher, the answers are right if you moved them one place in one direction. At first, I had to actually double-check, but the pattern is definitely there. The circle for the first answer has the correct answer for the next one, and she always manages to leave the final one blank. What did she even do here? This entire half of the exam is supposed to be a gimme!

If that were all there is to this exam, I would gleefully fail her and move on to the next student. There are still, however, her short-answer questions and the essay to be graded. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the perspective—she has a better grasp of the course material than her answer sheet for the previous half would imply. Not only is she concise and well-written regarding the efficacy of the ‘Mother’s Kiss’ potion in treating toxicity or alchemical poisons, she even took the time to point out that although it’s effective, it cannot be used without dispelling the beneficial effects of a potion, something not even required in the guideline.

As loathe as I am to to admit it, to say her answer is exceptional is understating it. In my own exam, it didn’t even occur to me to bring that tidbit up. If there was ever an answer that deserved bonus points, this is the one, and that brings me to a dilemma. Even though her short-answer and essay sections are immaculate, she really botched the multiple choice and true-or-false, placing her score exactly five points below the threshold for passing. If I give her the points, that would mean another term or two suffering her presence before the summer holiday, but I could choose to be vengeful like I have every right to be, deprive her of the passing mark, and not have to deal with her again.

What would the bearers of the Elements of Harmony do? Applejack would give her the points out of honest respect for the answer, not the pony. Fluttershy would probably give her the points, relying on the ‘win her over with kindness’ way of thinking. Pinkie is a bit enigmatic, but I honestly think that she would probably give her the points as the only thing worse than being unable to make a pony smile would be to make them frown. Rainbow, ever loyal to her ideals and her friends, would probably be every bit as conflicted as I am. Rarity would be too generous for her own damn good, even if it did mean benefiting her rival. Twilight? I have no fucking clue, and look at the fat lot of good thinking about it like did me. Four against being spiteful and two wild-cards.

With great reluctance, I write ‘+5 for knowledge!’ down beside the question and adjust the tally. If my friends found out about this, would they think I’m too goody-two-shoes for my own good? Would they applaud me for making a tough choice and taking the moral high-ground? Would Princess Luna be proud? Twilight? I need something to distract me from this, and I think I have just the idea.

“Say, Professor?” I ask, putting down my quill and putting aside Aqua Regia’s exam. His eyes are already on me when I look up. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time we spoke after class?”

An unsure look crosses his face as he puts aside an exam and glances at the next one. “I recall saying quite a few things in my foolish old ways,” he answered cautiously. “My memory isn’t all that great these days. Could you please remind me what you mean?”

Pausing only to take the next exam packet, I reply, “When we first met, you said, ‘A wistful old fool such as yourself could only hope for the opportunity to teach one of Princess Luna’s blessed.’ It occurred to me that you never said anything else on the subject and was wondering what you really meant by it before I lost the opportunity to ask.”

The old fellow smiles weakly, nodding as he skims the exam in front of him. “I thought you might ask, eventually.” His quill races across the exam, held firmly in his levitation spell. “My family comes from a long, but admittedly obscure line of alchemists. As you no doubt know from the course material, Princess Luna was originally credited as the Matron of Alchemy due to the long nights alchemists spent endlessly working their concoctions. It was mere superstition that she watched over them and smiled upon them for not shirking her night like others. Still, these ponies prayed to her for guidance and good fortune in their endeavors. Eventually—not long before her banishment—she did take interest in the practice, and publicly supported many of the well-known alchemists of the time.

“When she was banished, prayers to Luna fell out of favor as from the outside it could be seen as villain worship,” he sighs, resting his ancient chin on one forearm. “Some families still did so in secret, hoping that one day their Princess would be returned to them and that they would be lead to greatness—a foolish notion for sure, but it’s what kept many families sticking to the trade. Mine was one such family.

“I asked the question itself because I’m getting on in years, and there isn’t much time left here for me. Upon hearing that Princess Luna was sponsoring a student herself, I became wishful. A part of me thought, ‘If I can teach somepony whom Luna has smiled upon, she might too smile upon me.’” The last words to come out of his mouth are but a reverent whisper. “I thought if I could do something worthwhile for the Princess and those she has chosen, it would validate my bloodline’s hokey old beliefs...”

Staring at the professor, I can’t help but feel he looks decades older now than he did moments before. Guilt wells up inside me knowing that I could have made his entire trimester with just a few words. I could still make his trimester... and I will.

“Professor Calcification?” I say in an apologetic tone. “I am that pony. I have been from the start. I just didn’t want to brag, and I was so hungry at the time, and—”

“I know,” he says softly, in almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”


~ 10 ~


“So I’m thirty-five miles from the nearest griffon settlement, dragging a dead boar behind me on the ground, being chased by a manticore when I ask myself, ‘Why am I walking? I’ve got freakin’ wings!’” Gale says slapping her hole cards—a four and a jack—face up on the table howling with laughter, as she points at the flop and turn respectively. “So I shoot straight up in the air, and big dumb oaf didn’t know what happened! He just kept on running on ahead, and I flew the rest of the way home.”

Turning my own hole cards over using my pinions, I smile, recognizing that my own hole cards—an ace and a jack—trump hers with a ten, a queen and a king on the flop. Ace high always beats straight king high. The nine and the six on the turn and river be damned. “Wait, your family just dropped you in the wilderness as a little chick and told you to kill something and come back alive?”

“Gale has a straight. Silver has a straight,” Beat announces, suppressing a grin. “Silver wins the hand with an ace kicker.” Using her magic, the mare pulls away the cards and shuffles them back into the deck before turning her attention to the pile of bits on the table. “The pot of 140 bits goes to Silver.”

“Drat,” the griffoness responds, eyeing her remaining bits. “As if it weren’t bad enough that you bullied out Blossom and Gaius, stealing the blinds with your mad bluffing, but now I’m down to just my buy-in.” 

She points at the other three, all gathered off to the side of the dorm common room—the one co-ed room in all of Sagittarius hall—chatting animatedly or listening quietly to the conversation in the case of the mute Gaius. Occasionally bits and pieces of the conversation drifts over, giving me the impression that Ice Blossom is describing some sort of song for Gearalt.

“Know when to hold’em and when to fold’em, right?” I reply, desperately trying not to sound smug. “Besides, we all agreed that we could resign at any time. I still don’t know why everybody agreed on the thirty-five bit buy-in. At least you could walk away right now with no losses.”

Gale cringes before looking imploringly back at Chill Beat. Despite her lively and upbeat attitude, it’s kind of amazing that the mare could go this long without cracking a joke. “You know she’s right, pretty-feathers,” Beat chortles. “Nopony would hold it against you for standing now.”

Rolling her eyes, Gale responds, “Not a chance, pointy.” Oh the affectionate nicknames ponies and griffons can come up with. It’s nowhere near human levels of aggressive camaraderie where three friends will call each other dickface, fatass, and dumbfuck in public, but I’ll be damned if it’s not adorably close. “Deal me in.”

I stare at Gale, unsure whether to be impressed or saddened by her boldness. The ruffling of the feathers around her neck make it plenty clear that she’s agitated that she lost so much on that last hand. In all fairness to her, the odds weren’t that great, that two of us could have gotten a straight, but then she got cocky when I kept raising. Now she’s playing on pure emotion, and while I could probably clean her out, there’s no fun in it. Besides, I’ve already won more than enough for my not-a-date date with Blossom next weekend, assuming I pass.

“This might seem a like poor sportsmanship, Gale, but I think you’re too rattled by that last hand,” I say flatly, shooting Beat a look that says that I’m out. “I have no doubt if we continued you might win a few hands, but you’re not thinking clearly any more. If I was any other person, I’d take advantage of that and clean you out, but I’m more than happy winning this much. Count me out.” Looking at the clock, I have to stifle a yawn. “‘sides, it’s getting late.”

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but angry griffons are fucking scary. Their irises—no, not their pupils—literally shrink to pinpricks, and there’s this specific fringe of feathers on their heads—essentially their hair or mane—that goes right rigid when they’re angry. It’s not all that different from a cockatiel’s crest when it’s alarmed, and if not for the dangerous claws and threatening eyes, it might even be cute. I’ve only ever seen this look on Gale once before, and that was when she wanted to practically murder Aqua Regia.

“Don’t toy with me,” she growls. “Give me this last—”

Anything else she might have had to say is cut off when our attention is drawn to the sight of an anxious Twilight Velvet entering the common room. The mare’s purple and white mane looks kind-of disheveled, and there are rolls of parchment poking from the saddlebags perched on her back. My stomach basically plummets when her eyes alight on me and she begins trotting over to the table.

Quickly dropping my empty coin-purse on the table in front of Beat, I face the approaching mare with mounting apprehension. “Ma’am, you’re usually at home by this hour,” I state with a false air of calmness. “I’m not in trouble again, am I?”

The mare only shakes her head, not meeting my eyes. From her bag comes a roll of parchment and a packet of papers bearing a familiar scrawl—mine—on the front. “I never intended to be here this late either. Some things... came up, and I was stopped on my way out.” She sounds exhausted and a bit shaken. “This is your exam package, your final grading for the term, as well as instructions for when you will begin your Alchemy Safety course.”

I look at her in confusion. “These were going to be handed out tomorrow though... Why tonight?”

“Professor Calcification passed away this afternoon, Silver. I’m—”

I feel a lump rise in my throat. “That can’t be true. I was with him for most of the afternoon!” My throat is suddenly bone dry, and I’m suddenly aware of how cold my body feels. “He seemed fine then! Maybe a little tired, but he was as lively as any other day!”

Through misty eyes, I observe Velvet’s apologetic expression. “He was one hundred and forty-three,” she whispers softly. “He lived a very long, rewarding life.”

There’s nothing I can say. Anything that pops into my mind died somewhere between my larynx and my mouth. Professor Calcifiation was that old? I would never have pegged him anywhere over seventy at the most. Do unicorns really live that long?

“Classes have been cancelled tomorrow, and instead the university will be holding a memorial service,” Velvet offers, using a bit of magic to wipe a tear off my cheek. Then, as if remembering something, she half-smiled “He spoke often of you in the faculty lounge, you know. In a way, I think he was really fond of you, so the staff and I were hoping you might give a speech at the memorial.”

Again, I find my words difficult to bring to the surface. He’s dead? But he seemed so happy. Was it because I told him the truth? “I—I’ll do it,” I whisper, staring at the exam packet. I can just barely make out a note sticking out from between the cover and the first sheet of the exam papers. Surely it can’t be... “Just tell me what time to be there.”


~ 10 ~


Silver,

You are, by far, one of the most unique students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching, and that’s saying something from one having taught dragons in the past. These last two months have been some of the happiest times for me in recent memory. It’s so rare that I ever get students who are interested in my course for more than just the groundwork for their careers as alchemists. Your interest in the theory and ways it could be applied have been a breath of fresh air in this old stallion’s lungs.

I’ve known from day one what you admitted to me today—student records and all that—but out of respect for your privacy, I let it go. Having been such a diligent and bright student, you’ve made me incredibly proud. Though I never had any children of my own, I imagine the pride I feel in watching you is akin to that which a parent feels when they know their young is destined for great things.

Keep up the great work, and make Princess Luna proud.

~Professor Skeletal Calcification, Last Remaining Son of House Xyster

> Chapter 11: Eulogies & Poisoned Words
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping onto the stage, I inhale deeply before looking out at the crowd. Hundreds, neigh, thousands of ponies and griffons—students and staff of present and past, friends and what little family he had—are gathered here in the grand atrium in memoriam of Professor Calcification. With me on the stage are an older looking mare, at least a decade younger than Granny Smith of the Ponyville Apples, Twilight Velvet, the interim chancellor for the university, and, much to my surprise, Princess Luna and a retinue of Night Guards. Each of them is clad in attire appropriate for a memorial, the princess included, and I feel rather underdressed wearing the same outfit I wore to the opening ceremony—with black socks, this time—and a borrowed black beret.

It kind of bothers me that Equestria is so quick to hold a memorial for somepony, when they’ve not even been dead for an entire day, but I guess that maybe ponies are more... accelerated in their mourning. That makes sense to me, if you can believe it. Ponies live, for the most part, a peaceful and charmed existence. A natural death such as this is expected, even when it comes without warning. Rather than ruin the peaceful flow of their happy lives, they mourn quickly so that they can continue living their days in joyous celebration of the memories of the departed.

Take his wife as an example. She’s probably the hardest hit of anypony here, yet next to Princess Luna, the mare is easily the most composed pony here. Don’t get me wrong, she’s clearly upset—distraught, even—at the loss of her husband, but theres a look in her eye that states in no uncertain terms that she’s accepted this as an inevitability, and that she’s at peace with the idea because he is at peace.

Maybe what bothers me isn’t that they’re quick to mourn, after all. Rather, I think that what has me shaken is the fact that I was one of the last to see him alive and that during the time I spent with him on his last day, he bared his very soul to me. The old guy must have really left a mark on me, because after reading his goodbye letter—there’s really no denying that’s what it was, with that wording—I went to bed crying myself into a dreamless sleep.

Through all my musing, I’ve missed the opening speeches for the memorial from the chancellor, and Professor Calcification’s wife. Hell, I’ve basically ignored most of Twilight Velvet’s speech, lost in my own head, only cluing in long enough to catch the ending. “... to conclude this ceremony we have one of his students.” Turning her head away from the crowd, she bids me over to the podium with her. “Silver Script, a pony who left a big impression on Skeletal—he’d never shut up about her in the staff lounge,” she says in a tone of somber humor, eliciting some half-hearted laughs from the crowd.. “—has kindly agreed to say a few words about the Professor.”

Loping over to the podium, my heart rises in my throat. All eyes are on me, and I realize that in all of this, I haven’t even prepared a speech. Where do I even begin? “I didn’t know the Professor for very long; I don’t think any of the students he taught this year really did. Looking back at the two months spent under his tutelage, they hardly seem like enough,” I say softly into the magical microphone. “In spite of that, I’d like to think of Professor Calcification as a friend to all of his students. In spite of his age, he’s always been so hooves-on and lively in his lessons that every day in his classroom was a treat to behold. I don’t think he could have been more enthusiastic about alchemy if he’d tried. Even once classes were over, he loved to talk about it. Only he could make learning as fun a it was.” There is a chorus of agreement from the mass before me. 

“It’s no secret to many of his students that I’d stick around after class,” I continue with tearful smile. “During those times, we’d simply talk and talk about how alchemy could be used. It made him so happy that I was able to share in his enthusiasm, and over that time, I dare say we bonded over it.

“Now that he’s gone, we’ve all lost something: a lover, a teacher, a friend...” I pause, blinking away a tear as I realize what I’ve really lost in his death. “Since coming to Equestria, I’ve gone through many... difficulties, familial included. The time I spend with Skeletal Calcification helped me get passed some of it. He wasn’t just a friend; he was a father figure for a very confused pony.”

It might be my imagination—and Luna knows that thing is hyperactive—but I could swear a few in the crowd are tearing up. “I think, since he had no children of his own, he might have come to see me as a surrogate. Regardless of what our relationship might have been, he told me something very important.

“Since long before her banishment, and following long after, House Xyster has looked to Princess Luna for inspiration and motivation in their endeavors as alchemists,” I murmur, darting my eyes towards the princess. I know I should feel guilty for misrepresenting what he told me, but I honestly don’t believe that taking his words and playing them in a positive light is really lying. “He told me that if he could teach Luna’s Blessed—to do something worthwhile for the Princess—his house’s efforts would be validated.”

Unable to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks, I bow my head in respect. “We are what he means by Luna’s blessed,” I quaver in spite of myself, and for the briefest moment, I feel a reassuring touch at the back of my mind. “The alchemists he has taught, and those that we will teach, continuing to pass down our Matron’s art, are Her Blessed, and he is proud to have taught all of us. We who live... we who continue on in his remembrance bring validation to his life’s work. Though the Last Son of Xyster now rests in the eternal dream, we are his legacy, his pride. We made it all worthwhile.”

Feeling a familiar hitching sob beginning to start in my throat, I turn my back to the podium and return to the line on the stage. After a few moments, I hear stomping on the stage. A turn of my gaze reveals the recently widowed mare beating her forehooves in approval, tears absolutely streaming down her face. Past her, the Princess smiles before she too stomps her applause. One by one, everypony present in the atrium—even the bat-winged guardsponies—adds their own beating to the quickly growing applause. 

Thousands of ponies stamp their hooves approvingly until Princess Luna takes the Podium. “Fillies and gentlecolts, griffon and griffoness... My loyal subjects,” she speaks, not into the microphone, but beyond it—the Royal Canterlot Voice. “In recognition of his faithful services to the crown and to Equestria, I hereby declare House Xyster forever memorialized among the ranks of the Moonblessed, the first since my own return to Equestria. Further, the classroom in which he taught will forever be known as Calcification Hollow.” Luna’s speech is met with more tearful applause, before finally everypony is dismissed.

Despite seemingly making his widow happy—I realize that in all the time I’ve spent with the stallion, I’ve never once asked his wife’s name—something inside me feels hollow. On some emotional level, I know that I’m still in shock over his sudden demise. Still, there’s a part of me that makes me wonder... if I hadn’t told him the truth yesterday—if I’d just remained silent—would he have kept on living, or did he know his time had come?

Shaky legs carry me toward the stairs to my dorm. Though it’s still so early, I’d like nothing more than to crawl back in my bed and sleep until Luna’s moon has graced the sky twice more. It is as though this experience has drained me of both willpower and physical strength; at any moment, my legs could fold beneath me before crying, “No more!”

Upon reaching the descent into Sagittarius Hall, however, I meet a little snag. However, by little, I mean royal, and by snag I mean... snag. Standing before the stairs into the dorm are Princess Luna, her bat-winged entourage, and the Professor’s widow. The Princess and the mare appear to be talking, but quickly turn to me as soon as I draw into hearing range.

Recognizing that I’m about to have a royal audience, I snap into a quick bow before the Princess. “Your Highness,” I answer quickly. Turning to the elder mare, I add, “Ma’am.”

“Please dear, call me Petalwood,” she replies softly with the barest hint of a smile. “Ma’am makes me feel so decrepit.”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Petalwood.”

“Don’t be, dear,” Petalwood murmurs. “It was his time. Besides, I wanted to thank you...”

A blush creeps across my face and I shy away. “I didn’t do anything though...”

Surprisingly, the widow laughs. “Oh you can stop with the charade.” Looking back at her, there’s a genuine smile on her face. “In all my years, I don’t know how many times the old bag o’ bones told me about old House Xyster. Never in that time, have I heard him tell it like that. You lied to all them ponies—”

“I’m sorry!” I squeak, shrinking back. For whatever reason, I expect to be set upon by Luna’s guards.

“—and I wanted to thank you for it.”

“I—what?” I’m confused, I mean to say.

“Ol’ Skelly was always so smart about alchemy, but dumb as a sack of rocks about everything else. I like to think he had only two smart bones in his entire body.” Ick. Not nice, granny. “Poor bugger was so deluded by visions of ingratiating himself with Princess Luna here that he never thought anything beyond ‘teaching her student’ could ever win her favor. In spite of himself, he allowed himself to try and play favorites with students that he thought would please her highness.”

Princess Luna nods. “It’s a very brave thing to lie to thousands of ponies... Stupid, but brave,” the princess quips. “... and at a memorial ceremony, no less. Still, you have done him a great honor. You could have told everypony the truth—that he wanted to bring validation to his bloodline’s desire for greatness, and that you were the ‘Blessed’ he spoke of—but you chose to respect their memory of him, and reinforce that memory with a beautiful lie...”

Shaking my head, I smile. “It wasn’t a lie, really. It’s just a truth that he never realized, a truth that fulfilled that desire in the end.”

“So it is,” Petalwood croaks with a sad smile, tearing up once more. “So it is.”


~ 11 ~


“Get up, Silver,” a voice commands.

“Eat a dick,” I grumble, not bothering to open my eyes. Instead, I roll over, facing the inside of my bed alcove. “Five more minutes.”

The voice—Gale—groans. “It’s been ‘five more minutes’ since yesterday afternoon, hon. You’ve got your first day of the safety course today.” She smacks me on the back gently, an action to which I growl slightly. “If I have to drag you out of that bed, I will.”

That much is true. It’s a threat that she’s followed through on at least twice before, so I suppose it’s more of a warning than anything else. Still, I really don’t want to wake up right now, instead I’d like to go to sleep. More to the point, I haven’t been asleep at all. Since crawling into bed yesterday after the memorial service, I haven’t had a single moment of real dream-laden sleep. I’ve managed to drop into some light trances close to the morning. As a result, my head feels like it’s been clasped in a rather tight vise.

“Ugh, fine!” I roll back to face her, red-eyed and miserable. “I hate Monday mornings.”

“You look like shit, Silver,” the griffoness replies. Thanks, Gale, you certainly know how to make a mare feel pretty... and make her think things that make her uncomfortable with herself. “It’s Wednesday, by the way.”

Tumbling out of the bed and dragging to the bathroom, I mutter, “It’s an expression.” Propelling myself onto the counter, I frown at the mare in the mirror. Sure as was spoken from the bird’s beak, my boyishly short mane—courtesy of my firework dance and Miss 'I can fix it!' back in the other room—is a mess, there are dark rings under my eyes, and I look fit to murder somepony. 

The mane is no problem; with just a shower and brushing, I tuck it away under a green bandana. Nopony will ever be the wiser about my awful bed-mane. The bags under my eyes and my sour expression from lack of sleep, however, are a bit more difficult to hide. I’ve never been the sort to rely on makeup—natural beauty and all that—and griffonesses apparently just naturally have tinted feathers like eye-shadow, so I’m shit-out-of-luck there. Luckily, I found some pretty nice aviators the last time I went off-campus, which was admittedly quite a long time ago.

As it goes, a pony in a bandana and shades just doesn’t look right without some form of clothes fitting the theme of her accoutrement. Thankfully, another of my bargain-bin purchases that has been sitting in my chest of clothes and assorted belongings seems fitting enough for the outfit: a black pleather vest designed for pegasi. So what if I got it in the foal’s section? It even has all sorts of useful pockets—weird, considering ponies don’t have fingers, but there’s that whole weird hoof-grip business that I simply don’t question—including ones big enough for my compass.

As I root through the chest, looking for the aforementioned vest, my hoof strikes something solid. Surprised, I pull it back, gently pushing aside the articles of clothing to reveal a large—compared to my hoof—silver box with a cord looped around it. For several long seconds I stare at the nearly forgotten keepsake—a digital camera. It was something I’d brought along with me to Equestria, tucked away in my messenger bag so long ago. I remember wanting to take pictures of Ponyville before things went to shit. Now it’s just a useless paperweight that I can’t even use. Sure, it probably holds a charge, just like Lyra’s undying laptop—the logistics of why an Earth-born battery operated device holds infinite charge makes my brain hurt—but I don’t have the magic or the digits to operate the thing. What was even on that memory card?

Pulling the device out, I set it on the desk near my bed, before returning to the chest for my vest. Once that’s out of the way, I don my outfit, fill my pockets, and strap on my saddlebags before making for the door. “You’re going out there looking like that?” Gale asks, lounging near her own desk in the opposite quarter of the room. “Someone might think you’re looking for a fight.”

Turning my head to her, I incline my nose toward the floor just enough for the aviators to slide down to the end of my muzzle, revealing my red-rimmed eyes. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from experience, ponies have two reactions to trouble: avoid it, or sit back and watch.” I turn back to the door, pressing it open with a hoof. “I’m not in the mood for anypony’s horseshit today, and I think this should be enough to get the point across.”

As the door swings shut behind me, I hear her muttering, “How is it even possible for her to be cute and intimidating at the same time?”


~ 11 ~



Normally, my walk through the campus toward the alchemy classrooms draws a few lingering stares for one reason or another. “There goes the mare that shamelessly eats meat,” or “Isn’t she the one feuding with Princess Aqua Regia?” are some common whispers I usually hear from passersby, but today ponies are literally avoiding me—no whispering, no nothing.

In a way, the lack of whispering is kind of nice, since I’m not constantly being reminded that the meat-eating dwarf pony stands out in the crowd. I mean, it’s still pretty damn obvious that their attention is on me, but it’s more so that they don’t bump into me. The quiet and clear path gives me time to think uninterrupted before I get to class, which is the main plus.

I mean, I know for a fact now that Chill Beat and Gearalt are conspiring to get me to sing some Neighponese song in the mess hall. It turns out that the griffon bard has even been consulting Ice Blossom for song ideas. At breakfast, I actually confronted him about the whole thing, rather than just letting them hit me with it a week before show-time. I managed to argue that if I’m to sing a song I don’t fluently speak the language of, I should be able to pick a song to sing as well.

The only downside to confronting him on the issue is that now I’m stuck going to evening practices once a week, and I have to come up with a song by the end of the week. That’s in addition to doing coursework and this five-day safety course, which without passing I cannot continue on in this curriculum. Of course, it’s something to keep me socially active, right?

Coming up on the classroom outlined in the papers Twilight Velvet gave me the other night, I steel myself for the inevitable, “You, why are you late?” or “Take off those sunglasses,” upon entering the room. Contrary to my expectations however, there’s no admonishment from a teacher or anything—just an earth pony mare in a lab coat standing beside a desk full of beakers, staring blankly at the classroom. The room I’m in, instead of desks, has a simple layout of a science-lab, the walls lined with jutting perimeter counters—gas valves and all.

Not so lucky for me, I seem to have run incredibly late, and everybody else is seated. “Welcome to Alchemy Safety, day one,” the mare says in a wry tone. “Since we’ve just finished attendance, I’m going to assume you’re Silver Script. As glad as I am that you are somewhat prepared—inappropriate as your eye-shields may be—please try not to be late in the future.” She nods me toward the full lab. “Since there is only one more seat available, I’d ask you to please sit down beside Princess Aqua Regia.”

So badly do I wish to let the shades slide from the apex of my muzzle and glare at her, but I know that no amount of attempting to intimidate the mare will do me any good, so I do exactly as I’m told, and sit down next to the scowling noblemare. Maybe she hoped I’d drop out. Perhaps she’s pissed that she just barely passed the last course. More than likely, though, she’s completely unamused with having to sit beside me, dressed as I am. I do, after all, look like the sort of hoodlum that would be highly inclined to rob her.

Once I’m seated, the instructor smiles. “Now, I know all of you have read up on the effects and varying degrees of toxicity, but to truly recognize the effects of alchemy induced toxicity, you must observe and experience them to truly know it,” she explains. “The first step of safety in alchemy is knowing what can go wrong.”

She turns to the rack of beakers, and pulls a box from behind it with her teeth. “You will be paired up and lots will be drawn. The scraps of parchment will be your instructions for intake of the contents of these beakers, a diluted poison intended to inflict the effects of alchemical toxicity at an accelerated rate.” With a bit of a cruel laugh, she adds, “You’ll each take turns drinking your share, and observing. 

“Use this opportunity to get a feel for how the different stages feel and look,” she says, the box now clutched firmly between her teeth, already sauntering over to the nearest counter. “Even knowing the toxicology of different ingredients, you can never truly predict how strong a potion’s side effects will be without a test kit, which you will not always have on hoof.”

As the teacher makes her rounds, I do my best to not look at the mare beside me. Just sitting beside her is draining my stamina and patience, and coupled with my exhaustion, I get the impression that maybe I shouldn’t be ingesting poisons purposely. Heck, I’m not even sure I could trust myself to read the instructions properly.

When she finally makes her rounds to my counter, I’m trying my best not to close my eyes and rest my chin on my arms. Still, I take my paper without prodding, and Aqua does the same, admittedly with her magic. Heavens forbid she put her face in the same box that I just did... right? Okay, that sounded unnecessarily dirty, especially regarding her. 

Once the teacher makes her rounds with the poison, I take the time to open my instructions Mil-Low - Drink 10 ml potion per 3 kilos body weight. The instructions are a bit smudged, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it says. So, if I’m 60 kilos, that’s twenty times ten mil... Christ, 200ml? Isn’t that a bit much? 

For the first time since I sat down, I look imploringly. “Would you please pour me two hundred millilitres of the potion, Princess Regia?” It takes a whole lot of self control not to call her Molestia.

Surprisingly, there are no sour quips or condescension when she speaks. “Certainly,” she replies, levitating the glass container and pouring the green frothy liquid into a large graduated cylinder off to the side. I’m honestly a bit suspicious by how cordial she’s being, but with an exam mark like hers, she probably recognizes that she can’t be the least bit inattentive. “Enjoy,” she adds in a hollow tone as she passes the cylinder over with her magic.

Rather than indulge her by cringing away, I simply take the glass tube between my forehooves and chug it. The potion itself tastes... like green tea mixed with apple juice, which is to say it tastes like piss. It fights the whole way down, and everywhere it touches inside feels numb after a moment.

For the longest while, nothing happens. I just sit there, staring at Aqua Regia from behind my aviators, expecting the worst from her the moment I turn my back. The worst, however, seemed not to come from the unicorn, but from within. All at once, my stomach clenches violently, and my head begins to pound. I get the slightest impression that something—mucus, I hope—is streaming down from my nostrils, but I’m too busy paying attention to all the other sensations in my body.

My muscles all cramp as though I’ve just run five consecutive marathons, making my breathing terribly difficult. At the same time, my heart is just pounding away in my ears like one of Chill Beat’s little drum solos. It’s beating loudly, and it’s beating fast. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

… and then nothing. I look to Aqua, panicked. “Help!” I attempt to rasp, pulling a hoof to my chest before keeling over. Fuck... I misread that instruction, didn’t I? Mid-low toxicity symptoms should be dry mouth, headache, and mild discomfort, not cardiac arrest!

I look up at the mare through dim eyes as she finally realizes I’m not fucking around. All at once, she shouts for the professor’s attention. “Professor, we need a dose of Mother’s Kiss here!” she cries out cooly. “This stupid little mare misread her instructions!” Then, she leans close and whispers, “I’m not going to let you sabotage me by dying on my watch.” Oh gee, thanks. I was worried you might actually have a soul.

Eventually, my vision is obscured by somepony’s chest as I’m rolled onto my back, and a bottle is forced into my mouth. My strength at this point is all gone—why have I not already blacked out?—and I’m unable to swallow, but that seems to be a non-issue in a room that is statistically a third unicorns. Somepony is oh so kind enough to open my esophagus to allow the curative in.

Now... If only somepony would be kind enough to notice I’m in cardiac arrest and maybe give me a heart massage.


~ 11 ~


With a gasp, I spring awake, rolling off of whatever I’d been laid upon. Looking around, I find myself in an unfamiliar place. My best guess is that this is some sort of nurse’s station—judging by the curtain partition surrounding the bed I just rolled out of—and I was brought here after the incident in class. Why I wasn’t taken to a hospital, I have no clue, but...

“Shit! Class!” I croak, trying to stand on rubbery legs. It’s no use though. Even though any effects of toxicity should have been eliminated by the Mother’s Kiss potion, my entire body feels numb. It’s not that I’m tired—if anything, I feel well-rested. It all just feels off. “Fuck, after an incident like this, I’m probably failing instantly.”

“Why is that?” a mare’s curious voice asks from behind the curtain. The partition is pushed aside just enough to allow entrance to the instructor for the class. Concern is evident on her face, but there’s something else... apology? Guilt?

“I must have misread the instructions on that slip of parchment,” I reply glumly. “That was what should have been a lethal dose of poison... Unmistakably extreme toxicity.”

The teacher nods somberly. “Indeed it was lethal, and some fault does lie on you,” she concedes. “That slip of parchment, however, was a case of scribal error. The instructions should have read per 8 kilos body-weight, not three. In recognition of my grievous mistake, you get an automatic pass for the test you would have faced at the end of the day.”

“At least everypony got a good show,” I reply in dry humor. “Not too many ponies get to see somepony nearly die in the name of education.”

My dry humor brings a slight smile to the mare’s face. “Indeed. Not many ponies end up sleeping half the day away after nearly dying like that.” She manages to chuckle in spite of me. “Most ponies feel rejuvenated by the Mother’s Kiss.”

I roll my eyes, struggling once again to rise to my hooves. “I haven’t slept in about two days. Sue me.” This time, I succeed at getting up, and retrieve my belongings from a pile at the foot of the bed. “Thanks for letting me sleep though.”

Trotting out the door, I hear her shout, “In the future, please do not show up in my class looking like a punk, or I will dock you points.”

Since the session in safety is over, I see no reason to stay here... wherever here is. As it turns out, when you’re dragged off to a nurse’s office or station while you’re sleeping, you don’t get a good feel for where it is. I’m not even sure I’m in the same building any more. For all I know, I’m in another building entirely right now.

The hallways of wherever this is are completely empty as I wander on. It’s actually a bit disconcerting that there is nopony around, as that implies that it is close to evening by now. Why would I even have slept that long? Oh yeah! Practically two days without sleep does that to you. Wonder why I’m not hungry, though.

Thoughts of food are completely forgotten as I round a corner and bump into the feathered chest of a griffon. Looking up, I’m surprised to see Gale standing over me. Her beak—things should really not work this way, but they do—is contorted in concern as she looks down at me.

“Oh, hi!” I greet her cheerfully. “Did you come all this way for little ol’ me? You didn’t have to do that.”

My cheerful greeting certainly has her off balance if the drop of her jaw is any indication. “Yeah, um... I was called here because you almost died. Something about drinking too much poison?” I can’t help but chuckle at her, eliciting from the griffon a confused, “Why are you laughing?”

Moving around her, I began trotting down the hallway she just came from. “I just think it’s funny the way these ponies think,” I answer earnestly. “I nearly die after an accidental overdose in a safety exercise, and instead of taking me to a hospital, I’m dropped off at a nurse’s station to sleep it all off.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I see her frowning. “In case you forgot, your class is right near medical classrooms,” she says, unsure of my positive mood. “A unicorn professor for one of them probably scanned you, determined you were fine and sent you off to that room for observation. I was called to take your unconscious flank back to the dorm room.”

Huh. I’d completely forgotten about unicorns and their invasive magics. That would certainly explain the lack of hospitalization. After all, that way, I could be used as an example for not only extreme alchemy poisoning, but also a living training dummy for a diagnostician.

“Say, are you sure you’re alright?” she asks, placing a claw on my withers to stop me. “You nearly died today, and you’re acting like you’ve just been promised a trip to the ice-cream shop.”

Oh, that’s too much to pass up! “Ooh! Is ice-cream the reward for almost becoming a Darwin Award recipient? Yay!” I cheer, sitting down to clap my hooves. If Gale looked concerned for me before, she’s looking at me like I’ve just lost my mind... again. “Oh come on, lighten up. I only went into cardiac arrest. It’s not like anything bad happened.”

“B-bad!?” she squawks incredulously. “Your heart stopped, you idiot! How is that not bad? Stop acting like you simply fell down the stairs!”

Jabbing her in the ribs with an elbow, I crack a smile. “Hey, stairs are nothing to joke about. Last time I had a run-in with stairs, I nearly had my mind replaced with a silly human-obsessed unicorn’s,” I answer. “There are worse things than death, Gale, believe me.

“So my heart stopped and I was in excruciating pain—big deal!” Stomping my hooves before me, I look at her indignantly. “It was a damn accident. Shit happens and then you maybe die. Other times, you’ll have some unfortunate things happen. I don’t want ponies feeling bad for me just because I had a bit too much poison or because I’m a dwarf. Bad things happen in life.

“Unless something like Aqua happens to me again,” I say, flushing with embarrassment and shame. “I don’t want ponies feeling bad for me. Practically nothing bad could happen that is worse than being raped again, or being torn from another world...”

“I think we need to have a talk,” Gale says firmly.
> Chapter 12: Zoo
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	I could have sworn that over the last two months, I’d explained a bit about my past to at least some of my friends, but I guess the only one I actually told was Ice Blossom. I know Chill Beat learned through either eavesdropping or Blossom trusting her. Personally, I’m still not completely sure of anypony with a horn attached to their head—barring the princesses, Twilight, Shining Armor, and my therapist—but aside from being a protective big sister, she hasn’t done anything to earn my distrust. Pointy ponies are dangerous ponies, after all; I should know! I was one!

“... Silver, do you seriously expect me to believe that you used to be an alien from another universe—an alien that used to be male, no less?” Gale asks me, incredulous from upon her bed. I can tell she doesn’t believe me because she’s doing that whole beak frowning business with a furrowed brow. “I should be taking you to the hospital and getting your head checked. No, nuts to that! I should go hunt down your therapist, because you clearly need him. Did nearly dying fry your brain?”

Instead of being bothered by her doubts, I smile, remembering the object I placed on my desk this morning. “What if I could prove it?” Trotting from her bedside to my desk, I grab the digital camera’s strap between my teeth before returning to her. “Here.”

Frowning, the griffon takes the camera in her claws. “What is this thing?” she asks. “This almost looks like a camera, but where do the polaroids even come out? It’s too small!”

Smiling, I motion to her to rotate it, until the shutter control is upright and the screen i pointed toward her. “It is a camera, but instead of a reaction of light on the chemicals of a polaroid, the image is converted into electrical impulses and stored for use with another piece of tech from my world. There is, however, a way to review photographs you’ve already taken,” I explain. “There’s a small button just beside the shutter button there, that will turn it on.”

Following my instructions, she depresses the button, evoking a beeping and a mechanical groan from the small device. It nearly startles her enough to drop it, but I prop my head between her claws just in time to prevent the memento from crashing to the floor. Once she has it firmly back in her grasp, I climb up onto the bed beside her and watch over her shoulder. The on screen display looks so familiar yet so foreign. I barely even recognize the simplistic numerals.

“That circular button with the triangle inside the square on it—press it. That’ll bring up the review mode,” I instruct her, pointing towards a small button beside the eyepiece. All at once, the digital display changes, filled with an image other than the floor. 

“What in the fuck!?” I shout, staring at the display. Like always, the camera defaults to the last photograph taken when entering review mode. On the screen before me is a familiar mint-green unicorn, mounted by cream-colored stallion and her face buried between two silvery-peach legs, caught in the throes of coital bliss. “When did she even get the opportunity to grab my camera? Why did I never notice through that whole party?”

Gale stares at me, before darting back to the screen. Instead of making a comment along the lines of ‘That’s hot,’ or ‘Who would take pictures of that?’ she just blushes—how the fuck do feathers blush, damn it? “Well, that certainly looks like the body you were describing. You said this holds more than one photo, right?”

My cheeks scarlet, I look away. “The small button with the left-pointing triangle goes back one, the one pointing right, opposite of the lever, goes forward.” God, I’m so embarrassed that I could just die. Yet in spite of my embarrassment, I can’t help but feel a little turned on at the sight of my encounter with Lyra and Bon-Bon captured on film. Or is it because of my embarrassment that I find myself aroused? Eek, there’s a scary thought.

Instead of pressing the forward button—I’m guessing she assumed that it only goes backwards from the last one in memory—she presses the back button, bringing up a photo of the same minty unicorn astride a stallion’s chest, the entirety of the mottled pink length protruding from his loins crammed down her throat, a copious amount of white fluids spewing from her nostrils. “Oh dear Celestia, smite me now.”

Getting the hint, the blushing griffon presses the back button once more. Thankfully, it isn’t another sex photo that pops up on the screen. Instead, there’s a photo of Lyra—of me—nibbling cutely on a massive cookie, while a pink blur devours half of a cake behind me. In the background, the familiar sight of Bon-Bon facehoofing draws my attention. “Well, that mare definitely looks like the stallion from the last two shots,” Gale admits. “Maybe there is some truth to your story.”

Likewise, the ‘next’ photograph is of a blindfolded Lyra, walking toward the camera—away from a poster—with a false tail clutched in her teeth. On the floor, the familiar forms of Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash are laughing. “So far, I’m not seeing any of these humans you speak of,” she snickers. “Just a frisky unicorn who isn’t that great at Pin the Tail on the Pony.”

Blushing, I shake my head, “Back in that first photo... You saw part of a human,” I mumble. “That should be the last of the ones Lyra took.”

To be honest, my heart is pounding in my chest. Ignoring my former arousal, the only thing I feel right now is intense expectation. One of the last photographs I ever took with that camera was a self-shot taken with a tripod and timer on my back deck. That image should have had a good image of my face. “Come on, press the button,” I add, nervously licking my bottom lip.

When Gale finally presses the button, it’s almost anticlimactic. Sure enough, just as expected, there’s the photograph I imagined, but when I look at the tall heavyset man leaning against the deck railing like a punk, theres no feeling of revelation or even recognition. Instead of a feeling of ‘So that’s what I looked like,’ while looking at my former face and the accompanying head in all its scruffy-haired, blue-eyed glory, all I can do is look at the stranger in the photo and mentally criticise the black dress shirt and striped tie that he thought would go nicely with a blue denim vest and black jeans.

“Huh... so that’s a human...” It’s all she manages to say, turning to me. Catching my blank look, she adds, “Okay... I guess I believe you. Is that you in the photo? Somebody you knew?”

That’s what I was? Really? I wasn’t even handsome. Beneath that unshaven facial hair there’s an almost androgynous face, but it isn’t good-looking or ugly. It just is; I just was. “That’s not my face...” I say despondently, tipping the camera out of her claws, allowing it to fall screen-down onto the bed. “Not any more.”

“Do you want to talk about it, Silver?” she asks, pushing the camera aside.

Looking away, I slide off of her bed and stand at the very center of the room, staring up at one of the light crystals. “My name wasn’t always Silver Script. That was a suggestion implanted by Her Majesty Princess Luna in a dream I had during my psychotic break, hoping to calm me. It just sorta stuck,” I reply. “The person I used to be was called Soren Friedrich. That photograph was of him, only he’s not me any more.

“I’ve gotta be honest with you,” I continue in an even tone. “When I found this in my chest of belongings, I had almost forgotten it’d even made the trip to Equestria. How excited I was to bring it with me, only to completely forget the thing. After a mini-crisis a few nights ago when I realized I couldn’t remember my own face, I thought to myself this morning how nice it would be if I could take advantage of your claws and remember the face I was born with... Only I felt nothing upon seeing my face. No attachment or anything like that.” 

I wander over to my own bed, staring at the ground. “You wondered why I was so... jovial after nearly dying today. It’s because of this: who I am doesn’t correspond with who I was, and there’s just been a disconnect between my body and mind.” Scrambling up onto the mattress, I curl up on my pillow and lay there. “I lost a lot to this world, and I don’t feel a connection to the body I have. Things keep happening, making it hard to do so! If I’m not the person I was, and I have no more connection to that body, maybe I should at least be more respectful to the one I’ve been given. It’s one thing to be casual about dying because I’ve lost so much...”

“It’s another to be an idiot about it,” Gale finishes. “Get some rest you big goof.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I just dumped all my crazy on you.”

“Don’t be,” she replied, smiling. “What good is a friend if she doesn’t help her friends through their rough patches?”

“I guess Princess Luna is my friend too, then,” I answer, tugging a blanket onto me. “She visited me in my dream a few nights ago... Before Professor Calcification passed into eternity. She helped me deal with another crisis of self that night and...”

“And?” Gale prompts, removing herself from her own bed.

“The way somepony is always there for me when I’m confronting one of these issues. It just makes me question whether any of this is real.” I sigh, watching the griffoness saunter across the room. “What if none of this is real? If I’m trapped within my mind wouldn’t that mean that I’m just in some asylum somewhere, and every time something happens, my damaged psyche is either piecing itself together or tearing itself down?”

“Silver, my father once told me something that, at the time, I simply didn’t understand. ‘That is the truest sign of insanity—insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy.’” Gale grabs the edges of my blanket and smooths them taut around me. “If you were nuts, would you really be thinking you’re crazy?”

“If this were some elaborate illusion concocted by my subconscious?” The tone of my question is pretty sour, in spite of myself. “Probably.”

The backhand that strikes my face is completely unexpected. “Did you imagine that?” she says, her voice inching in on a growl. “Get a hold of yourself. I’m as real as the feathers on your wings.”

Staring back at her in shock, I swallow hard. “You’re right... I needed that,” I admit. “If I start to think I’m insane, I’m just going to fall back into the same trappings that lead to that event in Ponyville. Thank you, Gale.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “Now go to sleep before I smack you again.”


~ 12 ~


The two days to follow thankfully go on without incident. Despite Aqua Regia saving my life, nothing has changed between us. If anything, my reasons to dislike her have only been validated. After all, she did basically accuse me of attempting to sabotage her by dying. Seriously? What kind of psychopath says that sort of thing to someone who is basically dying.

You’d never know that I’d received  the proper purgative treatment for the poisoning, given how lethargic I still am days after. The instructor was kind enough to tell me that I’ll probably be feeling effects from it for the some time—that it’s not uncommon for survivors of lethal alchemy poisoning to be weak for weeks or even months on end. Not exactly the sort of thing you want to hear, but it beats hearing something along the lines of ‘You can never drink another potion again, or you could die.’

Still, being lethargic sucks when you are going on a not-date with somepony you fancy. It’s a small wonder that Ice Blossom agreed to continue on with the not-date after hearing about what happened. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that she was ready to postpone it the following breakfast. Hell, Beat, Gearalt, and Gaius—Luna bless the big mute, he knows how to get a point across—still think that I’m being reckless by going out anyway.

Walking quietly alongside Blossom through the university commons is enough for me to feign being energetic. Our destination is in the little park not far from the university—the very same one over which I flew during that hellfire night—where a little traveling caravan has stopped in. Carnival might be a more accurate word if there were more ponies in the group, but caravan works just as well. There’s a miniature zoo—not the petting kind!—where, if the rumors circulating around campus are to be believed, there are plenty of dangerous critters from around Equestria. It certainly sounds like the sort of thing to bring in customers for the merchants in the group.

Sure enough, the first thing visible upon arrival is a number of large iron cages set out in a horseshoe pattern beside a flatbed of sorts and vaguely familiar looking cross between an automobile and a locomotive. The banner above the entrance to the miniature zoo says it all: Flim and Flam’s Traveling Bestiary of Horror. If the sign wasn’t enough to clue me in, the sight of two yellow unicorns with their white-striped red manes certainly is.

“Looks like those two got out of the cider business,” I observe drily, drawing Ice Blossom’s attention to the zoo-keepers. “I guess they couldn’t handle the demand.”

She looks at the straw-hatted stallions, before turning back to me. “Do you know those stallions, Silver?” she asks me, her eyebrow raised in curiosity.

I reply quickly, “Not personally.” Looking back at the pair, it’s hard not to be curious of what kind of scheme or scam they’re running here. “The two don’t have the... greatest reputation in the world.” Directing her away from the zoo for now, I continue by adding, “Last I heard of them, they tried to con the Ponyville branch of the Apple family out of their farm.”

“How terrible!” she exclaims, turning her gaze away from the cages. “We shall not be visiting their little display then.” Instead, she begins to make her way over to an artisan’s stall. I want to comment that we shouldn’t be so eager to shirk what could be an interesting display simply because of what may or may not be true. My memory isn’t infallible, after all!

The violet bespectacled earth-pony manning the stall is certainly interesting. It isn’t the crocheted pony plushies surrounding her, or the sign saying her starting price for commissions is thirty bits. It’s the way the dolls remind me of the works of an internet friend back on Earth, right down to the large button eyes.

“Look at these, Silver!” Blossom exclaims, looking at a rack of plush dolls. “Are they not adorable?”

Recognizing a potential buyer, the mare smiles. “You have good eyes, miss!” she greets us. “Would you like to buy one for your—” She casts an appraising look between Ice Blossom and myself. “—daughter? I’m sure she’d love it.”

A blush creeps through Blossom’s ice-white coat. “Oh, you misunderstand. Silver is not my daughter,” she replies. “She is a fellow student at the university and my friend.”

I grin as the mare clams up. Just when she looks ready to apologize, however, I hold up a hoof. “It’s alright. You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake.” Looking up at the sign again, I notice she has a bargain deal for the adorable little dolls. Giving Blossom a smile, I ask, “You interested in getting one? She has a discount on double commissions, and I’ll admit that I’ve always wanted an adorable stuffed pony to cuddle.” I make a point of rattling my saddlebags, and the still full coin purse from the other night.

Clapping her hooves together, the artisan beams. “Oh yes! I’ve been trying to drum up business, but you’re the first to take notice!” she exclaims. “Ponies usually just buy the ones I’ve already made. I do custom ones, as well!”

Ice Blossom looks curiously at me, before looking at the mare. “I would not know what to specify for mine.” She sighs, looking down at her hooves. “There are so many ponies that I know whom I could ask for.”

“You’re both friends, right?” the mare inquires. “I could make you both into darling little dolls. For you two? Forty five bits!”

It’s my turn to blush this time. Having a doll made of the pony you want to date would normally seem a bit creepy, but if it’s part of a set and the other doll is a gift, it’s not weird, right? Just a gift from one friend to another as a sign of friendship. Admittedly, it’d be an excuse to cuddle her. “I’m up for it if you are.”

Looking pensive for just a moment, Blossom quickly nods. “That would be agreeable.”

“Perfect!” the artisan pony exclaims. From her stall, she takes a polaroid camera, and quickly snaps photos of us from the front, and then from the side. “Just fill out this receipt, and then I’ll take your payment. You can come back this evening to pick them up, or if you would rather, I can have it delivered to your home first thing in the morning for just five more bits. If so, just mark that on the slip too.” Looking as if she’s worried we suspect her of running a scam, she adds quickly, “Don’t worry, it’s carbon copy paper, so I’ll have the original copy for my records too.”

“That fast, huh?”

“That’s what my cutie mark says,” she turns to show off a mark of crossed needles and blue lines. “Don’t worry.”


~ 12 ~


After filling out the order and, after much thought, opting for the delivery, Blossom leads me toward a few of the vendors loaded out with foods. Much to her delight—and my curiosity—one vendor’s stall is decked out with asian inspired decorations, cuisine and confectioneries. Even if I’d not been attracted by the smell of jerky over in another booth run by a swarthy griffon, I would never deny a friend a taste of home.

Bright-eyed, and excited, she trots up to the stall, and begins a lively conversation in Neighponese with the unicorn stallion running the stall. Now, to be honest, I wouldn’t have assumed that he was Neighponese just by looking at his wares and stall and jumped into a conversation with him in a language he may or may not know, but then I notice that his ears are angled and pointy just like hers.

Throughout the entire conversation, I’m lost. There are only a few words that I pick up—anman, dango, daifuku and meronpan, ocha, some numerals, affirmatives and negatives, and the word for friend—through it all, but I think I understood the general consistency of the conversation. Blossom asks a question about one confection, to which the stallion would rattle off a price, or confirm whether or not he had any in stock.

In the end, the stallion turns from her, and begins packing various things into two lacquer boxes. Once that’s done, he stacks them and wraps them tightly in a cloth. Turning to me, Blossom asks, “Silver, I am a few bits short of what he asks. Do you think you could lend me the missing five bits?” She looks back to the stallion with a smile before looking pleadingly at me. “I asked for enough for both of us. You’ve simply got to try some of what my culture has to offer.”

With a chuckle, I pull out my coin purse and toss it to her. “Take as much as you need,” I reply with a smile as I watch her catch the strings of the purse in her teeth. “Don’t worry about paying me back. I know I’ve received such treatment from friends back home. Paying it forward, as the idea goes.”

She looks ready to jump me with a great big hug, and if not for the fact that she’d probably bludgeon me with the satchel of bits, she most likely would hug me. The taste of home—or something damn close—does wonders to make you feel at ease and improve one’s mood when so far away. I should know. That is why when I watch her pay the stallion, I can’t help but be happy for her.

“Arigatou gozaimasu, tenshu-san,” Blossom says, exchanging the bits for the wrapped lacquer boxes full of confectionery.

Much to my surprise, the owner of the stall just smiled before saying in perfect Equestrian, “Enjoy it, you two.”

From there, we wander out a bit into the park to sit down and hoe into the sweets. For all the things I recognize in the box, I’ve never eaten half the things she’s ordered me. First and foremost, there’s what looks like a ginormous cookie—its inside is actually bread!—sitting in one slot of the box. In the next, some sort of steamed bun. Beneath that, there is a bamboo skewer on which three small balls of white are impaled and covered in what looks like maple syrup. Another slot is occupied by a larger ball of the white stuff. There’s even a canister made from bamboo tucked into one side of the box, the smell of tea wafting enticingly from it.

Not knowing where to begin, I look at Blossom for direction. She removes the bamboo canister, and sets it on the ground, notched side up, and presses in on one side of the lid. Lifting it to her lips with both hooves, she takes a sip and smiles before plucking up the skewer with the little syrup-laden balls.

Following in her stead, I sip my own tea before eating the little skewered sweets. The syrup is definitely not maple, but is no less good. I’m actually a little surprised how sweet and gummy they are. “Mmm, these are good,” I comment, once more taking a sip of tea. “Can’t believe I never had the opportunity to try these back home.”

Blossom only smiles before moving onto the large mochi ball in the next slot. “I think you’ll like this one,” she replies in a hearty laugh. “Many ponies hear about anko, red bean paste, and assume that it is not a good confection filling.”

Looking at my own treat, sitting patiently in a cupcake liner, I furrow my brow. “I can kind of understand that feeling. I don’t think sweet when I think beans,” I admit, leaning down to pluck up the curious sweet. Biting into it, I ignore the flavor of the mochi and focus on the red bean paste. “It’s definitely not what I expected. Really sweet, a little chewy, and the texture of the filling reminds me of... cooked dates. It kind of reminds me of something I used to bake with my grandmother during the winter holidays.”

“I am sorry if reminding you of your family has caused you distress,” she says suddenly and apologetically. “I know matters of family upset you, but it was not my intention to remind.”

Shaking my head, I allow a laugh to escape my lips. “Think nothing of it.” I wave a hoof dismissively before digging into the next thing in the box: the steamed bun—another treat filled with the surprisingly delicious red bean paste. “She’s gone now, anyway, so it’s not like she rejected me like my parents did.”

In spite of my explanation, Ice Blossom looks away in shame. As I look at her with soft eyes, I notice the way her ears, lowered to reflect her mood, point almost directly at the mare’s cutie mark, as if to say, ‘Check this out.’ Looking at the water lily blooming on an icy pond, I can’t help but wonder what her special talent is. Yeah, she’s a botany major, but what’s her story? It’s one of those things I’ve just never actually asked. You can’t rightly ask someone what their tramp stamp means without confessing to have been staring at their arse. I wouldn’t ask it on Earth, so it is pretty hard to push myself to ask it here in Equestria.

Eager to lighten the atmosphere, I change the subject. “So, what’s your cutie mark story?” I ask, smiling.

Another blush creeps across those desirable cheeks as she scrunches up her nose. “You do not want to hear that story,” Blossom denies. “It is a silly tale.”

“Girl, you’re talking to one of the silliest ponies in existence,” I lie. There are plenty of ponies sillier than me. Foolish? Insane? Ludicrous? Dangerously stupid? Those all sound more accurate than silly to describe me. “I’ve got all the time in the world for silliness.”

Ice Blossom heaves a sigh before looking me in the eye with an expression that says ‘Don’t laugh.’ “When I was just a little filly, I loved flowers more than anything other than my family. They were tasty snacks to a filly my age, but more than that, they were always so pretty,” she says in a nostalgic tone. “When it was time for winter’s arrival, I would always cry. All the pretty flowers would die, and all I could do was cry.

“One year, onee-chan became tired of my solemn behavior during the fall. She told me that instead of crying, I should do something.” She smiles, as if remembering something funny. “Being still so young, I accepted her challenge without thinking of the work required. Okaasan and otousan, mother and father told me that they would help me construct a small greenhouse, but that the flowers in the greenhouse would be my responsibility alone.

“When I think back to it, I realize now that they were attempting to teach me a lesson that all things must come to an end,” she answers dreamily. “Neither of them could possibly have expected me to be so adamant in taking care of the flowers in the greenhouse that winter. Still, every day I went out to the greenhouse, watering and fertilizing the plants and keeping the glass clear of snow.”

A tear wells in her eye, and her smile vanishes momentarily. “One day, I must have left the door open a crack, because the next time I entered, all of the flowers were dead,” she says sadly, pausing to wipe away a tear. “Snow had flowed in and frost covered most of the room. For a long time I cried over my lost garden, but just when I was ready to tell my parents that I had failed, I noticed a single water lily still alive.

“I brought in many candles to warm the room, and doubled my vigilance for the rest of the winter. My lily survived the winter, and even flourished, and though my parents were disappointed that I was unable to keep the whole greenhouse alive, their pride swelled knowing that I had nurtured a single flower and getting it to flourish in spite of all odds.” The happiness in her voice returns, and she stares at a nearby flower. “Upon hearing their praise, a feeling of accomplishment swelled in my chest, and at that moment, I knew that I was supposed to help flowers prosper in places that should be inhospitable. There was a flash of magic, and when I turned to look, my cutie mark had appeared.”

I smile at the melodious joy in her voice. “That’s not a silly story Ice Blossom. That’s a wonderful story!” I cheer, finishing off my last treat and washing it down with now-cooler tea. Wistfully and without thinking, I add, “I wish I had somepony like that whose flower I could be.”

Sputtering, Ice Blossom scrambles to her hooves. “I... um... I think I hear my homework calling,” she stammers, her face crimson. “I-if you could be so kind, please return the bento boxes to the stall. I’m so sorry...”

Smooth, Silver—real fucking smooth. That totally didn’t sound like you were hitting on her, or anything.


~ 12 ~


Walking through the rest of the miniature fair, I feel exhausted without Ice Blossom by my side. I know without a thought that her sudden departure is my fault—this was only supposed to be two friends hanging out on a not-date—but it still hurts. I didn’t even mean that in a flirtatious sense. It’s just that I want somepony who’ll always be there for me.

I suppose it’s only natural that I’d find myself at Flim and Flam’s display of fearsome beasts. After all, what better way to feel better is there than to risk being scared to death by some overgrown critters of doom? Surprisingly though, there aren’t any other ponies around at the stall, aside from the twins.

“Slow day, boys?” I casually ask, dropping four bits into a payment tin set out on a desk beneath their banner. With some conflicting feelings, I note the sound of my coins hitting the very bottom of the tin, signifying its emptiness. If either of them notices that I picked up on it, they don’t show it.

“It’s too close to feeding time,” the mustachioed one says. “Nopony wants to watch our ferocious menagerie of terror eating.”

“Not that I blame them,” the other mutters morosely.

Looking to cover for his brother’s comment, Flim—or was that Flam?—quickly clears his throat and says, “... but for such a pretty little mare, you don’t look to be of the squeamish sort. Go ahead, look around!”

If it weren’t for the fact that these two are supposed to be smooth-talking scoundrels, I might be concerned that he was hitting on me, but even if he is, he’s barking up the wrong stump. Instead, I simply move past him and enter the ring of cages. To some satisfaction, I hear the mustachioed one chastise his brother in a raised whisper. “Flim you dolt, we’re barely scraping by! Our reputation is shot, and here you are discouraging customers!” The chastisement is followed quickly by a loud static zap and a yelp. Did he just...?

Ignoring that last part, I turn my attention to the first cage. Inside is what looks from the front to be a simple mare, but as my gaze moves further back, her hind quarters give way to a serpentine body. The creature eyes me playfully before giving me a hungry, fanged smile. The placard on the side of the cage reads sheds some light as to what she is.

Lamia: devourer of wayward foals and seductress of unfaithful stallions.  From treelines, the lamia attracts lost foals with a friendly smile and a beautiful voice, only to swallow them whole. Using the pheromones of a mare in heat, only the most virtuous of stallions go undrained of their blood.

“Wow, that is kind of morbid,” I comment, looking away from the creature. “It’s like an anaconda crossed with a vampire, crossed with a succubus, crossed with a mare.”

“Are you lost, little filly?” a voice calls out from inside the cage, followed by cruel laughter that sends shivers up my spine.

Ignoring it the best I can, I move on to the next cage. This one, I don’t even really need an explanation for. Probably the closest thing to a human in appearance, the shrieking harpy in the cage simply tears into a hunk of meat, glaring at me. “How lovely.”

The cage following is occupied by a manticore, and the one after that a chimaera. To me, it’s all simple fantasy fare, and nothing very frightening or impressive—even the gigantic wolf in one of the next cages. Okay, so if I ran into one of these out in the wilderness, I’d probably shit myself and play dead, but here in a cage?

On and on I go, until I reach a glass-lined cage with two occupants—two very serpentine looking chickens. “Cockatrices!” I growl, feeling every single hair on my body bristling.

“Don’t you fret, miss,” the mustachioed Flam says, trotting up behind me. “We take the safety of our customers very seriously. That’s magically reinforced one-way glass.” I look up at him, surprised at how easily he stares at the creatures in the cage. Held in his magical grip is a large, squirming sea rat. “Even if the glass wasn’t reinforced, you could safely look them in the eyes because their petrification works on mutual, uninterrupted eye-contact. You could even approach one in the wild with just polarized sunglasses if you are feeling bold. I know I was at the time.”

I watch the rat as it levitates over the roof of the cage. There is an audible click, and then the rat drops through the top and onto the hay-strewn bottom of the cage. Sitting transfixed in horrified fascination, I cringe as the rat takes stock of his surroundings, only to make eye-contact with one of the cockatrices—the female, if the lack of wattles and comb are any indicator. Slowly, a stony glaze creeps over the rat, paralyzing it in its statuesque prison.

Before the creature makes its move, however, the male swoops in, snatching the rat and pulling it into the corner of the cage. Placing one claw on the back of the rat, he lowers his beak to the rat statue’s—ratue?—neck. Just as quickly as the rat was petrified, its stony shell shatters and the rat is animate once more. An audible, although quickly silenced squeal of pain erupts from the cage as the cockatrice tears into the rat’s throat.

As I back away from the cage, my head is spinning with questions and ideas. That cockatrice just unpetrified a rat frozen by another cockatrice? Can any cockatrice eat a petrified creature? Why haven’t the ponies in Ponyville tried catching another cockatrice and forcing it to free that foal? Shouldn’t this be common knowledge?

From there, my thoughts steer away from the cockatrice logistics. Why here? Why now? Why is it that when I start to think I’m making progress, something like this comes up. Is my life just being directed by some sadistic author? I’m over that issue, so why the fuck are you taunting me with this?


~ 12 ~


Sitting in a tree, I stare up at the rising moon through the glass ceiling of the university atrium. There’s no real way to judge how long I’ve been up here other than the fact that it was mid afternoon when I got here, and the moon is maybe a third of the way through its arc in the sky now. There’s no real reason for me to be up here, either. It’s almost as if I came here to escape my thoughts—a ludicrous idea, seeing as I’d literally have to abandon my head to do so.

Mostly, my thoughts are of my relations with others. How many times have I managed to push ponies away? I recall the first time being when I drove away most of Ponyville in dueling Twilight. Not one of my proudest moments. Rarity and Fluttershy are still somewhat scared of me, and Rainbow... Well, I’ll leave it at her not liking me very much. Twilight, Applejack, Pinkie, Lyra, and Bon-Bon are probably the only Ponyvillians I’m on good terms with.

The next instance I can remember is getting myself thrown out of that hospital in Canterlot. I still think that was complete bullshit.  He comes into my bed in the middle of the night, scares the fuck out of me, and they throw me out for biting? Okay, so biting is a rather anti-social way of dealing with it, and screaming would have worked. I prefer putting up a fight, thank you very much.

It’s kind of weird that I consider leaving for university as pushing away Doctor Forceps and Candy, but I suppose when I haven’t written at all, I’m hardly a good friend. They give food and shelter, and how do I repay them? I cook, clean, and then bugger off without another word. I really should write them at some point.

Fast forward to the first day of university. I have a chance to get in good with a prominent noble house, and instead I chew out a self-styled princess, essentially nuking any prospective relations with any other nobility. The Blueblood family is too well-known for them to be crossed. Heap onto that the shit stemming from my meat-eating, and you have yourself a pony without a lot of options.

Why in the fuck did I have to go and speak without thinking? I honestly don’t think I could be any more forward with Ice Blossom unless I tell her how attractive I find her and maybe suggest we go bump uglies. She’s probably never going to speak to me again, and that hurts more than anything. Not to mention that it’s just going to make everything fifty shades of awkward with the group now.

I sing a sorrowful song from my memory as I mournfully eye the moon. It is a song of loneliness and the desire to not be alone. More than that though, it expresses some hope that they’ll find that someone just for them. Somehow, a song from a video game nearly as old as me is just the right way to make me feel better.

As I draw further into the song’s lyrics, my ears twitch in the direction of hoof-steps on nearby grass. It could be anypony—even Aqua Regia—but I make no effort to remain unheard as the sound of hoofsteps draw closer. Trailing off, I look down between the branches at the pony below. 

“Good evening, Silver,”

“Hello, Blossom,” I say, unable to contain my surprise at her presence. “What brings you here?”

In the dim light of this part of the atrium, I can’t make out her face very well beyond the fact that it’s her. Her ears are slightly lowered, and there’s something odd about her stance. Not wanting to make it seem that I’m above her after what happened this afternoon, I drop out of the tree, landing beside my saddlebags.

“I wish to apologize for my early behavior,” she apologizes, shifting on her forehooves. “This afternoon I may have misinterpreted the meaning of your comment and overreacted in turn. In my haste and discomfort, I made an inexcusable faux pas in making a terrible excuse to remove myself. What is more, I should not have assumed you were making a romantic advance.”

Regardless of whether or not she can see it, there is definitely an uncomfortable blush tingeing my face. “Well... It kinda hurt that you ran off like that,” I answer honestly. “But I kinda do have those kinds of feelings for you, and while I didn’t mean to say what I said the way I did, I understand why you might have thought that.”

She looks a bit uncomfortable. “Yes, oneechan suspected you might have done so in error,” she says apologetically. “I am simply unaccustomed to the sexually liberal ways of Equestria. In Neighpon, fillyfooling is considered immoral. That is why I panicked.”

I frown at hearing that. There is the distinct impression that I’m about to get some sort of apologetic response. I like you but not in that way. “So what you’re saying is that your barn door doesn’t swing my way...” I say glumly. “Aw shit... Now I’ve gone and made everything all awkward between—”

“That isn’t it at all! I mean... I-I do find you attractive, in a strange, foalish sort of way,” she quickly interjects. “I just... I’ve never been with another mare. Please give me some time to warm up to the idea.”

Smiling, I latch onto her in a tight hug. It’s all I can do to not squeal in delight that it’s a maybe. “That’s all I can ask of you,” I whisper, nuzzling her shoulder. “We can just take it slow and continue with the not-dates then. Does that sound good to you?”

“That sounds just perfect.”

> Interlude III: Letters
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Candy Stripes,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you and your mother in all this time. I’ve been terribly caught up in the everyday life of a university student. It’s difficult for me to remember the last time I wrote a casual letter, but if I had to guess, it would probably be some time before school began. Between classes and my budding social life, I’m usually dead-tired in the evening.

Needless to say, I’m well enough. University life is hectic, but it’s ultimately worth it. Sure, I’ve made a rival out of a royal pain in the flank, but I’ve learned so much, and I’m not even into the practical course yet. Just in the safety course alone, I’ve learned how to properly use each piece of alchemy equipment safely. Probably the most important lesson I’ve learned is always to have a toxicity litmus test kit handy. 

Funny story, that. I kinda had a very close brush with death after being dealt a faulty instruction on the first day of the safety course. Don’t worry, there’s no permanent damage. I’m just going to be kinda weak  for a while. Even if she was an utter shrew about it, that pain in the flank I mentioned did save my life, not that it makes up for the way she’s treated me thus far.

I wish I’d been able to keep up with my sessions with my therapist, but he’s been off in Ponyville for some time now, and my appointments are off until he’s back. I’m particularly curious what kind of family emergency it is. Thankfully, I have some really supportive friends. I don’t know how many times I would have gone off my rocker without them. There’s this one friend that might become something more, but because of instilled cultural values, she’s not completely comfortable with the idea. We’re taking things slowly, but I’m optimistic.

How are things with you and your mom? Do you two miss my cooking yet? I’m sure it must be awful lonely when the two of you are on different shifts. I know only too well how lonely an empty house can be. I suppose right now you’re probably working on references and scholarships to fund your own full nursing degree and whatnot. You’d probably like university life.

We should totally meet up for dinner or tea sometime soon. Preferably, it would be before the spring break. I’m kinda making plans to head down to Ponyville to visit Lyra and Bon-Bon. Lyra’s pretty close to foaling—August isn’t too far off you know—and I really wanna be there for them.

There’s another reason I want to be down Ponyville-ways on my summer break. There’s a zebra living in the nearby countryside, and she is apparently a very accomplished potion-maker. There’s a particular recipe that she made for a friend last year that I would very much like to get my hooves on, since it is like nothing Equestrian alchemy has ever produced.

I hope to hear from you soon, and give your mom my regards.

Your friend,

Silver Script


~ Interlude III ~


Dear Silver,

We’re glad to hear that you are doing well in school, but not so much about your near death experience. You gotta be more careful! Just because you’re as big as you’re gonna get doesn’t mean you’re as durable as fully grown mares. If anything, you should be more careful, even just flying, especially if you’re going to be weak for a while. If a broken wing has a fully grown mare laid up for a few days, you might be out of it for a few weeks. Remember, you’ve got the constitution to match your body, not your mind.

I’d certainly love to sit down and talk with you over coffee sometime, but it can’t be any time in the near future; I’ve actually gotten a learning position out in Manehattan coming up—I’m writing this letter on the train—so I won’t be back in Canterlot until at least October. I’ll keep writing as long as you do though.

Mom’s doing alright—better than alright, really. She recently started seeing a fairly well-known business pony visiting from Vanhoover, and it’s probably the happiest she’s been since... well... It’s nice to see her smiling so much these days, at any rate.

Speaking of romantic interests. You with a marefriend? Not to be mean, but I never really imagined you having those kinds of feelings. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a great friend, regardless of what you might think, but you’ve always come off as a bit... prickly, like a hedgehog. Like you’d always have friends, but wouldn’t let them get close for fear of hurting them. That, and the whole you-look-like-a-foal business. I’m kind of glad you’ve proved me wrong there. You deserve to be happy.

Maybe I could come visit you some time after I get back. It’d be great to see you, and I’m sure you’ll have all sorts of fun things to show off. No doubt you’ll introduce the lucky mare, too.

Your friend always,

~ Candy


~ Interlude III ~


Dear Diary,

On the first day of potions class, I learned firsthoof that Alchemy sure is something else. In practice, alchemy is a hybridization of chemistry, magic, logic, and—strangely enough—cooking. That in itself makes it complicated as all hell to understand, never mind perform.

First of all, you have your basic chemical reactions to take into account—things like chlorine plus ammonia equals toxic gas, or that iron and chlorine can react in an oxygenless environment, producing rust. It’s very important to pay attention to these sorts of things, not so much because they may produce harmful effects, as the other parts of the process tend to negate that, but because an unwary alchemist may inadvertently blow up his or her lab. One time, my buddy Keith... 

Next, you have your magical reactions to take into account. There are many beneficial purifying effects found in many commonly used ingredients, in addition to other magical effects. As a rule of... thumb, if you are making a potion that can have ingredients swapped out, always go for ones that have this negating effect, more often than not referred to as the substance albedo. Unfortunately, the negating properties of ingredients make it difficult to get the desired effect, and as a result, some toxicity often remains.

Additionally, magical effects in a potion have an ability to co-mingle and produce surprising results. Whereas one effect yielded by the ingredients might be heat, and another might be a creation effect, you have many possible outcomes. You might have a potion that warms the drinker, raising your body temperature in a cold climate, or you might have one that literally creates fire. All depends on which is the catalyst, the heat or creation.

For the most part, it’s usually a straightforward chaining of effects—a setup for the catalyst, as I mentioned. Not all potions are so simple, though. Higher level alchemy involves the co-mingling of multiple catalytic effects as a precursor for the intended. Take Zecora’s tooth repair and hearts desire potions as examples. The recipe she likely used for Apple Bloom’s teeth involved a simple renewal or growth—probably renewal, but maybe both—potion with ground animal teeth as the catalyst. The heart’s desire potion, on the other hoof is most likely a combination of body and mind—or target body and target mind, in the literal sense—effects, with the desire of the Heart’s Desire flower being applied to the body.

That is also where logic comes in. In a way, alchemy is a language that you’ve never been given the full dictionary to. Instead of being able to write a sentence in Equestrian/make a potion do exactly what you want, you need to use the words you know and apply them in unique ways as modifiers to get the point across. You need to think of how to properly apply effects, or new ways to do so.

One wouldn’t exactly think of cooking as similar to something like alchemy, but as I mentioned, it surprisingly is very similar. Depending on ingredients, you have different ways to prepare them. You could create a paste from mashing the ingredients, or simmer them in order to leech the valuable substances into the water, removing solids from the equation. Some ingredients might simply require to be steeped, while others need to be ground for maximum effect. Finally, you often are required to reduce substances in order to concentrate the potency; something necessary for high-strength potions.

So yeah... Alchemy is pretty crazy. On the plus side, we’ve been given a free-reign homework assignment. We’ve all been given access to an ingredient store cupboard, and on loan I have portable alchemy equipment sitting right here on my desk. This seems like the perfect opportunity to try to make my gift to Lyra and Bon-Bon for when they have the foal.

What could possibly go wrong?

~Silver Script, March 19th, 2002 PH


~ Interlude III ~


Dear Lyra and Bon-Bon,

How have things been with you both? Is your sweet-shop still booming, Bon-Bon, or is Lyra eating all the merchandise? How about you Lyra? I’m sure the little darling filly in your belly loves to make herself known at the most inopportune times. Heck, she’s probably raring to get out and see the world now. I just hope the Crusaders are taking it easy on you; I know I’d certainly want ponies to take it easy on me if I were with foal.

I’m really excited to be visiting you in two weeks, and I’m not just saying that because you’re conveniently in the town outside the Everfree Forest. Sure, getting a recipe from Zecora is high on my list, but I genuinely do want to see you both. It would be wrong for me to not be there for you in time for the foaling after all that happened. Besides, I haven’t forgotten what you said about me having a special place in your herd. I’m honored, really.

There’s another reason I’m writing to you. A few of my friends are coming along with me to Ponyville—advance-booking group fare on the Friendship express is amazingly cheaper than simply paying same-day, and they all surprisingly had reasons to visit the town—and I was wondering...


~ Interlude III - Vacation Planning ~


Sprawled out on a pillow in the common room, Ice Blossom doll nestled comfily at my side, I listen to the instrumental that Gearalt’s makeshift band is playing, smiling at the way it’s all coming together. On his guitar, of course is Gearalt, plucking away at a beautiful, albeit hauntingly familiar, tune. Seated beside him is a silent griffon I’ve only met at these meetings and seen in passing in the chow hall, playing a slow, melancholy melody on her viola. Finally, perched in front of a pristine drum-kit that wouldn’t look out of place on Earth—it’s rather large for a pony, even one with crossed drumsticks on her flank—is none other than Chill Beat, kicking in at just the right time to add extra life to the sorrowful song while not compromising the mood.

To be honest, the song reminds me of one I heard a long time ago. If only the name would come to me, I could probably even guess the lyrics... or the general sound of them. For whatever reason though, whichever song I’m reminded of does not want to come to the forefront of my mind. Sure, I could look at the sheet of lyrics, but it’s more fun for me to wrack my brain and challenge it like this. It’s honestly a nice mental exercise, not unlike counting from zero to fifteen in binary, and then counting those binary digits into hexadecimal—memory is key.

It’s been a few sessions since I’ve started coming, and it won’t be all too long until I have to actively start practicing my lines. Thankfully when that time comes, Ice blossom, seated to my left with her own miniature me seated on her head—she really likes the doll—will be right there with me, helping me pronounce the lyrics. Even if it isn’t difficult to sound out words on paper, there’s more fun in hearing it and practicing with a friend. Who knows, I could even turn this into a duet. It is her song, after all.

Applauding when the latest performance comes to an end, I can’t help but comment, “Wow, Gearalt. The song is really sounding awesome! I hope it still sounds so good when it’s my turn to take the stage...” I laugh in self deprecation. Glancing at Ice Blossom, I add, “What about you, Blossom? Does this sound how you envisioned it?”

She smiles dreamily, nodding slightly. “This is even better than I could have imagined,” she says, giggling at the end. “I think it will sound even better with my lyrics for all to hear.”

This draws a chortle from Gale, off on the far side of the room playing Go Fish with the burly Gaius. “I’ll bet,” she affirms. “I might not have been there for your cafeteria performance, but I know from your shower-time singing that you have a nice voice. Surprised you’re still a blank though.” 

That last bit is teasing, as usual. We have a little running bet to see what’ll be more likely to earn my cutie mark: singing, alchemy, writing, or being an accident magnet. My money’s on alchemy of course, while Gale is convinced it’s being a walking disaster. All of it is in good fun though.

Turning her attention to the guitar-playing griffon, she grins. “So how’d all this start again? I thought you were a bard, all about poetry and what not, not being a rock-star,” she says teasingly. “Did you flunk your bard courses?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Me and the prof have a little side-bet for extra credit. Told’em a pony whose special talent wasn’t singing or music could still make a decent singer. He says to me every pony has a bit of music in’em, but that they’d never be a star.”

“What, so you bet him that you could turn a blank-flank like me into a minor crowd pleaser?” I laugh. “Oh jeeze, the music industry sounds right cutthroat if you ask me. After the show following summer break, I’m done singing for anypony but myself—” I throw in a wink, looking at Blossom. “—and maybe others.”

“Speaking of summer break,” Beat pipes up, subjugating the conversation with a mischievous grin. “What are all of you planning?”

“Traveling to Ponyville in mid August,” I say honestly. “A friend is having her first foal around that time, and I wanna be there for her. I also wanted to see the local zebra in the Everfree about an alchemy recipe. How about you?”

“Me? I’m probably going back to Neighpon for a few weeks,” Beat responds cheerfully. “It’ll be great to see mom and the rest of the herd again.” Looking teasingly at her younger sister, she grins. “Say, weren’t you going to Ponyville to see some ponies about some rare flowers? You two could go together!”

Beat’s teasing causes Blossom to jerk her head in surprise, causing the Silver Script doll to fall comically across her forelegs. “I-I am planning on visiting Ponyville ab-b-bout flowers, yes,” she stutters. “There have been sightings of the fabled Truth Flower has been seen in the area, and rumors of a bloom that fancies itself a comedian. I hope to find out more about these flowers.”

Something about what she said alarms me, but I never get an opportunity to voice my concerns. “Well... I’m studying to be a folklorist, and zebra folk-tales would be plenty interesting to do a report on,” Gale comments thoughtfully. “I can’t rightly let you go into an infamous forest like the Everfree on your own, and train rides are cheaper for groups that book in advance...”

“Party of three to Ponyville it is then,” I say jokingly. “Now, let’s look at those lyrics...” I flip over a sheet of parchment on the floor in front of me, and suddenly it’s a challenge not to exclaim, ‘Oh hey, I do know this song!’


~ Interlude III ~


... if you’d like to meet them. It’d mean alot to me if you could meet at least one of them.

Also, I’m kinda peeved with you, Lyra. I happened to find that old digital camera that came with me from earth, the one you somehow got your hands on at the party. Care to guess what I found pictures of on it? I’ll give you a hint. It had to do with the filly inside your womb. That created a whole shit-load of awkward when I brought that thing out weeks ago to show a griffon friend of mine what a human looks like, only to see those photos. Incidentally, that was just the start of a number of incidents that have lead me to the conclusion that I am a masochist. Not getting into the how, but know that I blame you in part for it.

Take care of yourself,

~Silver Script, March 28th, 2002 PH

P.S. I’ve got a present for you both.


~ Interlude III ~


Dear Silver,

I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be here when the baby comes. Things have been pretty swell here. My business is doing particularly well, for this time of year, though the sales are nowhere near what they are on Hearts and Hooves Day and Nightmare Night. Thankfully, I’ve been able to curb Lyra’s gorging on sweets, so my sales haven’t taken all that much of a hit. Granted, I’m still a bit perplexed about her pickled banana phase...

The crusaders have been keeping her plenty fit, and surprisingly, instead of wanting to be checked into the hospital for the foaling, she opted to go au natural. I’m not sure if she’s just gone a bit whacky from being with those fillies in the afternoons, or if she’s nostalgic for the former pastoral lives of our ancestors, but now she’s convinced to be the first pony to willingly give birth in a meadow in decades. Crazy, huh?

While I can’t speak for Lyra—she's having a nap right now, and doesn't actually know about the letter—I would love to meet your friends, especially if you’re implying what I think you’re implying. We don’t have a lot of room available, but I’m sure we could put you and one friend up for the duration of your stay, if you don’t mind sharing a bed.

Please don’t tell me there are photos of that. I’m sorry for both of us that that happened, but if there are any such photos, and they get out there, I can think of a few reputations that would be ruined. I swear she can be so impulsive sometimes, especially when drunk. No comment on that last bit, though. I’m staying way out of that, even if Lyra would suggest that there’s nothing wrong with a little S&M in the bedroom.

I hope to see you soon,

~Bon-Bon, 30 March, 2002
> Chapter 13: Ponyville Pt. I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Regardless of whether or not somepony is a heavy or light sleeper, the ability that the stopping of a train has in waking ponies seems to be a universal constant. I suppose it’s only to be expected that the train would be the thing to wake me after choosing to sleep the entire ride. Then again, we chose the night train to Ponyville specifically so that we’d have more time to spend in Ponyville, therefore I can’t  be expected to stay awake the whole ride. Sleep deprived Silver is a loopy Silver after all.

“Sleep well?” Gale’s voice calls out, drawing my attention to the bench on the opposite side of the aisle. Sure enough, the griffoness is right where I left her on my journey to dreamland. Unlike when I went to sleep, however, Gale has a disposable cup full of coffee clutched in one of her claws.

“Where’d you get that?” I ask groggily. My reaction draws a chuckle from behind me. “I didn’t hear anypony come through with a food trolley.”

“That is because fifteen minutes ago you were sleeping quite heavily,” Ice Blossom answers behind me. Looking back, I realize she is also nursing a warm beverage between her hooves, a sandwich on the seat beside her. “All attempts to rouse you were futile.”

Grumbling, I hop down off of the bench to pull my saddlebags out from beneath it. “You must not have tried very hard,” I reply with a bit more disdain in my voice than intended. “I used wake up just from someone talking to me through my bedroom door.”

That draws a sharp laugh from the griffon. “We did everything short of spanking you, Silver,” she wryly notes. There’s just the slightest tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it’s more than enough to convey the unspoken words. Her smile says to me, ‘...but you might have liked it.’

Blushing, I stare at my saddlebags. “S-shut up,” I mumble, digging through the left bag for my travel cloak, aviators, and my hat, much to the perplexion of my friends. 

I know instinctively what’s going through her mind, and even though I know she’s only being playful, I’m not going to allow myself to think back to the day I turned in my potion assignment—the one intended to prove I could make my gift to Lyra and Bon-Bon. Despite the unspoken agreement that what happened that day would never be mentioned again, I still catch the odd half-amused look from her. As nurturing as she may be, I get the impression that griffons enjoy playing with their food.

Once my articles of concealment are on and my saddlebags are fastened firmly to my back—eventually, it will get tiring having them jostle on my back just because I’m too lazy to fasten them—I look to the door. “Well then! Ponyville, here I come.”

Just as I’m about to step out of the train car, however, Ice Blossom places a hoof on my shoulder. “Is it not too warm this time of year to be dressed like that?”

Shaking my head, I smile at her, allowing my sunglasses slide to the end of my muzzle so as to look her in the eyes. “Not really... Even if this was my winter cloak, remember what I said when I told you my story, Blossom,” I say morosely. “I have a history here in Ponyville. While not everypony will recognize me, the ones most likely to be bothered by me will. Even if I was wearing another face at the time, what I did leaves an impression.”

Looming over me, the door feels even more intimidating. What if Rainbow Dash is waiting just outside the train station with another storm cloud? What if I run into those absurd flower ponies—the ones who panic over every single thing—that Blossom wants to meet? Even worse, what if I run into the Cakes? How could I even face them?

Before I can let my thoughts wander too far into the insane what-ifs that undoubtedly end in me being lynched, an avian claw closes over my opposite shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Silver,” Gale reassures. “I doubt any pony is going to give a griffon or her friends any problems.”

Part of me wants to point out that the last griffon to visit Ponyville was a royal bitch to all of the citizens, but that would only validate her impression if Ponyvillians are as slow to forget as I’ve made them out to be. Like... what if they see Gale and mistake her for Gilda? Would they treat her like crap for the trouble Gilda gave them all? Ugh, listen to yourself, Silver.

Shaking the doubt from my mind, I trot out toward the door at the back of the car, not once glancing at the windows. My reservations about my past experiences in Ponyville aren’t enough to keep me from seeing Lyra and Bon-Bon, or getting that recipe from Zecora in the Everfree Forest. Nothing is going to stop me from having a good time. I’m not going to allow that.

Moving out the door, I quickly notice that my sunglasses might be unnecessary; in the sky above, Ponyville’s weather team is closing up the sky for a cloudy or rainy day. Though the others might be cursing the lack of an intercity weather forecast, I’m thanking my paranoid caution right now. Heck, if it rains, I probably will be one of the few dry ponies around.

Turning to mention the cloud cover to my party, I pause, ears flicking. Somepony is coming, fast. If the sound of the hooves are any indicator, it’s somepony small. This I’m certain of because it’s the same light clip-clop I hear when I gallop. It’s probably an earth pony or unicorn, either a smaller colt, or a filly. The one of the Cutie Mark Crusaders maybe?

It isn’t until the pony is practically on top of me that I spot them, and by that point, the pony is already sailing through the air toward me mid jump. Unable to help myself, I back toward the door, only to bump into Ice Blossom’s legs. With nowhere else to go, I brace myself, hoping my attacker won’t knock me onto the saddlebag with all the potions I brought with me.

“Silver Spoon!” the filly cries out as she wraps her arms around my neck, causing my wings to half-flare uncomfortably beneath my cloak. Before I’m able to figure out what the heck is going on, the poor girl has her muzzle buried in the collar of my mantle. “Thank Celestia you came back! I’ve been so lonely without you.”

Looking at the pink filly, I can’t help but feel a bit of confusion. There’s no mistaking that white-streaked, grayish violet mane, or the big diamond encrusted tiara on top of her head. Unsure how to respond, I gently stroke the back of her neck reassuringly, looking uneasily over my shoulder at Blossom. While she doesn’t speak, she nods her head to the side, out of the way of the door.

Nodding—a motion that could probably easily be mistaken by the filly wrapped around my neck as a nuzzle—I lead Diamond Tiara out of the way of the rest of the disembarking ponies. It’s an awkward five-legged shamble between the two of us, but eventually we’re off to the side with Gale and Blossom standing on either side of us, looking just as confused as I feel.

“I thought I’d never see you again!” Diamond Tiara whimpers into my shoulder. “Why did you run away?”

This is too much... She thinks I’m her little fillyfriend Silver Spoon? Pushing her away, I move my shades up until they’re nestled over the brim of my olive green cap and look her in her bleary, haunted eyes. “Diamond Tiara, right?” I ask, noting her reaction to my adult voice. Recognition, or rather the lack thereof, dawns on her face as she looks across my features, taking in my vivid blue eyes, slightly taller stature, light gray coat, and silvery-white mane—similar to, but quite different from the medium gray coat, gray mane, and violet eyes of her friend. “I’m terribly sorry, but I think you’ve mistaken me for somepony else.”

“But... I was so sure...” she sobs, staring momentarily at my semi-erect wings beneath my cloak. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I thought you were my friend, Silver Spoon.” After realizing she’s stared at my wings for too long, she looks down at the ground despondently.

Much to my surprise, she actually sounds sincere in her apology. Something pretty horrible must have happened to have the bratty little bully I remember acting like this. “Your friend, Silver Spoon,” I say softly, lifting her chin up with a hoof. “Did she go somewhere?”

The filly’s lips begin to tremble, and I shoot my friends an apologetic look. Somehow, I doubt either of them expected to be dealing with anything like this within moments of visiting Ponyville. Then again, they never did get the brochure. You know, that non-existent one that says something like, ‘Ponyville: boring until something interesting happens.’

“S-she ran away,” she answers weakly. “Again...”

I’d rather not prolong this whole encounter, but it’s clear she’s distraught. “This has happened before?” I inquire curiously.

Diamond Tiara looks away, fresh tears rimming her eyes. “Once, back in March or April,” croaks the pink filly. “We’ve been fighting off and on because her parents keep punishing her when we tease those stupid little blank flanks. She kept telling me we shouldn’t bully them so much.” I bristle a bit hearing the term, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be nearly as respectful to an adult without a cutie mark. “After the first time, her uncle came in from Canterlot to help her parents...”

“Things went back to normal for a while, but then they started telling her to stay away from me.” I can’t imagine why. “She got fed up and said she was running away to Manehattan to live with her aunt... That was five days ago.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” I say, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll turn up. When she does, maybe you should apologize to her. It can’t be easy being loyal to your friend when she picks on others. I mean, surely she doesn’t hang out with you just because you’re mean, right?”

“I...”

“Go on home and get some rest,” I say in an authoritative tone, but a kind smile. “You look like you need it.”


~ 13 ~



Missing Filly!


Name: Silver Spoon

Age: 9 years

Sex: Female

Race: Earth pony

Cutie Mark: A decorative spoon

Last seen walking away from Ponyville Station toward the south-eastern border of Ponyville on August 9th. If you have any information about this filly’s whereabouts, please contact the Town Guard or her father Sterling Silver. Any information leading to the recovery of Silver Spoon will be met with a handsome reward.


~ 13 ~


The further we walk into Ponyville, the more we see the missing posters plastered to light-poles and up in shop windows. It’s actually kind of depressing to see a missing kid poster in Equestria, but I have to remind myself that Equestria isn’t the perfect world that I remember from the show. That’s been made clear enough to me, time and time again.

The other two, at least, are more distracted by the stares as I lead them through Ponyville. Seriously, you’d swear the town has never seen a griffon, a Neighponese mare, and a suspiciously dressed filly walking through town before. It’s not like a yeti wielding an eel and crane is riding an ox through town or something. Actually, for all I know, that happens quite a bit here.

“Relax Gale, they just aren’t used to griffons,” I say nonchalantly, pausing to stare at the thirtieth missing child poster on this street. “The last one to come through didn’t leave a very good impression. You might remind them an awful lot of her. Add on somepony exotic like Blossom, and somepony suspicious like me, and we’re bound to draw attention.”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “You’re not the one being stared at like you’re about to attack somebody.”

I bite back a disparaging comment about her intelligence. She didn’t mean it like that, and I know that. Heck, she looked away after saying it, so she probably feels bad about it too. “They would if they knew who I was and remembered what I did in my madness,” I admit flatly. “I can’t believe how many missing posters are up. I always knew that kid suffered from rich-girl syndrome, but looks like her family really is rolling in the dough.”

At that mention, Ice Blossom directs her attention to me. “I intended to ask this earlier, but are you acquainted that filly and her missing companion?” she asks in that adorably formal way, tilting her head. “The way you spoke to her implies familiarity.”

I raise an eyebrow behind my sunglasses. Familiarity? What is she...? Oh! It’s about me knowing the filly’s name. Since I never actually explained the show to my companions, I can’t just say, ‘It’s because this world reflects a universe created as a form of entertainment for human children, and that filly is a character.’ That would sound insanely creepy and slightly morbid, especially worded that way.

“Eh, I know her by reputation,” I explain dismissively. “That filly I mentioned saving from a gravitic death in my story? She’s one of the—ugh!—blank-flank fillies Diamond Tiara picks on.”

The answer seems to sate Blossom’s curiosity, but Gale only seems to gain amusement. “So she is a bully, and, knowing this, you still comforted her,” Gale observes wryly. “Sounds like you can’t make up your mind. You make enemies with a bigoted, rich snob one day, and coddle a rich little bully the next. I mean seriously, with that many diamonds on that thing, her folks must be loaded!”

A bit of bile rises in my throat, hearing Diamond Tiara being compared to Aqua Regia. I suppose the two are kinda similar, but is it really fair to put the two on the same level? The filly I dealt with today is just that: a filly with many opportunities for change ahead of her. Aqua, on the other hoof, is dead-set in her ways—a perverse mockery of a pony.

“Diamond’s just a filly, Gale. That’s hardly a fair comparison,” I say levelly, leading everypony around a corner toward Bon-Bon’s shop. “The poor kid has plenty of room to grow up. That’s reason enough to treat her with a bit of empathy. If treated right, she might not end up with a steel rod up her arse like Aqua does.”

Unable to restrain herself, Gale releases a single loud guffaw. “You’re too nice for your own good, Silver,” she mutters softly, smacking me on the back gently. “You’re smart and unpredictable, too, and that kinda scares me, ‘cause if what you said was anywhere close to true, you could be every bit as dangerous as a griffon if you wanted.”

That is a sobering truth. While occupying Lyra’s body, I nearly murdered one of the most powerful unicorns in Equestria through sheer wit alone. I might not be a unicorn, or even regular in size, but with the things I know I could be as vicious and cruel as only I know how. Even worse, I look like an unassuming adolescent at the most. There’s little to stop me from dropping a pony with lightning from a storm cloud or a simple sleep potion, spiriting them away to some forgotten corner of the world, and torturing them to death. My mind could make Cupcakes a reality, and I would only need to desire to be cruel—to become like Aqua Regia.

It’s kind of frightening to realize that an art I’ve been learning in order to heal and promote wellness also serves to make me dangerous in a fit of insanity. All I would have to do is give into my anger and fear, and everything I worked towards—all I've built—could vanish in an instant. If that is true, though, is everything I am just a facade for all my bottled up grief and anger?

As we draw up on the doorstep to Bon-Bon’s confectionery, Sweet de Treat, I look upon my friends with haunted eyes. “If I ever start acting like Aqua Regia, I need you two to promise me something,” I croak. “Promise you’ll stop me before I become like her.”


~ 13 ~


The inside of Sweet de Treat—an adorable pun at how some mares must feel when they cave in and buy a shit-tonne of sweets—is not unlike some bulk goods stores I recall from my days on earth. The aisles are lined with bin after bin, each filled with a different variety of sweets. You have your standard gummy arsenal, so many things dipped in chocolate, chocolates with various fillings, toffees, gum, trail mix, lollipops, jelly beans and more! Just smelling the aroma upon walking into the place is enough to put you in a diabetic coma.

Then of course, right by the door you have the cashier’s counter. Stationed behind it is Bon-Bon, looking tired as sin but smiling nonetheless as she organizes boxes of hoof-crafted sweets by her register. For once, the one in the group attracting the most attention isn’t the griffon. Bon-Bon’s eyes are tracking me like a hawk. Can’t rightly blame her, either. Some little pegasus comes into my store dressed the way I am, browsing my wares, you damn well bet I’d be watching them like a hawk.

Smiling, I trot up to the register, retrieving a pouch full of bits. “So, Bon-Bon, I have an interesting quandary,” I say playfully around the purse-strings. “I slept through the wake-up call on my train and thus missed breakfast. What would you recommend to invigorate a mare who is dead on her feet.”

Blinking momentarily in confusion, Bon-Bon’s accommodating ‘welcome to my store’ smile becomes one of recognition. “Well, for a pony of your size, I wouldn’t suggest too much, or else you’ll never be able to fly,” she snickers, taking a small sampler from a rack behind the counter. “I didn’t expect you’d be here so soon, Silver—or Auntie Silly as Lyra’s taken to calling you when she talks to our little unborn sweetheart—or else I’d have taken the morning off and met you at the station.”

Letting my smile fall, I glance away. “I got a welcome wagon anyway,” I reply, indicating a piece of paper in the window. “Case of mistaken identity with a lonely filly who suddenly realized she has no friends besides the one who ran away. It’s kinda sad, really.”

“I know.” Bon-Bon nods soberly. “None of that glum talk right now, though. You’ve just gotten here, and you haven’t even introduced me to your exotic friends!”

Gesturing with a hoof, I reply casually, “The beautiful one is Ice Blossom.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a blush spread across her cheeks. Smiling, I add, “She’s the one bunking with me.”

Bon-Bon grins ever so slightly at the tone of my voice. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ice Blossom,” she greets kindly. “I’m sure you’ll love it here in Ponyville.”

“It is likewise a pleasure to meet you, Bon-Bon,” Ice Blossom responds cheerfully. “Thank you for having me, and for helping Silver so long ago in becoming the mare she is today. There was much admiration of you in her stories.”

Gale, who up until this point looked ready to introduce herself, chokes suddenly, and there’s a crimson tinge creeping over the feathers over her ‘cheeks’. I can’t help but wonder what she thought of just now. “This here is Gale,” I explain, indicating the griffoness. “She’s my roommate, mental fitness trainer, and apparently my stand-in therapist, though lately she seems to be a bit more abrasive than usual.” Unable to resist my chance at returning a bit of discomfort I throw in my own jibe. “I think it might be nesting season.”

“It’s nice to see your meatstick, er, to meet you,” she blathers, drawing a mortified look from Bon-Bon. Oh, now I see! She’s remembering those photos. Moving anxiously toward the door, she looks at me accusingly. “Yeah... I’m just going to go find a place near the border of the Everfree to camp out. We’re gonna meet up around midday to go see that Zebra, right?”

“Yeah, just lemme set Blossom up on a playdate with Lyra and get the directions to Zecora’s place from a friend,” I reply with a nod. “If you have to hunt, try to do it inside the Everfree. Fluttershy won’t take it well if her fuzzy critters start going missing. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure there’s a joint that caters to pegasi here in town.”

“Sure thing!” Gale answers, already booking it out the door.

Resisting a bit of a giggle, Bon-Bon comments, “She is a bit flighty, isn’t she?”

Nodding, I withdraw a stack of bits from the coin-purse to match the marked price on the sampler box, plus a bit extra. An uncomfortable look crosses her face, and for the slightest moment I could swear she’s about to deny payment. “I know what you’re thinking Bon-Bon, but you’re going to be a daddy soon, and you’re going to need all the bits you two can get your hooves on,” I cut her off, smiling. “Now, is Lyra at home, or is she out chaperoning?”

“Resting, thank Celestia,” she answers tiredly. “Went into prodromal labor late last night, and insisted I help her out to a nearby meadow for the foaling, only for her to realize out on the front lawn that the contractions she was feeling weren’t gaining in strength as time went on. I’m not sure what to think might happen if she went into labor while out with those three fillies.”

“‘Cutie Mark Crusaders Midwives, yay?’” I offer in my best imitation of Sweetie Belle.

“Not at all funny.” Bon-Bon rolls her eyes, but there’s a slight tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It was bad enough that one time the three were peeking in on our special time.”

Taking the box of chocolates into my saddlebag and moving toward the door, I bid my farewell. “I’ll see you later this evening, Bon-Bon,” I say, waving a hoof. “I’ll give you that gift then, okay?”

“Goodbye, miss Bon-Bon,” Blossom adds. “It has been very nice meeting you. Thank you again for having me.”

> Chapter 14: Ponyville Pt. II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Instead of heading straight to Lyra and Bon-Bon’s home, I decide to detour back through the town in order to show Ice Blossom more of the town’s layout. Here in the market, I might even be able to find one of those flighty flower flakes for my fantastic filly-friend. Wow, try saying that three times in quick succession. Stupid brain.

Still, I really do want to give Blossom a feel for the town before I venture into the Everfree with Gale. If the trip into the Everfree can be taken care of on the first day, I’ll have all the time in the world to spend with Blossom and Lyra and Bon-Bon. Plus, she’ll get some opportunities to ask around about those two flowers she’s looking for. I just really hope she’s not looking for one of the flowers I’m thinking she’s looking for.

Heck, I could even take her with me to pay Twilight and Spike a visit if I wanted to... which I do plan on doing, just not today. Sure, she’s the best source of information on reaching Zecora’s hut safely, but I actually have somepony else in mind. If she’s here in the marketplace today, I could probably get pretty good directions to the zebra’s frightening forest abode on account of her sister’s frequent visits. It’s just a totally unplanned convenience that this same pony is most likely to give me an honest impression of the town’s mood.

“Bon-Bon seems like a very nice mare,” Blossom comments idly, eyeing the merchandise in a few stalls as we pass. “She definitely seems very concerned with her Lyra’s condition.”

“Mmmhmm,” I hum, glancing around in search of my target. “With how motherly she really is, you’d never think that the mare didn’t like foals. Just goes to show how you can be changed by the prospect of having to do more than just occasionally mother your lover.”

Much to my surprise and utter bafflement, Blossom bursts into a fit of giggles. She just keeps walking, giggling not unlike Pinkie Pie. I’m actually a bit surprised she can even walk straight with how hard she’s giggling. This goes on for quite a few moments before finally she pauses to wipe a tear from her eye.

“What was that about?” I ask, incredulously. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have assumed you’d just smoked a whole joint. Are you high or something? Do I have to worry for the candy breakfast waiting for me in my saddlebag?”

“Oh no, it is nothing like that!” she protests quickly, as though bothered by the implication she might steal my meal. “I was simply imagining you with a foal of your own. Beyond your sometimes outlandish quirks, you are a very compassionate pony. Surely it would make any filly or colt happy to be able to call you their mother.”

I stop mid-step to stare at her. What in the nine hells brought that up? “Me with kids?” My incredulous response slips from between my lips before I can reign it in. Seriously, why would anypony think I’d make a good parent? I’m no less than five kinds of crazy, and there’s a good chance my kid would become Pinkie Pie. “Really?” Is she really talking about kids when we’re not even officially dating yet?

“Yes,” she meekly replies.

“Let’s skip the logistics of how a stallion would literally tear me in half, for a moment,” I mutter, covering my face with a hoof. “As much as I support adoption, it isn’t for me; I’m an all or nothing type of mare. That leads me to the fact that me bearing a foal is a terrible idea. Remember now, Blossom. I’m a dwarf. 

“Assuming my dwarfism is not magically imposed genetics, but instead a result of Equestria’s magic converting matter to energy to fuel the transformation, chances are good that any foal I have would be full sized.” I let out a small giggle as the morbid image of me bloated like a blimp, my hooves unable to touch the floor. In that scenario, it would probably be necessary to putter around on a cloud for the eleven month gestation. Judging by the rather shocked expression on her face, the same image just occurred in Blossom’s mind as well. “Oh sure, it’s plenty humorous to imagine, but in all reality it’d probably be incredibly hazardous to my health. Teen pregnancies are bad enough when they aren’t stuck in the form of an eternal preadolescent. I’m almost guaranteed a required cesarean or I’ll die in childbirth. Luna preserve me, let’s not even think about twins or triplets.”

“They only perform those sorts of operations in places without qualified medical unicorns,” she nickered softly. “Please remember that this world is much unlike your own.”

She makes a fair point. I have been living in Equestria for around ten months now, but I still think in terms comparable to earth so long as unicorns aren’t involved. After all is said and done, I’d like to say that Equestria operates on principles similar to those on earth, but beyond the laws of gravity—Pinkie notwithstanding—everything is dictated by magic. Arcade machines? Arcane crystal arrays. Electricity? Sure, they have hydroelectric dams, but you never see any infrastructure, as though it’s all buried cabling. Heck, it might even be magically transmitted. 

So why am I so quick to ignore magic? What’s the phrase? Oh yeah! Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Surely the inverse is also true. I grew up so used to computers, home television sets and e-readers that the benefits of magic don’t even faze me unless I actively think about them. Magic is essentially technology here in Equestria, and technology is just one of those things you learn to ignore out of convenience. The only magic I even actively think about is alchemy these days. What’s that say about me?

I put my ruminations aside, and freeze as a familiar pony falls under my gaze. Scratch that! Two familiar ponies are dead ahead of me. The first, a blue pegasus with a polychrome mane and tail, is having an animated conversation with an orange earth pony covering most of her blond mane with a stetson. Of course Rainbow Dash would be the one having a conversation with Applejack when I show up. Fuckin’ Rainbow Dash!

“... and I know she’s in town, because I saw her hat when she was walking away from the train station!” Rainbow’s raised voice carries across the market. Thank Celestia, she hasn’t spotted me yet, or else this might turn ugly for me. Unless... “You don’t forget a unique hat like that, and it’s hard not to spot her with how suspiciously she’s dressed.”

“Say, Blossom,” I ask in a playful tone, casually leading her into an alley between shops. “How do you feel about role-play? I’ll share half of my chocolate breakfast with you.”


~ 14 ~


When we step back into the marketplace, my hat and sunglasses are replaced with a green hair bow fashioned from a bandana, and my travel cloak is tucked safely away into my saddlebags, along with my identity. For the time being, I’m not visiting Ponyville as Silver Script with my marefriend. Instead, I’m simply Snowdrop, visiting ponyville with my mother.

With that in mind, I stick very close to my ‘mother’s’ side as she trots casually through the market, occasionally stopping to look at a stall’s merchandise as we agreed, while slowly making our way to Applejack’s stall. For my part, the act is simple enough. Stick close to Blossom, and pretend to be a skittish little blank flank. In reality, it isn’t all that difficult an act to put on; being exposed like this makes me every bit anxious.

Strangely enough though, when I actually muster up enough courage to look around, I’m not met with looks of suspicion or disdain. Instead, many ponies are smiling at the sight of me sticking so close to Blossom. Looking to put on a good show, I press closer to my ‘momma’ and shyly nuzzle her side. This action serves a dual purpose. In addition to eliciting a few ‘awws’ from mares operating a stall selling fashion accessories, it also gives me an excuse to nuzzle her publicly without it being too obvious.
.
That’s when Rainbow Dash finally spots me. Her eyes lock on me, and instantly narrow, halting whatever conversation she may have been having with Applejack in favor of giving me an accusatory stare. For a long moment, nothing happens; not once do I make eye-contact, instead doing what I’m sure any filly would do in a scenario where a stranger is staring at you like you’re scum: warily back away.

As if on cue, the polychrome mare advances, her face twisted in anger and disgust. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” she says in a spiteful tone. “I thought I made it clear the last time that nopony wanted you here!”

Alright, Snowdrop, make it good. “W-what a-a-are you t-talking ab-b-b-bout?” I stutter in a squeaking filly-ish tone. Reflexively, I take another step backward as Rainbow unfolds her wings to make herself appear larger and more threatening.

“Drop the act, Soren,” she growls stomping her hoof. “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

Shrinking back and hiding myself with Ice Blossom’s tail, I cue the waterworks whilst letting out a whimper. “What is the matter with you?” Blossom shouts in a good approximation of rage, drawing attention from ponies in the market. “My daughter Snowdrop has done nothing to you!”

Rainbow Dash snorted in disgust. “Is that the con she’s running now? Getting herself adopted and sponging off of some foreign mare?” she asks with much disdain, creeping closer. “Did she tell you how she tried to murder my best friend?”

Sniffling, I peer around Ice Blossom’s leg at her. “Momma, w-why is she b-b-being so mean to me?” I stutter before letting the crocodile tears flow. Smiling inwardly, I decide it’s time to seal the deal. “I just wanted a pretty dre-hess for my bir-hirthday!” I wail in a Rarity-esque manner, stomping my hooves into the ground before hugging Blossom’s leg.

The gathering crowd begins chattering lividly at the sight of Rainbow Dash tormenting a little girl. “On her birthday, no less!” one mare points out in outrage. “Oh sure, she’s a national hero... but what right does that give her to bully children? If her status has gone to her head, I’m not sure I want my foals idolizing her any more.” A chorus of agreement erupts from the crowd. “I’m just glad they aren’t here to see their hero now.”

I can’t help but flinch at the sneer projected in the mare’s voice. Again and again, ponies in the crowd speak out against Rainbow Dash in disgust, and with each word, my heart clenched in pain. When it gets to the point where I can actually see tears rimming her eyes, I get the impression that I’ve made a serious error in my calculations, and she’s just standing there taking the abuse.

“This is evil,” I croak, feeling my crocodile tears becoming real. “I knew full well that this would happen, and I did it anyway! This is exactly the sort of thing Aqua Regia would do.”

“Silver, I do not think this will end well for her!” Blossom whispers back to me, her voice wrapped in fear. “You must do something.” Then, as if in slow motion, the first tomato begins its arc through the air towards Rainbow Dash... and then another, and another, but the mare makes no indication that she will move.

Without even a thought, I launch myself into the air, intercepting the first barrage of fruit before it strikes its intended target. More produce begins soaring through the air before anypony understands what is happening, only to pelt me instead of Rainbow Dash. Hell, if the pain lancing up from my side is any indicator, one or two ponies may have thrown stones instead.

When the hail of merchandise ceases, I land in front of Rainbow Dash, wings spread defiantly. “What in the fuck is wrong with all of you?” I shout indignantly. “You see a pony you’ve all known for years—a mare you know and respect—verbally assailing somepony, and you don’t even stop to second guess the situation, instead basing your reactions on appearances? I would have thought after the whole misunderstanding about Zecora you all would have learned not to judge a book by its cover.

“Did you not even stop to think that you were being manipulated?” I ask, stomping my hoof and glaring defiantly at the crowd around me. “Ugh. The lot of you are as judgemental as the day I left Ponyville for Canterlot! Oh sure, you were all so eager to remember what I did in my insanity, and made sure to judge me by it every single day I was here, but you all seem to have forgotten me once I was gone.”

Recognition and shame begins crossing the faces of a great number of ponies faces as a realization dawns on them. “Only a hooffull of ponies seemed to remember what I went through and did, only to still hold it against me. Rainbow Dash was one of them,” I announce. “She blamed me for her friend having to go back to Canterlot, as well as for nearly killing the mare in a psychotic fit, and thus made it her duty to make me feel unwelcome as a result.

“I put on this act just to show her a fraction of how I felt, but alas this has gone too far!” I announce angrily. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. I know I’m feeling nothing but disgusted with myself for having made this happen. I think the lot of you owe Rainbow Dash, a national hero whom you have all brought shame to, an apology.”

Much to my shock, much of the crowd as shrunken back, refusing to look at either Rainbow or myself. Tapping a hoof, I comment loudly, “I’d like to point out that given your treatment of her just now, to refuse her an apology is every bit as evil and horrendous as what I’ve done.”

Still no takers? Wow. I think I broke Ponyville. Not good. “It’s only right that I go first, of course,” I answer the silent crowd solemnly.

Turning to Rainbow Dash, I realize that she must be in shock over the situation. It’s not just the Ponyvillians turning on her; she’s in shock that in spite of wishing this horrible mess on her, I took every blow intended for her and shamed the whole town. “Rainbow Dash, since the day I lost my mind and convinced myself that Twilight had been replaced by an impostor and very much needed to die, you’ve treated me with nothing less than disdain and animosity,” I say sadly. “ You were upset that the circumstances leading up to the event ended with her being recalled to Canterlot for so long. Out of loyalty, you made it your duty to make sure I didn’t threaten any of your friendships ever again through attempts to make me feel unwelcome.

“In spite of all that, I still respect what you did, really. That you would go to such lengths in reminding me time after time of what I’d done and making me believe that I’d never fit in...” I smile weakly. “Getting your hooves dirty and playing the bad guy just for the sake of your friends, regardless of your public image... that’s about the closest thing to pure loyalty as you can get, short of killing for them.

“Ultimately, though, your actions were unnecessary.” I lower my head and dig at the dirt before me. “Every day I spent studying under Twilight was a constant reminder of what I’d done. I came to a conclusion long ago that beyond my relationship with Lyra and Bon-Bon, I had no place here in Ponyville. I’m just too different.

“When I came back to Ponyville, a part of me hoped that you would have gotten past the events of that day as I had, but it angered me to hear you in the market so wound up about me,” I whimper. “I couldn’t believe my ears, and that twisted, bitter part of me insisted that showing you how I felt was the right thing to do. It wasn’t.”

Looking up at Rainbow Dash, I swallow the lump in my throat. “What I did—then and now—is completely unforgivable, and though my word is probably worth less to you than the produce I’m covered in, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am,” I apologize, prostrating myself before her.

I watch her eyes as she stared unblinkingly at me. Even when the ponies in the crowd finally man up and apologize for their part in this horrid debacle, she doesn’t move or blink. If not for the steady expansion and contraction of her sides, I would probably worry that she had perished from stress. Eventually the crowd dissipates completely, leaving just me facing Rainbow Dash, and Blossom a few feet behind me.

“Rainbow Dash, I—”

She blinks suddenly, as if noticing me for the first time. “Save it,” Rainbow Dash hisses, her tail snapping me in the face as she turns. I hear her mutter “I’m outta here,” angrily as she takes flight.

Rubbing my smarting cheek, I watch the multicolor speed demon take flight. If I really wanted to push the issue, I doubt it would take much to track her down. After all, this is the mare that leaves a rainbow contrail. That wouldn’t help anything, though. When someone like that storms off, it’s because they want space, not because they want you to follow.

Surprisingly, when I turn my head to speak to Blossom, my words catch in my throat. She’s wandered off to a stall to speak with a rose-maned earth pony—Roseluck, if I'm not mistaken. I get the distinct impression that she’s making a great effort not to look at me right now. Can’t rightly blame her, given how hurt Rainbow looked when she fucked off; I’d be unwilling to talk to me too given that I got her involved.

Staring at the ground, I make my way over to Applejack’s stall, only to find the cowpony has closed up shop for the time being. At the stall counter, there’s a large sign proclaiming her return in fifteen minutes. Odd, considering that she was there the whole time, just watching disapprovingly. Did she realize I was coming to speak with her before I got caught up in my self-righteous scheme?

Come to think of it, she scarpered at about the same time as Rainbow Dash did. Smacking myself in the forehead with a hoof, I groan. Of course Applejack would go after her friend, dumbass! Those two are best friends! Seriously, Silver, what’s gotten into you?

“Oh well, I guess I’ll just wait in this alley until Blossom’s willing to talk to me,” I mutter, loping over to the nearest alley. “Who knows... Lyra’s been hanging out with the crusaders, so she might know the way to Zecora’s.”


~ 14 ~




To say that the walk to Bon-Bon and Lyra’s domicile was quiet is an understatement. Aside from a stern “I am very upset with you,” I don’t think she has said a single thing since the marketplace. At least she’s looking at me now, even if those looks are frequently alternating between hurt, pity, and worry. That’s a step in the right direction.

When we finally come to the end of the court the house is on, I stop and turn to face Blossom. “Well! Here we are,” I proclaim, patting the gate to a pink picket fence. Heaving a sigh, I make sure I’m looking her right in the eye. “I know you’re upset with me. Hell... I’m upset with me. There’s no excuse for any of it. You have my word... no! I promise I’m going to try to make things right with Dashie.”

“That is not the issue, Silver” Ice Blossom replies. “You have been acting terribly erratic since our arrival. Even before your encounter with the rainbow one, your behavior has been—what is the word—twitchy to say the least. You have been on the edge since we got on the train, as though this town is wearing away at you. I worry for you.”

I’ve been twitchy—on edge? That’s ridiculous! Things are just fine, so why would I be on edge? It’s just Ponyville after all! What happened here is in the past, and I’m ready to let it stay that way. It doesn’t matter if a spoiled rotten filly ran off somewhere, because it hasn’t a thing to do with me. Just like with Pound Cake, none of that stuff has anything to do with me.

Just as I’m about to address Blossom’s concerns, however, the door to the house opens, and a familiar minty unicorn pokes her head out the door. “I thought I heard a conversation out here,” Lyra says to herself looking at Blossom, and then at me. Aside from having her mane tied in a bun—I guess she took a liking to the style—the only noticeable difference in her appearance from the last time I saw her is the fact that her belly looks particularly bloated, and the dark circles under her eyes. “Silly! You’re here, and you’ve brought a pretty mare with you!” With a teasing look, she adds, “Is she your special somepony?”

I can’t help but blush as I push the gate open, though I can’t help but think that my blush is hidden by some of the tomato covering me. “Lyra, it’s so good to see you!” I say, trotting up toward the door. “I’d love to deck you for lying to me about the tomatoes and potatoes all that time ago, but I reckon that you lied to me at the time because you were personally allergic to them.” She looks almost concerned for her personal safety. “Besides... anypony who would attack a pregnant mare is scum.”

Glancing back at my friend, I smile. “Lyra Heartstrings, I’d like you to meet Ice Blossom,” I speak casually. “Ice Blossom, this is the pony responsible for making me the mare I am today.”

Crossing through the threshold of the gate, Blossom’s earlier distress is forgotten. “It is an honor to meet you, Miss Heartstrings,” Blossom purrs laconically. “Thank you for having me.”

Lyra laughs playfully, looking at me. “Oooh, she’s foreign! Did you bang her yet?” she says wryly, poking me in the forehead with a hoof. “Is that why you’re covered in fruit, you kinky little thing?”

Before I can help it, I’m snorting in amusement. Leave it to Lyra to flat out ask that sort of question. After spending some time with her, it’s kind of easy to forget she’s a mare. Lyra just has one of those ‘one of the guys’ attitudes when she opens up to you. As such, she’s pretty liberal about talking about personal lives, which honestly kind of explains her photographing that whole thing when we were all drunk.

Blossom, on the other hoof, is blushing and stammering away. “I-I am as pure as the driven snow! We—I mean I...”

“No Lyra, we haven’t done any of those sorts of things,” I answer in a cross tone for Blossom’s benefit. “Blossom and I are taking things slowly because I don’t want to force her to confront the conflicting cultural values head on. We’re working on that one step at a time.”

Snickering, Lyra pulls the front door open and beckons us forward. “Uh-huh. Why the fruit bath then?”

“I... ran into Rainbow Dash,” I say glumly.

With a raised eyebrow, Lyra asks, “She dumped a food stall on you? Harsh.”

“N-no... I did something really horrible that ended in towns ponies pelting Dash with fruit... only, I’m the one that got hit, because I fucked up.” I glance down the hall. “I can explain it in more detail later... Do you think you could get Blossom situated in the guest bedroom while I borrow your shower? I’d really rather not go into the Everfree smelling like fruit salad.”

“Sure! Follow me, Ice Blossom!” she says cheerfully, turning around and skipping back inside. “I assume you still remember where the bathroom is. It’s not like it went anywhere.”

Staying ahead of  Blossom, I try my best not to look at Lyra’s arse. “I dunno, Ly-Ly,” I say mockingly. If she’s allowed to call me Silly, she’s definitely going to be Bon-Bon’s Ly-Ly. “The most potent memory I have of that bathroom is having my head stuck in the U-bend under that sink.”

“Har har,” she says, flicking her tail slightly. I immediately drop my gaze to the floor. 

Like paint from a leaking can, I see tiny droplets of a white fluid trailing behind her on the wooden floor. Backtracing the trail, I quickly spot the source: the hanging dark aquamarine chevrons that are Lyra’s engorged teats. “Uhm... Looks like you’ve sprung a leak, Lyra,” I comment, turning my gaze to the wall.

“Darn, again!?” Lyra shouts, stomping a hind hoof angrily. “Blasted colostrum is leaking out again? Why can’t it wait until after our little sweetie is born? It’s bad enough they’re so swollen... The way they feel so full most of the time, I feel like one of AJ’s cattle!”

Without thinking, I say the first thing that comes to mind, “I know how you feel. Kinda makes you wonder if it’s like that all the time for the Milkmare of Trottingham, eh Lyra?”

“Nah, Milky Way’s just an urban―WAIT A MINUTE!” She rounds on me, eyes wide. Even Blossom gasps. “What do you mean you know how I feel.”

“Silver, what is the meaning of this?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Why did I say that? “I um...” No! Damn it, tail! You stay down. Stop rising, you traitor! Abort! “Would you believe it’s kind of a long story that I don’t really want to tell?” I chatter quickly, feeling my haunches becoming moist. Traitorous anatomy and physiological reactions. “Oh, listen! The shower’s calling me! See you in a bit.”

> Chapter 15: Everfree
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

There are few things as awkward as walking into a room with your marefriend and the homeowner whose shower you just clopped in, only to realize they heard every single moment of it. ‘We heard you,’ their flushed faces say as I observe them sitting across from each other at the coffee table. On Lyra’s face, a raised eyebrow and awkward smile greet me as I walk through the doorway into the living-room. In contrast, Blossom looks both concerned and mortified. Luna preserve me, they heard me, and now Blossom thinks I’m some kind of lech.

“Silver... while I would like to admonish you for engaging in such a lewd act under somepony else’s roof, there is another question that seems more pressing,” Blossom comments, shifting uncomfortably on the cushion beneath her. “In my experience, ponies do not cry with the sorrow of a filly that received nothing on Hearth’s Warming while they are indulging in self-gratification. What is the matter?”

Okay, it’s bad enough they heard me clopping in the shower, but they also heard me crying in shame? Damn it all! How do I even explain to my friends and loved ones that my personal embarrassment—or worse, humiliation—is apparently a massive turn-on? It’s bad enough that I might have to explain how I know how Lyra feels regarding her lactation. 

Oh yeah, it’s nothing Lyra. I just made a potion for class, only to be told I had to drink it without being allowed a purgative afterward. Something about not making potions you weren’t prepared to drink yourself. The potion was made to ensure I could make a gift I intended to give to Bon-Bon in case you ever needed her to nurse from time to time. So I spent the next six hours, trailing milk everywhere, and trying not to feel embarrassed, which went out the window when my roommate found out. Nothing completely awkward about your roommate offering to milk you like a cow or nothing... Especially not when you orgasm in her fucking hands.

Dear Celestia, when I put it like that, I sound like some sort of massive pervert. Maybe I am, though. Just thinking about explaining any of this has my tail twitching and flicking to the side. Unable to answer, I look away, once again feeling my cheeks going scarlet. “This isn’t the time or place to be discussing such things.”

Much to my disdain, Lyra snorts with laughter. “Oh, I see!” she chuckles, turning to give Blossom a wry look. “I bet humiliation gets her off, and she might have a lactation fetish. Hay, she probably remembered something pretty embarrassing when she saw my dairy-dos and all the milk.” Turning back to address me, she grins playfully. “Whatever it was must have been something pretty potent to get you that worked up.”

“S-shut up!” I look at Blossom’s mortified expression, and back to Lyra. “I’m not like that!” I groan.

Lyra bursts out laughing, banging one hoof on the table. “Are you serious? I was just joking; I didn’t honestly expect it to be true!”

“You’re evil, Lyra,” I say flatly after taking a moment to regain my composure. “Listen, do you know the way to Zecora’s hut? The other member of our party and I both have business with her, and I’d rather not be running through the Everfree without a good idea of where she lives.”

Feigning a look of injury, Lyra frowns at me. “I’m not evil, I’m just pregnant. Besides,” she answers with a yawn. “I’ve been spending far too much time around those Crusaders, and not enough time around adults. Forgive me if I want to talk about things the girls are too young to hear about.”

Ice Blossom gets this look about her that almost says ‘I’m not old enough to hear this,’ and I kind of have to agree. Maybe it’s the whole being openly lesbian thing, or the fact that Lyra still has that mysterious laptop with a never-draining battery and a trans-dimensional internet connection—she still won’t tell me where the fuck that thing came from, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why that thing gets free internet around unicorns—with full access to loads of porn and human net-culture, but the mare is plenty liberal when it comes to discussing sex-lives.

“That’s... wonderful,” I manage, hoping my face isn’t reflecting my inward cringe. “Seriously though. Zecora’s hut?”

Lyra frowns upon realizing I’m not going to take her bait and tell her anything. “Fine,” she groans, flopping gently onto the pillow beside her. “Just go out on the road leading into the forest out by Fluttershy’s cottage. Keep on the road, and you should get there within an hour or two. Just be careful; there are some strange, spooky creatures in there.”

Once I’m confident that my body has calmed down, I saunter up to Lyra, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. “Thanks, Lyra,” I say softly. “I promise you’re going to see a lot more of me when I get that potion recipe from Zecora.” Pulling away, I dip my head into the saddlebag with all of my potions—warmth and cooling potions, a liquid fire-starter, and a light rejuvenation potion, just to name a few—and retrieve a gift-wrapped box. “This here’s a gift for you and Bon-Bon. Open it when she gets home, and don’t worry; I even wrote instructions.”

Making my way over to Ice Blossom, I smile apologetically. “I’m sorry about how today has gone so far. What I did to Rainbow Dash was nothing short of the evil sorts of things I didn’t want to end up doing. You can punish me when I get back, but for now, I’m leaving you with that sample-box of chocolates I bought.” Having raided the box after my shower—peanut butter chocolates? I don’t know what you’re talking about; there were none in there!—I have no qualms about leaving it here. “It might be asking much, but could I have a kiss for luck?”

Instead of dignifying an answer, Blossom nuzzles my cheek before giving me a gentle peck on the end of my muzzle. “As angry as I am with you, I cannot deny you this,” she says affectionately. “I would be inconsolable if you were to die thinking I hate you. Be safe, Silver.”

Cantering toward the door, my spirits raised by that simple kiss, I can’t help but skip. Maybe today is going to be decent after all! “Alright Lyra, I’m trusting my loved one with you,” I say teasingly. “Try not to turn her into a pervert like you.” With that, I dash out the door.

“Wha? HEY!” she shouts from her cushioned resting place. “You’re the one that clopped in my bathroom! You’re the pervert!”

“Sorry! I can’t hear you over how awesome my marefriend is!”


~ 15 ~


With only my sunglasses, cloak, and potions in my saddlebags, my flight over Ponyville is mercifully unladen and undisturbed. It’s times like this that I am glad the world made me a pegasus. Flying over Ponyville, you don’t really have to worry about picking your way through the streets or whether or not the town actually thinks you’re evil after a stupid stunt that could have ruined somepony’s reputation. You just orient yourself, and ride the winds.

The town really is beautiful from up here. There’s something to be said about the rustic architecture, like something out of the past or a fantasy video game, that gives the impression of going back in time, and the closer I get to the edge of the Everfree Forest, the more I get the feeling of traveling further back in time. Each moment that passes, I am nearer to Fluttershy’s cottage, and the more spread out the buildings become. 

Once the cottage is in sight, finding where Gale set up camp is easy. In a wooded glade not far from the cottage, the smoke of a campfire rises up from among the trees. As I spiral down, to land in her camp, I smell the delicious aroma of cooking meat. It’s a bit curious considering she hadn’t brought meat with her, but then again, we’re near the Everfree. She probably went for a little hunt or something.

“Hey there, you!” Gale greets, raising a haunch of... something, and waving it. “You have the directions?”

“Mmm, yeah,” I say, smacking my lips. I don’t know what that meat is, but it smells delicious. “I can’t believe you caught something already.” I look at the skinned remains, and the strips of meat hanging over the fire. “What is it?”

The griffoness smiles with that weird flexible beak of hers, and looks back at the bones and uncooked flesh on the ground. “Oh that?” she asks innocently. “Would you believe it used to be a two-headed bear? Thing came lumbering out of the Everfree and thought it might make a good snack.”

“I guess you showed him, huh?” I comment wryly, noticing the twin heads. “Mind if I get in on some of that meat you’ve got cooking there before we go off into the forest?”

“Dig in. Just remember not to ignore your fiber,” she replies, allowing a fleck of meat to hang off of the tip of her beak. “I don’t need to remind you of why.”

No, she doesn’t need to remind me of why I can’t just gorge on meat and ignore hay, flowers and whatnot. It’s not a nice thing when you have to go to an alchemy supply vendor in order to buy the ingredients for a potion that allows one to safely pass any blockage in their bowels, only for the clerk to recognize the recipe and comment on it. Worse, I really didn’t need to remember her reminiscence on how useful such a potion was in retrieving a lost toy. Ick!

“On second thought...”

Gale looks at me in surprise. “What?” she squawks incredulously. “You never turn down a bit of meat.”

Heaving a sigh, I plunk down on a log beside her. “I’ve lost my appetite for meat, at least for the time being,” I mumble. “This whole Ponyville thing has already gone to hell in a handbasket, and if I hadn’t already alienated the town beforehand, I definitely have now. The last thing I need is them to overreact to my... dietary choices. I’ve shown them that I’m a lunatic and that I can be a total sociopath already. Celestia forbid they add two, two, and three, only to get ‘Silver is a cannibalistic serial killer’ and run me out of town.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks, resting a single talon on my withers. “You know I’ll listen.”

That actually forces me to pause. She certainly would listen to me if I started telling her these things. Heck, there’s not a doubt in my mind that she would offer her take on things. “You know how my biggest concern about coming back here was that pony Rainbow Dash?” I query, feeling disgusted with myself. “I ran into her today while I was looking for a pony I knew had the information I needed. Instead of telling her to fuck off and to stop being a punk about things that are in the past, I decided to be nothing short of a manipulative cunt...

“Not only did I pretend to be just a foal that she was bullying for no reason in an attempt to get the whole town to turn on her...” I stare at the dirt before me, unable to look at Gale. “I roped Blossom into the whole sham. Fuck, I got her involved in that evil fucking act, and what do I do? I reward her with a picked over box of chocolates and ask for a kiss before going into the forest of death.”

“I get it, you’re doing the self-loathing dick who doesn’t cope with stress schtick again,” she comments neutrally. “That doesn’t tell me why Ponyville might want to lynch you.”

Smacking a hoof against my forehead, I groan. “Oh the act worked fucking perfectly. The ponies in the market were fucking furious with Rainbow Dash. Even started throwing shit at her.” Finally, I look up at Gale. “I didn’t even think what I was doing was wrong until then...”

“So... what happened then?”

“I took every fucking hit and yelled at them all for being a bunch of sheep.” This draws an amused snort from my griffon companion. “I then insisted they all apologize to her, but seeing as I started the whole thing, they waited until I made my long-winded apology. Once everypony had apologized for being morons, Dash just flew off, and the pony I wanted to talk to left to see to Rainbow Dash.”

“You got the information though,” she notes.

“From Lyra...” I stomp my hooves. “What is wrong with me, Gale? Why would I do such an evil thing to her?”

“It’s ‘cause you’re an idiot.” There is no doubt in her tone. “You’re smart, but you’re a damn idiot, too. You overthink some things, and underthink others. When you get emotional, you stop thinking ahead, and act in the now. It’s just the way you are.

“Things’ll either work out, or they won’t,” she says dryly. “If you’re part of your friend Lyra’s herd like you said you are now, I doubt they’re going to run you out of town, as that would mean telling the rest of a herd—one that has a successful business in the town—that they aren’t welcome.” Upon recognizing my confusion, she smiles. “What? Just because I’m a gryphon, I can’t understand pony herd dynamics? Screw that. Part of folkloristics is being able to understand the context of stories. I wouldn’t be passing if I didn’t understand these things.”

“Sometimes, I hate you so goddamned much, you smug bugger.”


~ 15 ~


I’m not sure if the show ever accurately portrayed how creepy the Everfree forest actually is. Sure, the audience is told the place is creepy because it is completely outside of the utopian normalcy of Equestria. The weather in the Everfree is self-regulated, just like Earth. Ponies say it’s creepy because its wild weather and animals are unnatural and don’t follow the ‘natural’ order. Kind of ironic, all things considered.

While I agree that the forest is unnerving, my reasons are a bit more Earth-rational. Just looking at the trees around me, I have to restrain a shiver. Wood around me looks dead in a way that brings forth memories of the photos I once saw of Red Forest at Chernobyl. Only... despite looking dead, the trees are very much alive. One might go so far as to say that the trees are in a state of unlife, but that only makes the whole feeling exponentially worse.

What really makes the place creepy isn’t the monsters or the weather or the freaky undead trees. For anybody who has spent time in a forest back home, dangerous animals and unpredictable weather mean next to nothing. No, none of that matters at all. It’s the silence that is getting to me.

Back on Earth, if you walk into a forest, you’re bound to hear all sorts of sounds: the chirping of crickets; the buzzing of cicadas; the peeping of frogs; bird calls of every kind. You’d hear all of these things in addition to the creaking of trees in the wind, the whistle of leaves in the breeze, and any water sounds relevant to nearby sources. I know it sounds strange going into the Everfree forest expecting it to seem similar to a Terran forest, but I really did expect its wild nature to be similar to Earth.

Here, the only sounds are the groaning of wood, the trickle of water in a nearby stream, and our own footfalls. The silence rules all in this forest of the damned. There are no crickets to warn if danger is near, keeping the fur on the back of my neck almost fully erect. Even Gale, whom has been relatively calm aside from her earlier perversity, is bristling with wariness as we stride down the worn path through the forest.

Occasionally, other sounds make their way to us from deeper in the forest. A branch behind us will snap, or the bushes off to either side of the trail will rustle ominously. Every time this happens, I find myself subconsciously drawing closer to Gale and pressing against her side. She doesn’t say anything on the matter, but she extends her wing over me protectively nonetheless. The message is clear; I’m the smaller of the two of us, so if something comes after us, it’ll go after me first.

As if to accentuate that unspoken point, something impossibly large lumbers through the forest not fifty yards to our left. The thick mess of trees makes it impossible to see what it is, but the unholy stench of rotting flesh and the foreboding blood-red glow seeping through the gaps in the trees is enough to keep me from wandering too far from Gale. That bloody glow, bleeding through the trees like the anemic blood of some other-worldly thing, only accentuates the wrongness of this dark place, and drives us to move quickly and quietly along the path.

Whatever that thing is, it is just... wrong on a fundamental level. As long as that thing is nearby, there is just some malicious sense of terror hanging in the air around me, like everything that I am and everything that I will be might be consumed by whatever horror lies beyond the trees, leaving nothing but a fateless husk of a pony trembling beneath the wing of a griffon. That evil sensation presses against every core aspect of my mind, and it’s all I can do not to scream and wet myself in terror.

Even after the thing is gone and the glow has faded, I don’t stray from beneath the griffon’s protecting wing. I’d love to say something—anything—but the words just don’t come. This is neither the time nor the place for conversation—not when at any moment we could be beset by timber wolves or worse. Conversation would only attract unwanted attention.

As the minutes and hours pass, the forest grows darker and more disturbing. More than once, we’ve frozen on the spot at the sound of a snapping twig behind us. In our defense, it does seem rather suspicious that none of the times this has happened have we spotted any twigs upon turning around. The spooky forest of doom is definitely fucking with us, and I don’t like it one bit.

Much to my relief, we reach Zecora’s hut without incident. I allow myself a great sigh of relief when I spot the first tribal mask indicating the dwelling is near. “Thank fuck that is over,” I croak, noticing for the first time how dry my throat actually is. “Thankfully, we’ll be able to just fly out.”

Gale smooths her feathers before taking a moment to look at me. “No kidding,” she grumbles in an ill-humored voice. “The wildlands in the Griffon Kingdoms have nothing on this place.”

Unable to comment on her opinion, I instead caper out from beneath her wing and pick my way toward the hut’s door. If this forest weren’t so fucking creepy, I might even stop to look around the glade surrounding Zecora’s tree hut, but for all I know, there’s a venomous snake in that bush just to my left. Once in front of the door, I knock not once, but thrice.

“Who is knocking at my door, not on the hour, but fifteen more?” calls a sing-song voice from somewhere within the home.

Without even pondering my response, I reply, “We are scholars, numbering two. We come seeking knowledge from you.” I catch a strange look from Gale, but shrug it off.

The quick clopping of hooves approach the door, but when the door opens, a momentary look of disappointment crosses her striped face. Maybe it was wrong to pay her rhyme mind, and then to answer in kind. “Greetings, friends of great and small,” she greets, smiling warmly before stepping away from the door to allow us entry. “Stay a spell, won’t you all? Come with me into my hall.”

“Thank you, Zecora,” Gale says, quickly ducking inside Zecora’s doorway. “It’s far too creepy out there.”

The zebra leads us inside, and situates us on pillows before a fire, though the cauldron that usually occupies the middle of the room is nowhere in sight. “It’s no surprise you know my name,” she comments cheerfully, offering us both cups of some sort of herbal tea. “Of you both I can’t say the same.”

Sitting up, Gale nods politely at Zecora. “My name is Gale von Gilcrest, though I go simply as Gale,” she explains, offering a claw to shake the Zebra’s hoof. “I study folklore out of the university in Canterlot.”

To my surprise, Zecora chuckles, shaking Gale’s claw, causing one of her golden bracelets to jingle playfully. “A seeker of stories comes to hear my kind’s tale. You’ll find I have many that may leave you pale.” Turning to me, she offers a charming smile. “And what of you, diminutive one? Do you come seeking knowledge of a zebra’s fun?”

“I’m Silver Script, ma’am,” I answer politely, after taking a sip of the offered tea. “I came hoping to barter a potion recipe from you.”

The zebra smiles thoughtfully, sipping from her own cup. “A pony after my own heart,” she comments freely. “Though you seek knowledge I cannot lightly part.”

I frown slightly, even though I fully expected her not to freely divulge the information. “What sort of payment do you need? I have plenty of bits that are yours to take.”

With a shake of her head, Zecora frowns. “Of pony coins I see no end,” she says sadly. “My potion supplies, I’d rather append.”

Well fuck. this is something I didn’t see coming, even though I probably should have damn well expected it. She wants ingredients for potions, and probably rare ones at that. In other words, what she wants is something I do not have available to offer, and a payment plan she seems unlikely to proffer. Oh, and I’m starting to think in rhymes now.

“Well,” I say, finishing my tea. “It didn’t hurt to try. Thank you for your generosity, Zecora, but I’ll wait outside.”

“Certainly child, but stay close or alarm,” she warns direly. “In this dark forest you’ll come to much harm.”


~ 15 ~


I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting out here. It could have been hours, or simply minutes. The place doesn’t readily allow the conveyance of time, and I’ve never had the common sense to carry around a pocket watch. Even on Earth when I had a cell phone, I’d only have its clock available to me if I actually had the phone. Here in Equestria, I simply learned to tell time by solar and lunar positioning—not that it does me any good out here beneath the forest canopy.

Adding to the problem, I occasionally catch glances of things moving in the underbrush. Timber wolves—there’s no doubt about it. I still remember the first time I actually spotted one of the wooded beasts. It’s rather hard to forget that moment where what I thought was a tree stump turned around and crept across the far edge of the clearing, one anemic green eye watching me the whole time. Since then, the odd one can be spotted in the bushes just staring at me. They never do enter the clearing proper. Something about Zecora’s place has them spooked.

Occasionally, when I rest my head against the door, I hear small portions of the zebra’s stories. Strangely enough, many of them start with Zecora talking about one silly zebra or another, and I can’t help but be reminded of something. Try as I might, though, I can never remember what it is her stories are reminding me of. Even stranger, despite the cheery start to each story about a silly zebra, they all often end rather darkly.

Somewhere off in the distance, I hear something scream. Oh sure, it could be some Everfree wildlife getting frisky, but this place is far too silent otherwise. Regardless of the what the sound is, I feel my fur standing on end. Dancing from side to side, my eyes sweep the clearing, looking for any sign of danger. There’s... nothing! All the timberwolves are all gone, and if the forest had sounded quiet before, you could hear a pin drop at a thousand yards now.

“Somethings not right,” I mutter to myself. I pick myself up off of the ground before the doorway. Looking around once again, I tap the door three times with a back hoof. “Something’s not right, you two.”

There’s a commotion inside for a quick moment before light spills out across the glade from the now-open doorway. “Something hungry for young flesh and bones,” Zecora whispers in a condemnatory tone. “Get inside before in on you it zones.”

“What?” Gale squawks in confusion. “What’s coming?”

I tune out the other two as I stare into the darkness. Something’s moving on the path ahead. The clip-clop of hooves in a full run reaches my ears, and again I am reminded of how light they are. A foal is running through these here woods... and if the snapping of branches and the sound of something creeping through the woods are any indicator, something is chasing that pony.

As the sounds become clearer, I can just make out a pony on the path. Completely gray, messy fur and mane, and glasses... “Silver Spoon, this way!” I shout, rearing up onto my hind legs and waving. “It’s safe here!”

The filly shrieks, veering off into the bushes. For just a moment I catch sight of the monster giving chase. At first, I don’t believe my eyes. With that serpentine body and equine front, there’s no mistaking a lamia. “But...  that thing is huge!” I whisper aloud, watching the serpentine horror—the size of an eighteen wheeler, no less—veer off in the same direction.

“Silver, don’t...” Gale says, and for a quick second, I could swear I feel her claws on my tail. None of that matters; she never had a chance to grab me. “Silver, wait!”

I take off at a full sprint, making my way to the edge of the clearing where I saw the pair vanish. Even if the bespectacled gray filly wasn’t pounding her hooves into the dirt hard enough to leave hoofprints, the trail of broken branches, wrecked bushes, and huge hoofprints the lamia leaves in her wake is more than enough for me to follow.

By the time my legs begin to ache, I have no idea where I am. Who knows how long I’ve been following the trail? Am I going north, south, east, or west? What if this filly is running in circles? Ooh look: a shiny! Wait... those are pearls scattered across the ground! Didn’t Silver Spoon have a pearl necklace? Ew! Bad brain. Don’t think like that!

“Wait... what was that?” I hiss under my breath. There was a loud thump just now, and now I can hear something thrashing around just ahead. I slow down to a crawl when I come close to a clearing. Up ahead, the lamia is pressed up against a rock wall, her head lodged in some sort of cave, only I don’t think it’s stuck. It’s almost like the creature sees something it wants in that cave—or somepony.

“Come with me, young filly,” the pony snake croons almost erotically. “I will show you... mmm... eternity.”

Good, so the serpent hasn’t gotten Silver Spoon yet. Now... there’s no way I can reasonably fight a creature the size of a semi. Now, scare it off? Maybe... But how? I stare at that tail, that green, diamond patterned mass of scales, and wonder what might scare the half-pony creature. Sure, the front end of it doesn’t seem to be covered by armored scales, but who knows just how tough that yellow-green hide is? How dangerous would that mane even be? Oh well, if it comes down to it, I could just set it on fire, right?

Hold on a minute. Fire? I’m carrying around a couple of liquid fire-starters in my saddlebag. For all intents and purposes, I’m walking around with firebombs in my bag right? The moment that alchemical mixture comes into with contact organic matter, it combusts rather violently. There’s a reason you don’t drink these things after all! So, if I threw one of these at that giant lamia,. I might scare it off. Sure, it might just piss the thing off, but that only happens in movies!

Pulling one of the test-tubes from my saddlebag, I grin to myself before lifting myself into the air. “Oi! Snakeskin boots!” I yell, hefting the incendiary in my hoof. Good, she’s no longer lodged in the cave. Instead, it turns and rises up on its coils like a cobra. Not so good, she’s staring right at me, now. Welp, here goes nothing! “Come get me, motherfucker!”

“Oooh, a tasty morsel!” the lamia hisses, baring some very pointy and likely highly venomous fangs at me. “I don’t usually consume grown mares, but you look absolutely divine.”

The lamia is in motion no sooner than the words have left her lips. Just like a snake, she lashes out with her head, trying to snatch me out of the air. While it’s the sort of thing that somebody could predict, I barely make it out of the way in time. It’s not that I’m pudgy, or slow. I’m actually pretty quick considering I have a small body. The problem is that because of my size, my wings don’t generate as much lift as a fully grown pegasus. 

Where I once hovered above the ground, the lamia’s face is now filling with dirt. “That’s probably not as tasty as this, split-tongue!” I taunt, smacking my bottom as I jet up in the air. “C’mon, whassamatta? Feelin’ like the dirty snake you are?”

Once miss Fangs n’ Snakeskin  is up from her sampling of the forest floor, she once again alights her eyes on me. “Oh I am going to enjoy this!” the creature croons, tracking me as I lazily float backwards along the trail of destruction. “Come back, little mare! I just want to hug you!”

The lamia follows me back onto the trail, and even though the tips of my feathers are brushing the foliage above me, I don’t once break eye contact. “Say, I was wondering...” I ask in a distracting tone. The test-tube is still sitting comfortably balanced on my hoof, but now’s the time to see just how well I can throw underhoof. “I’ve always wanted to make out with a giant snake lady before, but I can’t really stand the smell of snake. Think you could—EAT FIREBOMB, CUNT!”

I swing my hoof forward, launching the container into a low arc, straight for the serpent’s face. Much to my amusement, the thing just stared in confusion as the fire-starter flies at its face. That confused expression quickly explodes into agonized shrieks as its muzzle and cheeks burst into bright blue flame. The fire-starter works too well as a firebomb, because a column of blue flame shoots up through the tree-line. For a quick minute I worry that I’ve just caught the whole forest on fire, but nothing else catches. “You’re going to regret that, pony! I will END you!”

Blinded by the blue alchemical fire in front of her eyes, the lamia surges forth, flailing her forelegs hoping to smash me to the ground where she might crush me. Such a plan could probably work too, except for my timely change in altitude, breaking into the foliage above. It’s all I can do not to snicker as beast cuts another swath of destruction through the forest.

Instead, I wait until the sounds of the creature’s destructive exit fade away before I drop out of the canopy. I mean, you never know how well something that size can hear. For all I know, that thing can feel vibrations in the ground for miles. It’d be terrible for me to send the gigantic lamia packing only for it to come back and eat me.

“Nope! Not thinking about that, especially when there’s a scared filly in the cave a few yards away,” I mutter aloud, dropping out of the foliage and back onto the path. Standing out here in the open—in this wanton swath of wooded destruction—only makes me feel exposed. It’s hard not to think about those timber wolves that had been watching me, or that gigantic glowing thing out there. 
Picking my way back to that rock wall and the cave, I can’t help but wonder about that monstrosity. “What was that thing, anyway? What would it do to a—” My musings fall silent as some glass object cracks beneath my hoof. “Please don’t let it be her glasses, please don’t let it be her glasses,” I chant, worriedly lifting my hoof. As the blunted appendage ascends, a blue plastic frame peeks out from below, shards of glass jutting out at odd angles. Just as I am about to take full credit for the destruction of the filly’s glasses, something to the right of me catches my attention—the other half of her glasses.

Well shit, Silver Spoon, looks like you’re going to be without glasses for a while. I don’t bother to pick up either half of the spectacles. Without tape, I can’t possibly hope to repair those them for the filly anyhow. It’s not safe, so keep moving. Just get to the cave; it’s not far now.

The cave mouth looms over me, but even from here, I can see it’s not too deep—just enough to cast shadows and hide a scared filly from a great serpent. The inside is probably the size of a small hotel room, with a low ceiling. Heck, with a ceiling this low, it’s probably the only reason that truck-sized monster didn’t get the filly.

Stepping into the cave, I call out, “Silver Spoon! It’s alright to come out now, Silver Spoon.” There’s no response to my calls. “It’s okay, hon, the monster’s gone!” I stop to listen for any response, but nothing comes. Did she scarper after the lamia went after me? Did something else get her? “Damn! She was just in here!” I mutter, hanging my head in disappointment.

Just as I’m about to turn and leave, I hear a weak groan from the far corner of the cave. Perking my ears in that direction, I listen once more. “Dia... mond? Is that... you?” a weak voice calls out.

As my eyes adapt to the low light of the cave, I can make out more details. There, under a small overhang is the huddled form of a filly. As I make my way over, I can barely see her sides rising and falling. The kid must be exhausted after being chased by that thing and running around the Everfree for who knows how long. “Sorry kiddo, I’m not your friend, but I’ve met her. She really misses you,” I say, trying to keep her talking.

“Tell her... tell her I’m sorry,” she rasps. For one moment, she looks like she’s struggling to rise, but failing to do so, she slumps back down onto the ground. “Tell my mom and dad... and uncle Clear...”

“You can tell them yourself, Silver Spoon,” I say dismissively. The kid’s talking like she thinks she’s going to die or something; of course if you give up on living, you’re not going to survive, so I’ve gotta nip that in the bud fast. “You’re going to be fine. You’ll see.”

A visible shudder wracks the filly’s prone form. “S-s-so c-cold!”

I frown at that comment. Of course she’d be cold. She’s been out in the forest for Celestia knows how long, running for her life, and probably unable to find any food. If it’s rained at all these past few days, she’s probably damp and cold. Hell, she probably has hypothermia. Sure enough, pressing the frog of my hoof against the little gray filly’s forehead yields an ice-cold coat.

“Silver Spoon, I’ve got something to help you keep warm, but you have to trust me,” I say, dipping my head into the designated potion bag. I pull out a test tube and pop off the top. Pressing it to her lips, I try to reassure her. “It might not taste the best, but it works.”

To my relief, she greedily drinks the potion down without complaint. No great surprise there—she’s probably dehydrated, too. A few minutes of silence pass before she responds. “Wow... I feel warmer already.”

I smile slightly. She’s probably not going to be able to walk any time soon, but she’s probably not at risk of hypothermic shock now. Still... I gotta get her to a steady source of heat. At least I have another fire-starter in my bag. “I’m going to make a fire, alright? The only thing is that I’m going to have to move you...”


~ 15 ~


Yeah, so the tail of a filly who has been running around a dirty forest and apparently pissing herself in fear really doesn’t taste that great. She was dignified enough not to complain as I dragged her across the cave floor by it, for which I’m grateful for, but I don’t think me leaving her to gather some firewood pleased her any. I still remember the undignified whine she made when I just left her in the middle of the cave with my cloak draped over her. At least she’s grateful for the fire.

“So why did you run when I waved to you earlier?” I ask, sliding the non-potion portion side of my saddlebags beneath her head. “I reckon Zecora’s hut is probably the safest place in this whole forest.”

There’s an almost imperceptible flinch from Silver Spoon. “There was a griffon...” 

Oh, of course! A little rich girl would be afraid of a softie like Gale. She doesn’t know any better, and that whole thing with Gilda probably didn’t help. “Gale’s harmless,” I say, trying to forget the two-headed bear that she apparently eviscerated earlier. “She’s one of my best friends, and she’s probably looking for us both right now.”

That’s probably actually not completely accurate. Gale’s got her fierce side, but she’s not crazy-stupid like me. Seeing a thing like that, she’s more likely to go get help, especially seeing as there’s a guard contingent in town specifically for things of this nature. She always uses her brain for more than a feather rack. Still, it’s good to give her hope.

“You said Diamond Tiara misses me,” Silver Spoon groans, flicking her lilac eyes toward me. “I thought she’d be angry... that I abandoned her.”

I smile kindly, brushing her messy mane out of her eyes with a feather. “She probably was, originally,” I answer softly, glancing at the mouth of the cave. “You should have seen her when she tackled me at the train station. She was so sure I was you, that she was literally in tears. You mean a lot more to her than you—” I watch out of my peripheral vision as something crosses in front of the mouth of the cave. “Did you see that?”

“N-no,” she whimpers.

“Braaaawk!” Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

Very slowly, I turn my back completely to the cave entrance, leaning very close to Silver Spoon’s ear. “I need you to do exactly what I say,” I whisper firmly. “In the saddlebag under your head is a pair of reflective sunglasses. I want you to put those on, and not take them off until I say so.” She snorts in protest, but she never gets an opportunity to object. “Just do it! That’s a cockatrice out there, and if you look directly in its eyes without any sort of protection, you’re done for.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll think of something,” I mutter, screwing my eyes shut. “I didn’t scare off that lamia just to get us both turned into stone, after all! Oh! One last thing.” I pause for dramatic tension. “This might get a bit violent.”

I also have an advantage that a cockatrice doesn’t; I can see without my eyes. Flaring open my wings, I feel for the air currents around me. Right in front of me is the fire, pulling in air like a black hole. Mentally, I follow that air flow backwards, tracing the outline of Silver Spoon’s resting form, and then skipping over it, I visualize the cave’s mouth. Sure enough, when I overlay the image projected into my mind by the Wind Sight, I’m greeted by the outline of a bat-winged creature with the tail of a serpent and the head of a chicken.

Turning around, I step over Silver Spoon and step toward the creature. “Get out of here!” I growl. “There’s nothing here for you but death!”

There’s no surprise when the cockatrice steps forward instead of fleeing. The warning is more for my own benefit than anything else. After all, I’m going to defend this filly or die trying, because I did not distract that fucking lamia for this. If it comes down to it, I will tear this thing limb from limb and dance in its entrails.

A clucking sound escapes the creature’s throat in what I assume is supposed to represent a threat, but you just can’t intimidate someone with chicken noises when they aren’t alektorophobic. When I don’t react to its call, it steps forward once more, flaring its wings out threateningly and clawing at the ground.

“Sorry, Chick-fil-A, your special eyes don’t work on me,” I say mockingly, stomping my hoof. “It must not be my brand.”

The grumble from that thing almost sounds offended, but it quickly becomes a squawk of rage as it lunges forward. In a surprising burst of speed, the thing is in front of me in no time at all. Instead of backing up or dodging as it lashes out with one of its claws, I rear up onto my back hooves and throw a blind punch. My hoof fails to connect with anything.

Wincing, I ignore the sensation of the creature’s talons tearing through muscle on the side of my rib cage. Once more, I throw a punch—a right cross this time—and pray for the best. I let out a gleeful cry as my hoof strikes the cockatrice in the side of the skull, sending it staggering. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Instead of turning back to face me, it sends itself into a full turn, lashing out at me with its spiny tail. Pain once more lances through me as the creature’s tail tears up my side. This time, however, it is too much for me to simply ignore; I cry out in pain. “Oh... you’re really starting to piss me off!”

Instead of coming at me once more, however, the cockatrice makes a go at Silver Spoon, whom I can no longer actually see in my perception of the air current. Big mistake! With no other choice, I wrench open my eyes, and leap at the cockatrice. “You don’t have permission to go after her, feather brain! Come get some!”

The monster ducks, but only manages to partially avoid my tackle. Once I feel underbelly slam into the back of its head, I beat my wings to hold me in place. From that point in mid air, I lash out with my hind legs, wrapping them firmly around the cockatrice’s neck before slamming my hooves firmly over its eyes.

Immediately, my foe lets out a strangled cry, throwing itself onto the ground in an attempt to batter me off of it. No matter how hard it tries, or how many times it slams my head against the ground, I won’t let go. I keep on riding the writhing beast, grinning through bared teeth. The longer it tries to fight, the more tired it seems to get, but seeing as I’m literally choking it with my legs, that’s hardly surprising.

Leaning down, I whisper to the beast, “Yippee-ki-yay, mother clucker!” Holding my forehooves firmly against its head, I wrench my hips hard in one direction, and am immediately rewarded with a satisfying crunch. Any fight the creature may have been putting up before is quickly put to rest.

I stare at the fallen cockatrice, feeling a mix of pride and disgust. This is the largest thing I’ve ever killed before, and it’s a bit bigger than me. What do I do with it though? Well, I read somewhere that parts of a cockatrice have some interesting alchemical properties, so surely I could use this to barter with Zecora for that recipe. At the same time, though, I also sorta want to take a trophy or something. This is, after all, a good kill.

“Is it over?” Silver Spoon rasps after a full minute of silence.

“Yeah,” I wheeze, feeling the pain from my injuries catching up to me, even as I drag the corpse over to the same overhang that I removed Silver Spoon from. “Just... don’t look at what I’ve gotta do.” I eye a heavy but sharp looking rock nearby.

She almost sounds afraid to ask. “Why?”


~ 15 ~


“Miss!” Silver Spoon’s cry jerks me out of a doze.

Shit! I fell asleep! “What’s up?” I ask, pulling myself to my hooves. It’s a bit of a struggle; after getting my trophy and walling off the remains with stones, I was so exhausted I was barely able to get bandages out of the miniature first-aid kit in my saddlebag. After that, I must have passed out from exhaustion. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Somepony’s coming!” she exclaims, unable to rise. “Listen!”

I look to the cave mouth, but it’s totally dark out, now. There is more light here inside the cave than there is outside. Just how late is it now? If there’s anybody out there, I certainly can’t see them. Like the filly said though, there is definitely someone—not a something, for a change—out there.

“I’m telling you AJ, this has to be where I saw that blast of blue flame shoot out of the forest!” a voice calls out. “And look! There’s blue light coming from over there!”

“Well, Ah do reckon if somepony were alive out here, they’d hole up in a cave for the night,” another voice answers. “This here’s not the end of this trail though! Ah’m just sayin’ y’all should be lookin’ durin’ the day! This don’t feel right!”

“Silver Script might not have a day, and neither does that other filly running around out here!” A third voice, unmistakably Gale, practically shouts. “I’m not leaving her out here, alive or dead, or Ice Blossom will never forgive me.”

The second voice is Applejack to a T, but is the other really who I think it is? Why would she come all the way out here? After what happened earlier, it makes no sense that Rainbow Dash would come for me—well, without a knife, anyways. I’m a bad pony who deserves her anger.

Ignoring that for now, I look to Silver Spoon. “Sounds like a search party, I’m going to go flag them down,” I explain reassuringly. “Just keep close to the fire and you should be safe.”

Confident that she isn’t going to run off—given how exhausted she is, I don’t really expect her too—I grab a tree-branch from a pile of wood I collected for the fire, and, holding it in my mouth, dip the end into the fire until it catches. Once I have my torch, I turn to the cave mouth and walk out, into the darkness.

Right off the bat, I know not to dally. There are plenty of fresh tracks—timber wolf, if I had to guess—around the cave mouth, and plenty of spots where it looks like things have simply sat just outside the entrance, possibly watching us. If things were bold enough to get that close when it’s just two small ponies around a fire, then they might think Silver Spoon is easier prey.

“Gale! Applejack! Rainbow Dash!” I shout around the torch as I run down the trail. Around the first bend, not far from where I remember spotting the pearls, I spot the orange glow of a lantern. In that light I spot a wagon pulled by the orange cowpony, and lead by Gale and Rainbow Dash. “This way, and hurry!”

The three of them hurry to meet up with me, and no sooner than they are near am I set upon by Gale. “What were you thinking you moron?” she shouts, tackling me and knocking my torch to the side. “Going after a gigantic lamia like that! You could have been killed! Do you have any idea how worried I was?” She looks me over in the light, and frowns. “Look! You even got yourself hurt!”

I try to push the griffon off of me, but fail miserably. “I’m fine! It was only a cockatrice! Nothing I can’t handle.” I wheeze from beneath my friend. “Let me up! We need to get Silver Spoon to a doctor.”

“Ya found her?” Applejack asks. “Where is she?”

“Back at the cave.” I manage to squeeze out from beneath Gale. Snatching my torch back up, I move ahead of the group “Follow me.”

There’s no conversation as the three of us pick our way back along the path, as there’s hardly anything to say with a filly in a cave. Even when I feel compelled to talk, every time I glance back, Applejack glances awkwardly between me and Rainbow Dash, while Gale keeps looking like she wants to hug me and throttle me. In laymans terms, this isn’t the right time to ask why AJ and Dashie came into the forest.

Back in the cave, Applejack and Dash are quick to haul Silver Spoon up onto the wagon and put out my alchemical flame. In the meantime, I retrieve my saddlebags before leading Gale over to the corner where I hid the body. “Gale, I trust these two to get me back to town safely, so I need you to do something for me.”

The griffon stares at me, her eyes glinting in the dimness. “Silver, it’s really late, can’t this wait?”

I shake my head and motion for her to lean down. “Hidden behind this pile of rocks is a dead cockatrice.” My tone is completely grim. “I want you to wait until we’re gone, and take that to Zecora and offer it as payment for the recipe of that sex-change potion she gave Pinkie Pie last year.”

“What,” she squawks. “You killed a cockatrice?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Oh, hold onto the head in the jar though. That’s mine.”

A look crosses her face, like she doesn’t know whether to be worried or impressed. “Trophy?”

I just grin before dipping into my saddlebag and pulling out my compass. “Take this compass. It’ll lead you straight to Zecora’s so long as you focus on it.” At her confused look, I elaborate, “Only seems to work if you’ve been somewhere, or if you know the location on a map. Take it. That way you can just fly over the forest and not risk any of those ghoulies out there.”

Taking the compass from me, she puts its cord around her neck. “I’m only doing this so I can get you out of this place,” she says with a sigh. “Blossom cares about you too much for me to let this go on. She’s probably worried to death about you already.”

Shit. I didn’t even think about that. What’s that say about me? That I have a one-track mind? That I have attention deficit disorder? I’m pretty sure I was supposed to sit down for dinner with Blossom, Lyra, and Bon-Bon, too. “Yeah... Maybe you have a point. I’ll get going now.”

I scamper back over to the wagon, where Applejack has been fussing over Silver Spoon’s sleeping form. “Y’all did good, sugarcube,” she comments. “Might be a bit weak, but whatever ya did kept her alive this far.”

Instead of responding, I look to Rainbow Dash. “Gale’s got more business with Zecora, so she’ll be flying out on her own,” I say loudly. “So if we’re going, we best get moving before it gets any later.”


~ 15 ~




“So what brought the two of you into the forest anyway?” I ask, trotting beside Applejack, as she tows the wagon. I could have chosen to ride up with Silver Spoon, but in spite of my pain, hunger, and exhaustion, I can’t bring myself to stop moving. Feels too vulnerable. “I mean, I figured you went to comfort Dash there after I... did that horrible thing to her. So how did you end up out here?”

Chuckling at some unspoken joke, Applejack spares me a sidelong grin. “Tell ya true, sugarcube, Ah don’t rightly know,” she answers in that disarming tone of honesty. “Ah comforted her, sure as rain, an’ then Ah went back to tending mah stall. She comes ‘round a few hours later with yer griffon friend in tow spoutin’ off about balls o’ fire, missin’ fillies, an’ giant Everfree critters. Might’a been stalkin’ ya fer all Ah know.”

“I wasn’t stalking her, AJ!” Rainbow Dash answers almost far too quickly. “I was just doing recon. You know, making sure she didn’t get into trouble... and looking for a chance to give her a piece of my mind.”

Applejack gives Dash a sarcastic look that doesn’t need any words. “Wasn’t sayin’ ya weren’t,” she says, playfully. “Regardless, twas fortunate she was in any case.” Turning back to me, Applejack offers a worried look. “Y’all sure ya don’t wanna ride up here with Silver Spoon? Cain’t be easy walkin’ all banged up like that.”

“It’s noth—” I freeze on the spot. Something’s moving out there. Branches off somewhere in the distance are snapping and cracking, and the sounds are only drawing closer. Up ahead, the others also draw to a stop, having heard the sound too. “Oh no...”

“You are mine, pegasus!” something shouts. After another minute, the treeline to my right explodes into a shower of splinters. Standing before me, burned but very much alive, is the same lamia I decoyed earlier. “I’m going to enjoy showing you eternity, child.”

Like before, the lamia launches itself at me like a missile. Unlike last time, however, there is no chance for me to dodge. I’m too stunned and too tired to get out of the way. There’s barely enough energy left in me to vocalize the last thing going through my mind.

“Son of a bit—”
> Chapter 16: Ponyville Pt. III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	With monumental effort, I force open my eyes. My eyes are treated to a stunning view of an olive green surface of some sort. The thousands of apple-bucking ponies harvesting away inside my skull are making it incredibly difficult for me to tell if I’m looking at a ceiling of some sort, or if Rainbow Dash has me strapped to a cloud for some reason. Neither one really explains why my chest feels like somebody replaced my blood with microscopic shards of glass. Dash might hate me and pull the odd cruel prank to make me feel unwelcome, but I don’t think she’d go so far as to drug, beat the shit out of me, and hang me from a cloud.

Another thing not helping any is the fact that my entire body feels like lead. Okay, scratch that. It’s not glass in my blood; it’s lead. Then again, maybe it isn’t my blood at all—could be the bones. That’d make a bit more sense than it being in my blood. I mean, if there were lead in my blood, I’d be dying of lead poisoning, and that would be silly! Who’s a silly little pony who definitely isn’t dying of lead poisoning? I am! Who’s better than Bad Boy? Nopony!

No, bad pony! Stop being so goofy and think. What happened to you? Where are you? Tell me the last thing you remember! Try as I might, none of those thoughts are readily forthcoming. If anything, the more I try to think, the harder it is for anything more than pain to happen inside my head. That’s quite annoying, if you think about it.

Ugh, don’t tell me I went drinking when I got back last night. I could swear that after my one-night stand with Me-ra and Guy-bon that I promised myself I would never drink again! I know the Everfree was rough, but hell, I never thought it was bad enough to cave in and get blitzed. Wait, Everfree? Oh, that’s right! I was out in the forest yesterday.

I attempt to roll onto my belly, but all attempts are foiled by my leaden limbs and the pain lancing across my chest every time I breathe. It’s just like last night then, when I couldn’t move my legs. Right when the lamia was coming at me, I couldn’t move an inch. Wait... the lamia?

“Son of a bitch!”

A sudden burst of energy propels me off of whatever surface I was on. There’s a good chance I might have even landed in front of the door, if not for my hind legs tangling in the blanket. Instead, my body arcs over what I now realize is the foot of a bed in a hospital room, and I land face-first on the floor. Oh, hello pain! How are you today? What? No, I don’t need your brother discomfort and your sister agony to hug me too—not that they’ll listen any more than you do.

“Silver! You’re okay!” somepony very familiar and dear to me shouts. Oh hey, speaking of hugging and the embrace of pain; before there is even time for me to react to the new sound of a dashing pony, I’m pulled off of the floor and into a very cozy, albeit painful hug by two pale-white arms. “I was so worried!”

Wincing in pain, I allow myself to go limp in her embrace. After all, the pain will only get worse if I struggle. “Oh, hey Blossom! Okay is such a blase word,” I groan, adjusting my chest’s position against her grip. “Alive is probably a more apt term until I know a few things. How am I not dead? Why am I in so much pain—could you loosen your grip on me a bit, by the way? What happened to Silver Spoon, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack? That lamia?”

For a quick moment, Ice Blossom does lessen her grip on me. That quickly changes when she marehandles me until she’s holding me close to her chest not unlike a human might cradle a baby... or a cat. While this position feels a little demeaning, and I’d be mortified—not aroused!—to be seen like this by anypony else, I’m honestly grateful she isn’t openly pissed about me getting eaten.

From this angle, I can clearly see her face, and my heart clenches upon seeing it. Tears stream down her cheeks as her face contorts into a haunted countenance before my eyes whilst her brain processes my questions. Finally, quietly she sobs, “It was horrible!” 

After a short bout of hiccups, she regains her composure enough to continue. “It was close to midnight when that Rainbow Dash mare came banging on the door,” she recounts with a faraway look in her eyes. “I was the pony that answered the door, having stayed up to await your return. There was so much blood... She was absolutely covered in it, but would not say who it belonged to or what had happened. All she could do was pant the words ‘Silver, hurt, hospital, quick.’”

Blossom’s heterochromic eyes gaze down into mine, and she sniffled softly before nuzzling my mane. “Upon my arrival, you were already in intensive care, suffering from what the doctors had assumed was some sort of envenomation, only for them to realize almost too late that it was bacterial.” 

She tenses up, her eyes locking on the door. Following her line of sight, I quickly spot a familiar looking unicorn doctor. “There were no less than fifty different kinds of recorded bacteria found in your blood culture. It was nothing heavy antibiotics and emergency blood filtering couldn’t fix,” the caramel colored stallion comments. “It is amazing that you’re alive at all, given that your heart gave out no less than three times over the last day. Your heart is surprisingly weak for a pony of your age.”

“Bad case of alchemical poisoning resultant of a typo in instructions during a safety lesson,” I rasp. “Speaking of alchemy, there should have been a blood-tailored cleansing potion in the right saddlebag. Didn’t anypony think to check those?”

The doctor frowns and shakes his head. “There wasn’t much left of your saddlebags when you were brought in,” he replies, levitating the tattered and stained remains of my bag from beneath the hospital bed. They’ve definitely seen much better days than this. While my normal bag is only horrible stained and crumpled, the potion bag is absolutely shredded through and through. “The only things salvageable were a rejuvenation potion, and a cooling draught. In your other bag, there was a ruined pair of sunglasses—”

“Damn it, I liked those sunglasses!” I shout without thinking. “Stupid lamia.”

From a drawer, near the door, the doctor levitates a very familiar looking vial. “I felt it might be pertinent to save your rejuvenation potion for you when you woke up, as you are no doubt feeling weak,” he explains, with an expectant glint in his eye. When I don’t rise to whatever bait he had apparently included in his explanation, he adds, “You have been unconscious for the better part of two days, and clinically speaking, you are free to go.”

That’s it, huh? Nearly die at least four times in only two days, and I’m free to go? “Before I go anywhere, Doctor—”

“Stable.”

“—Doctor Stable, what other work did you end up doing?” I ask, morbidly curious. “Don’t suppose I’d be so lucky as to having been accidentally spayed or given a surprise boob job...”

I’m certain if either Blossom or Stable had been drinking anything, my comment would evoke a spit take. “What? No! Nothing of the sort,” he protests, red-faced. “We did have to excise a lot of necrotic tissue from around your wounds, so there will probably be a fair amount of scarring. I’d ask you not to do too much strenuous activity, so as to not tear out your stitches, but in my experience, asking a pegasus to sit still for too long is like asking her to stop breathing. Please be careful.”

Before I can protest any strenuous activity I might or might not partake in, Blossom speaks up. “Do not worry, Doctor Stable,” she says in a firm but soft voice. “I shall make sure she comes to no harm until her wounds are healed.”

I’m in huge trouble, aren’t I?


~ 16 ~


The walk—ride, rather; even with a rejuvenation potion, I can't really stand on my own four hooves, never mind walk on them, so Blossom has me draped across her back—to Lyra and Bon-Bon’s dwelling is marred by an uncomfortable silence. It’s obvious that she wants to chew me out so badly for nearly getting myself killed, but at the same time, she looks like she’s ready to hug me again and never let go. 

So how do I comfort her? Is there really anything I can say to alleviate any fear that I’m doomed to throw myself into danger for the first pony who needs help? Luna preserve me, I’m such a damn bonehead. She’s probably pissed at me for being lethally selfless, but with all the shit that keeps happening, can I really keep myself out of danger?

“Listen, Blossom, I—”

“I’m not angry,” she says with a sigh. I won’t lie; hearing her say that has me thrown for a loop. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her use a contraction of any type; did two nights with Lyra and Bon-Bon somehow fix that, or is it because she’s upset? “I’m upset, yes, but I can’t bring myself to be angry with you.”

“You should be,” I mutter. “I didn’t once think of your feelings when I went galavanting around the Everfree, fighting monsters and saving ponies. Not once did I think, ‘How will Ice Blossom feel if I die, right here, right now.’ Absorbed in the moment—that's me.”

“You saved a filly’s life, not once but twice!” she counters, firmly. “To be angry with you for thinking only of the child during that time would be selfish of me and—”

“Maybe I want you to be selfish!” I whimper, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “It’s like my life has two damn settings: FUBAR, and SNAFU. I’m either finding some way to nearly get myself killed, hurt, or otherwise in trouble, or things are always just going perfectly in such a way that it’s driving me crazy!”

“I don’t under—”

“This! You’re trying to be so understanding—so accommodating! I can tell you’re still not one hundred percent on this whole relationship, but you’re not even angry that I put what we had in jeopardy on a whim?” She turns her head ever so slightly, and I look into her yellow eye. “I need you to be angry. I’ve been a bad filly and I need to be punished!” I shout before contemplating the repercussions. Open mouth; insert hoof. “That sounded much better in my head.”

Just like that, the awkward silence returns. Only now, it’s not uncomfortable because of my nearly dying, but instead because of the bizarre connotations of what I just said. At least the walk doesn’t last all that much longer. As Blossom carries me to the end of the cul-de-sac, I spot Lyra and Bon-Bon on the lawn in front of their home.

At first, I could swear Lyra is completely livid and maybe having some sort of aneurism, but as we get closer, my face contorts into a rictus of horror. It’s not anger on Lyra’s face but pain. She’s having the goddamn foal right there on the front lawn, where everypony can see. While initially, my thoughts stray to why she isn’t at the meadow she’d mentioned before, all I can really think about is the accusatory look in her eyes that screams ‘You did this to me!’ At least she can’t rightly hurt me from all the way over h—

“Ack!” Without warning, I’m yanked into the air by my tail. My whole body is just dangling there held up by a glimmering amber aura. “Ha ha, Lyra, this is funny and all, but can you put me down now?” I whimper, feeling all of my blood redistributing to my head as I float ever closer to Bon-Bon and her laboring unicorn lover.

Breathing heavily, Lyra glares at me. “Do you have any bucking clue how worried we all were?” she shouts before letting loose a guttural cry of agony. Although she looks ready to collapse from exhaustion already, her legs are locked firmly in place, her stifles standing as a testament to the strengths of equine physiology. “You made us wait up all night, missed the wonderful—” A raised eyebrow from Bon-Bon causes Lyra to rethink her words. “You missed the supper I put my heart into making, and then it turns out you got yourself eaten by some Everfree beast! Do you know how long it took me to think of a meal that didn’t involve pickles and ice-cream?”

I wince in pain, feeling the pressure of my body mass in the grip of gravity against my damaged flesh. “Lyra, c—nnngh—can you please put me down?”

“No!” she says angrily, instead levitating me behind her, and rotating me to face her back end. “You’ve been horrible to all of us, and now you have to be punished!” Somehow, I don’t think this is quite what I had in mind when I mentioned punishment earlier. “You did this to me, so now you have to watch.”

“Lyra, what the fuck!” I grunt, cringing away as I see her vagina parted by the white bubble of what I can only assume is the amniotic membrane. At least, I hope it is. Celestia, is that thing coming out head first? “This is cruel and highly unusual! I’m also pretty sure there’s some sort of law against torturing a cripple, which I technically am at this very moment!” I shoot Bon-Bon an apologetic look before continuing, “Besides, I was only the surrogate. Bonnie’s your stud, so technically she did it.”

“Cram it, you!” she cries, letting out another scream of pain. She turns her head to address me with a very disturbing look. “You had just as much a part in all of this. You’ll be lucky if I don’t cast a spell on you and cram you in there once the baby’s out.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I rasp, my chest clenching in fear. Looking in horror at Bon-Bon and Ice Blossom, I reiterate my statement, “She wouldn’t! She can’t!”

A worried look crosses Bon-Bon’s queasy face. “She might,” she admits, breaking eye-contact. “She threatened to make me gestate a pumpkin when I let slip that she wouldn’t be able to wear a certain dress on a date...”

Well you’re no help! Quickly, I shift my attention solely to Blossom. “Please, you gotta help me!” I cry. “Tell her she can’t do it because I’m not hers—that only you have the right to unbirth me!”

Immediately after I make the comment, I regret ever speaking. I’ve seen her countenance take on so many different hues, but this shade of ashen pink is something entirely new. Between her bulging eyes and this new color, I can only assume that I’ve horrified or embarrassed her beyond all belief. One of her ears is even twitching spastically. Note to self, breaking your only source of support is never a good decision in the field of battle.

“That’s not the sound of you watching the foaling!” Lyra comments suddenly, giggling in a way that sends chills down my spine. Did she somehow give herself an epidural or something? Where is she getting all the focus to levitate me back here? This mare scares the fuck out of me. Why are unicorns all crazy? “We can’t have that.”

All at once, I feel the almost paresthetic sensation of magic enveloping my head, redirecting my vision back to her hind quarters. The bubble of amniotic membrane is now elongated in a manner that gives me the impression of forehooves, but I really don’t want to be watching this—especially not with the blood from what I’m assuming is a perineal laceration... and why do I know all of this? Damn it Twilight! This is all your fault, too!

“What’s going on h—um nope!” the voice of somepony well above me squeaks in surprise. An upward flick of my eyes reveals a disgusted looking Rainbow Dash hovering beside a cloud. “I don’t want to know!”

The rainbow maned pegasus quickly begins to push her cloud—assumedly appropriated for a nap—away, not once looking back. “Rainbow Dash, wait!” I shout pathetically. “Save me, please! She’s gone crazy! Crazy unicorn’s threatening to unbirth me!”


~ 16 ~


Some time later, Rainbow Dash and I are situated on a cloud floating above Sweet Apple Acres, just quietly watching as the blonde-maned siblings below go about their apple harvest. After everything that’s been going on, the peace is nice—no lamia; no filly to chase around the Everfree; no crazy unicorn threatening to stuff me into her vagina. Even if I am sitting beside the mare that has every right to hate me, I feel happy.

“So Rainbow,” I rasp, unable to bring my voice above the level of a hoarse whisper. “I wanted to thank you.”

Caught off guard by my sudden comment, the blue mare looks at me with a raised eyebrow before turning a bit green. “Nopony should have to suffer that, even if she was only joking,” she groans, sticking her tongue out to accentuate her distaste. “Especially after you just got out of the hospital. You’d think they’d all be thankful you’re okay, not doing—” She shudders, and her rainbow tail flicks against my side in agitation. “—that, whatever it was.”

If I weren’t already sprawled out on a cloud—by Jove the cloud is a blessing on my chest-wounds—I would probably be floored. Rainbow Dash being humble? I mean, seriously! There’s no other way I could have possibly gotten out of that monster’s gullet. How else except Dash and Applejack? Before I can help myself, I’m giggling like a fool. “Wow, Rainbow Dash,” I snicker. “I’ve never known you to not take credit for doing something awesome.”

A cocksure look crosses Rainbow’s face, but quickly fades into one of confusion. “I know I’m awesome, but what am I supposed to take credit for?”

I frown at her tone; she sounds completely serious, and I never had her pegged as an academy award winning actress. “Um... You pulled me out of the lamia, didn’t you?” My self-assurance that I’d been saved by her shatters. “You’re not telling me Applejack did that all by herself, are you? I know that she’s built like a panzer, but—”

She shakes her head, and gives me this serious, appraising look. “Dude... Neither of us saved you.”

“I didn’t know Silver Spoon had it in her...”

“No!” Rainbow Dash shouted, trying to stifle a laugh at the mental image I’ve probably locked in her mind. “I’m saying that nopony saved you, Silver.”

“But... If nopony saved me, how am I here? There’s no explanation for how I could have gotten out!” I mutter. Feeling an inescapable feeling of panic, my mind flashes back to my saddlebags, torn and stained in blood. To have torn like that, I would have had to have caught on the lamia’s fangs. I don’t even notice my dimming vision as I recall the tears shredding through both sides. The bandaging on my barrel encompasses the side matching where my saddlebag had been, too. 

The last words to escape my mouth before I plummet away from consciousness are, “I’m dead, aren’t I?”


~ 16 ~


The sound of breaking tree branches and parted foliage sounds off in the distance, flooding my system with danger sense and paralyzing fear, like some sort of corruption of adrenaline. Just hearing the ever approaching cacophony of destruction has my hackles bristling. Surely it’s not...

“Oh no...” I whisper, looking fearfully toward Applejack, Rainbow Dash and the cart bearing Silver Spoon. The compulsion to warn them to flee fills my mind, but no matter how hard I try, I can only breathe hoarsely. That same fear that has me rooted to the spot has seemingly frozen my vocal cords.

“You are mine, pegasus!” the lamia screams, announcing herself and proving my fear a reality. In an explosion of splintered wood and leaves, the half-equine monstrosity emerges from the treeline to my right. The impossibly large creature—she must be ancient to have grown that large!—rises on its serpentine coils, brushing away a dusting of splinters covering her horribly burned face with one hoof. “I am going to enjoy showing you eternity, child.”

Using her coiled body like a spring, the lamia propels herself through the air like a simultaneously furry and scaly ballistic missile. Even if I weren’t paralyzed with fear, my limbs are too leaden by exhaustion and hunger to safely ferry me out of her way. All I can do is stare—like a deer at the approaching headlights of an oncoming semi—at the viciously fanged maw flying toward me.

“Son of a bitch!” Those four little words feel like a massive under representation of my emotional state. Feeling the slimey, warm embrace of the lamia’s cavernous mouth close around me leaves an insurmountable regret blanketing my heart. There’s so much I’ve yet to do—so much to study and learn! I haven’t even had sex with Ice Blossom; I know that’s not important, but still!

As I struggle against my slippery confines, I buck against the creatures hard palate repeatedly, wishing I had the oxygen to spare for some witty one-liner. In response, my hungry captor shifts her positioning, altering how gravity affects me until I should be just sliding down her throat. Show me eternity my left hoof!

Like hell! I’m not going to go down without a fight, you fuck! I twist around with adrenaline-induced vigor, and bite down hard on her massive, writhing tongue. The lamia shrieks, nearly deafening me, but for the slightest moment there’s the glint of torchlight between her parted lips. For good measure, I bite into her tongue again.

Big mistake! In addition to screaming, the lamia tosses its head sideways, sending me careening into a row of its many short, narrow fangs. I can’t help but cringe as one of my saddlebags catches on a fang. Darn! That’s my potion bag, I realize upon hearing the tinkling of breaking glass. Damn it! If I get out of here, I—I scream in pain. The fang that tore through my potion bag slices into my side like some sort of serrated edge, sending rivulets of fresh blood running down my side.

Hanging from the lamia’s fangs by only a saddlebag and a thin layer of untorn skin, I can’t help but feel resignation. Everypony—no, everyone—I know would probably slap me for giving up, but I’m being a realist. Barring some sort of literary deus ex machina, it’s not like there’s any way I can be expected to get out of here. It just can’t be done!

At least with my sacrifice, AJ, Rainbow Dash, and Silver Spoon have a reasonable chance to escape. They can... let my loved ones know that I didn’t die in vain. Sure, I didn’t do what I want with my life—hell, I didn’t even get a chance to play around with Zecora’s recipe—but what I did here today is meaningful, right? I gave a filly, as bratty as she might be, another chance at life. Yeah, that definitely means something to me, and that’s all that really matters in the end.

Well, I suppose I can be glad that an Equestrian lamia has hooves and not digits. This way, she can’t just force me off of her fangs. Her tongue might do the job, but I think she knows I’ll just keep biting if she uses it on me. Maybe she’s trying to sweat me out by raising her body temperature instead. That’d certainly explain why it’s getting... hotter? Wait! She’s mostly reptilian, and reptiles can’t regulate their body temperatures with only their metabolisms. Given that it’s night, wouldn’t that mean she should be getting cooler or finding a warm place?

I puzzle over the problem for a few precious moments before I realize what has happened. The tinkling sound of shattering glass returns to the forefront of my mind. That’s definitely the sound one of my flasks would make upon shattering. Does that mean the warming potion was the one to break open? If that does anything to raise this fucker’s metabolism, I’m fucked.

“Or maybe,” I mutter, wincing as I turn my head to nuzzle the flap off of the potion bag. Sure enough three flasks remain undamaged in the bag. Sure, it’s dim here in the lamia’s maw, but it’s for reasons like this—okay, not necessarily getting eaten by a fucking lamia—that I paid extra to have glowing runes etched on the lids of my containers before I left. Even with the blood and saliva in my eyes, it’s hard not to make out the red cross and crimson drop adorning the top of one flask among the other two—a blue snowflake and a purple cross.

That one marking, that red cross and blood drop, represents a lesson hard-learned. The concoction, a blood tailored cleansing potion that has never received a name, represents the care I promised Gale I would take of myself and the caution I would take in alchemy and living. Sure, I could very well have settled for carrying around a flask of Mother’s Kiss, but why limit the utility in case of emergency? Upon entering the bloodstream, this potion cleans all impurities from the body—it doesn't matter if the impurity is alchemical, viral, bacterial, or foreign completely foreign matter—and leaves the drinker completely healthy.

These sorts of potions aren’t as popular for a very specific reason, however. They are incredibly dangerous for others to drink. Seeing as it’s made using a sample of the intended recipient’s blood, it only recognizes that individual’s make-up as acceptable. All tissues not belonging to them, be it a donor organ or an entire body, ends up being attacked and destroyed—usually quite violently—by the potion. Any foal might accidentally consume the potion like they would...

“Yes, this will definitely work,” I mutter through clenched teeth, wincing both in pain and at the monetary setback this will all have been. Cost is another reason the potion has fallen out of vogue in favor of the Mother’s Kiss; one of these potions costs what it would take for five doses of the more popular curative. 

Pulling the flask from the bag, I cringe in pain as the flesh on my side begins to tear free from the lamia’s fang. Using all of my strength, I slam the glass flask against the calcified construct with my hoof, forcing the last bit of flesh holding me to the tooth. A pained grin envelops my countenance as I finally begin my descent into the lamia’s belly.

Fighting the effects of blood loss and fuck-knows what else, I speak. “I might be the worlds biggest idiot, trapped in the body of one of the most harmless creatures in the universe, but you understand this, lamia,” I scream in spite of my fluid-filling lungs. “I come from a race of the most dangerous motherfuckers in this universe and another. You think I’m just going to let myself become a snack and let down all of my friends? Just who the hell do you think I am?”

... and then I smile weakly the lamia explodes into a gory mess around me.


~ 16 ~


“Well! Look’s like somepony’s feeling better,” Rainbow Dash’s confident voice filters through my ears as I began to grin. “You look like the colt who ate the cookie!”

Opening my eyes, I blink in confusion at Rainbow Dash. “You mean the cat who ate the canary, right?”

“Whatever,” she says, waving a hoof. “All I’m saying is you look pretty smug for somepony who just blacked out from a panic attack. What gives? Have a good dream or something?”

My smile returns as I stop to think. Is what I experienced really a dream? Maybe it was actually a memory. “Depends,” I comment wryly. “How badass did the exploding lamia look from the outside?”

A number of expressions flick across Dash’s face as she thinks, before settling on amusement. “Okay, so that WAS pretty awesome and a good reason to look smug.” Hi pot, this is kettle. “How does that even work though? You’re not a unicorn, and I’m pretty sure Discord’s off somewhere doing something or other for the princesses.”

“Magic,” I answer coyly. Sure, it’s just plain evil to leave it like that, but the expression on Rainbow’s face is worth every bit of regret I might feel. Sure, she has the Sonic Rainboom as a feather in her cap, but she’s probably going to be pondering this for weeks... or at least until she asks Twilight how a scrawny pegasus like me could make an overgrown lamia explode.

“Fine, have your secrets,” she pouts, sticking her tongue out at me. “It’s not like I would have shown you how to do my signature moves anyway.”

Before too long, the two of us are snickering and giggling at the prospect of me doing anything that Dash can do. At most times, I’m about as graceful as an eagle flying a blimp so the thought of me pulling off a triple loop-de-loop followed by a double corkscrew is quite humorous. Granted, if Dash were teach me a few moves, flying more than just adequately would come naturally. “That’d be a hoot to see, but I imagine I’d have quite a bit of hospital time,” I snort. “Besides, how would you ever have time to teach Scootaloo?”

“True enough.” She nods rather sagely. “I mean, sure you have the wings of a grown pegasus, but...”

I stare at Rainbow Dash, ignoring her words. In spite of everything I’ve put her and her friends through, here she is acting as friendly as she would with any of her friends. If nothing else, she is surprisingly trusting of me. Is it because I’ve earned it? Or does she not mind the fact that I went too far in showing her how I felt? Perhaps being the embodiment of loyalty means being able to look past the bad in those she might consider friends and latching onto their virtues.

“Rainbow Dash,” I interrupt with barely a whisper. “You’re the loyalest pony I know, so I have to ask you something serious.” Her face sobers, and she raises an eyebrow questioningly. “As the Element of Loyalty, if a friend told you about something terrible that had happened to them, and then made you promise to keep quiet about it and not to do anything, would you follow their wishes, even though all of your instincts tell you to act?”

“Pinkie taught me that not keeping your promises is the easiest way to ruin a friendship,” she responds flatly. “If one of my friends came to me with such a problem, I’d take it to my grave. Sure, I’m brash most of the time, but if somepony makes you make a promise, there’s usually a really good reason for it.”

With a sad smile, I ask, “Am I your friend?”

“Silver, listen, I know you didn’t mean for what happened in the market the other day to get where it did, and to be fair, I suppose I have been a bit hard on you, but do you really want to confide something so important in me?” she responds, unsure. “You have a griffon and a cute marefriend! Surely they’d be much better choices than me.”

“Please, Dashie,” I whimper. “They’re too close to everything for me to tell them. I mean Gale already knows in part, but... she might do something if I tell her.”

To my surprise, Rainbow Dash musses my mane gently with a hoof. “It’s okay,” she says in a nurturing tone I’d never expected to hear from her. “I’ll listen.”

Through clenched eyes and gritted teeth, I tell her everything. From the first day of living in Canterlot leading up to the event with Aqua Regia, I spare her no detail. All of my self-doubts and the mounting fear of unicorn magic are bared to Rainbow Dash as I quiver there on the cloud. Even though her breathing becomes heavy with anger as I explain Aqua Regia’s constant bullying over those months, she remains quiet.

“When I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, she did something completely unforgivable during my first estrus,” I open my eyes and blink away some tears. “She assaulted me with her magic, in the bathroom. I almost wish that she’d just had her goons beat me that day. Not only did she violate me, she tried to force me to reciprocate—to pleasure her in return!”

Rainbow Dash just stared wordlessly at me. Theres a look in her eye of pity and apology and rage. “Gale found me, thankfully before I did anything I thought I might regret,” I continue in a husky voice. “I thought maybe since I hurt her in return for hurting me, the things might have cancelled each other out—I mean, I practically made sure she wasn’t going to enjoy any stallions any time soon—but now I’m not so sure.

“For a while, she left me alone. At most, she’d give me dirty looks or spread some rumors about me. It’s not like she or her ‘friends’ could say anything without confessing to rape,” I mutter. “Honestly though? I should have gone straight to the guard, if not directly to Princess Luna herself, right then and there. There’s no point in going now, I fear, as Aqua’s family holds a lot of influence.

“Even if I had somepony delve into my mind for the truth, I think the memories would be too contaminated by emotions and time. I mean, anypony can beat a lie detector if they convince themselves that something is true, so how hard could it possibly be for a memory to be manufactured?

“That’s not even the worst part. Ever since then, I’ve been unnecessarily skittish around unicorn magic, even with ponies I’m familiar with and trust! I’m scared of my own friends because of her,” I croak. “And then, Not too long ago, Aqua saved my life. Twisted as she is, she probably sees things as even, if not me being fair game. I mean, I haven’t acted, and by all indications I haven’t even told anypony! There’s nothing to stop her from doing anything like that again and that scares me most of all, not because she might do something to me, but because she might do something to Blossom just to get at me!”

As she stares off toward Canterlot in the distance, her wings twitching almost imperceptibly, I worry that Rainbow Dash is about to forget that given the context of our discussion, she just promised not to act on what I said, and fly off in search of a mare she’s never seen. Sure, seeing her break Aqua Regia’s horn off would be plenty satisfying, but the resulting backlash would probably ruin her chances of getting in the Wonderbolts, not to mention her life. No amount of satisfaction is worth that.

Finally, though, she sighs and looks back at me. “Silver, if I’d known,” she trails off, gingerly draping a wing over me in what I’ve come to recognize as a form of comfort among winged ponies. “Wow, no wonder you blew up at me.”

I look down at the cloud, wishing I could hide myself in it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says, smiling half-heartedly. “Right now, though, I don’t think you want to be here with me. Hopefully things have died down at Lyra’s place by now, ‘cause if there’s anypony you should be with, I think it’s Ice Blossom.”

> Chapter 17: Staying In Pt. I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	By the time Rainbow Dash deposits me on Lyra’s doorstep, Celestia’s sun is already well on its way down toward the horizon. Thankfully, there’s no sight of Lyra on the lawn, so she’s probably done giving birth by now. If she’s done foaling, she’s probably not going to be inclined to do anything absurd or terrifying with her damn magic. Nah, this is Lyra I’m talking about; if anything, she’ll be conked out in the living room with the foal.

At least I’ve regained enough strength to stand on my own four hooves now. It’d be asking too much to ask Dash to carry me inside after having her listen to everything I said, and it would probably be awkward as hell for her to see Lyra after the lunacy she witnessed earlier. This time, if Lyra goes looney, I’ll have a means of escape before she can snatch me up in her magic and contaminate me with her crazy.

Strangely enough, I can’t hear any sound coming through the door. There’s no sound of crying, ponies moving around, talking, or cooking; there’s just absolute silence. Is everypony out right now? Maybe Lyra and Bon-Bon took the foal for a check-up. Then again, there might also have been complications in the birth. Surely if they went anywhere, they’d leave a note for me.

Well, I don’t suppose they’d mind if I waited inside. Hell, I’m supposed to be their guest, so it’s not like they’d really expect me to sit outside until they get back from wherever they’ve gone, right? Besides, nopony locks their doors in Equestria, as if the possibility of a burglary cutie mark—shit, don't tell the Crusaders!—never crossed anypony’s minds.

Placing a hoof on door, I sigh inwardly and thank my lucky stars—as few as they may be—that doorknobs in Equestria are more for show than anything else. Even as recovered as I’m feeling, which is to say not very, I don’t think I have the stamina to rear up and tweak a knob with my hooves. If anything, I just want to find a place to curl up and fall asleep. I don’t even feel that hungry, despite not having eaten in two days.

As I push the door open, I’m assaulted by a sudden increase of volume and noise. Blinking in surprise, I watch as a little piece of parchment floats to the ground, the glow of the inscribed runes already fading away into the ink. With only a moment’s confusion, the answer quickly enters my mind—a sound-proofing talisman. In a way, it’s perfectly understandable given the loud crying coming from inside.

Of course, first you have a distraught looking Lyra cuddled up her crying newborn—a cream coated little thing with a minty, two-toned mane to match that of her mother—on a pillow. On the opposite side of the room, Bon-Bon looks absolutely miserable, trying to cover her ears by hiding her head beneath a cushion appropriated from the couch. Probably worst of all is Ice Blossom. She looks absolutely lost, caught between comforting or helping Lyra and her foal, and wanting to hide. 

I just stand in the doorway for a few moments, assessing the situation. Nopony has really noticed that I’m here yet, and I’m more than content to let it stay that way for a bit. It gives me time to steel myself for spending the remainder of my stay with a crying baby, a sound of which I’ve never particularly been keen on, even as a human. 

Maybe it won’t be so bad here though. I mean, back on Earth, I disliked children with a passion, but here as a mare, I feel... compelled to comfort that foal, almost as if it’s instinct. I suppose having an instilled mothering instinct isn’t all that far-fetched, seeing as my first instinct during estrus was to go find a stallion of good genetic stock and... never mind. That’s completely stupid, because most of that was hormonal, and I certainly shouldn’t have the same brain chemistry as a mare who just gave birth, right?

Well then, enough of that. Stepping inside, I push the door shut gently with a back hoof. My first thought is to go inside and say hi before bumbling up to the spare bedroom, but as my eyes alight on the talisman once more, common courtesy wins out. It’s simple enough to re-affix to the door once I get it off the ground, and once it’s on firmly, the runes begin glowing in a vibrant amber once more. The silence that follows is a bit more confusing. Did I do it wrong and somehow manage to soundproof my own ears? Given my  past experiences with magic, nothing really surprises me, but—

“Oh thank Celestia, she’s stopped crying!” I hear Bon-Bon’s voice behind me. “What did you do, Lyra?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lyra’s answer comes a little too quickly. “She just stopped when—”

“Silver!” That keening sob is all I hear before I’m unceremoniously swept off my hooves into an almost crushing hug by Ice Blossom. “I was so worried! When you said that weird thing, I froze, and then that Rainbow pony took off with you and I thought maybe she was still angry with you and might not be gentle despite your injuries and—”

“It’s fine,” I croak, wincing as pain lanced through my chest and side once more from being hugged too hard. “It’s okay Blossom! Dash and I are cool now! Ow, my wounds!”

“Sorry!” she squeaks, gently releasing me back onto my hooves.  Just as quickly, she begins nuzzling me. “Everything’s just been so overwhelming!”

Returning her nuzzle, I smile gently. “I know.” My attention is quickly diverted by the clopping of impossibly tiny hooves on the hardwood flooring, and upon turning to assess the ruckus, I’m greeted by the sight of two beady little amber eyes staring unblinkingly at me. “We can talk about that behind closed doors later,” I continue, smiling down at the tiny pony before me. In a softer tone, childlike tone, “What’s your name, little one?”

The little filly tilts her head and burbles in curiosity. “You know she can’t talk, right?” Lyra chortles, drawing my attention to the mare lying on her side on a cushion on the opposite side of the room. “Honeydew, sweetie, come back to momma. It’s time for your feeding.”

Bon-Bon covers her face with one hoof in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. “Lyra, she’s three hours old. She doesn’t understand Equish yet. Just get over there, and she’ll get a whiff of milk and get the picture.” She shakes her head as Lyra mutters some condemnatory oath regarding the pain in her plot. “Silver, this is our daughter Honeyd—Lyra! Don’t levitate the baby like that! What if you were to drop her?”

To nopony’s great surprise, Lyra—rather than simply getting up—has her newfoal wrapped up in a blanket of glimmering amber magic. Honeydew, for her part, looks thrilled at this new mode of transportation. Granted, being only a few hours after her foaling, I kind of doubt Lyra’s reserves are very high, and I’d be far more comfortable if she at least sent a cushion along the floor beneath the baby as a back-up.

“Relax!” she answers, tiredly placing the filly before her exposed and engorged teats. The filly, forgetting the new addition to her surroundings, eagerly latches on to Lyra, drawing an unfocused expression of relief and discomfort. “You can’t deny I’m better than I was earlier.”

Watching little Honeydew greedily suckle away at her tired mother, I’m reminded of the gift I passed off to Lyra before my disastrous—or fruitful, depending on how you look at it—venture into the Everfree. “So Lyra, did you and Bon-Bon ever open that gift I left you?”

Bon-bon shakes her head, giving me an apologetic smile. “We thought about it,” she replies softly, “but we didn’t want to be rude by opening your gift without you here.”

“Yeah!” Lyra chips in, causing little Honeydew to flinch at the sudden loudness of her mother. “When you ended up in the hospital, it didn’t feel right!”

“Perhaps now would be a good time, then?” Ice Blossom chips in, leading me to a cushion not far from Lyra. “Maybe they could open it while we get some food in you.”

With a bit of a yawn, I shake my head, curling up comfortably on the pillow. “It can wait ‘til morning.” My mumbled words probably don’t inspire a lot of confidence, seeing as I haven’t eaten in days, but I’m certain that eating wouldn’t settle too well with me right now. Not after loosing my fears and problems upon Rainbow Dash. “I’ll only be sick if I eat right now.”

Through half-lidded eyes, I catch Lyra’s frown. “Sorry... I was, you know...”

Before lowering it to rest on my forehooves, I give my head a gentle shake. “Meh,” is all I can manage before my eyelids close firmly over the blue orbs. I yawn again burying my muzzle in the fur of my legs. “Dun wanna talk about it.”

Some time elapses in heavy silence before the pitter-patter of tiny hooves on the hardwood fills the room, and I then hear Lyra saying something before I feel somepony prodding at my side. “Honeydew, baby,” she croons in a beckoning tone. “Let your auntie Silly rest! She’s all beat up and tired.”

In response, the little filly coos happily, prodding gently at my wing. Just as I’m about to voice my own protest, though, I’m met by a surprising sensation: the little cream filly curls up on me, resting her head on my stifle. To say I’m caught off guard is an understatement, given that the ability to make babies cry by looking at them runs in my family. More so, instead of feeling put off being so close to a baby, a part of me feels... content.

“Kid, I’m sure this would look a lot cuter if I wasn’t covered in bandages,” I whisper, draping one wing over the sleepy foal. Needless to say, this completely natural reflex draws a few muffled sounds of “aw” from the other ponies in the room. “Enjoy the blanket while you can.”


~ 17 ~


Morning comes very quickly, accompanied by crying fourfold. Blinking away the sleep crusting my eyes, I look around, momentarily confused at the sight of multiple little crying little fillies draped over various parts of me. There’s Honeydew curled up right where she curled up last night at my side, and bouncing on my back is a minty little unicorn—how could I forget little Lyra? Then there’s little Bon-Bon sitting on my hooves, staring at me with tearful, pleading eyes.

Concern that one is missing momentarily fills my heart, but the feeling of somepony gumming my ear quickly dismissed that concern. There’s only one place a filly could get to in order to gnaw on my ear, after all. “Blossom, get down from there, sweetheart! It’s feeding time,” I croon, gently shifting my body to allow little Lyra to roll down to join her daughter at my side.

“Wait, daughter? Lyra’s her sister, you silly filly,” I mutter, rising to my hooves. As I dismiss my own sleep addled thought-processes—gently shaking my head so as to not dislodge the little white filly riding atop my head—I wryly note that my center of balance seems a bit off, as though I might be larger than I’m supposed to be. For the life of me, I don’t know why that is; I carried these four to term without any problem at all! Surely a smaller mare wouldn’t be able to claim such a feat. 

Trudging out of the living room—a terrible place to fall asleep covered in fillies, to be sure—I lead my adorable little herd into the kitchen in order to get the bottles ready. “Eh, chalk it up to sleep loss. Four newborns will do that to you,” I say dryly to nopony in particular, removing two bottles from the refrigerator and placing them in a pot of water on the stove.

A knocking on the door distracts me from my now completed task. A glance at the clock tells me it is far too early—or late—for visitors, so who could it be? Prepared to berate the would-be visitor on appropriate visiting hours, I stomp my way across the kitchen and into the front hall. The three little ones stick close to my side each step of the way, determined to lay claim to one of my two milk-laden teats. Obviously, more than once I find myself tripping over a hungry filly.

It occurs to me that twin births are uncommon enough, and by all rights quadruplets should have killed me, but hey, this is Equestria, right? Magic can do wonderful things! Sure, feeding all four of them at the same time is a chore, and Lyra—the only unicorn in my little herd—fancying herself the alpha among the others leads to some playful little dominance fights with Bon-Bon, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reaching the door, I extend one hoof to block off the possible escape route as I pull it open. “Do you have any idea what time it is P-p-bhwa?” I gawk in surprise at the visage of my guest. “Princess Luna! It’s so great to see you, your highness!” Beckoning my daughters—at least, the one who isn't greedily taking advantage of the situation and having breakfast early—away from the door with one wing, I pull open the door to invite my royal guest in. “Please, come in!”

As the princess enters, I lead my grudging little devourers back into the kitchen in order to feed the other two. “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” I say, shooting the princess an apologetic look as I fish out the now warmed bottles of milk with a pair of tongs. “Taking care of these four doesn’t leave much time for busywork.”

The princess raises her eyebrow, giving my appearance a once-over. “I would comment on the fact that you appear to have a filly on your head, but that much is obvious, I think,” she notes off hoof. “Rather, I am... unused to seeing you so large.”

Passing one bottle to the filly atop my head, I smile. “Yeah, I suppose I have put on a few pounds since we last saw each other,” I reply with a giggle. “You should have seen me while I was pregnant!” Passing little Honeydew the other bottle, I sigh. “They’re quite the hoof-full. Sometimes I ask myself ‘Why can’t I hold all these fillies?’ when they’re particularly rambunctious.” As if to emphasize my point, one of the two nursing foals—Lyra, if I had to guess—releases her grasp on one teat, and begins trying to nose the other out of the way. Groaning in discomfort, I ask, “What brings you all the way out here?”

The princess shakes her head, frowning. “I only just received word, and I was hoping to come by to congratulate you,” she laments. “It would appear that I mistook your dream for a lucid one.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness!” I reply with a wince as I feel a tugging at the teat now being fought over. “I didn’t catch that last part. Still, I would have loved if you’d been able to come to the baby shower.”

For some reason, my comment causes the princess to cover her face with one hoof, muttering beneath her breath. When she finally removes her hoof, her eyes begin to glow and her horn shimmers with magic. “Silver Script, listen to my voice,” she commands, placing her horn beside my head. “When I finish speaking, you will become lucid. It is of the utmost importance that you do not panic at your surroundings. We have much to discuss, and now very little time to do so.”

What is she—

I look down at the two foals fighting over my milk-laden nipples. Why are Lyra and Bon-Bon fillies, and why am I nursing them? Looking up at the princess, I blink repeatedly before mentally dismissing the forms of Lyra, Bon-Bon, and Honeydew, removing them from the dream. “Let us never speak of this again.”

“Quite,” she replies dryly, tastefully ignoring the single infant that remains atop my head as the dream becomes formless. “As I was saying, I only recently received word of your exploits,” she continues, smiling slightly. “I wished to commend you on your heroic feats.”

Feats, as in plural? What? “I’m a bit confused here, Your Highness,” I answer honestly. “Sure, I saved a filly, but what other heroic acts have I done? I don’t think accidentally propositioning my mare-friend in public for some highly bizarre and incredibly lewd behavior is all that heroic.”

Smiling wryly, Luna shakes her head. “There’s no need to be modest, Silver,” the princess answers dismissively. “An overgrown lamia is no small feat.”

I stare at the princess in wonderment as I try to figure out where she gets her information, covering my face with one hoof. “If getting eaten alive by the biggest monster I’ve ever seen is all it takes to be declared some sort of hero, I’d have jumped down Aqua Regia’s throat ages ago.”

If Luna knows anything about what happened between Aqua and myself, she certainly does a very good job of hiding it. Maybe she doesn’t have spies watching me, but if that’s the case, how did word reach her at all? Well, I think if she really wanted to, she probably could probe my thoughts like she did before, but as long as I keep those issues away from the surface, she shan’t get anything from me.

But why shouldn’t I just come clean? If I face my fears, Aqua could be dealt with quietly, and with no risk to myself or my friends. I mean, Aqua’s only a member of a prominent family that calls itself royalty. Princess Luna is the goddamn Princess of the Night! If Luna tells them to jump, they’d have to ask how high! Then again, does Aqua really care about any of that? If the crown comes down on her, she might just snap and use her family’s power and money to put a hit out on me.

Raising a brow, she gives me an appraising look. “Regardless of your quarrels with Princess Aqua Regia, please remember that she is still a member of the royal family.” Her statement isn’t condemnatory; instead she sounds pained having to admit it. “It would not be wise to speak of her like that where the wrong ponies might hear.

“Enough of that though,” she says, sparing me the need to come to a decision on whether or not to speak up. “Regardless of whether or not you have issues accepting the title of hero, many ponies in Ponyville believe you to be.”

“Oh great, and I just recently came to terms with my hero complex.”

“Yes, I do understand that,” she answers apologetically. “Still, be warned that you may have a parade or award ceremony in the immediate future. You’ll see plenty of friendly and familiar faces during the remainder of your stay, regardless of what happens.”

“Thanks for the warning, your highness, I—”


~ 17 ~


“Yeow!” I cry out at the painful sensation of something biting down on my ear. With some certainty, I can say that the skin isn’t broken. The offending whatever-it-is is far too soft, and is rather slimy. If I was pressed to make a choice, I would put my money on a certain newborn foal somehow getting ahold of my ear. “Stoppit!”

Now that I think about it, why is Honeydew sleeping in my bed? For that matter, it feels like besides Honeydew, there’s at least three other ponies in here. Please tell me I didn’t somehow end up in Lyra’s bed again. How did I get here again?

Shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of somepony’s head draped across my flank like a pillow, I think it’s safe to say that this is not a bed—a living room cushion maybe. Cracking one eye open reveals that yes, I fell asleep in the living room, and yes, I am the centerpiece of some sort of impromptu pony-pile, and there is most certainly a filly standing on my withers gnawing on my ear.

“What is it with foals, real or other, and chewing on my ears?” I mutter, shifting Lyra’s head off of my flank. Ugh, I think she’s been drooling. Seemingly content that I’m awake, the creamy little foal jumps off of my side—not understanding that I’m injured—and begins trying to move my hind leg. “Kiddo, you got the wrong mare.” Smirking, I gently grab the filly with one hoof and place her by her mother’s belly. “Those are yours, Honeydew.” Thankfully, she doesn’t think twice before tackling her mother’s mammae and serving herself.

With the hungry filly out of the way, I’m free to stand up and move around. It’s certainly nice to be able to extricate myself from the pile of ponies here in the center of the living room. Being kept warm by the body-heat is nice, and it’s wonderful feeling like I’m part of a herd, but why did everypony decide to just curl up around me? Is there some sort of instinct to protect the young and wounded that I don’t know about? Maybe seeing Honeydew curled up with me simply gave them the idea that this would be a great place to sleep.

Looking down at Ice Blossom in the big spoon position, and Lyra—the positional yang to her yin—and foal, I notice that somepony is incredibly conspicuous by her absence. The tell-tale sounds of cooking are nowhere to be heard, and there’s no real sign that Bon-Bon’s anywhere in the house. It’s kind of strange, given that her love gave birth yesterday. One would think she’d have breakfast in bed—or the living room, as the case may be—ready for Lyra.

Unfortunately for me, I can’t bring myself to just walk into Lyra’s kitchen and serve myself breakfast. Call it politeness or being awkward if you will, but some habits you grow up with stay with you, even if it’s something silly like refusing to take food unless explicitly being told to help myself. Maybe I can find something else to do until the others are awake. Hell, if Bon-Bon ain’t back by the time the other two wake, I’ll serve everypony breakfast just as an excuse to eat.

With eating momentarily out of mind, I trot over to the window, making sure Honeydew is always within my line of sight. If anything happens on my watch... well... I won’t have the option of being a part of Lyra’s herd. Still, I’d like to see what sort of day it’s going to be. Who knows? Maybe if it’s nice out Lyra might take Honeydew out to make new acquaintances.

Looking up at the checkerboard sky, I’d like to think all of my color would drain from my face if I had any. This is such a bizarre, discordian sight that only one thing really goes through my mind. “Well shit,” I whisper beneath my breath, turning from the window. “This looks like a wonderful day to stay inside and pretend not to exist.”

> Chapter 18: Staying In Pt. II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Checkerboard clouds,” I mutter, throwing a glance at the tiny filly perched between my shoulder blades. “What’s the world coming to, eh?” Little Honeydew gives me a curious look before burbling some sort of response. “Well, I can’t just leave you unattended while I decide what I’m cooking those two for breakfast, can I?” 

I shake my head, looking back into the pantry cupboards. There’s plenty of oats and flour in there, as well as everything a pony could possibly require to make pancakes or waffles, but even as a human I was never very good at those. Even with pre-made batter, I find some sort of way to bugger it up, especially now that I have hooves. There are also many different boxes of sweetened breakfast cereal that I might enjoy. Wait, why are all of those boxes of sugary cereal grouped closely to the jars of pickles?

“Maybe I’ll have better luck looking in the icebox, huh kiddo?” I realize talking to a child less than a day old is futile, but it isn’t like I’m actually expecting a response. Then again, I can’t tell whose benefit the talk is even for. Sure, it keeps the both of us from feeling lonely, but aside from the kiddo comment, which admittedly makes Honeydew smile, it’s not like it’s doing anything for her vocal development. She’s less than a day old!

Giving me another of those looks denoting a complete lack of understanding common among children, she whimpers plaintively. “Aww, don’t gimme none of that! I’m sure the others will wake up soon, and one of them will want to play with you!” I plead, becoming uncomfortable. At least she’s only an earth pony. I’m not sure I could handle a unicorn temper tantrum. “Please don’t cry!”

Granted, bargaining with a newborn is like asking a puppy not to pee on the rug; you have a better chance of the puppy passing a bar of gold than actually listening to you. Speaking of puppies and rugs, I think somepony just had an accident. The sudden reek wafting down from the diapered foal on my back is bad enough that you could use it as an industrial paint stripper. 

Shit! That’s definitely shit. Trotting hurriedly out of the kitchen, I begin to panic, wondering where Lyra keeps the diapers. Are they upstairs in the nursery? I can’t get up there with the filly on my back, and I can’t just leave her unattended while I run up there to check. If I wake them up, they’ll probably be miffed that I couldn’t handle something like a dirty diaper on my own. Oh fuck, oh shit, oh God, I hope that diaper isn’t going to leak!

Thankfully, I don’t have to go far. Off in the corner of the living room, just past the still sleeping Lyra and Ice Blossom, there’s a bright pink saddlebag—obviously designed to act as some sort of diaper bag, if the changing mat poking out of it is any indicator. How’s it going to work though? Sure, I could drag the bag over and set up the mat on the coffee table, but what do I do when it comes to cleaning. Seriously, that’s a diaper, so anything in there is going to be smeared instead of simply dropped. I hope I’m not expected to use a hygienic wipe with my mouth, cause that shit’s just unsanitary—literally.

“Alright Honeydew, this is how it’s going to work,” I explain in a firm tone asserting that I’m the boss here. “When I drag this over to the coffee table and set the mat down, y’all are going to hop onto the mat, and assume the position.”

Things are never that simple, though. While I manage to get the diaper bag across the floor without causing a ruckus, Honeydew seems content to upgrade her expression of discontent from a weak whimper to a low wail. “No, no, it’s okay, see? Just hop down here, and we’ll get that dirty little thing off of you, and get you right into a fresh one!” I plead, patting the mat as I lay it out.

Whether by luck or positive karma, the little filly doesn’t seem to be feeling particularly ornery right now. As I put my side parallel with the table, Honeydew scrambles—much like a kitten whose depth perception is still developing—cautiously over to the table and onto the mat. Inwardly, I thank my lucky stars that this filly is far more intelligent than any newborn has any right to be, and, after rearing up to place my forehooves on the table, I nuzzle and nudge her into rolling over onto her back.

Her crying lessens a bit as she rolls over, but she still stares, unsure of me, as I lay out a fresh diaper, baby powder, and a box of baby wipes. I don’t really blame her, either. Being on your back is always a compromising position. Your tail doesn’t hide your sex unless you do so purposely, your teats are on display for anypony to see, and in general it’s just a bad position to be in around anything that might cause you harm. For anypony, it’s a very trusting position to assume, so for somepony so vulnerable as a foal, it’s only natural to be unsure, even with the pony she slept seemingly the whole night on.

Smiling placatingly, I lean down and, ignoring my compunctions and disgust, I unfasten the catch around the diaper’s waist that cinches it so that the foal doesn’t just push it off him or herself. I’m honestly surprised that Lyra’s using reusable cloth diapers as opposed to the disposable ones I recall seeing in an episode that seems like forever ago, but what can you do when your income is dependent more on a store that competes with Sugarcube Corner in the sweets market than it does on the pregnant musician? The Cakes can probably afford the extra convenience…

“No, Silver, do not let your mind go there,” I whisper, feeling my eyes stinging in sudden dryness. “You’re over it, remember that.”

After a steadying breath, I carefully pull the diaper off with my teeth while lifting Honeydew’s hips with my hooves. Don’t want to accidentally tug her tail if it gets snagged in the tail hole, after all. Sure, the little thing giggles as my nose tickles her belly, but the sudden increase in intensity of odor as the diaper comes free of the filly nearly gags me, filling my eyes with tears. “Luna preserve me, what is Lyra feeding this kid?” I mutter, looking up at the filly’s face. “Oh, right.”

Gingerly, I adjust my hoof-hold on the filly so that her rear is still elevated, her back propped up on the hoof now below her tail, while I push aside the soiled diaper and grab for the box of hygienic wipes with my other hoof. Almost completely by mistake, my hoof goes through an opening in the top, and to my surprise, it is covered in what I can only think of as a glove—sock might be a more apt description, but screw you brain, I’m thinking here—made of a baby wipe. Clever ponies.

“Alright, Hon, this might feel a bit weird—” Yeah, it’ll feel weird for you and me both. “—but bear with me.” I say hesitantly, trying not to think of this in the awkward way my mind is insisting I should. This is not child molestation! “Gotta get you nice and clean before before I put the new diaper on you, or else you’ll just get some sort of infection. Trust me, those aren’t fun.”

I suppose it’s unsurprising that she would giggle at my incredibly silly sounding nonsensical—to her at any rate—words, but at least she’s not crying in discomfort as I ensure she’s clean. Even better, the now soiled hygienic glove seems to automatically invert when you push it off. Perfect! After getting her with the baby powder—cornstarch, my nose tells me—it’s even easier to slide the new diaper on her. “Doesn’t that feel a hundred times better?” I ask in a silly voice before blowing a raspberry on her belly, eliciting more giggles and laughter.

Wait, foals don’t laugh like that. Looking back to the two ‘sleeping’ mares, I see that they are both very much awake, rolling and laughing in amusement. “How long have you two been up?”

“Pretty much since you ran through the room in a panic,” Lyra says, using magic to wipe tears of mirth out of her eyes. “You sure talk to yourself a lot, don’t you?”

“You try being stuck awake and the only other one in the room who can hold an intelligent conversation can’t talk,” I say teasingly, but pointedly. “Why didn’t you offer me a hoof?”

Ice Blossom manages to cease her giggling in order to give me an apologetic look. “That’s my fault, I am afraid,” she admits, tracing a circle on the floor with the tip of her hoof. “Lyra was convinced that given the opportunity, you would freeze or panic instead of being able to successfully care for a foal on your own. I bargained that you would indeed be able to handle yourself.” Giving a playful look to Lyra, she quickly adds, “I do believe you owe me the last chocolate from that box Silver left.”

Wait, they bet on whether or not I would be able to babysit and change a diaper? What the fuck? Lifting Honeydew off of the makeshift changing table, I give them a tired look. “I’d yell at you both, but I’m feeling a little hoarse.”


~18 ~


Sitting in Lyra’s kitchen, nursing a nice cup of chai and picking through some berry-laden porridge, I just stare out the window at the chaotic weather unfolding outside. Just outside the window, I can see the convergence of four separate weather events, all occurring neatly inside their own little squares on the lawn. It’s hard to imagine that this is anything but Discord, and given what Lyra’s been telling me over breakfast, Discord could be behind this. There’s no way in hell a cartoony manifestation of Q could be tamed.

On one square of earth, the grass is turning brown from heat, while two others turn muddy from excessive rainfall. Finally, the square perpendicular to the drought looks as though it’s a perfect snow day on whatever patch of the universe it came from. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the space time continuum is fragmenting. Then again, magic. Fuckin’ magnets, right?

Worse off, I can’t help but notice just how many times Twilight Sparkle has pranced by in the distance wearing that crown—the Element of Magic. It seems like each time she goes by, she’s accompanied by another of her friends. I can even hear some sort of singing. “Even living in Equestria for almost a year, I still can’t believe that sh-stuff’s not just some sort of made up thing to expediate narrative in the show,” I comment, drawing Lyra and Ice Blossom’s attention from the admittedly attention-grabbing filly on the kitchen floor. “I get the impression you know what’s going on, to boot. So what gives? Is this the episode where Discord throws off his ‘rehabilitation’ to cry havoc and lets slip the diamond dogs of war?”

You know the sort of look a woman often gives you when she knows an answer, but is taking amusement in you being an idiot? That’s the sort of look Lyra’s giving me right now. To put things in Equestrian terms—because the earth equivalent seemingly offends pony sensibilities—she looks like the filly that ate the cookie. She knows what’s up, but whatever it is, she isn’t making a peep. “Spoilers,” she giggles. “It hasn’t happened yet for her or for you, so it wouldn’t mesh well with the timeline.”

“You’ve been stealing someone’s Netflix and watching Doctor Who, haven’t you?” I deadpan, shaking my head. “Never mind, I’m sure I’ll find out once this is all over.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand why, come this evening,” she says cryptically, turning her attention back to a pouting foal. “Keep your eyes on the skies and I’m sure you’ll understand the prize.”

Aggravated and not at all satisfied with her secretive message, I turn back to the window and sigh. Fucking unicorns! They’re either flaunting their magic, or being cryptic… and the singing! God damn the singing. Not only is the sporadic bits of song catchy, there’s this damn tingling in the back of my brain telling me to be prepared to sing in case of involvement. Fucking colorful musical ponies and their stupid fucked up weather.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Blossom whispers, joining me at the window. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’s important enough that she simply wants to see it to its proper outcome, whatever it may be.” Nudging me, she nods toward my picked over breakfast, encouraging me to eat some more. “You know most of these ponies on some level, and I can tell that deep down you want to go lend a hoof.”

“Well yeah,” I reply. “I’d probably put my life on the line for Twilight, even if all of that unnatural stuff out there scares the everloving crap out of me. I owe her that much.”

Smiling, she looks out the window. “I know you would,” she says softly. “You’d do that for almost anypony you thought deserved it. But who is to say that your involvement in this would lead to the best possible outcome for all?” With a wink, she continues, “There are some things ponies need to do on their own. For Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony, I think this is one of them.”

Raising an eyebrow, I give her a dismissive snort before turning back to the window. “How can you be so sure?”

“It’s in the air, can’t you feel it?” she asks, and when I turn back from the window, I can see a visible shiver run down her back. “Something important is happening today.”

“You can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord?” I sing back teasingly. Honestly, I know better than to reference human things around her, but that was just too good to pass up. “Sorry, I’ll stop being a goof.” I dip my head back into the bowl of porridge and eat a few more mouthfuls. “Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. Maybe everything will be fine.”

Looking at a snow-dusted brown-ish form, I smile. “Maybe I should worry about what Gale is going to do to me, instead.”


~ 18 ~


So, it turns out that Gale is no less than incredibly pissed at me. It might—just might—have something to do with me nearly dying and just answering the door nonchalantly with a smile and a cheerful “Hey, Gale! ‘sup?” According to her, I didn’t learn shit back when I nearly died from alchemy poisoning in school. Don’t get me wrong, she’s proud of me for what I managed to do, but apparently I was still too willing to die for her tastes.

I think the only reason she didn’t smack me on the head right there is that Lyra and Honeydew were standing right behind me when I answered the door. Still, her being pissed at me is no reason to not invite her in out of that bizarre-ass weather. The poor girl’s coat definitely looks a bit rosier than her usual rosy-brown, and even her feathers look pink.

“What happened to you, anyway?” I ask, inviting her in. “You don’t usually look this pink.”

“After walking through that nightmare, I’m pretty sure I have both frostburn and sunburn.” It certainly explain why she’s walking so stiffly and why she flinches every time her bags ruffle her fur or feathers. “Ms. Heartstrings, I presume?” she says in an easy tone, inclining her head toward the unicorn behind me. “I’m Gale von Gilcrest, Silver’s roommate at the university and one of her chosen few friends. It’s nice to finally meet you.” In a much quieter tone, she adds, “You look a lot better than you do in the pictures.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she replied, giving me a raised eyebrow and mouthing the word pictures. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t shake your claw. This little rascal—” She levitates Honeydew up off of the floor. “—has been eying the open doorway far too curiously for my liking. You’d never guess she was only born yesterday.”

Sticking my tongue out at her, I say, “I’m pretty sure trouble-making runs in the family.” Turning to Gale, I cock my head. “Come inside for a bit. Don’t know how long that is going to last, but the least we can do is get some hot cocoa, coffee or tea into you.”

“I would, but I actually came by to make sure you’re alive—which you are—and drop off something,” she says with a teasing grin, pulling a small package from one of her bags. “I’ve already pumped Zecora for all the stories I could, but I haven’t been able to find anything since that two-headed bear. Figured I’d head back to campus early.”

Looking at her, wide-eyed, I let out a small shriek. “Jeezus! Don’t gimme that here! I don’t have any saddlebags to hide that in!”

“Relax, it’s only that recipe you wanted—Zecora was incredibly grateful for the ingredients, by the way—and a little treat to tide you over until you get back to the school,” she replies, actually managing to laugh. “I know you said you were done with this stuff until you got out of town, but you need to keep your protein up, especially now. That is coming with me.”

Grinning like a child receiving an early Christmas present, I accept Gale’s package. “Oh my God, she actually gave me the recipe? Thank you Gale!” I squeal in giddy excitement, hugging the little parcel to my chest so hard that it actually hurts. “I almost want to go look at it right away! Imagine how ahead I could get on my research semester if I start n—”

“Anyway, my new ticket says the train is leaving soon, so I gotta get going,” Gale interjects, halting my excited gibbering. “I’m really glad you’re okay Silver, but you gotta stop bringing yourself to the point of near death. Sorry I couldn’t stay longer to get to know you and the little cutie there, Lyra, but trains don’t wait, you know?”

Just like that, she takes flight straight from the doorstep, soaring into the now clearing sky in spite of her reported frostbite and sunburn. Damn, I wish she would have at least stayed for tea or something; I actually wanted to talk to her! Oh well. When life gives you lemons, but no sugar and water, you can’t really make lemonade, so you have to make do with citrus-flavored water, right? Besides, what I have to discuss with her might be better off for a place where there are no foals to overhear. Even if Honeydew doesn’t understand things now, she might recall them later in life. Last thing I want to do is explain to Lyra why her daughter suddenly asked what rape is.

“Oh, did she leave already?” I hear Ice Blossom’s voice from the doorway to the kitchen. When I turn to look at her, she has a few polaroids clutched between her teeth. “I wanted to show her these pictures we got of you with the baby!”

Looking at the picture at the front of the stack, I see myself giving Honeydew’s tummy a raspberry. When did they even get a chance to take that? That’s it. I quit for the day. Fucking unicorns.

> Chapter 19: Sunset Acquiescence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Sitting on the bed in Lyra’s guest room, I frown at the bundle of parchment before me. Each time I read through it, I grow more and more frustrated with the lyrical nature of Zecora’s writing. Surely the zebra doesn’t need to write like this, so why does she? It’s not like I mind the fact that there are such things as cultural differences, but it doesn’t make it easy to understand. Groaning, I begin rereading the first sheet.

In making this potion, heed my word: this is a potion to increase one’s herd. The potion makes one incredibly virile, but is not for purposes most puerile. Either lacking stallion or mare, this drink will make a trade fair. Get from this what you need, and learn to be a mare or steed.

Finally able to wrap my head around that first part, I can’t help but snort in amusement. The potion, it seems, is not just a sex change potion, but also a fertility drug. “Bloody hell!” I let out an exasperated sigh, covering my face with my hooves. “What was Zecora thinking, giving that to Pinkie? It’s a good thing nopony else hooked up that night, ‘cause otherwise, there would have been a lot more pregnant ponies resulting from that night.”

Then again, the wording of that warning is kind of vague. Would a stallion-turned-mare enter estrus immediately? Would the mare-turned-stallion’s semen induce ovulation in a mare? Hell, for all I know, I’m reading too much into this and it just makes incredibly potent were-stallions. Further research is definitely necessary.

The next section is a numbered list of very cryptically worded ingredients. Most of them, thankfully, aren’t very hard to figure out, and all of those ingredients are common enough that I’ve worked with most of them, too. These ones usually end with a number denoting how much is required. If I look hard enough, I can even tell the specific preparations required for each ingredient.

A few of them are a bit more cleverly worded, and are gentle puzzles for the mind. A stallion you love, yearn for and slaver; your femininity lacks and you’ll never deliver. At first glance, there’s nothing mentioning ingredients at all, but if there’s one thing I recognize, it’s the link between femininity and the moon. At times like this, I’m thankful for that first time Professor Calcification stopped me after class.

The next one, when taking into account the first, is much easier to figure out. The mares you seek yearn for brave and for bold; drink up and let masculinity take hold. Through alchemical philosophy, the sun represents masculinity, and alchemically, gold represents the sun. Looking at that, one can even pick up on the pattern from the previous to determine that the next ingredient would rhyme with the end of a stanza.

Frowning at the next stanza, I ruffle my feathers before dipping my head into the parcel at my side to pull out a strip of bear jerky. This one almost has to be a measurement, unless it turns out that Zecora ripped me off. I might make an exception to my not-eating-sentients clause if that turns out to be the case. Zebra can’t taste much worse than bear, after all, and this bear is fucking delicious, albeit tough.

“With just a fly among the dust, one remembers balance is a must,” I read aloud, shaking my head. There’s probably a measurement in there, but whatever it is, I have no idea. It could very well be that I’m looking at some sort of obscure zebra measurement that I won’t be able to verify until I get back to Canterlot. “Looks like the Canterlot Archives might be seeing more of me again.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Sure enough, when I turn my eyes toward the door, Ice Blossom is standing in the doorway, looking tired from playing with Honeydew. Her appraising gaze moves from me, to the sheaf of parchment, and then finally locking onto the strip of jerky hanging out of the corner of my mouth as she crosses the bedroom to join me at the bed. “Silver, please tell me that isn’t...”

Swiveling the strip of jerky to the other corner of my mouth, I shake my head. “I won’t tell you then,” I mutter, taking a moment to grind away at the jerky with my molars. “Don’t tell Lyra, though. Pretty sure she doesn’t want to know.” This comment gets a raised eyebrow, but no comment. Probably for the best anyhow.

“Anyway, I figure I’ll be spending some time at the Canterlot archives because of this,” I say, jabbing at the parchment with my hoof. “I bartered with Zecora—don’t ask what with—in order to get an alchemical recipe. Unfortunately, everything is written in cryptic zebra fashion. Despite everything going swimmingly so far, I’ve hit my first major snag: some sort of measurement that I don’t recognize.”

Climbing onto the bed with me, she looks over the parchment. “Don’t play this cruel joke on me, I wouldn’t put this in my tea,” she reads with a smirk. “It’s like some sort of bad poem. What is this even supposed to be?”

I can’t help but hide a grin. “The ingredients.”

“Why would anypony drink anything with Poison Joke in it?” she asks, looking at me in doubt. I honestly can’t help but give her a look of confusion. “What? Lyra’s been telling me a lot about the plant, and how it caused three fillies to seemingly change species: a unicorn without her point; a pegasus with a horn but no wings, and the earth pony who suddenly yearned for flight.”

Shrugging, I look back at the parchment and reread the line. “Actually, it makes a lot of sense alchemically, now that I think about it,” I reply, swallowing a sufficiently chewed piece of jerky. “Poison Joke forces onto the body seemingly random changes in body shape, size, and even structure. If it can be harnessed alchemically, it only makes sense that you could control all sorts of factors regarding one’s body. Just think, you wouldn’t need random chance and a patch of Joke to give an earth pony or a unicorn the power to fly or walk on clouds.”

Of course she would give me one of those looks that says ‘I’m just going to pretend to understand what you’re talking about.’ Nothing I say about alchemy gets through to her, like she’s just not wired for it. It doesn’t bother me, really, but at the same time, I wish she shared in my enthusiasm. At least the two can sometimes overlap, like when it comes to botany. Her private garden in her room—don't ask me how it works in a room with no light sources aside from crystals; I have no fucking idea—allows me to save money on some herbs for alchemy, so I try not to get down on her about it.

“Whatever the case, you just saved me some time on that final ingredient,” I nuzzle into her shoulder, swallowing the rest of the jerky whole. “What time is it, anyway?”

Glancing out the window, she replies, “It’s nearly sundown.” Almost as an afterthought, she quickly adds, “All of the day’s prior insanity seems to have ended, you missed Bon-Bon telling us about her day.”

Remembering Lyra’s words from this morning, I smile. “Wanna go watch the sun set?”


~ 19 ~


In all the time I’ve spent in Equestria, I have never taken much time to enjoy the sunset. I mean yeah, there are a few opportunities I have had in the past, but those that I can remember are usually obfuscated by the strange occurrences that make up my life. There is certainly no way I ever managed to enjoy the sunset during my ‘series premiere’, as it were.

To make things more awkward, sitting on a hillside, watching the sunset, is technically the first romantic thing I’ve done with Blossom since our little picnic at the park with the merchant caravan. That shouldn’t be a problem, but it is. Every time I’m tempted to do something amorous, the reminder of my diminutive size is brought to the forefront of my mind. I can’t put an arm around her, or even wrap a wing around her. The only things I can really do are nuzzle her and take the subordinate role in leaning against her for support. What little remains of my masculinity crumbles in the process.

Still, it’s a beautiful sunset—incredible, really. Normally, there’s a curtain of clouds on the horizon, hampering the view, but not tonight; Celestia’s celestial sphere’s path is completely unobstructed this evening. It’s just so peaceful watching the orb drifting lazily toward the western horizon, painting it in pastel blues, pinks, and orange. With just a glance to Canterlot in the north, we can see a bright pinpoint of light on the castle’s highest tower, showing Princess Celestia lowering her sun.

“The one births the glory of the sister, who in turn births the one’s glory, where the cycle of harmony starts anew,” I mutter with an enraptured smile, nuzzling into her side once more. “For all the bad that came from me coming to Equestria, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than here now with you.”

Despite how cheesy it must sound, I can see Blossom blushing very easily through her coat. Her smile makes it clear that my words—nothing more than heat of the moment sentimentalism—had the right effect. The way her beautiful icy coat and mane shine as though made of ice, and her eyes glisten like topaz and emerald in the day’s last light is disarming. 

My heart wants to bare itself to her—to never lie or hurt her again—and that kind of scares me. I’ve never been in love before, and I won’t deny that I’ve considered that what I feel for her is only a physical attraction, but something deep down inside of me wants to believe this really is love, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. Like I said, it compels me to be honest with her about everything, and the thought of how she might react to my fear of Aqua Regia and what the caustic royal might do. Oh, but now I’m worrying about this shit and probably making faces.

Blossom doesn’t comment if she’s noticed my distraction. Rather, she seems to take my distraction as an indicator of discomfort. “Are you alright, Silver?” she queries, nuzzling the back of my neck. “Is it time to change your bandages and wash your wounds?”

I shake my head, frowning. Oh, Celestia... why is this so difficult? “No, love, it’s not that,” I answer weakly. “I just... There’s something I need to tell you—something I’ve needed to tell you for a long time—but I’ve been too stupid and afraid to tell you. It isn’t fair to you to keep it from you, either.” In recognition of the slight waver in my voice, a whimper escapes my throat. “But... I don’t want to ruin this moment. You and me, we have something really wonderful here, but if I break this out now...”

Looking away, I sigh. “I’ve already ruined the moment, haven’t I?”

Nuzzling the back of my neck, Blossom brings my attention back to her. “Silver, I am supposed to be here for you,” she nickers gently into my ear. “You’re my special somepony. The mood of the outing as a whole means nothing to me if you are unhappy. Something has been on your mind for a long time now; anypony can see it. Let me in.”

My breath hitches in my throat at her words. Damn it, woman! “Why do you have to try to be so understanding?” I cry, burying my face in her shoulder. “Why was it so easy to talk to the Element of Loyalty about this when it hurts so much just thinking about telling you?”

“Mother once told me that it hurts the most to bare your shame to the ones you love, because you fear disappointing them. I admit that I’m translating and paraphrasing, but the sentiment remains,” she whispers, pulling me into a hug. “I promise that I will hear you out and do my best not to judge you.” From any other pony, that might sound horrendously cruel, but from a pony inexperienced with the language, her words are as sweet as honey. 

Fighting back a sob, I pull away to look her in the eye. “Remember back in the spring when I was experiencing my first estrus in this body?” I ask shakily.

“I recall you being extremely skittish after that first day, and you were particularly eager to avoid getting out much for the rest of the duration.” She blinks repeatedly before letting her mouth hang open for a few moments. “Somepony did not force himself upon you, did he?” she squeaks in concern. “Is that why you have been awkward about Lyra and the foal? Are you expecting?”

Again, I find myself shaking my head. “No, I’m not expecting; it would be a bit weird if I was,” I deny. “What happened to me didn’t involve stallions at all.”

With a saddened look, I crumple against Blossom once more. “That being said, one of my peers did force herself on me in a moment of vulnerability,” I sniffle. “It was that stuck-up noble Aqua Regia and a bunch of her goons.” Blinking repeatedly, I realize for the first time that the tears are flowing free from my eyes. “She had them hold me against a bathroom wall while she... violated me with that damnable magic.” The last word is punctuated by a piteous wail that would probably make Rarity proud.

“Silver, please, you don’t have to do this to yourself!” she whispered, nuzzling me pleadingly. “I understand why you kept it—”

“The worst part isn’t even that she forced me to experience this body’s first orgasm in such a vicious way, or that she expected me to reciprocate,” I continue, weeping into my forehooves. “It isn’t even how much my shame arouses me that bothers me most. No, I had to go and be a stupid git and let this turn to shit!”

“Instead of going to the Royal Guard, I lorded it over her like a great empty threat. I was already scared of unicorn magic, but now it f-fucking terrifies me,” I whisper, feeling my voice beginning to go hoarse. “Even if my memories of the event are reliable and admissible in court if I went to the Guard now, I’m not sure I could sit through that with another unicorn peering into my memories without having some sort of panic attack and attacking that pony.

“Worse, I’m afraid of what she might do to you if I speak out against her!”

“You’re afraid for me?”

“Where I come from, the rich and affluent will often do anything to stay that way,” I explain, shuddering. “If they commit a crime and the victim speaks out against them, they often see to it that things happen to that person’s loved ones in order to keep them quiet. With the brutish way Regia behaves, I have no reason to expect anything different from her! She could have you kidnapped, beaten... or worse. The thought of something happening to you...”

In a surprising display of boldness, Blossom forces me back up into a sitting position, and looks me right in the eyes. “Through good and bad, I will be there for you, Silver Script,” she announces in a firm, but loving—almost motherly—tone. “I’m very proud that you are able to get this off your chest, and knowing this, I hope we can figure this out together. I only ask one thing in return.”

“What?”

“Worry not for me,” she says smiling. “Even if she doesn’t realize it, she can control you so long as you allow your fear to control you.”

Above us in the sky, a gigantic pink and white star blooms above the town of Ponyville. Surrounding it almost symmetrically are six smaller—but no less bright—white stars, each pulsing brightly in the newborn evening. At first glance, the unique formation appears to be moving further away as it creeps toward the horizon, but as it hits the rooftops near the center of town, it becomes clear to anypony watching that the stars are falling and growing smaller. 

Wiping away my tears, I realize we’ve completely missed the last of the sunset, in addition to the curious descent of Twilight Sparkle’s cutie-mark upon the town. “Blossom?”

“Yeah?”

I smile back at her, feeling my cheeks turning scarlet beneath my coat. “I... um... Damn, how did that go?” I mumble. “Anata ga daisuki desu. Isn’t that how it goes? Hell, I’m no good at this.” Digging at the ground with one hoof, I lean closer to her. “I love you, Ice Blossom.”

Ice Blossom blinks rapidly for a few moments, as though her brain can’t process what I just said. A pang of worry drops into my stomach when the smile on her face vanishes, but that worry quickly dissipates when a tear laden grin replaces her smile. “It’s so sweet that you took the time to try to learn that Silver,” she replies with a giggle. “I love you too.”


Pink stars are descending on Ponyville, and neither of us could care less. With a quick breath, I press my muzzle forward, kissing her lightly on her lips. With but a small chuckle, Blossom gently places a hoof on my neck before passionately returning that kiss. There’s no battle of tongues or exploration of each other’s oral cavities; the kiss we share tonight is nothing so intimate. Nae, tonight, we share but pure and innocent love.

Finally, when we can hold the kiss no longer, we break off for air before slumping happily against each other on the hilltop. I can’t believe I finally did it—I bared my heart and my aches to her, and still she accepts me and my love. No longer am I alone. With the halves of our love made one, there is magic without end!
> Chapter 20: Meet'n'Greet Pt. I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	For once, my first thoughts upon waking up aren’t about where I am, what happened to me, or how much existing hurts. I think I’m truly happy for the first time, and I don’t want to leave this spot for anypony—not if it means leaving the warm embrace of my big spoon... my Ice Blossom. Cuddling against her still sleeping form, a blanket over us both, I heave a sigh of contentment.

Rolling over, I look at my marefriend and wonder how I even won her over. The way we met sure isn’t anything to write home about; convincing a pony that you’re some sort of whacked out cannibal determined to eat her definitely doesn’t make them love you. Granted, depending on who you ask, being able to eat somepony helps, but that probably only works going from friendship with benefits to a real romance. I can’t even imagine a relationship going from ‘No, don’t eat me!’ to ‘Yeah baby, eat my pussy!’

I chuckle to myself in spite of the lewd joke. I don’t think Blossom would ever behave that way. She’s pretty forward because of her inexperience with the language, but she’s definitely not anywhere close to being that forward. Just hearing somepony say something lewd like that has her blushing. That’s why I’m in no rush to push our love beyond platonics.

“Hearing giggling upon waking might be something to look forward to with foals,” Blossom murmurs with a sleepy, half-lidded smile, “but I’d much rather wake up to a kiss.”

“What?” I gasp, rolling backward off of the bed in surprise. Sure, it’s absolutely undignifying to fall out of bed, but the indignity is lessened by the pain of the landing on one of my flared-out wings. Stupid wing priapism! “Ooof. What’s gotten into you, Blossom? One kiss and now you’re begging for more?” I tease, watching her hang over the edge of the bed, staring apologetically back at me. “Should I throw aside alchemy and open a kissing booth?”

This time, it’s her turn to blush. “You wouldn’t!” she counters in a confident voice, never losing her smile. “I have a monopoly on your cute little face. If you were to start kissing other mares or stallions, I would no longer have a monopoly over you, and that would make me very sad.”

“Not to mention it would cheapen your love,” a voice calls out from the doorway. Laying the top of my head flat against the floor, I see an upside-down Lyra with little Honeydew sticking close by her side. “I wonder if Bon-Bon and I were this lovey-dovey when we first started.”

I stare at her for a moment before glancing back to Blossom. “We’re not... Wow, we kind of are, aren’t we?” Shrugging inwardly, I look back at Lyra and smile. “G’morning, Lyra! G’morning, Honeydew. What’s up?”

The aquamarine mare smiles before igniting her horn in that familiar amber glow, floating in a sheaf of letters bound by some string. “Some mail came for you this morning,” she answers, waving the sheaf in front of my face before setting it on the floor in front of me. “Looks pretty official to me.”

“It would appear that ponies have determined you have left the hospital and concluded you are now fit to be rewarded for your heroism,” Blossom agrees in a slightly teasing tone, stepping off of the bed. “I’m so proud of you.”

I honestly don’t think I should be laughing at this, given my previous hero complex, but it is rather humorous that she’d worded it in that manner. It’s basically like, ‘Drat, she escaped before we could crown her a hero! Oh well, she shan’t have gone far; she’s still wounded, after all!’ Still giggling, I roll onto my belly before pushing myself up off the floor. I snatch up the bundle of letters and return to the bed before reading the addressers.

The first, surprisingly, bears a royal seal. I sit there skimming through it once or twice just to be sure I get the gist of it. At the request of both princesses, I apparently seem to be scheduled to attend a small function at the Ponyville town hall, where a royal representative will bestow on me a commendation for my heroism. From the wording of it, Princess Celestia wants it clear that this isn’t optional, and whether I like it or not, there is societal precedent that mandates a reward for my actions. Something about a village razing itself because a hero wasn’t recognized. I honestly think it’s bullshit, but that’s not really the thing you call a demigod on if you value your internal organs remaining as such.

Following that is a letter from the Mayor of Ponyville. Basically, she wishes to mediate a meeting between me and Silver Spoon’s family. No surprise here—they wish to thank me personally for saving their daughter’s life. The letter may also have hinted at some sort of monetary reward, but I don’t really care about that. If I had found her mutilated corpse instead of saving her, I wouldn’t be getting any placards, certificates, medals or what-have-you, so I don’t see it reasonable that I should be paid. Granted, I’m also not a greedy pony.

My final piece of correspondence is a bit more worrying. The envelope states that whatever’s inside is from the Head of the Alchemy Department, one Ginger Flask. Unable to help myself, I read the letter aloud to the others. “Dear Silver Script,” I begin, already frowning. “We at Canterlot University extend our congratulations on your heroic deeds in Ponyville. It makes the department heads and chairponies always proud to hear our students are using their educations to do some good in the world.”

“I smell a but coming,” Lyra jokes, before looking down at Honeydew. “Or one that’s already come.”

“That being said,” I continue, my brow creasing as I read further into the letter. “We cannot condone the misuse of alchemy. A blood-tailored cleansing potion is a tool of healing, not a weapon. Normally, a violation of the tenets of the Restorative School of alchemy—such as using the ability to heal to do harm—would result in two demerits in addition to the mandatory three demerits for alchemical misconduct. Given the circumstances, however, the council agrees that all demerits should be waived. Please keep this in mind for future reference.”

Dropping the letter, I cover my face with a hoof. “In other words, fillies and gentlecolts, ‘Dear Silver, you’re a hero; go blank yourself.’”

Blossom frowns at me before picking up the letter and reading it over. “It doesn’t imply that anywhere in the letter, Silver,” she admonishes, missing the sarcasm of my summary. “It is simply a written warning.”

In spite of myself, I crack a smile before looking at the window. “Never mind, Blossom,” I reply, giggling. “Bad joke.” Giving her a sidelong glance, I ask, “I have to go do a meet and greet because ponies think I am a hero; wanna come with?”

Ice Blossom looks pensive for a few moments before shaking her head. “I still need to go about town for what I came for,” she answered cheerfully. “I might be able to acquire some samples of this Poison Joke plant, both for my studies, and maybe your own alchemical experiments.” This draws a look from Lyra, one of unspoken curiosity. “Besides, this is something for you. I should not intrude on it, even if you would like your special somepony there to watch your ego inflate.”


~ 20 ~


Given that I never wanted any of this, it’s no great surprise that I would prefer my trip to the town hall to be uneventful, but unfortunately, it seems I’m cursed to live an interesting life. Being too beaten up to steadily fly yet, I opt to walk, but somewhere in town, I manage to get turned around once or twice, leaving me woefully lost and cursing Gale for not returning my compass. There are plenty of ponies out and about—many of whom occasionally glance at me before whispering to another nearby pony—so it only seems right to ask one of them for help.

Big mistake, it would seem. Upon trotting up to a rather nice looking stallion on the boulevard with three-horseshoe cutie mark on his hip, he smiles down at me and says, “Well howdy there, little miss. I’ve never seen you around here before, and you look a bit lost.”

“Embarrassing as it is, yeah, I’m pretty lost,” I reply, rubbing one fetlock against the opposite knee.

“What’cha need help finding?” asks the amber stallion as he tilts his head to get his light brown mane out of his cerulean eyes. “I’ve lived here in Ponyville all my life, so I pretty much know where everything is.”

“I won’t lie to you then, sir,” I look down in shame. “I’m incredibly directionally challenged, and I got lost on my way to a meeting at town hall.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Lost on the way to town hall?” he whispers, a small smiled crosses his face. “You’re not perchance that Silver Script mare everypony’s been whispering about for the last few days, are you?”

Shit. Ponies are really talking about this lamia thing? “Y-yeah,” I mumble. “That’s me.”

The stallion nickers excitedly, “Well don’t that just beat all?” He grabs one of my hooves and begins shaking it vigorously. “I’m honored to have had the chance to meet the mare who saved three of our own.”

“Three?” I ask, confused. “I only saved a filly.”

“Shucks, no need to be modest, little miss,” he chuckles. “Just between you and me, Miss Applejack—the boss mare at the apple orchard I work at—won’t stop talking about how proud she is to have known you. Says you saved the little filly twice, and her and Rainbow Dash from the lamia.”

“All I did was get eaten!”

“... and lived!” he insists, his voice raising into an excited shout. “It didn’t, so that sounds mighty heroic in my book. Helping you reach town hall is the least I can do for the Hero of Ponyville!”

That’s when the cheering begins. At first, I assume I’m experiencing a small earthquake, or perhaps a stampede, but when I look, everypony on the boulevard is watching me and the stallion, stomping their hooves in applause. Yeah... This is exactly what I didn’t want. Any other pony might be thrilled to get a hero’s welcome as a stallion parades them through town to receive her reward, but for me, it just hurts—digging at the scar that is Pound Cake.

For the sake of the ponies in town, I decide to throw on a brave face let them have their hero for the time being. I mean, it’s just going to be a passing thing, like the Elements of Harmony; good for a few days of celebration before passing into obscurity, until nopony even recognizes the name Silver Script. ‘Silver Script? Who’s that?’ a mare might ask, and to which her friend would reply, ‘I dunno. Wasn’t she that pony that saved a filly or something?’

More than a few ponies stop me and the stallion—Caramel, he tells me upon my asking—on our tour of the town. Most of them either thank me for safely returning one of their own, or curiously ask how a little thing like me managed to down an overgrown lamia, but a few from the mob on the first day also stop to talk. Most of them are apologetic for their behavior and the partial stoning before saying something really cliched like ‘I always knew you were a good pony!’

Needless to say, what should have be a mere fifteen minute walk lasts almost forty-five minutes and multiple explanations of the potion longer than necessary before I grow frustrated and settling on ‘because magic’ just to expedite the process. I think around that time, Caramel starts to get the picture that I really, really don’t want to be treated like a hero, and just want to get to town hall, and increases the pace, cutting through a few alleyways and streets.

Arriving on the doorstep of the town hall, I turn to Caramel and smile tiredly. “Thank you for leading me here Caramel,” I say softly. “You really helped me out there.”

“You’re welcome, miss,” he replies bashfully, rubbing the back of his head with a hoof. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I got you tied up in all the hero worship. Ponies around here really like their heroes, and like to be able to celebrate them.”

I raise an eyebrow at his comment before smiling wryly. “Well, you all could always just count your blessings every time you stop by the Golden Oaks library and see Twilight, stop in at work to see Applejack, or when you thank Rainbow Dash for keeping the weather team functioning. Each time you grab a snack at Sugarcube Corner, leave an extra tip for Pinkie Pie as thanks, or if you need to get a dress for your special somepony, go see Rarity at Carousel Boutique. Remember Fluttershy every time she comes by to help you with a critter-related conundrum. Those six are national heroes, and have saved equestria no less than three times!”

He stares blankly at me for a moment before a light seems to come on inside his head. “Thank you miss, I’ll remember that and make sure to pass the word around. Seems like we’ve all forgotten something mighty important to us,” he says, turning to leave. “Good day, Silver Script.”

“You too, Caramel.”

Turning to open the door, I brace myself. If Ponyville really loves their heroes, you can guarantee that any ‘function’ involving said hero is going to involve a patented Pinkie Pie Party. Surely, I’ll open the door, and be blasted with confetti and streamers, or worse, the party cannon. I’ll be dragged in to play games and eat snacks, all while meeting and greeting Silver Spoon’s family and the royal representative.

For a moment, I have to wonder who this agent of the crown might be. At last I’d heard, Prince Shining Armor is back in the Crystal Empire with Princess Cadance, making her as comfortable as possible and lightening her load with their foal on the way. It’d be too much for Princesses Celestia and Luna to ask for him to come all the way out to Ponyville just to give out an award. I can even imagine what he’d say to me: ‘This isn’t what I meant by stay out of trouble.’

Certainly it wouldn’t be Twilight! The mare is probably exhausted after whatever silliness occurred yesterday. Is she even officially an agent of the crown? I mean, yeah, she’s Princess Celestia’s student, and she’s acted in an official capacity in the past as the bearer of the Element of Magic, but she’s still a civvie! No, it can’t be her.

Who then?

Shaking the questions from my head, I grab one of the hanging-ring handles on the double doors, dragging it open. Steeling myself for what’s to come once more, I step quickly through the door before it swings shut behind me. My heart pounds in anxious anticipation, but the burst of confetti and streamers from a party popper never comes. 

Instead, the only things greeting me are the happy—no, proud—smiles of a great number of familiar ponies, and a few tables of food on either side of the main chamber. The tan and gray form of Mayor Mare stands first and foremost among the crowd. To her right, I see most of the Elements of Harmony—Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, who looks a bit miffed she isn’t throwing a celebration, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash. Twilight is conspicuous in her absence, but the pride in their smiles is more than enough to make up for it. 

Their smiles say that regardless of everything that’s happened, things are alright now. It’s more than that, though. Rainbow Dash’s smile—and Applejack’s too, for that matter—bears more than just pride. It’s respect. From Rainbow Dash, I can understand it; after the session on the cloud, we’ve come to an understanding, but Applejack? No matter. I give the pair the slightest of nods, which is quickly returned, a suddenly somber expression on both of their faces.

To the Mayor’s left, I see Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara standing closely like fledgeling lovers, the imposing Sterling Silver and the bespectacled mare that I can only assume is Silver Spoon’s mom, and somepony that I am somehow unsurprised to see most of all—Clear Conscience. I think I’ve known I’d be seeing him since the time in the cave with Silver Spoon. ‘Uncle Clear’ is just too much of a coincidence when I know he’s been here in Ponyville helping deal with a family crisis—Silver Spoon’s behavior and running away.

The expression on all of their faces is more of immense thanks than it is of pride, except with Clear. The pride shining through in his expression, however, is tainted with something else: pity. In that split second, when our eyes meet, I know why there’s no party or parade. Clear Conscience, my confidant, therapist—friend, even—spoke out on my behalf, and I cannot thank him enough. 

I cast him an appreciative nod before approaching. “Thank you for coming, Silver Script,” the graying mayor announces in an official-sounding tone. Jeeze, is everything an event with this lady? Wait... never mind. “On behalf of everypony in Ponyville, I would like to thank you for saving three of our own. You’re truly an insp—”

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but I really must stop you there,” I say with a pained expression, and an apologetic look to everypony in the room. “I know with everything that has happened in the town over the last little while, Ponyville wants to have some sort of definite hero. I’m okay with that, really!”

Shaking my head, I glance in Silver Spoon’s direction. “I’m fully prepared to be thanked for saving Silver Spoon here. Luna preserve me, she’s been through far too much in that accursed forest,” I say softly, giving the filly a big smile. “She deserves to live, and I couldn’t just let her be eaten.”

I look back to Mayor Mare, frowning once more. “I’ll admit that I’m a hero in that aspect, but please... don’t exaggerate my deeds by claiming I saved Applejack and Rainbow Dash,” I continue in an apologetic tone. “Those two are the most physically capable mares I’ve ever met. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that as soon as the lamia got me, they were never in any real danger.” Bowing my head forward, I finish by saying, “Again, I apologize for interrupting you.”

The mare stares at me in shock, soundlessly working her mouth as she tries to formulate a response. Taking advantage of her stunned silence to gauge reactions, I once more look around at the group. Applejack, Clear Conscience, and Rainbow Dash all nod approvingly, affirming that yes, I made the right choice. I have no idea how Silver Spoon’s parents or the rest of the present Elements of Harmony feel about my little denial of the greater tale of heroism.

Probably the most shocking and confusing reactions to my speech come from Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara. Silver Spoon looks enraptured by my speech, silently mouthing ‘Luna preserve me’ to herself. I have no doubt I’d find stars in her eyes if I looked close enough. Is this how Scootaloo looks at Rainbow Dash? In saving her, have I become a role-model to her? Diamond Tiara, on the other hoof looks tearful but grudgingly respectful, as though it’s still sinking in that a blank flank saved her best friend’s life.

“Yes, well then,” Mayor Mare mumbles. “Still, on behalf of everypony, I thank you for saving one of our own.” She gives Clear Conscience and Sterling Silver a sour look, and I could swear I could hear her mutter something about fifty bits. “Now then, there are a number of ponies here who desire to speak with you while Princess Celestia’s representative arrives.”

With that said, everypony breaks off into their own small discussions around the food tables, while the mayor ascends a small set of stairs opposite of the town hall’s entrance, no doubt eager to get back to whatever work she would normally be doing. I can’t help but ponder the mare’s muttering. Did she really make a bet with those two after being warned that I would I would not take to being credited with more than I deserve?

Well, at any rate, half of the reason I’m here is to meet with the Silver family, so I begin to make my way towards the silver stallion and mare situated near the fillies. Up close, it’s not hard to tell that Silver Spoon got her looks from her mother. If not for the mare’s red irises, I could easily mistake her for an older version of her daughter. Sterling Silver, on the other hoof is a grizzled looking stallion. Rather than the suave, pampered look of a nobleman, he has the air of hard work and compassion, with the physique of a whitesmith.

“Hello, sir, ma’am,” I say politely, bowing slightly before them. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you,” the large white stallion rumbles in a deep, but oddly pleasant voice. “You probably already know my name from the posters, but I am Sterling Silver, and my lovely wife here is Silver Lining.”

The mare honestly looks like she’s trying her best not to start hugging me, crying happily about bringing her baby home to her. Instead the mare surprises me by brushing a lock of my mane—such as it is, given all it has been through—away from my face before gently kissing me on the forehead. “I owe you more than you can ever know for bringing my baby home to me,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

Letting out a rumbling chuckle, Sterling Silver pats me gingerly on the shoulder—no doubt a display of expert control from his trade, if the anvil and silver bar cutie mark are any indicators. “I must say, when I found out who you were from my brother-in-law, I didn’t know what to expect,” he says, smiling. “I could hardly believe you were the same mare as the one swapped with Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Yeah,” I look down. “Not one of my prouder days.” Looking thoughtfully to Silver Lining, I smile. “Your brother helped me come a long way, even with how little time we had.”

Taken aback, she swallows gently before nodding. “He always did like to help ponies,” she agrees. “After mother...”

“The irony isn’t lost on us that a pony with a name that wouldn’t be out of place in our own family—one helped by my brother-in-law, no less—is the one who saved our little girl,” Sterling Silver says, chuckling again to lighten the mood. “To top it all off, you managed to strengthen our daughter’s friendship with her best friend while removing her friend’s negative behavior. I don’t know how you did it, but I know she couldn’t be happier, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Who, Diamond Tiara?” I shake my head. “I just showed her some compassion and hinted that your daughter wasn’t just friends with her because of her attitude. I dunno for certain, but she probably realized what their friendship was based around, and decided she didn’t have to bully others for Silver Spoon’s respect.”

Nodding, Silver Lining sighs. “I hope that’s the case as well,” she says wistfully. “It’d be nice to see them both get along with the other children.”

“At any rate, there must be some way we can repay you for saving our daughter,” the great white beast of a stallion insists. “We’d put away a fair bit as a reward for information while she was missing, so if it’s money you want...”

I shake my head, smiling. “There’s no need for a reward, honest,” I reply humbly. “The fact that your daughter is alive to grow up safe and healthy is reward enough for me. I’m being taken care of financially by the crown until my education is complete, by which point I should be more than well-off. Rather, if it isn’t too much trouble, would you perhaps be willing to make a donation to the Ponyville schoolhouse on my behalf? I’m sure Miss Cheerilee wouldn’t mind having some funds for new teaching materials or a school trip that didn’t in part come out of her pay.”

The two parents exchange a look before nodding. “Humble and generous,” the bespectacled mare comments with an approving grin. “Is it any wonder our daughter has a new role model?”

“Quite,” he rumbles in agreement. “At the very least, allow us to treat you to dinner. I know Silver Spoon would love that.”

A free meal for a life is definitely a good trade. I’m kind of glad to know that not all snooty rich girls are a result of parents with similar outlooks, and for that reason I’m thankful that even bullies can change. “I humbly accept your offer,” I reply with a smile, “but for the moment, I’m sure there are plenty of ponies who would like to talk right now.”

> Chapter 21: Meet'n'Greet Pt. II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	One could probably fault me for choosing not to see my therapist next, but honestly? I think the choice is a natural one. Sure, Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara look fine on the outside, but as I’m sure Clear Conscience would be eager to point out, traumatic experiences don’t always leave physical scars. I know Diamond Tiara’s probably still reeling from nearly losing her best friend, but what of Silver Spoon? Nearly losing your life so many times isn’t going to leave you feeling right as rain—something I know from experience.

Moving on from the parental group, I make my way silently toward the young pair. They’re certainly happy on the surface, conversing animatedly about Silver Spoon’s new glasses and giggling at an unspoken joke. I know when I saw them upon entering, I thought they looked like children who think they’re in love, but watching them now, it’s clear that any love between them is more sororal than anything else. Then again, what do I know?

A part of me doesn’t want to believe that just saving a life and helping these two is going to make them nicer ponies, but another part of me reminds me about what I told Gale. They have plenty of opportunities to grow up, and with the right nudges, they won’t end up like Aqua Regia. From what I’ve seen of Silver Spoon’s family and what I know of Filthy Rich, it’s not so much their upbringing as it is an overwhelming desire to see their children happy and not a strong belief in the word ‘no’. Given all that, and what they’ve been through in the last week, I have no doubt that they are going to turn out to be much better ponies.

“Good morning, girls,” I greet them warmly. “How are you both doing today?”

“Hi...” I’m kinda taken aback by Silver Spoon’s sudden shyness, but I suppose that could be expected. There’s usually two reactions when one meets an idol or role model; on one hoof, there could be tons of excited gushing, as is the case of Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash, but on the other, a pony might find themselves at a loss of words. “I’m good now, and it’s all thanks to you!”

“Thank you for saving her, Miss,” Diamond Tiara adds happily. Her demeanor quickly shifts to one of sorrow, and she lowers her gaze. “If... anything had happened to her, I’d be all alone. Nopony else would want to be my friend after the way w—the way I’ve treated everypony.”

I can’t help but chuckle lightly, shaking my head. “Girls, if there’s something I’ve learned about ponies, it’s that they’ll always shock you in ways you least expect it,” I explain, lifting her chin to look her compassionately in the eyes. “Ponies have a great capacity for love or compassion, even for their enemies.” Though there are exceptions. “Somepony would have stepped up and said, ‘Yeah, she was mean to us, but she doesn’t deserve to be alone like that in her greatest time of need!’” Her smile returns, albeit not as strongly. “You’d probably be surprised, but I reckon Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle would be those ponies. That goes for the both of you.”

A look of confusion furrows Diamond’s brow. “Those blank fl—those talentless fr—those three?” she asks, altering her wording every time she notes my own lack of a cutie mark. “Why them?”

“They do kinda have a reason to hate us,” Silver Spoon agrees solemnly. “Why would they help us?”

“The three of them have good hearts,” I softly speak. “I know they seem silly to you, obsessing over their cutie marks and getting into all sorts of trouble, but their hearts are in the right place. Sure, it could in part be an opportunity for them to be ‘Cutie Mark Crusader Peacemakers’, but I honestly don’t think they have it in them to be mean.”

The pair of fillies look down at the floor again, their ears drooping in shame. “We wouldn’t deserve their kindness,” the silver filly admits. “We’ve been nothing but horrible to them.”

“Nonsense!” I tap my hoof thrice on the hardwood to get their attention. “You’re forgetting something really important girls. The five of you are all still so young—so full of potential for change! There’s nothing from stopping you from making peace with them or being friends except the belief that you don’t deserve their friendship.”

“You mean it?”

“I won’t lie,” I look at them seriously. “You’ll probably need to work on your... perceptions of the world a bit, and a gesture of goodwill to show that you’re being genuine is probably in order, but beyond that, they’d probably accept you pretty easily.”

The girls begin smiling again, so I decide to nail it home. “Besides, you have a lot more in common than you probably think.” I clap my forehooves for emphasis. “You both have successful business-ponies in your families, something you share with Applebloom. Even if you won’t come out and say it, you have your idols—ponies you’re probably incredibly dedicated to—just like Scootaloo. I’ve saved Sweetie’s life in the past, and now I’ve saved yours, Silver. Likewise, I’ve saved their friendships and I’ve saved yours. That’s a lot of common ground right there.”

“When you put it like that,” they say in unison, “it doesn’t sound that bad.”

Now, I’m no fool. Had I been any other pony telling them all this, I have no doubt that the two would be far less accepting of my words. This is why Clear Conscience likes to build rapport with his patients rather than remaining distant; the word of somepony who’s earned your trust is worth more to you than the word of somepony you’re told to trust. Hell, I still have half a reason to believe that they might not be genuine, but I’m pretty sure that’s a personal bias.

“You two be good now,” I say, feeling suddenly distracted. It feels like Clear Conscience has been watching me since I’ve been conversing with his niece. Now, for all I know, he’s been wanting to talk to me since he found out I saved Silver Spoon’s life, and really I kind of expect that. He has every right to feel concerned about my emotional state given what I’ve been through. “I’ve gotta go catch up with your uncle for a bit.”

As I begin making my way over to him, the creme unicorn leads me over to what appears to be the receptionist’s desk. It might be more apt to say it was the receptionist’s desk, as it’s clearly been appropriated to be used as a tea table. The stallion says nothing, but motions for me to sit on one of the chairs at the table.

Pushing a chair up, I use my wings to propel me high enough to scuttle onto the seat. “Morning, Doc,” I greet jovially. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” he agrees, stroking his beard. Levitating over the tea-set and a selection of tea-bags, he offers me a cup. “Chai?”

“I’ll take a chamomile for now, thanks.” He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment as I accept the teacup and saucer, setting them down before me. It isn’t long until he floats over a tea-bag and a now steaming pot of tea. “Given all I’ve been through, especially being paraded through town by a citizen, I need something to calm me down.”

Clear nods, pouring water into my cup to join the tea-bag. “So you are still thinking about what happened nearly a year ago,” he commented softly. “I was worried about that.”

Staring at the cup, I practice a breathing exercise in order to focus myself. “It’s not nearly as bad as you probably expect,” I finally admit, smiling sadly. “I mean yeah, I thought about Pound Cake once or twice when all this hullabaloo started, but it’s more being called a hero that’s bothering me more than anything else, right now.”

With a look of bewilderment, he sips at his cup of tea, despite the fact that it clearly hasn’t been long enough to properly steep. “You don’t feel you are deserving of praise?”

“I’m not denying I did a good thing, but it hurts that they tried to increase my heroism beyond what had actually occurred.” I shake my head, staring at my hooves on the edge of the table. “Beyond running to my doom and living, and protecting a wounded filly from a cockatrice and lamia, I didn’t do anything anypony else wouldn’t have. This whole day is reminding me of a strange little parable from my world.”

“There were four ponies, named Everypony, Somepony, Anypony, and Nopony respectively,” I explain, not feeling it necessary to point out my paraphrasing. “There was an important job that needed doing and Everypony expected Somepony would do it. Anypony could do it, but Nopony did. Somepony was pissed because it was clearly Everypony’s responsibility. Everypony thought Anypony would do it, but Nopony realized that Everypony wouldn’t do it. It ended up that Everypony blamed Somepony when Anypony could have done what Nopony did.”

“I’m not sure I follow how that ties in to the situation,” he says, frowning. “That story sounds like an allusion to the way blame is shifted when nothing is done.”

I nod, finally sipping at my tea. It could use a little sugar, but that wouldn’t help calm me any. “It is,” I admit sharing his frown. “I feel like this is a parallel situation, where Everypony expects Anypony to do something that Nopony without a death-wish would, but Somepony did it anyway. So of course Everypony wants to thank Somepony for what Anypony could have done.”

“... and for that I am grateful,” he says curtly, before softening his expression. “I do see what you are trying to get at though. Ponies like having heroes, and for somepony such as yourself it is a curse, rather than a blessing, as it digs at old emotional scars.” I nod to him. “I told the mayor that is how you would feel.”

“What is it with ponies and gambling on whether I’ll do one thing or another lately?” I mutter. In a more audible tone, I add, “Aside from that I’m doing a lot better.” With another sip of my tea, I smile at him. “If you can believe it, I’ve actually got a special somepony now. Not a bad outcome considering I had her scared enough to want to leave the university.”

He watches me questioningly for a couple of moments, finishing his tea.“You’ve definitely changed a lot, Silver Script,” he finally concludes. With a nod of his head, he extends a hoof across the table. “It’s been a long way coming, but you finally look like you’re learning how to cope with things and open up to ponies. I dare say you most likely won’t need to visit any more when I finally get back to Canterlot, but... well... You don’t hold a practice by turning ponies away if they want to talk.”

“Don’t worry, Doc,” I answer, reaching my hoof out to bump his. “I’ve still got lots of crazy to work out. Some of it might have to wait though. There are some... affairs I need to get in order in Canterlot before we schedule another appointment.” Pausing to take note of his reaction to my choice of words, I shake my head. “I know that begs some discussion, but I want to sort this all out before I talk about it. It’ll be easier if I don’t have it hanging over my head. I was able to talk to the pony who matter the most in my life about it, and that’s enough for me.”

“So long as you don’t plan anything... foolish, I can respect that.”


~ 21 ~


After finishing my discussion with Clear Conscience, I sit by myself at the tea table for a while, just drinking my tea. It isn’t that I don’t want to see the others, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave the table for the time being. It’s almost as if I never expected my first time talking to him in months to be so draining. Mostly, I think it’s the fact that I basically promised him a discussion sooner rather than later.

It leaves me silently wondering how I’m going to ‘get my affairs in order’ anyway. Need I forget that I’m basically going to be accusing a scion of one of Equestria’s most powerful families of rape. That’s not something you just… do. There are certain protocols that I don’t know that need to be followed if I don’t want to wake up dead. Wait. Fuck!

The simplest thing to do is probably just go to Princess Luna about it, but I wouldn’t put it past Aqua Regia to have somepony watching me like a hawk. Would I even make it to the castle if I make any indication that it is my destination? Chances are that I won’t make it, ending with my corpse discarded in a back-alley to be found by some street-urchin foal. Yeah, that’s lovely imagery right there.

I suppose I could mention it to Luna in a dream if I see her, but that is a significantly big if. Given that last time she appeared in one of my dreams was when she wanted to warn me about all this, I don’t reckon that the chances are high that she’ll need to speak within the vague time limit I’ve set for myself. Unless I have a nightmare, I’m probably shit outta luck in that department.

“Maybe it’s best if I wait until I’m back home to figure it—”

“A bit for yer thoughts, sugarcube?” Applejack says, sitting down across from me, smiling kindly. Beside her, Rainbow also takes a seat. “Ya’ll look mighty distracted ‘bout somethin’.”

Thoughtfully turning the teacup with one hoof, I look up at AJ. “I’m just thinking about stuff, I guess,” I murmur, dropping my chin onto an elbow. “Still got a lot to do once I’m back in Canterlot before university starts back up, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to go about it.”

“Ah know it’s not my place sayin’ this, but she’d be stupid to try anythin’,” she says quietly, her expression apologetic. “It’d cause too many questions—too much of a stir—if’n she did so stop worryin’ so much about what she might do if ya do act, or ya’ll better prepare for what ya feared if ya don’t.”

As if catching my betrayed look in Rainbow Dash’s direction, the blonde mare reaches across the table with both hooves, taking hold of my free arm. “Now, don’t you be going getting the wrong idea,” she says firmly. “She an’ I talked last night, that much is true, but we ain’t discussed nothin’ I ain’t already heard.” 

I look at Applejack in horror, suddenly feeling panic. The pony who can’t tell a lie knows!? Oh no, oh no no no! Not good!

“Relax, sugarcube,” she soothes, patting my arm gently. “Ah know ya’ll trusted Dashie with this, an’ while it was wrong of me to be eavesdroppin’ while Ah was buckin’ that part of the orchard, Ah kin understand why ya ain’t want it acted on. Ah promise not to breathe a word of it to nopony. Cain’t lie about it, but Ah kin still keep a secret, Pinkie Promise.”

I feel a little better about that, but not by much. You can only get so far on omissions and candidly refusing to answer; at some point, you’ll be backed into a corner faced with the choice of telling the truth or coming to harm. “Thanks, I guess,” I whisper, pulling my hoof free. “I get the impression you overhear a lot of things in the clouds above your orchard that ponies don’t want heard.”

“If’n that’s true, and Ah ain’t sayin’ it is,” she says with a grin, “Ah might adopt an attitude of ‘What happens on the farm stays on the farm.’”

Well thanks AJ for giving me the exact wrong mental image there. Hell why does my brain still work that way? Surely AJ wouldn’t do that with Mac, would she?

“I probably should have brought you somewhere more private—I would have, if I’d known,” Rainbow confesses, her ears drooping. “You don’t have to worry though. AJ’s heard a lotta things I didn’t want anypony hearing because I keep moping above her orchard when something has me feeling down.”

I give Rainbow Dash an accusatory look before smiling softly. “It sounds to me like subconsciously, you didn’t want to bear the burden of what I told you alone.”

“Yeah, except for the fact that I took you there before I knew you were going to tell me any of that,” she shoots back, grinning. “Your argument is invalid, I used logic.”

Applejack chuckled lightly. “Shucks, Dash, you know what she means.”

I look mischievously at the two before scrambling up onto the table and tackle the both of them. The three of us end up in a pile behind two overturned chairs. At first, the both of them struggle—possibly convinced I’ve lost my shit again—but those struggles gradually ebb as they realize I’m not attacking, but hugging them instead. After a few moments, they even hug me back. There’s nothing that can really explain why I leapt across the table at them just to hug them. Ponies are just so soft and huggable.

“I know this hug is probably as absurd to the both of you as it is to me, but I’m kinda grateful,” I finally say. Letting them go, I smile. “I dare say you might be summoned to Canterlot at some point in the foreseeable future to testify. Haven’t worked out exactly how all of this is going to go down yet, and I hate to drag you into things, but...”

“Just take it one step at a time, sugarcube,” Applejack says, pushing herself up. Pulling a slightly dazed dash back onto her hooves she tips her hat. “Ya’ll do what you gotta do, and we’ll do our darndest to see justice done.”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that wording but I say nothing. “Thanks,” I reply softly. “Say, where is Twilight, anyway? I spotted the lot of you running around in a singing tizzy yesterday, so I figured you all might be here to be rewarded too.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Dash smacks me lightly on the shoulder, grinning. “She probably just didn’t realize the time when she fell asleep after studying whatever she had to.”


~ 21 ~


Bloody hell, waiting is boring. I know I haven’t seen most of these ponies in person for months now, but there’s only so much you can converse with them about when you’d rather spare them the darker details of your life. I’d rather not make Rarity or Fluttershy pity me, and I don’t even want to know how Pinkie would react to something like that. Let’s face it, ‘Hi Fluttershy, how are you? Oh, that’s wonderful! I was raped during my first estrus and never pressed charges,’ will never seem like a good discussion layout.

That’s not to say I can’t manage some conversations with them to kill the time. Some of my time is spent discussing a commission of some new saddlebags to replace what was lost to the lamia. From there, my attempts to dissuade her from her generous offer of ‘Why darling, I can’t in good conscience let an alchemist and hero not have the best for anything less than free’ are a complete failure. I don’t even know how this happened, but now she’s making my new saddlebags and she’s taking me to the spa because, and I quote, ‘Aloe and Lotus have this wonderful shampoo that does wonders for regrowing one’s coat and mane after going through such traumatic events as yours have.’ 

I’m starting to think I have a hard time saying no, because when I attempt to explain that my marefriend will be lonely, I only dig myself deeper. Well… at least Blossom and I get a spa date with Rarity and Fluttershy tomorrow afternoon. That’s a good thing, I think. Nope; I’m thinking I’ve just been conned by a mare into accepting her generosity.

At least Fluttershy isn’t scared of me. Wouldn’t rightly blame her after killing a cockatrice—they don’t know about the trophy, thank fuck—and a lamia, but she’s surprisingly understanding. Granted, the mare might spend a bit too much time around animals if she honestly thinks ‘the cornered rat will bite the cat’ is an apt representation of what I went through. Then again, she does have a point about feeling compelled to protect our young, regardless of whose child it is.

From there, we go on to discussing Lyra’s foal and how things are going there. It’s no surprise that Fluttershy’s surprised to hear that Lyra’s already gone through foaling and delivered a completely healthy filly. When a child is born outside the hospital, there’s always time for concern about her health. So of course, I tell her about passing out in the living room, waking up in a pony-pile, and being subjected to Lyra and Blossom’s little bet. Of course Fluttershy thinks it’s all adorable. Hell, I have no doubt she would squee to death if I told her about the dream I’d had that morning.

Pinkie? Well, as I’m sure fanfiction is quick to point out, ‘Pinkie’s gonna Pinkie.’ I swear on my life that mare is the poster-child for why force-feeding your children ritalin is a good idea. Then again, her Pinkie Sense kind of sounds like the list of possible side effects of the drug. Her hyper-focus on parties definitely makes sense in that light, and I think that’s even scarier.

Seriously! This mare will motormouth you for fifteen minutes straight about how she needs to hold a party for your return and your heroism, and for Lyra, and her newborn, and your first romantic kiss with your marefriend and your departure, ad nauseum. Part of me want to kidnap this mare, give her to the Royal Guard and tell them, “This is your new interrogator.” She could get somepony to confess to anything if you locked her in a room with them long enough.

Don’t get me wrong though. Pinkie’s a nice mare, and she’s a great cook. She just scares the everloving fuck out of me. As I am quick to point out, you just don’t fucking randomly dose people with a potent fertility drug that changes the recipient’s sex for breeding purposes! Oh, but wouldn’t you know it? It’s all okay because her Pinkie Sense told her that somepony’s dreams would come true that night. If I was a spiteful asshole, I would have her charged with accessory to rape.

But yeah, all that time spent talking to those three barely kills an hour, leaving me stuck waiting for the Crown’s representative to come give me a goddamn medal or plaque or some such shit. Seriously! I could be at Lyra’s place playing with my niece—no, I don’t care that I’m not related by blood; she’s my niece because herd logic—or maybe giving Bon-Bon a helping hoof at her shop. That ‘I’m Commander Shepard and this is my favorite x in y’ nonsense became a damn meme, so it’d probably do wonders for business the newest hero added to Ponyville’s records shops there.


~ 21 ~


“I’m sorry Mayor Mare, but I don’t think this representative is going to show,” I apologize, speaking to the mayor as I walk to the door. Waiting three hours for somepony to show up is not my idea of a good day. I have done that before, and I don’t recommend it. “I’m sure everypony else has much better things to be doing than waiting around now that all the food tables are empty.”

“Quite,” she agrees a bit glumly—I don’t think she’s over those fifty bits yet. “As loathe as I am to admit it, this does seem to be a lost ca—”

Wouldn’t you know it. WOULDN’T YOU FUCKING KNOW IT. Just as I am reaching for the ring to open the door, both doors swing wide-fucking-open in some ungodly magical force. Of course, what happens when a light object is struck by a larger object being affected by a powerful force? If you guessed that Neighton’s third law of motion comes into effect, you better damn well bet you are correct.

Pop-quiz time! What happens when a large wooden door, propelled open by a great force, strikes a small, light pony like myself? Do I explode in a gory mess? Do I go flying along the vector dictated by the exerted force while the door bounces slightly? Does something randomly catch fire? I’ll give you a hint: there’s something wrong if you guess anything but the second choice, but all things considered, the last one is also acceptable. My head certainly feels like it.

Despite the fact that I should probably be wondering who in the hell I landed on—no doubt the mayor—the only thing I can bring myself to do is try to focus my eyes and blink through all the stars in my vision. It takes a few moments, but I’m finally able to see my assailant.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” the mare exclaims frantically. “After everything that happened last night, Princess Celestia decided as my first act as royalty I should be the one to give Silver her medal, but I didn’t know the proper protocol, so I was up all night trying to find the proper protocols and…”

What I’m seeing makes no sense. Twilight Sparkle is standing ranting before me, her wings and horn proudly outlined by the sunlight. People of the supposed jury, Twilight Sparkle is a unicorn, just as she was in Canterlot with no wings but instead a horn. If Twilight Sparkle has wings, this makes no sense. Why would a unicorn, a magical being able to direct internal and external flows of mana with its horn, suddenly have wings? This does not make sense! Does this make sense? Why am I seeing a unicorn with wings? People of the jury, if Twilight has wings, you must… Wait. Waaaait.

“Either I’m far too drunk, or I’m misunderstanding the situation,” I murmur, rubbing my head. “Twilight Sparkle has wings, thus making her an alicorn and princess. The lateness kinda makes so much more sense now.” Looking up at the mare, I gave Twilight a grin. “The Princess Twilight cometh, behold, behold!”

Twilight stares at me in disbelief before frowning and facehoofing. “Oh no, not you too!” she cries out. “I haven’t even had my coronation ceremony yet! Why does this suddenly change everything?”

I look at her thoughtfully before turning to help my landing platform—yep, the mayor!—back to her hooves. “Okay,” I say nonchalantly. “Sup?”

Everypony in the room—who, up to this point has been watching and listening intently—gasps at my indifferent irreverence, causing me to glance around uneasily. The mayor’s glasses lay forgotten on the floor as she gawks down at me. Rarity and Silver Lining—distracted from some discussion with Silver Spoon—look like they’re about to have a conniption fit, or suffer a stroke at any moment. All of the others have varying degrees of confusion or fear plastered on their face.

“You—you’re just going to drop all pretense of formality and treat me casually?” Twilight finally stammers, entering the hall and closing the doors behind herself. “Why?”

Trying my best to pull off Han Solo’s infamous half-cocked grin, I laugh gently. “Twilight, I thought you knew me better than that,” I answer in mock consternation. “Remember when Celestia called you back to Canterlot after that... madness last year? You were supposed to help me learn about Equestria as penance for your role in taking me from my life... getting Lyra that spell and then later bringing me here.

“Remember how uncomfortable it used to be when you were treating it like a punishment?” I ask, to which she nods. “What did I do?”

She stops to think, possibly scouring her memory. “You asked me not to treat this like some sort of punishment, having to tutor somepony who tried to bring me serious harm, but to treat it like an act of friendship,” she answers her tone lightening. “You didn’t want me feeling uncomfortable about teaching you, so you insisted that I treat you like a foal who needed excessive tutoring.” With a giggle, she adds, “You definitely had both parts of that down.”

With a guffaw, I approached her and joined her at her side. “That’s right,” I confirm. “I made you ignore the point of discomfort between us both, and everything happened all that easier. That’s what I just did now.” I place a hoof on one of her elbows before motioning her forward. “You’ve only just come into your power, and you’re still coming to terms with it, right?”

“Yeah,” she smiles back. In a surprising bout of playfulness, she asks, “Is this way of saying ‘I really like your new wings, so please don’t give me a hero’s medal?’ That is why you brought it up, right? You don’t want to be treated like a hero?”

With a shake of my head, I giggle. “The thought crossed my mind, but I know when I’m fighting a losing battle,” I snicker. Leaning closer, I whisper, “If the Ponyvillians see me leave without some sort of reward, they might assume their new princess acted on a personal bias that doesn’t actually exist and refused to grant the hero her boon. I dare say they might raze Ponyville or lynch the yet-to-be coronated princess.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she groans, ‘accidentally’ smacking me in the back of the head with her wing. “I can’t believe Princess Celestia actually told you that story. Oh well, let’s get the ceremony out of the way with since all formality has gone to the wind, oh Hero of Ponyville.”

“Sure thing, Princess Twilight,” I playfully rib back. “Thank you for not making a big deal out of this.”

> Interlude IV: Prep
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Diary,

I’m so glad to be back in Canterlot after so long. Sure, I lose out on sharing Bon-Bon and Lyra’s comfy spare bed with Ice Blossom, but if you can believe it, I actually began to miss that futon mattress in a wooden alcove. If pressed for an answer, I’d probably have to say that I simply grew tired of Ponyville. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my stay quite a bit. It’s just... ugh.

Spending time with Lyra and little baby Honeydew reminds me why I disliked children so much on Earth. They love to cry, and more than that, they enjoy tormenting those around them. Honeydew is nothing if not obsessed with wings. That would be fine if she didn’t try to preen me—just after spitting up on me, more often than not. Pretty sure Lyra has a polaroid of the pain on my face when a giggling Honeydew yanked out one of my primaries.

I suppose that brings me to my injury count for this trip. Judging by the scars, I’ve got at least three separate scratches from that cockatrice I murderized in the Everfree, and the gashes in my side from the lamia’s teeth aren’t anything to scoff at either. If not for the fact that I nearly died, I would gladly refer to these as ‘battle scars’—Celestia knows I’m going to have them for a while. At least I got Zecora’s recipe, right?

Shit. I still can’t believe that most Ponyvillians think I’m some hero now—some big damn hero—just for saving Silver Spoon’s life. Okay, yes, I fought a cockatrice in hoof-to-claw combat and ended up cutting its fucking head off with a rock when it tried going after Silver Spoon. I admit that’s pretty fucking badass. Getting eaten alive by a lamia? Not so badass. If not for my blood cleansing potion, I’d be a big dead hero. Even then, because it was too busy blowing the lamia the fuck up, it didn’t do anything for me, thus leaving me with a major bacterial infection and close to death for two days.

I suppose while I’m on the subject of Ponyville, I should write down everything that happened. Sure, I could talk about the whole heroism thing and how I’m pretty sure the next time I go to Ponyville I’m likely to see a statue of myself—despite telling Twilight I’ll take a sledgehammer to a statue of myself if need be—but I think it would be more productive to talk about the ponies I’ve met with along the way.

It’s little wonder the Silver family were so keen on treating me to dinner. I mean, I saved their little girl! But yeah, after meeting them at that little get-together Celestia and Luna guilted me into going to, I agreed to have dinner with them. It wasn’t anything real major; it was just a meal at a restaurant in the fancy part of Ponyville. You know how it goes: sit around the table telling Sterling Silver, Silver Lining, and Silver Spoon a bit about Silver Script, from where I came from and what I do now, to theories on why I’m small. Bah—they think my proposed Rule of Cute explanation was more feasible than buggered genetics from the transformation.

Like I kinda feared, Silver Spoon does seem to have a bit of an obsessive interest in me, but honestly? It seems like the kind of passing thing a kid would have. She just asked questions about things I like to do, favorite colors, and why I seem to prefer Princess Luna over Celestia. She looked a bit disappointed when I told her most of my time is spent studying or in class, but hopefully the fact that I study hard will brush off on the girl. Lord knows that might make me a decent role-model.

Well, I guess the reasoning for her questioning became obvious the next day. When Blossom and I met with Rarity and Fluttershy—they both seemed to get along very well with Blossom, by the way—Rarity brought her initial designs for my new saddlebags with her to the spa. Beyond the obvious fact that one side was actually being designed as a carrying case—hard exterior with foam inserts for flasks—the biggest thing I noticed about the design was the inclusion of silver crescent-moon buckles. When prodded about where she got the idea, she admitted that Silver Spoon had come to her that morning offering the hoof-crafted buckles. I’ll admit, that was pretty touching.

Beyond asking her to make the straps for the thing adjustable for up to a fully grown pony, I was quite happy with her design. I told her over massages how I was planning on testing Zecora’s potion on myself just prior to the start of the semester, and I had no idea what side effects there might be beyond temporarily having a penis. Well, when I told her more about the potion—the very one that Pinkie had dosed more than half the group with—Fluttershy squeaked very loudly in surprise. I think maybe the two of them are counting their blessings that they didn’t hook up out of curiosity.

Maybe it was mean of me to suggest that any child of Rarity and Fluttershy would be lethally adorable, but they took it in good cheer. Granted, Rarity made her own little jibe about what a little bundle of joy my young would be. All in all, Blossom thought that both sides of it were entertaining enough.

True to her word, Rarity did have Lotus and Aloe bring out a special shampoo that restored my mane and tail to their former glory... and then some! Somehow, through it all, my mane came out silky and oh so fluffy, just like a towel in Albuquerque. You better believe that if I still had fingers, I’d never stop playing with my mane. Seriously, it felt wonderful just brushing against it with the frog of my hoof.

Bah, now I’m rambling. Anyway, the whole spa date was pretty fun and relaxing, all things considered. My wounds don’t ache nearly as much as they did before, and my muscles don’t feel nearly as tense as they used to. Small favors when dealing with a foal, to be sure.

I finally did get a chance to sit down with Lyra and Bon-Bon to explain my gift to them. It was the night before Blossom and I had to head back, so I practically dragged Bon-Bon aside when she got home from Sweet de Treat and said “You guys wanted to open it together while I was here. That time is now.” She wasn’t all that impressed with my brusqueness, but she couldn’t rightly fault her.

I’m not sure which of them seemed more confused when they opened the parcel to find the lactation potion. Bon-Bon looked at me like I had nine heads, while Lyra simply snickered at me, muttering something about fetishes. So of course, I explained that there might be times when Lyra might otherwise be indisposed, unable to feed Honeydew, and it wouldn’t be feasible to run all the way home with a hungry foal to retrieve stored milk from the fridge. The potion would provide Bon-Bon with the ability to do so.

Lyra cracked up at the mental image of her Bonnie trailing milk or nursing the foal she’s sired, pointing out that even if the occasion never arose, Bon-Bon could always drink the potion, and save a bundle on milk for her baking needs. She could even play wetnurse for other ponies, or sell it to adults looking for a unique snack. Not going to lie, the thought of Bon-Bon becoming the Milkmare of Ponyville was pretty fucking hilarious, until Bon-Bon threatened to start shipping me bottles of milk. I don’t even want to think about that.

If there’s one thing I regret about my whole trip to Ponyville, it’s that I didn’t get to spend as much time with Twilight as I might have liked. At first, it was just the whole thing with the Everfree and then being near death for two days kinda eats a lot of your time. Then of course you have Twilight going and becoming an alicorn, which has eaten up the rest of her time. You know, brushing up on all the protocol and practices for her coronation ceremony.

It would be nice to just sit down and talk shop—alchemy, really—for a little while. Sure, the free research semester is all I really need to complete if I choose the School of Miscellania for my specialization, but if anypony can help me decide, it’s the pony who has studied and dabbled in every form of legal magic known to ponies. Besides, it’d just be nice to be able to talk to somepony who knows what I’m talking about.

No chance of that now though. About a week from today, the coronation ceremony of Princess Twilight Sparkle takes place. It’s literally the day before university 'commences', and the day after Gearalt’s little concert. Five days, in other words. We’ve gotten some more practice in since I got back, but most of my spare time has been dedicated to gathering the ingredients for Zecora’s potion. After that, though, I've thankfully have a few days of respite before my classes actually begin.

Yeah, it’s taken some work, but I wanted to prepare some initial data before I went into the semester. I’d run clinical trials, but it’s not exactly something you can do without a research grant, which I can’t rightly apply for before the semester even begins. At least if I can provide some preliminary data for the grant, I can do clinical trials when I start branching out and altering the potion. For now, I’m happy enough to have a unicorn med student—I know he’ll be using magic to take some of his samples, but there’s not much else I can do for what I have planned—willing to lend me a hoof.

The ‘trial’ is tomorrow morning, and he says he can have a baseline analysis of the DNA back to me by the evening, and a more in-depth analysis the following day. Damned if magic can’t be misused, but you can’t fault a unicorn for good work. Anyway, I suppose I better get going. I’ve gotta take the potion off the heat and let it sit for the night before it’s good to go, and I should probably be getting to bed, as well.

~Silver Script, August 29th, 2002 PH

> Chapter 22: Changing Sex and You
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The first thing I feel upon waking is apprehension. There are so many things that could go sideways today with the potion testing. For example, I could have completely misunderstood something in Zecora’s instructions, like the vague zebra measurement of a ‘fly’—literally just a leveled teaspoon. Hell, if I really bugger this up, I imagine that there’s a good chance I could explode into a fine mist, spreading throughout the building to be inhaled by everypony, leaving several confused and possibly aroused ponies bearing unfamiliar genitals. Yeah, it’s not likely, but I haven’t written out the possibility.

For the most part, though, I think I’m just subconsciously dreading becoming male again. I’ve only been a mare for just under a year, and I won’t deny that this body has brought me my share of discomforts and woes. On that same thread though, I can’t rightly say I hate this body. Sure, when I become aroused, my marehood starts winking and leaking fluids scented with my arousal, but is that really so different from when I was a man, getting an erection at every stray thought?

It occurs to me that, if presented with the opportunity to return to being a male full-time, I’m not sure I could make that decision. I’m actually comfortable being a mare now; it’s something I can accept. Don’t get me wrong, the winking and the production of natural lubricant is most certainly a pain, but in a world where I no longer wear pants, it would take an awful lot to hide my arousal as a stallion without making it obvious as all hell. That’s something I could never be comfortable with.

Worse, given how comfortable that I’ve gotten with my body, what if I find I like being a stallion? Sure, it might make my relationship with Blossom simple on the surface, but how would she actually feel? I know she loves me for me, but the way she speaks of my small form, I think she’s actually comfortable dating my cute little arse. Who is to say she’ll feel the same way about me then as she does now?

I know I’m overthinking it, as she loves me for me and not how I look, but part of me still can’t help but feel anxious about it. Thinking about things like this definitely isn’t doing anything to help, though. All of this thought is only serving to distract me from the day as a whole, and serving to discourage me.

Shaking off my bedclothes, I roll out of bed. In a tired, shambling movement my body follows the routine I’ve already returned to. Waddling into the bathroom, brushing teeth, and peeing begins the cycle, and from there I move quickly in for my fifteen minute shower. After all, a good start to the morning is a clean one, and there’s no better way to put the doubts from your mind than running your head under a near scalding torrent of water from the shower head.

A big portion of the job is washing my mane now that my mane is full and luscious. It gets a bit tedious caring for it—shampooing, conditioning, and brushing it—but I’m honestly not complaining in the least. Even without the fingers to enjoy toying with it, having a long, girly mane is something fun. Just the brushing feels wonderful. Brushie time is probably best time in the morning next to food time and bedtime.

“Would you hurry up in there, Silver?” Gale grumbles from the other side of the door, interrupting me as I attempt to braid my mane into a ponytail. “Some of us actually have places to be!”

“I do too, but braiding a mane isn’t fuckin’ easy when you have no fingers,” I snap back. “You might have claws and the benefit of only having to comb your plumage if you wanna look fancy, but us ponies have to work just to look passable in the mornings.”

After a moment, she pulls the door open to give me a rather confused look. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her beak doing that weird scrunching thing that wouldn’t be possible with any avian back home. “You alright?” she asks in a cautious tone. “Your behavior’s been all over the place since you got back, and last night you were kinda snappish while brewing whatever that was.”

“What?” I respond almost too quickly. “I haven’t—”

Gale shuffles in behind me, compounding the cramped space of the small bathroom. Without preamble, she gently grabs my mane and begins braiding. “Don’t give me none of that,” she says dryly. “I swear on my forefathers; you’ve been acting squirrely and overly girly since you got back.” I shoot her a scowl in the mirror. “Hey, I’m not saying you’re some butch tomcolt, but you’ve never been overly feminine. You were just yourself.”

Frowning, I respond, “What, is it because I’m actually taking care of my mane now that it isn’t charcoal?” I grumble. “I like having a long mane! It’s nice to take care of!”

Reaching around from behind, she taps me on the nose. “I’ll give you that much, but even so, you’ve been projecting a stronger air of femininity the last few days,” she counters tactfully. “You got so stressed last night when I nearly knocked over your calcinator that you whined at me. I’m not talking about your usual absurd banter, I’m talking a girly whine of frustration. What’s up with that?”

Heaving a sigh, I shut my eyes. “I guess I have been... acting out lately. With the whole test of this potion—the one I got from Zecora; that sex change potion from the party—my gender identity has been on my mind,” I confess. “If this thing works, I could have the opportunity to go back to being male again. Almost a year I’ve been a mare, and I have the opportunity to get my penis back.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you here.”

“The problem is, I’m not sure I want to go back.” Stomping my hooves in frustration, I startle the griffon behind me. “Being a mare has its downsides, but so does being a stallion.”

“Name three,” Gale commands, snapping a rubber band around the end of my mane.

“First is testicles,” I begin the list in a flat tone. “They are absolutely agonizing if you ever get hit in them, and you do not know pain until you sit down on top of them. I’ve suffered that pain.”

“Second is penis,” I continue, scrunching my muzzle as I open my eyes. “They’re kinda hard to miss during estrus season, but a stallion doesn’t need a mare in heat to get a hard-on. A stallion can become aroused at the slightest thought or sensation. Sure, you get some mares like me who are broken or perverts, and get turned on just as easily as stallions, but I’d rather not be walking around with an erection.”

“Those are two I suppose I can agree with,” she answers with a nod, pulling my mane taut. “It kinda sounds like you spent a lot of time thinking about this, though.”

“Only since waking up this morning,” I admit. Out of the corner of my eye I see her snapping a scrunchie around the end. Part of me wants to question where she even got it, as the one I’d left on the counter was a red one, but this nonsense isn’t important. Equestria; simple! “You’ve still got one more reason to list.”

“Bulk,” I say simply. “Stallions are bulkier and generally not as aerodynamic. Oh sure, you’ve got Soarin’ on the Wonderbolts, but look how skinny and short he is! Give any regular-sized stallion an opportunity to fly with any of those mares, and they’ll be outstripped. A mare, especially a warped little mess suffering dwarfism and having wings larger than her frame, is built for speed like a stallion is built for strength. I guess this is just a roundabout way of saying that I prefer being lithe to strong.”

She looks at me flatly. “Alright, so you’re conflicted,” she affirms. “Why are you doing your mane up if it might change during your little test?”

Fuck. “Shut up, Gale.”


~ 22 ~


An hour and a half and two plates of bangers and mash later, I find myself wandering the halls of the very building that all of my classes have thus far have taken place in. In a twisted bit of irony, the room we are using is the little nurses office I wound up in after that alchemical poisoning incident, at the suggestion of the medical student I’m working with—a unicorn by the name of Locus. It has enough space for him to run sample analysis, a privacy screen if I, for whatever reason, feel the need to rub one out—I never disclosed that I was once male or formerly a non-pony, so he kind of just assumed I’d be interested in ‘trying it out’—and it’s out of the way enough that we won’t be disturbed. His reasoning is sound enough, so I don’t have the heart to tell him that room comes with bad memories for me.

Regardless of my misgivings regarding the location, it’s crucial this gets done. So with that in mind, I quicken my pace, trying to remember the exact route to that obscure little room. A nurse’s station should be easy to access, not hard to find. Then again, equine logic doesn’t seem to work all that well inside my own head. ‘The safest place is one not easily found,’ I think is how it was explained to me.

Still, it’s only a matter of time before I find the place. There are only so many places you can hide a nurse’s office in a place the size of a mall, after all. When I finally get in, I see a cyan and brown pinto unicorn slouched over a stack of papers. At first glance, he looks like he’s focused very intently on a single spot on a page, but it occurs to me as I set my flasks—the zebra potion and the Mother’s Kiss alchemical purgative—down on a nearby table that he has fallen asleep in the middle of some paperwork.

“Hey! Focus, Locus,” I chirp playfully. “You can sleep when you’re dead.”

I’d like to say that the following chain of events caused by startling the poor stallion awake was funny, but no matter what way I look at it, it’s just fucking tragic. In reaction to my voice, Locus momentarily loses all rigidity in his body, dropping his muzzle face-first onto the table. From there, he rocks back on the stool, cradling his nose, loses his balance, and tumbles arse-over-teakettle onto the floor. I wouldn’t think it possible had I not seen it with my own eyes, but in a stunning feat of flexibility, the poor sod’s back folds seamlessly like paper, depositing his own scrotum on his chin.

Thankfully, I don’t see his penile sheath, but that does nothing to spare me the sight of his brown eye. Shaking my head, I turn my back in order to allow the guy a chance to recompose himself. “Normally, seeing something like that might beg some questions,” I comment, staring at a fixed location on the wall. “For the sake of dignity and expedience, however, I saw nothing.”

“Thanks,” I hear his grateful tone behind me. “My fiance, well, he has some weird tastes, but if I become more flexible in the name of love—”

“Do not finish that sentence or so help me...” I stomp my hoof, turning my head back to glare at him. “I do not need to hear about how kinky your lover is.”

A blush bleeds through his coat, and I watch as he uses some sort of conjuring cantrip to set a pair of thick, reflective coke-bottle glasses at the end of his muzzle, hiding his ochre eyes. “Right, so... Refresh my memory; what did you want me here for today?”

Turning to trot over to the table bearing my potion, I smile. “Easy!” I nod toward the flask on the left. “This potion is something of a zebra marital aid. It’s used for temporarily increasing the number of males or females in a herd for breeding purposes. I have a theory that this draught, when consumed, alters the subjects genetics to weed out ‘bad genes’ or possibly curing infertility. I want you to take some genetic samples before I take the potion, while I’m a stallion, and then again when I revert so you can do some comparative analysis, just so I can get a good idea of what this mixture can do.”

Locus stares at me for a moment, his eyes unclear behind those thick-lensed glasses, as he ponders what I’ve just said. “You sound familiar with the scientific method,” he says, smirking. “It’s refreshing to hear a student of the more arcane sciences apply non-magical theory to their studies.”

“I’m sure Twilight Sparkle—er, Princess Twilight now, I guess—would take that as a compliment, but the scientific method just comes natural to me; it’s what I grew up with,” I reply, bored. “Anyway, shall we?”

The unicorn glances over to a nearby tray of medical instruments, and magicks over a few swabs and containers. “This here is a buccal swab. With it, I can swab the inside of your mouth and cheek to collect tissue samples,” he explains, levitating one swab out before me. “Let me tell you, before somepony came up with this, collecting samples for DNA testing was a lot messier, and there was no standard method decided upon the community. Just imagine having to compare a semen sample to blood collected from a broken bottle following a barfight.”

That thought has me rolling my eyes as I wander over to the patient bed. As I hop up onto the bed, I say, “Unless you’re working in a crime lab, running forensic analysis for the police on a sex-crime case, I kinda doubt that you’d see that kind of sample comparison.” He snorts in agreement, trotting over. “I mean, what kind of pony would be eager to just hand over a semen sample when drawing blood is probably going to be just as quick—no offense—and not nearly as embarrassing.”

“Quite. Open,” he orders, floating the swab in front of my mouth. Part of me wants to make a comment about the lack of foreplay, but seeing as his fiance is a stallion, I doubt it’d have the desired effect. So instead of opening my mouth to say something off-putting to the guy, I open my mouth obediently. One can’t help but gag a few times when a cotton swab brushes against the back of their tongue, but that’s the way it goes, right? Pulling back the swab, he smiles. “Right, that’s one swab. Normally we take two anyways, so that works out perfectly for running comparative analysis on three sample groups. Open wide.”

Ugh. If today is teaching me anything, it’s that I hate cotton swabs with a passion. The pony who decided that Equestria needs cotton swabs that go in your mouth needs to be dragged behind a barn and bucked in the head repeatedly. Seriously! That shit’s just unpleasant as all hell. If regular cotton was supposed to go in the mouth, it would be cotton candy! 

Glaring at him, I stick my tongue out childishly. “Eugh! Could they at least find a way to make that taste better?”

“Nope,” he replies, bottling up the two swabs. With a quick scrawl of a pencil, he has labels on the first set. Levitating over the potion—the correct one, thankfully—he adds, “Now it’s your turn. Here’s hoping your potion tastes a bit better than the swabs, no?”

Without thanks, I snatch the potion bottle out of the air and pop the cork. Frowning, I remember how the potion didn’t smell the best while cooking. Did the others taste the difference in their cupcakes back then? “Bottoms up!” I squeak, knocking back the draught like a shot. Almost immediately I’m sputtering, trying my best not to spill the thing. “Ugh. Is there a bin here I can throw up in? I—”

Before I can even finish my gripe, I clench my eyes shut as pain wracks my body. Every bone, every ligament, and every scrap of tissue feels like it’s on fire, as though my bones are breaking, elongating and healing repeatedly, and all of my flesh is tearing and mending without ever spilling a drop of blood. In spite of myself, I force an eye open long enough to watch one of my hooves distends to cover more and more of the bed. I’m... growing?

A pressure beneath my tail notifies me that the potion is definitely doing its part and changing my sex, and it is not a pleasant sensation. First and foremost, I can feel my clit changing its orientation, pushing out, swelling, and angling itself toward my belly, dragging my urethral opening outside along with it. The sensations of my clitoris growing and reshaping to include my urinary tract is short lived as a new, frightening occurrence begins. My vulva quickly spreads to make room for my prolapsing birth canal and womb. A small scream escapes my lips as my cervix opens and my womb inverts itself, trapping my ovaries within like two testicles. Well, they probably are testicles now. The pain begins to lessen as the area down there begins to smooth out and gain a gentle dusting of coat.

I’m vaguely aware that over by the desk, Locus is vomiting in the bin that I wanted, but I don’t really care right now. My entire body aches like I just did a full-body workout for two hours straight before the machine exploded, leaving me lying on my side. I’m also vaguely aware that I am frighteningly large—compared to how big I used to be as a mare—and painfully hard. Oh, right. I’m male now, so I get erections again.

“I’m glad I was already into stallions,” Locus groans, lifting his head from the garbage pail to look at me. “That was certainly enough to turn me off of mares forever.” His eyes pause as he sights the shaft peeking from between my hind legs, pressed firmly against my belly. “Oh... oh my.”

“Eyes up here, peepers,” I quip, extending one wing to cover my newly acquired stallion-flesh. “Oh hey, even my wings got bigger.” Glancing away from my feathered appendage, I look back to the stallion by the bin. “You’re engaged.”

Again, he begins to blush, as though ashamed. Damn right he should be. “Oh, right,” he mutters. “So ideally, how long is this transformation supposed to last?”

“Six to eight hours, based on prior observations regarding this potion,” I comment disinterestedly. In spite of my raging erection, I roll onto my belly so that I can give myself a better once-over. Sure enough, I’m definitely larger now that I’m a stallion. My new male body might not be as large as Big Macintosh—thank fuck—but it’s still slightly bigger than an average stallion. “I’m more interested in the fact that I grew as a result of the potion. I gotta wonder if this potion doesn’t remove ‘undesirable’ traits, in order to make someone the perfect ‘breeding partner’.”

“You mean your dwarfism?”

“Yeah, go with that, sure,” I mutter. The truth is that I’m rather wary to explain to him my own theories on my damaged genetic structure and the relation it has with my transformation from human male to pony mare and the untold number of mutations that could have resulted from that event. “Well, I suppose we should get you your samples, shouldn’t we?”


[Naughty/Awkard Scene start. To skip the cloppy bits hit Ctrl+F and type in ‘Naughty/Awkward Scene finish’.]


With a wry smile, Locus looks me over before shaking his head. “You know, we don’t have to do a buccal swab,” he says playfully. “There are other sources of genetic material.”

“Dude, you have a fiance,” I remind him, frowning.

“It’s alright! Wormwood is open about that sort of thing,” he laughs, a half-lidded look about his face. Dude, what the fuck; why are you telling me this and why are you looking at me like that? “Personally, I think it turns him on knowing I might be having fun with other stallions.”

“I am so not comfortable with this.” It’s not a complaint, an admission or a denial; it is a simple statement of fact. The idea of sex outside of a relationship—especially with someone I don’t know or trust enough for that sort of thing—isn’t exactly the most appealing thing to me. Given that something doesn’t seem right about him right now doesn’t make this any better. “Can we maybe not?”

Oh great, he’s doing one of those feminine looking pouty faces now. “Aww, don’t you want to have some fun?”

Okay, this is getting sort of creepy. Like... seriously creepy. Could I be, I dunno, exuding some sort of pheromone that renders me irresistible to—nah. It couldn’t be everybody becoming attracted to my gender-bent form. That doesn’t line up at all with what happened that night ages ago. I mean I was drunk and in heat, so of course I’m not a great basis for research data. The others, on the other hoof, didn’t seem to hook up at all. Maybe it’s a matter of attraction combined with sexual preference. What, so he saw my boner, got turned on, and—

“Hey!” I shout, realizing Locus has decided to join me on the patient-bed. “I was having internal dialogue here!”

The stallion gives me his best puppy-dog eyes look and lowers his chin to rest on his hooves. “But you looked so lonely by yourself there,” he pleads in a frighteningly submissive tone. “I didn’t mean to upset you!”

Oh god why is he rolling onto his... “Gah, put that thing away!” I shriek, almost reaching my previous, female pitch. “Luna preserve me! What hellish roleplay does your fiance have you conditioned for?”

When he rolls back onto his belly, he looks more like a scolded dog than a scholarly unicorn. “Listen, dude; I’m not, and never will be into stallions,” I explain, calming myself as best I can. “It’s just not going to happen. Now, I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but I have some theories.

“There’s probably some magical pheromones involved that only attract those who are sexually interested, and your interest was probably piqued when you saw... that.” I stand up very carefully, and climb off the side of the bed opposite of my research partner. “Now, this makes things kind of awkward and easier simultaneously. In your current state of mind, you’re dead set on a semen sample, and I am interested in what magical properties the seminal fluid might possess, so I guess it kind of works out.”

He perks up, wagging his tail expectantly. “So does that mean we can—”

“NO!” I say firmly, stomping again. “I am not interested in sodomy, being on the giving or receiving end. Personally, I’d rather you not touch me at all. I have eyes only for my marefriend, thank you very much. Just... give me a few minutes on my own. I’m sure I’ll figure this out.”

Locus watches me warily for a few moments before calming down a bit. “I can see that you aren’t interested, and you probably want to do this on your own,” he notes, inclining his head toward the specimen cups over on the tray, “but how are you going to aim it into the cup? This facility isn’t exactly set up like a collection facility. There is no artificial mare or collection jar, and it’d be no good to collect it from the bedclothes or floor. The samples would be contaminated.”

“What are you suggesting,” I ask, backing away.

“I can, er, stimulate you,” he stammers, going scarlet once again. “With my magic, I mean! I would be as gentle as a, er, lover, so it wouldn’t hurt. It might even feel good. At the same time, I could levitate the specimen cups for collection!”

A part of me wants to ask how he knows it would feel good, and another wants to point out that I am highly uncomfortable—and at least partially phobic—with magic. The desire to get this over with eventually wins out over my misgivings. “Fine, but just to lay a few ground rules, I want no physical touching, and my arsehole is off-limits,” I groan. “If I see you ‘sampling the product’, I reserve the right to smack you upside the head.”

“Deal,” he agrees, igniting his horn. All at once my consciousness focuses on my penis as something grasps it firmly around the medial ring. Contrary to the usual paresthetic sensation of magic that I’m used to, his spell is warm and somehow slick like a tongue. Were it not for the fact that I can see him still lying on the bed, I would outright accuse him of violating the agreement already, but no, there he is, eyes closed and horn alight, doing exactly what he agreed to.

In addition to what I can only describe as the magical tentacle wrapped around the middle of my cock, I can feel something else up at the end of it. It’s almost like I’m prodding at something soft, warm and ringlike. I quickly forget about analyzing what it is supposed to be as whatever it is slides over my length like an incredibly warm, viselike sleeve.

“Huh, a magical fleshlight,” I grunt, biting back the tone of enjoyment threatening to invade my voice. “Only a unicorn could come up with such a thing.”

A bead of sweat crosses Locus’s brow, and a weak smile tugs at his lips. “Yes, it is a rather enjoyable spell. It’s a shame the other races cannot hold a candle to it,” he replies, his voice pitching to a yelp at one point as he slides the spell further down my shaft. “I’m certain you would find it even more enjoyable if you rocked your hips a bit.”

That’s kind of a weird request, isn’t it? I mean, we’re collecting a sample here, not practicing for the Bedroom Olympics. God damn it, and why does this guy keep fucking blushing? Wait. Wait a fucking minute. H-he wouldn’t! Ringlike and warm... just like...

“Dude, what the fuck?” I shout, trying my hardest to pull away. That action only serves to elicit a moan from the stallion. “What part of not interested do you not comprehend? Is it the part where I am not interested in sodomy? Or the part where I don’t want to have sex with you? Voodoo fleshlight is still sex if you’re deriving pleasure from it!”

Thankfully, the sudden burst of rage is distracting enough to allow me to begin to go flaccid. “Damn it all, let me go!” I reach over to the nearby table, grab a random book, and give it a toss, hitting him squarely between the eyes. “Dude, not cool!”

“S-sorry,” he whimpers like a beaten dog. “I guess I uhh...” He pauses, noting my receding erection. “Oh. Should I get more buccal swabs then?”

I look at him, scowling. “No, I want you to cast a magical spell that will cause me to jizz my pants and flood the room with cum,” I deadpan. “I wanted to have the seminal fluid examined to see if there was some sort of compound that induces estrus, but...”

“I can do that!” he chirps excitedly, igniting his horn.

“Wait, wha—NOOOOooooooo!” I shout, quickly strangling the cry with a moan as I feel a bit of magic being applied inside my bottom. Oh fuck he’s giving a magical prostate massage! I AM NOT READY FOR TH—


[Naughty/Awkward Scene finish.]


“This is all your fault, and you get to clean all of this up,” I state flatly, enjoying the gradual change in pitch as my body slowly downshifts back into a female form. Setting down the empty purgative flask with one wing while I attempt to clean off my hooves with a borrowed pillowcase, I glower across the room at him from my stool perch. “What is it with unicorns, eagerness, and a lack of comprehension for sarcasm?”

“Yeah, I know, I was out of line there!” he whines. “Can you please not tell the board about my professional misconduct?”

Sighing, I hold a scalpel—liberated from the nearby tray of tools—between two wing primaries, eying my reflection, noticing the subtle changes in my figure. For one, I am not nearly as short now as I was before; I’d place myself more on par with a regular unicorn or pegasus mare now, than an adolescent filly. Thankfully, my mane hasn’t grown wildly with the transformation, but simply enough to account for size differences. My eyelashes even look fuller than they were before. Still, I’m unmistakably Silver Script, no matter how I look at it.

“Look,” I reply quietly. “I knew I was playing with a potential aphrodisiac when I started. I didn’t expect that you would be affected, nor did I account for possible perception enhancement spells involved in the potion. That much is on me.” With a flick of my wing, I idly toss the scalpel in his direction, lodging it in the wall behind the patient bed, muttering, “Note to self, future experiments should involve geldings and spayed mares.”

Locus doesn’t even wince as the blade passes him by. He only sighs and keeps mopping up the last of the mess coating the floor with the bedsheet. “I’ll take that as an ‘I’m not going to report you,’ then,” he whispers. “We’ll, I guess I should take the last samples and get out of your mane. After what just happened, I imagine you want to get out of here.”

“No kidding,” I answer. “I think it might be time to break out that bottle of hard cider I’ve been saving for a rainy day. Anyway, get back to me ASAP when you get your initial results, okay?”


~ 22 ~


After explaining why I’m no longer a miniature pony—miniature, miniature horse?—to Gale, beating her in a hoof-wrestle, showering repeatedly, and downing an entire bottle of Sweet Apple Hard, I meander down the dormitory hallway, making my way to Blossom and Beat’s bedchamber. I vaguely remember having a practice session planned tonight with the others for the show coming up, so I figure now’s a good a time as any to test out these new, larger lungs.

Tapping gently on the door, I allow a smile to cross my face. How will they react? So many reactions to choose from—surprise, disbelief, confusion, anger! This is going to be great. Oh! Here comes somepony now! “Hello? Who is it?” Ice Blossom’s voice comes from the opposite side of the door.

“It’s me, Silver Script!” I answer, unable to suppress a giddy little snicker. “Come on, it’s almost time for practice!” With another giggle, I add, “It’s time for karaoke!”

“One sec, Silver.” It’s Chill Beat this time. “Just lemme get my gear ready. In the meantime, Blossom’ll let you in.”

A plan begins formulating in my mind then and there. Maybe it’s the alcohol speaking, but this seems like a great idea. Crouching in front of the door, I ready my body to pounce like a snow leopard. This is going to be so great!

As soon as the door opens and I see Blossom’s beautiful face, I leap out of the hallway and tackle her to the floor. “Surprise!” I squeal, nuzzling the startled mare like a lunatic. “Oh I’m so happy to be big again, I mean it was fun being small, but ponies always look down on you and treat you like a foal, so you almost start to believe it, and I never once trusted my constitution, so I could never bring myself to drink, but now that I’m big again I think I’ve drunk too much, ‘cause listen to me go! Now you don’t have to worry about ponies thinking you’re my m—”

“Who in Tartarus are you and why are you doing that to my baby sis?” Beat roars, knocking me off of her sister with a repeat performance of her weaponized bass tone. Thankfully, I’m not sent careening off into the wall like during our first meeting; I have too much mass for that now. “Seriously! The nerve, imitating her marefriend... and... huhbuhwha?”

“Ouch, that’s not very nice!” I protest, staggering backwards. “I know I look like some sort of loony mare, bursting through the door and practically making out with Blossom like that, but it’s really me! I would know because you did the same thing to me the last time you thought I was going to eat her!” 

I begin giggling wildly. Oh wow; maybe I shouldn’t have drunk that whole bottle on an empty stomach. It seems like I’m a teetotaler. “I tried out a zebra aphrodisiac that turned me into a stallion, but when I changed, I wasn’t just fun-sized, I was fully sized!” I cheer, bouncing energetically over to my friend. “When I took the purgative to turn back to normal, I was no longer a dwarf! Isn’t that great?”

Chill Beat adjusts her sunglasses before smoothing her mane back with a hoof. “There are so many things wrong with what you just said, never mind how eager you sound,” she grumbles shaking her head. “Just what did you get into?”

“Silver! You have your cutie mark!” Blossom finally manages, snapping out of her astonished stupor and scrambling to her hooves. Slowly, as though careful not to evoke some spastic behavior, she creeps up beside me and places her hoof on my flank. “That’s wonderful.”

I look back at my flank, and sure enough, there’s a cutie mark right there on both sides of my arse. “So I do,” I comment idly, taking in the upward facing crescent moon and alchemy flask adorning my hip-flesh. “I’m too old for a cute-ceañera, so let’s all get smashed and go singing!”
	
	

> Chapter 23: Hangover
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	You know those moments where you’re certain something is a good idea? C’mon, you know the ones. After some major victory or another, you want to celebrate. Maybe it’s your best friend’s bachelor party and you’re in Las Pegasus, or you’ve just lead a royal legion to victory against a changeling horde outside the Badlands. That doesn’t matter right now though. The only thing you particularly care about is celebrating.

Yeah, this is the exact attitude I had going into last night. Right off the bat, my decision making abilities can be considered faulty. Downing an entire bottle of hard cider that hasn’t been stored in optimal conditions? That definitely isn’t a great idea right off the bat. Going drinking with a bottle of questionable cider in your belly is even worse. Why not get black-out drunk to make the bad decision trifecta?

Is it any wonder that I find myself duct-taped by my hooves to the ceiling in the Sagittarius Hall’s common room? There is literally no recollection of the previous night in my mind beyond hitting a liquor establishment with the GGs, Blossom, and Beat, and returning to the common room to practice. Whether or not we actually practiced any music last night, I have no idea. All I can tell is that everybody else is passed out on various furniture, in addition to an adolescent dragon who somehow ended up beneath a flipped couch.

“Um... Guys?” I call out in a tone that could very well be considered whining. Given the vicious headache and my intense desire to vomit, I suppose that much could be permissible. That of course isn’t even mentioning how sore my throat is. How much did I sing last night? “Could one of you maybe, I dunno, wake up and get me down from here?”

I haven’t the slightest clue whether or not any of them can even hear me. It would be unsurprising if the rest of them are too smashed to wake up any time soon. With nothing else to do, I look around, and the more I look, the more I see unfamiliar ponies in the mix. There are a couple of ponies who look like they could be med students, and a few more that are definitely musicians sprawled out with their instruments. Just what kind of epic party did we throw last night?

A problem occurs to me as my joints begin to ache. My positioning on the ceiling is not a standing one, but rather a splayed out one, not unlike da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. That being said, I am belly down with my hooves taped to the domed ceiling around me. This position does not do a lot in terms of modesty, either, practically putting my teats and vag on display for anyone that looks up.

Ugh, I’ve gotta stop looking down; being at this height with this headache is really not helping my nausea. “Guys? Hello?” I cry out again. “Please let me down from here! I’m... I think I’m going to be sick.” No response. “Guys, please!”

Why does my voice have to be so bloody quiet? Did I scream drunken obscenities all night? I really need to get down from here, not just to puke, but I also really need to pee! “Guys! Get me down from h—urp!”

My worst fears are realized as my stomach’s contents force their way back up my throat. What feels like liters of bile and undigested cottage cheese pulses and burns all the way back up my esophagus. All of it surges in a continuous stream—a near endless fount of vomit, erupting from my mouth and nose.

Hanging there, all I can do is choke and sputter as I cover the hardwood floor beneath me—just left of a coffee table—in puke, praying that it ends before I suffocate. The longer it goes on, the more I feel a familiar sensation creeping up on me. My face begins tingling with paresthesia and the insides of my eyelids are dancing with streaks of phantom light as blood rushes into my head.

When I finally blackout from oxygen deprivation, it feels like only a few seconds have passed. Immediately upon opening my eyes, however, I can tell a lot more than just a second or two has passed. All of the ponies, griffons, and other species below have all vanished from sight. There’s absolutely nopony left in the common room. Everypony just woke up, left the mess and forgot about me!

How long have I been up here? If this were an aboveground complex, I could probably reference the light from a window with what I know, but in here, there’s no way for me to tell. Oh sure, the common room has a nice ebony grandfather clock, but those things are never positioned with the pegasus taped to the domed ceiling in mind. As it stands, the only thing that I can really tell is that it is half-past something. For all I know, I could have been here most of the fucking afternoon.

Maybe if I can just pull one of my hooves free, I can get down from here? My sore joints crying out in protest, I begin tugging each hoof individually against the securing tape. It isn’t at all easy, but spurned on by the desperate need to evacuate my bladder, I can almost swear that one of my hooves is coming free. Just a bit more and—

“Honestly, I can’t believe that my student wards would behave in such a manner,” a very familiar voice complains in an angry tone, accompanied by the sound of a slamming door. Sure enough, a light-gray unicorn with a bichrome white and purple mane stomps into the common room just beneath the dome, setting down a clipboard, a paper cup full of coffee, and a number of cleaning supplies. “I mean really, do they honestly expect to get away with behaving like hoodlums and trashing the common room?” 

Oh, that’s definitely Twilight Velvet! Maybe she can help? I’m just about to open my mouth to beg for her help when she continues her ranting. “I mean seriously! Somepony even drew crude moustaches on all of the paintings on the walls! On a day when the janitorial staff is on vacation no less!” she mutters angrily. “If I catch any of the ponies involved in this crass, drunken revelry, I have half a mind to impose some demerits and maybe even make them clean all of this themselves.”

Suddenly, watching her takes a sip of her coffee, I no longer feel the urgency to get down. Surely I can hold my bladder back until it’s safe to come down, right? All I’ve got to do is not move, not make a sound, and pray to whatever deity will listen that she doesn’t look up. 

I can just imagine the condemnatory letter I might get from Princess Luna if she finds out about last night and additional demerits. She could revoke my scholarship, and she’d have every right to do so! I haven’t just disgraced myself; I’ve disgraced her! She’s worked so hard on her public image since returning to her previously abdicated position on the throne alongside her sister, and I—as her first sponsored student—will have tarnished her reputation. Ponies will look at my example and think, ‘What pony in her right mind would sponsor this boor’s education? Oh, right! Princess Luna!’ or ‘Why couldn’t Her Highness have chosen somepony more like Princess Twilight Sparkle as her first charge?’

Tears of shame begin clouding my eyes and spilling down my cheeks as I begin to tremble. This is why I don’t drink; bad things always happen! I get—Lyra—pregnant, or duct-taped to a ceiling, or embarrass important ponies! Why did I ever think getting smashed to celebrate getting a cutie mark would be a good idea?

Whether it’s simply bad karma, or Discord getting a laugh at my expense, the idea of staying up here flies right out the window. As each second passes, the tape on one hoof begins losing its grip, while the others start to pull out strands of fur in my fetlocks. Basically, crying now is definitely appropriate had I not already been doing so. First my forelegs come free, and then...

A bad morning gets worse, and then the other shoe drops, though I guess in this case it isn’t so much a shoe as it is a fully grown mare. It’s not like there’s enough room for me to reach terminal velocity, but it doesn’t make my impact with the coffee table any less destructive. As I flip tumble through the air, my back strikes the table almost dead on with enough force to break the surprisingly flimsy piece of furniture in half. Following the impact, I bounce to the floor, landing on the back of my neck with my rump angled directly over my head.

Bad things don’t just come in... whatever count we’re at now, though. The dorm mother’s piping hot cup of coffee, of course formerly seated on the table, makes its final descent after being unceremoniously catapulted through the air, coming to rest on my quite visible arse. If I thought nothing compared to sitting on one’s testicles, I now know that I am wrong. Having scalding hot coffee splashed over your vagina is one of the most painful things a mare can ever experience.

The sudden shock and agony of having my groin and teats splashed with that burning liquid is far too much for my poor, strained bladder, causing it to release its contents... all over my face and body—in front of another pony no less! The shame of it all... lying here in a pool of puke, covered in my own piss. 

I would pretend that I’m thankful that Luna cannot see me right now, but I’m too busy sobbing loudly at my own disgrace and agony. Even with my eyes clenched shut and tears rushing down my forehead, I can tell that Twilight Velvet is looking at me with varying degrees of admonition, pity, disgust, anger, and maybe a smidgen of sympathy.

Silence reigns supreme as I lay sobbing in my own mess, but finally, after what seems like an eternity, Velvet sighs. “Well, that was unexpected,” she mutters in an unbelieving tone. “I’d tell you how much trouble you’re in, missy, but... Silver Script?” In spite of the urine on my face, I crack open one eye to watch her face. She’s shaking her head in disbelief. “Is that you?”

“Guilty.” Nothing like confessing both to being yourself and playing a part in this whole mess. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to tell me how much trouble I am in.”

“But... how?” she asks, obviously referring to my change in size, and my new cutie mark. “I saw you just yesterday morning and you were like you always are.”

I eye a roll of paper towels floating in her magical grasp as I place my hind hooves on the floor and twist my body until I’m in an upright. “Tested a potion in preparation for my period of independent research and study; ended up curing my dwarfism, and earned my cutie mark,” I explain hastily in attempts to minimize the amount of time my mouth remains open. Need I forget that my mane is now covered in pee and congealed vomit? “May I please have some of that paper towel?”

She keeps the stern gaze going, but is kind enough to grant me the paper towel. “Why all of this?” she berates as I wipe off as much filth as I can. “Surely you could have just had a small get-together with your friends.”

I pause post-wipe at that comment. “I honestly don’t know how any of this happened,” I admit, depositing the soiled towels in a nearby waste bag. “I could have sworn I only planned on getting a little drunk with Ice Blossom and Chill Beat before making a little music. Beyond the shots of tequila at the bar, I remember nothing.” I catch her surprise at my admission that I was blackout drunk, and shake my head. “Yeah, I have no idea how I ended up on the ceiling.”

“I see,” she mutters, “and upon waking up, everypony simply forgot about you?”

Trying to wring as much of that ick out of my mane—oh yeah, I’m definitely going straight to the dorm for two showers after this—I sigh. “Seems that way,” I  admit, wiping my hooves. Did Ice Blossom really forget about me, or did she pass out before whatever led to the ceiling thing? “I take full responsibility for the mess, ma’am. I can’t do anything about the markings on the paintings, but you have my word that I won’t head back to the dorm room until this is done.”

Looking at the mess that is the dorm room, she nods. “You’re going to need a lot more towels and cleaning solution,” she gives me an appreciative half-smile. “Since you’re being so cooperative, I’ll leave you a key to the janitors closet, so take what you need. If anypony comes looking for you while I’m writing up my report, I’ll make sure to send them your way. Make use of them if you can.”


~ 23 ~


Surprisingly, my first ‘visitor’ is Gale. If I am honest with myself, I don’t care how she found me. With the way my fur sticks to me—matted with grime and things I’d rather not think about—in ways that make every movement horribly uncomfortable even without the bruises and hangover, it’s understandable that if I’m a little cranky. By this point, the time spent scrubbing vomit out of some of the furniture is easily exceeding an hour and a half, so when that bloody griffon saunters in, I nearly explode.

“Any idea why the fuck I was taped to the fucking ceiling when I woke up?” I grumble, kicking an empty spray bottle of the Equestrian equivalent of Lysol or Windex or whatever at her. “Seriously! Everypony fucking ditched me up there!”

Whether it’s the tone of my voice, or the angry look I shoot her as she draws near, Gale visibly flinches—not an easy thing to accomplish with a griffon. “Wow, you’re grumpier than a hung-over minotaur,” she comments. “Wait, ceiling? I thought somebody let you down from there!”

“Aha! You do know how I got up there!” I shout, accusingly pointing a grimy hoof at her.

“Whew, you certainly smell like you’ve had a bad morning.” She looks appraisingly at me as I sigh, moving across the room to right an overturned sofa. “You really don’t remember a thing about last night, do you?” she asks, joining me on the opposite side of the sofa helping to reorient it. “I knew you were wasted, but not that bad.” A wry smile crosses her beak. “Maybe I should leave some details for you to find out from the others—”

“Unless you want me to test a feather removal potion on you...”

Finally, she grins. “Relax, I was getting there.” She snaps up a trash bag and gathers up all of the discarded paper towels. “I gotta tell you, we kinda put you up there for your own good.”

“Being stuck up on the ceiling doesn’t seem very beneficial to my well-being,” I point out, placing cleaned cushions onto a sofa one after another. “That’s like... cutting off one’s nose to spite their face.”

“What you just said doesn’t make a lick of sense,” she counters. “That being said, being stuck on the ceiling is infinitely better than letting you wrestle Gaius.” Oh, okay. That makes a bit more sense. “Anypony drunk enough to try to wrestle the griffon that literally wrestled bears and won in the colosseum isn’t in their right mind. Need I remind you that the bears he wrestled didn’t get back up?”

“Okay, so you have an excuse for putting me up there,” I admit. “After all you fuckers ditched me up there, you better believe I’m getting back at all of you. You won’t know when, and you won’t know how. Just know that—ah fuck it. You’re not done here until I’m done.”

So it goes, we each tend to different parts of the room in silence, neither of us particularly eager to speak up. Still, part of me is still being nagged by a single thought. How did she find me? If nobody knew that I was still up there, there’s no way she could have found me by chance. Wait...

“So aren’t you going to ask?” she finally speaks up, an upward curl at the corners of her beak. “How did I find you?”

I roll my eyes, already having a good idea of the how, even if the how doesn’t quite make sense. “How did you find me, Gale?” I ask in a good-humored tone.

Sitting and posing somewhat dramatically, she reaches into the plumage on around her neck, and withdraws a bronze trinket—the compass of Rum Starling—and holds it up to the light. “I figured now would be as good a time as any to get this thing back to you. As to the how, it appears that when you’re in a panic, it can lead you to the things you need, even if you have no idea where it is.”

She makes to throw it, but I shake my head. “With everything I’m covered in, I don’t want to touch that right now.”

“Fair enough.”


~ 23 ~


My next visitor is Locus. I did ask the guy to get the results to me as soon as possible, but I honestly wish I had the opportunity to get cleaned up before meeting him. At least, as he strides into the room with a thick sheaf of parchment, he has the common decency to not comment on my scent or appearance. No, instead the guy looks fucking elated to see me.

“Silver! You were right!” he exclaims, dropping the heavy stack onto a table I only just finished polishing. “By Celestia you were right!”

Yeah, by this point, my hangover headache is only getting worse due to dehydration—there’s not much in terms of drinks in here right now, and I’m too focused on getting the room cleaned—and I’m way too tired to be thinking anything other than ‘cleaner goes on table, scrub’. “Right about what?”

“The samples!” he squeals like some sort of giddy school-filly. “I’ve never seen anything like this!

“Right off the bat, your first tissue sample was unlike anything I’ve ever seen!” he explains, pulling a sheet from the top of the stack. I honestly have no idea what he’s showing me; it could be a comparative analysis of two different DNA strands, or a drunk pygmy riding a spiral. “Your DNA bore several unusual gene sequences, the likes of which I’ve never seen in a living specimen. Some of it looked almost... simian in nature, but still so very much pony.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Gale smirking, and I can’t help but smile as well. There’s something kinda satisfying in knowing something a guy like this doesn’t know. Still, I let him continue. “Sure, ponies have experimented with gene splicing and the usage of recombinant DNA to produce chimeric new ponies—much to the objection of the general public—but all of the subjects in that short-lived study were stillborn.

“Yet there you were, a completely functional example, with a mixture of active pony and foreign DNA,” he exclaims. “Given all that, your dwarfism and lack of a cutie mark was nothing less than a symptom of a bigger problem. By all rights, none of your organs should have functioned properly, never mind your ability to interact with clouds! Certainly, you’d be sterile! The very fact that you were alive—”

Taking only a moment to give Gale a questioning look—one she meets with a nod—I smile at him. “Here’s a pretty well-kept secret: I wasn’t always a pony, or a mare. In fact, I wasn’t even originally from this world,” I answer, unable to restrain a chuckle as the guy is almost literally floored by the statement. “A lot of crazy shit happened almost a year ago, and I was torn from my world by a crazy unicorn and a body swap spell gone wrong. Left me on my world in a unicorn’s body, and my body here in Equestria.

“The world I came from... it didn’t have magic, at all. So my original body started undergoing a transformation into one more suited to this world of magic and ponies.” I look at the sheaf of papers. “I guess there were a few hangers-on in spite of the transformation, and my survival was just a result of good old-fashioned, motherfucking magic. So what’s changed?”

The stallion looks carefully at the pile of parchment, and removes more than half of the contents. “Like you theorized, the potion did indeed alter your DNA,” he confirms. “That in itself is something I’ve never before seen done with alchemy. All of your... garbage DNA, for lack of better phrasing, was removed and the gaps seemingly filled in based on some unseen template. It made you a complete pony, one that was capable of growing to full maturity and bearing a cutie mark—congratulations, by the way.”

“It was one heck of a party.” Gale interjects, and in spite of myself, I laugh.

“What about the other part of that sample?” I ask a bit more awkwardly. “Anything conclusive?”

“I can’t say for certain,” Locus says, adjusting his glasses, “but it would appear there is some sort of aphrodisiac compound in those samples. That being said, I get the impression one of my lab mice is probably trying her darndest to get into the cage next to hers right now.”

So that’s it—mystery solved! I was an impossible, sterile dwarf because of some remaining human DNA, and now I’m one-hundred percent pure pegasus mare. Though I was so worried about it before, when I was sterile, I can actually have children now.

There’s a dangerous thought. Since I didn’t hit estrus again during the summer, there’s a good chance I could be one of those odd mares who hits the second in the autumn. If I ever decided that following my studies I might want to take a sabbatical and raise a foal, I could probably convince Blossom—

“So if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you two to your work,” Locus’s voice interrupts my bizarre line of thought. “Good luck with your studies.”

I just stare dumbly at the table for a few moments as he trots out through the door. Did I really just miss half of what he was saying to me because I started thinking about sex and having foals? What the fuck is wrong with me? It can’t be the hangover, that’s for sure.

“You do know that he was at the party, right?” Gale groans after a minute of silence. “He came in looking for you during the party, but you were so caught up singing about fighting the establishment and losing that you didn’t even notice.”

“You mean technically, I could have roped him into helping?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”


~ 23 ~


Unfortunately for Gale and I, everybody else involved in last night’s drunken revelry never shows up. For the next few hours, we are left cleaning furniture, collecting up trash, bagging cider and mead bottles, and sweeping the floors. After returning the key to the janitorial supply closet to Twilight Velvet and taking the trash out to Sagittarius Hall’s waste drop-off point, the pair of us reek—one more than the other.

Gale’s almost ready to argue over which of us gets first crack at the shower, until she catches sight of some of the puke crusted into the primaries on my left wing, and remembers that I’m not usually a gray and amber pinto. Yeah, I think any good friend would yield the shower at that point, especially given all the dirty looks and crinkled noses in the hallway. I deserve this much.

... or so I think. I’ve barely begun to wash my coat when there’s a knocking on the bathroom door, followed by a squawk from Gale. “Oi, you’ve got guests.”

“Can they wait?”

“Hey, Silver!” I hear Beat call through the door. “We heard you got caught and ended up cleaning the whole common room.”

“We are terribly sorry we were unable to help!” Blossom’s voice this time. There’s much sincerity and sympathy in her tone. “I am so terribly sorry we left you up there by yourself.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of cleansing myself of my shame right now,” I answer, irately scrubbing my wings as vigorously as sensitive feathers will allow. Every bone in my legs ache, making the ordeal all the more painful. “Shit my joints are going to hurt tomorrow.”

“Actually, I was hoping to invite you along to the bathhouse with us,” Blossom counters. “I realize that you are already cleaning, but in Neighpon bathing is much more about relaxation. A pony cleanses before relaxing in the ofuro, to let the waters wash away a day’s troubles.”

“Yeah,” Beat chimes in. “I even introduced my little sis here to a communal bathhouse almost like a traditional Neighponese sentō here in Canterlot. It’s a really nice experience, being close like that. You’d probably like it.”

“You mean, I can just wash, and crawl into a bath and laze around with my tits out for a while?” I ask, not really expecting them to understand my meaning enough to formulate an answer. I mean, ponies don’t have as much of a teat taboo by my understanding. “Can you give me five minutes to get the piss out of my mane?”


~ 23 ~


“I tell you, there’s nothing like a trip to a place like this to help with a hangover,” croons Beat as she reclines over the edge of the large bath to watch Ice Blossom help scrub my back. I gotta admit, it is pretty nice, especially with Blossom going at my back with a loofa. So what if this is pretty much your stereotypical anime setting? This is fucking awesome. “So did you and Gale really clean up that entire mess? The puke in the middle of the floor included?”

Stifling a moan as Blossom brushes against the base of my left wing, I shoot the unicorn a lopsided grin—not that she can see it with her blue and white mane hanging down in front of her eyes like a jagged sheet. “Oh that? That was mine. I made it when I woke up taped to the ceiling. Most of it was mopped up into my coat when I landed in it after bouncing off the table. Just before getting my lady bits scalded with hot coffee.”

I can literally feel Blossom wince in sympathy as I say this. “It sounds like you’ve had a very... productive morning.”

“Won’t lie, this still beats waking up after having a drunken threesome with Lyra and Bon-Bon when I was the one in Lyra’s body and Bon-Bon was a stallion.” I let out a good-natured chuckle to let them know I’m not angry. “I’m much more mentally stable now than I was then. Oh sure, I’m highly uncomfortable with magic, and I may be a bit warped—not that I wasn’t already—but aside from that stuff with Aqua Regia, my life is almost normal. Waking up taped to the domed ceiling of the common room feels like proper excitement. It was exciting enough to have stories to tell and lessons to learn, but not life-threatening like jumping down a lamia’s throat and blowing it up from the inside.”

“You said you were eaten alive the first time,” Beat jibes. “Your story keeps evolving, like you’re some sort of braggart.”

Surprisingly, it’s Blossom who laughs at this. “Silly sister,” Blossom chides, “Silver is my knight in... silver armor.” Much better choice of wording, given the fact that I’ve actually met the Prince Shining Armor. Saying I’m anything in shining armor could have some seriously kinky connotations. “I’m certain if she were fighting for me, as she was for that foal, she would tear the world apart.”

I think she seriously overestimates my power. I could probably lay waste to like... half a city before being cut down by the guard. “Yup!” I agree in a joking tone. “The mare that can’t even remember last night will take on the princesses for the pony she loves.” Wow, when I put it like that, I sound like a really shitty super hero. “What happened last night, anyway?”

Contented that I’m clean enough to enter the water, she gives me one last rinse with a removable shower head and helps me up. Oh, right. I suppose it’s good to mention that my joints are really sore now. “You chose to serenade us with drunken renditions of what you claim were the songs of your people.”

“Oh? Any songs I know?” I ask sarcastically. “That is to say, I probably know what I was trying to sing, but they probably weren’t anything close to the songs I know.”

“Well, there was the one about fighting the law,” Beat comments, flipping her mane out of her eyes. “That was a pretty popular one. Once everypony figured out the chorus, they were pretty into it. Then there was a song where you suddenly started singing about a chameleon lying in the sun in the middle of the lyrics. It might have been a bit more enjoyable if you hadn’t confused them all.”

“I liked the one about the mare taking names, despite how dark the lyrics seemed,” Blossom quickly adds, helping me over the lip of the bath. “My favorite one was that one about Supermare. You really sounded into that one.”

“Aside from all that,” Beat concludes as I flop limply into the hot water beside her. I can’t help but cringe as the hot water returns some of the heat to my burned genitals. “Not all that much happened. You sang, you got drunker, and you tried to wrestle Gaius. So I helped tape you to the ceiling. Sorry again we forgot.”

I’m just about to scold her for being reckless when I could swear I hear boys talking. I flick my ears toward the divider wall separating the mare’s side of the baths from the stallion’s. Sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed. “Dudes, you all saw that too, right?” some young colt says in what he probably thinks is a whisper. “She totally flashed us her pussy, like she knew we were here! Total bucking tease!”

“I dunno, man, it didn’t seem right,” another colt says. “She looked like she didn’t have much of a choice. My mom moves like that when her joints are sore after a day at the warehouse. I think she was in pain.”

“Doesn’t matter, saw pussy,” a third chimes in. “I’d totally bang the earth pony though. Some ethereal beauty to those flanks if you ask me.”

Oh bloody hell. Are there really colts, probably early teens, on the other side of the wall watching us bathe? Is that really a fucking thing here in Equestria? How stereotypical can this trip to the bathhouse be? Fantasize about my marefriend, will you? “Huh, I thought I heard something; must’ve been my hangover playing tricks on me,” I comment idly, scanning the wall opposite the bath. There, between two faucets on the wall, there’s a small hole in the wall, just large enough to fit a bar of soap—or peeping toms to take turns watching mares bathe. I don’t let my eyes linger in order to tip the boys off.

Leaning close to Beat’s ear, I whisper, “Got some peepers on the other side. Hole in the wall between the third and fourth faucets from the left.” I grin, inclining my head in one direction. “See that can of hairspray by the door?”

She smiles, lighting up her horn and completing my trip with the pained cry of a young pervert as she sprays the peep-hole with hairspray.

> Chapter 24: Concert
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The days leading up to the big performance go by far too quickly for my liking. Oh sure, the practices are plenty of fun and there’s plenty of bonding time with Blossom, but after tonight, I’ve gotta get dolled up once again for Princess Twilight’s coronation. At the same time though, there’s so much that has been a pain in my flank over the week.

As a result of being caught by Twilight Velvet following that party, one of my punishments involves writing an apology to the Princesses—I’m not sure that one’s actually mandatory, but still—and writing Velvet a two thousand word essay regarding the effects my actions have, on myself and others, through the misuse of school property. Of course, it has to be cited, but not following any specific formatting like you would be on Earth.

Still, that essay? Fuck. That. Shit. It is easily the most overbearing way of getting a student to write two thousand words of “What I did wrong and why I won’t do it again.” I almost wish the mare had given me a blackboard and chalk, telling me to write “I will not get drunk and damage school property,” five hundred times. Then again, does that method ever work? It certainly never seems to stop Bart.

The letter, thankfully, is a much simpler affair.

Dear Princess Luna,

Following the discovery of a cure to my dwarfism and gaining my cutie mark in the process, I may have become highly intoxicated and caused you great shame in my drunken revelry. My actions, however well-intentioned my celebratory gathering may have been, have resulted in the trashing and vandalism of my dorm hall’s common room. You have my sincerest apologies on the matter, Your Highness, for my behavior as your first sponsored scholar in a millennium has assuredly reflected poorly on you. I can only give you my word that I will try my hardest to bring you no further shame.

Faithfully yours,

~Silver Script

P.S. I realize your duties regarding the upcoming coronation likely prevent you and Her Highness Princess Celestia from having much free time this week, but I am aiding a friend in a bit of extra credit work—a little concert in one of the university’s auditoriums the evening prior to the coronation. We would be ever so honored if you both were to attend, but I understand if you are unable to.

There’s no reply during the days leading up to the concert, but I suppose it’s just wishful thinking that one or more of the princesses could attend. That isn’t to say I’m lacking attendance from those in the royal family by relation. Twilight Velvet—mother of the Prince Consort of the Crystal Empire and a future Princess of Equestria—is slated to be in attendance after finding out about the affair. It’s rather surprising that she hadn’t heard about the show earlier, but I’m not about to turn the mare away simply because she was required to punish me. More surprising is the fact that she’s actually interested in going, given that her daughter and the others are arriving later that night. Then again, who would pass up a chance at relaxation the night before a big event?

I’ll admit that the bathhouse has become a bit of a regular thing, in spite of the nominal fee. The facility itself isn’t all that far from the university campus—only a few minutes of walking—making it ideal for students who cannot stand the smaller bathrooms of their dorm rooms, or those unable to come to a compromise with their roommate over bathroom access. Seeing as Gale sometimes gets uppity when I spend too long bathing and preening, and having seen the way the mineral salt in the water makes my coat shine, it’s a no-brainer that I choose to bathe there.

Speaking of the bathhouse, it’s no great surprise that after mentioning that stuff with Aqua Regia during my little rant, Beat had a lot of questions. It definitely gets easier telling the truth of a situation when you’ve already told the story twice. That evening, I opened my heart for the third time in only a month. It feels good to be truthful to my friends.

I find that having a mare compliment your coat’s luster while being fitted for a dress is really nice. While vanity was never a big part of my life as a human guy, this last year I’ve spent as a mare is really giving me an appreciation for appearances. I won’t deny that there’s less diversity in pony facial and body structures compared to humans, but that just means when somebody doesn’t have a handsome or beautiful face to attract a mate, they have to put a lot more effort into looking better. 

Here in Canterlot? Appearance can make all the difference. Just being fitted for a dress and the process of purchasing it is exponentially simplified. You just have to walk into the tailor’s shop looking the way you intend to look for whatever event requires an ensemble, ask her to help you find a dress, and then bam. You’re treated like an upper-class citizen, even if the only difference in your appearance from the norm is a tail wrap, a ponytail done with ties matching the wrap, and some crescent moon berets to keep the extra out of your eyes.

After a day of being poked and prodded for measurements, I have my dress for the coronation and the concert. It’s rather nice in my opinion, though Blossom worries it’s a bit too provocative to be wearing to a coronation. It’s a modest dress with lacy black sleeves and a baby blue floral embroidery running up the left side of the skirt and bodice. I don’t think she’s actually complaining though. It might be vain of me to say so, but I think she just wants to keep me to herself. Maybe I should talk to Gale about giving Blossom and I the room for the night.


~24~


“Ladies and gentlebeings,” Gearalt announces via the microphone, silencing the crowd as he steps into the spotlight. With his guitar strung across his back and a fedora on his head, he looks ready for a show. “I thank ye all for coming tonight. Truly, it means a lot to me to see so many faces here in the crowd tonight.”

A pony joins him on the stage, clad in a vest and black beret. Behind her floats a drum kit in a glittering pink aura. “That’s right Ger,” Chill Beat agrees. She doesn’t at all cringe as a spotlight beam splits off from Gearalt to track her on stage. “We’ve all been working so hard to bring you some truly unique songs. Even my little sis helped out.”

“Zat is right,” the second griffon in our little group adds, strutting out onto the stage, a hard case for an instrument held firmly in her talons and a bowtie around her neck. Just like with Beat, a beam splits off from the main convergence on Gearalt to herald her onto the stage. “Ve haf been verking so hard over ze past few monts.”

Gearalt nods at her, smiling. “That’s right, Giselle, Beat.” A huge grin splits his face as he turns back to the crowd. “All of this began months ago when Professor Adagio heard about a little performance that went on in the cafeteria. As I recall it, a friend of mine noted that a tune I’d been working out over lunch seemed to be in need of lyrics, which she so generously provided.” The griffon bard chuckles, as though he’s fondly remembering something. “I’m sure many of you here even recall that particular event. From the outside, it might have even looked like a mare serenading a sandwich.”

The crowd breaks out into mild laughter and applause, interrupting him. “Anyway, Professor Adagio heard about the little performance, and a bet was made,” he continues once the laughter dies down. “Extra credit if I can put together a quality musical performance, with the leading vocal role being taken by a pony whose special talent relates nothing to the art of the song.”

Gearalt turns and waves a claw in my direction. Beside me, Blossom squeals giddily, watching as a beam of light comes to greet us on the edge of the stage. I almost want to warn her not to ruffle her dress, but given how many pleats of lace there are, it’s probably a moot point. “Without further ado, I present to ye our vocalist for the night, Silver Script!” he exclaims, sounding almost as though going for a cage match announcer impression. 

I hesitate at the edge of the spotlight, waiting for the actual cue. “Our first song is an original piece written by the beautiful Miss Ice Blossom, who will be joining us tonight on supporting vocals.” Again he waves in our direction, and this time, we both step out into the spotlight. “Silver and Blossom, me lovely little lovebirds, come on down!”

I step up to the mic in the center of the stage, smiling warmly at the audience before nuzzling Blossom’s cheek. The faces are almost indistinct as a result of the spotlight messing with my low-light vision, but I can almost make out a few people I recognize in the crowd, be they faces from previous classes, encounters in hallways, or even just random encounters on campus. There, not two seats down from Gaius and Gale in the reserved seating, is Twilight Velvet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you’re all being thanked an awful lot for your attendance tonight, but before we get on with the show, I simply must thank you all for coming,” I say with a laugh. “I figure you’ll enjoy the show one way or another, be it at our expense or profit, but seeing all these faces here makes it all seem worth it.” I give the guitarist a nod, watching him and the others set up their equipment, before facing the crowd.  “Now, let’s get on with the show before my nerves get the best of me.”

The soft, melancholy tune of Giselle’s viola fills the air, and I suck in a breath, steeling myself to sing. 


~ 24 ~


“Alright everybody, we’re going to take a short break so that Silver can prepare herself for the other song we’ve prepared for you all,” Gearalt announces as I walk backstage, leaning against Blossom for support. There’s no explanation for why I feel so shaky other than nerves, and maybe a bit of oxygen deprivation during stretched syllables. Still, that’s one song down, and I have a good feeling about the next. “Don’t worry, though. The three of us will keep you entertained.”

I can’t help but grin as she leads me over to a small couch. “That was wonderful, Silver! Can you believe the applause we received?” she squeals, beaming. “I never thought a duet would work on the chorus as it did, but I guess it is just like onee-chan said.”

“‘You two together produce the perfect resonance,’” I reply, quoting her sister in a playful tone. “‘You two can make some beautiful music together,’ if you know what I mean.”

“Oh! Stop it, Silver! You’re being a lascivious flirt,” she groans, blushing. She pushes away gently, and moves over to an ice bucket on the nearby table. She gives me this wry look before grabbing the bottled water. “Again, I might add.”

I can’t deny that. Nope, definitely not after blurting out something about her having permission to unbirth me. Whether I was stressed or not, that is still a thing that happened. “Aww, but it’s just so exciting!” I cry in jest. “Okay, so I’m a pervert; if it ever bothered you, you certainly didn’t show it when we shared a bed under Lyra’s roof.”

Okay, yes; it is mean of me to make a blushing mare blush harder with insinuations and double entendres just to get a rise out of her. Still, she knows what I mean, just like she knows that beyond the occasional flirt, I’ve never officially pressed the issue of taking our relationship beyond platonic love. I guess even now, I’m still testing the waters.

Her silence reminds me that I’ve made things incredibly awkward, and given that we don’t have long to relax, I should make the best of it. “I know it’s kind of a strange time to bring this up, but I finally understand what’s been bugging me about that song,” I say idly, accepting a bottle of water from her when she finally joins me on the couch. “Bugging might be the wrong word, really, but you know how I said the lyrics were familiar? They were almost exactly the same as a song I once encountered in a piece of interactive media back in my world.

“Now, before you get the wrong impression, I’m only pointing out another weird thing about the relationship between this world and the one I was born in.” Her growing look of anxiety lessens at this, but she raises her eyebrow questioning at me, as though beckoning me to explain. “It’s always at the oddest times that I notice these things, but I always encounter these similarities at the strangest times, and this time, it’s at a time that I’m really happy.

“So what if the song in that game was played during a scene where love that was never intended by fate blossomed?” I ask myself aloud, before downing the bottle of water. “This isn’t some game with a bittersweet ending, and we aren’t two characters brought together by retarded circumstances. My love for you is as real as the wings on my back.”

“So what you are saying is that my song has reminded you of your love for me, in spite of the negative connotations of that recognition?” she asks hopefully.

I look down at my hooves. “Blossom, I don’t have to tell you everything that I’ve lost,” I whisper. “I love you with all my heart, and your song reminded me that I don’t want to be the pony that was just the dream of a culture long dead, doomed to end the dream and fade away.” My voice begins to crack, and tears rim my eyes. “I just want you to be my happy ending, Ice Blossom.”

“Silver, that’s so—eeep!”

Gearalt pops his head between the curtains, startling the both of us. “Alright, we’re up now, Silver.”  He catches a glimpse of my face, and quickly looks worried. “You okay? Do you need a minute?”

Without a second thought, I shake my head. “No, I’m good,” I reply, giving my lover a reassuring smile. “I think what I’m feeling now matches the tone of my song perfectly.”

The spirited leap to my hooves belies how somber my conversation with Ice Blossom has left me. I honestly wonder whether or not my voice will stay steady during my performance; it occurs to me that a little tremble in the right place might improve the song. Maybe I can even channel some of my anxiety and stress into the song. This might be interesting.

I follow Gearalt through the stage curtains just in time to pass Beat and Giselle as they leave the stage. They both give me an encouraging nod to bolster my confidence. Striding out to center stage, I steady my breath before leaning in close to the microphone. Ever so gently, I flick my ear to signal my readiness to my partner. “Many of you might not know this, but I’m not originally from around here. I grew up with people whose religious beliefs might seem strange to you, but in spite of that, their hymns are no less beautiful,” I explain as I straighten out one of the lace sleeves on my dress. “Let me sing for you a song of my people.” I just hope its message doesn’t go too far over their heads.

“There are loved ones in the glory,” I begin softly, smiling as Gearalt joins in with his guitar on the word loved, “whose dear forms you often miss. When you close your earthly story, will you join them in their bliss?

“Will the circle be unbroken? By and by; by and by,” I continue, slipping into the first iteration of the chorus. “Is a better home awaiting in the sky, in the sky?”

I reach out gently with one wing, and grab the microphone stand, pinning it to my side, so that I may walk about the stage. “In the joyous days of childhood, oft they told of wondrous love,” I add, sauntering to the front of the stage. “Pointed to the dying savior; now they dwell with him above.” With the practiced ease brought on by the group’s sessions, I slip easily into the chorus.

I come into the next verse as I move across to the left side of the stage, eager to address the left half of the audience. “You remember songs of heaven, which you sang with childish voice.” My hooves carry me across to the right side of the stage. “Do you love the hymns they taught you, or are songs of earth your choice?”

As the chorus once more escapes my lips, I make my way back to the center of my stage, my back to the crowd. Then, slowly, I turn to face the crowd, pointing to a pony at random. “You can picture happy gath’rings ‘round the fireside long ago,” I sing to that pony, whose smile trembles as I continue, “and you think of tearful partings, as they left you down below.”

When I enter the chorus this time, my voice cracks and I sound simultaneously tired and sad. “One by one, their seats were emptied. One by one, they went away,” I quaver, feeling tears returning to my eyes. Thoughts of my family—not just my parents—and the doubts I feel about whether or not I’ll see them again because of everything that has happened flood my mind. Instead of crying, however, I pour the emotion into my voice, tempering it with hope. “Now the family is parted... Will it be complete one day?”

By the time I finish the final bout of the chorus, my voice is barely a whisper. I lower my head and sigh in relief as the spotlight on me dims and the regular lighting in the auditorium begins to glow. Once all of the light is balanced in the room, I look out to the audience and smile before taking a bow beside Gearalt. Finally, the crowd can take it no longer and breaks out into applause.

“They really liked it,” I whisper softly to myself, relishing in the accolades of the audience as I return to my spot on stage. “They—”

“A charming performance from a no-account commoner,” a pompous voice calls out from the back of the audience, silencing the crowd. As the crowd parts for the speaker, a slender unicorn mare light red in coat, I let out a sigh just barely audible to the microphone. “For the life of me, though, I don’t know why you bother. It’s clear your talent is neither in alchemy or singing.”

“It’s so nice to see you haven’t changed, Princess Aqua Regia,” I reply bitterly into the microphone.

Making her way to the front of the audience, the noble sneers up at me. “Indeed? I’m so glad to see that you have finally grown up,” she says jeeringly. “I bet that it hasn’t done a thing for that blank flank you’re hiding beneath that awful getup.”

Ignoring her assessment, I grin and cast a playful glance across the crowd. “I’ve grown up, eh?” I comment as though this is news to me. “At least that makes one of us, your Highness.”

The few uncomfortable giggles that escape the crowd are quickly silenced by a stomp and a magically amplified harumph. “I do not know what you are talking about,” she says dismissively with her magically enhanced voice. “I am a princess, and I can assure you that I am quite grown up.”

“Honey, I don’t care how long your horn is or how tall you are; your physical properties and inherited status do not make you mature,” I utter through bared teeth. “You can pull the high-and-mighty act all you wish, but your attempts to intimidate, belittle, and oppress me—and probably other commoners that get in your way, too—over the last few months, both alone and with your lackeys, are nothing more than schoolyard bully tactics. A mature pony does not seek to make the lives of those they dislike miserable until they snap. Rather, they limit their interactions with them and attempt to be cordial whenever necessary.”

Despite the whooping ‘Oh!’ from the audience—I'm almost certain I even heard an ‘Oh snap!’ or two—the smug look does not leave her visage. Instead, she glares at me, her eyes bearing the intensity of a blue giant star. “I have attempted an armistice with you many times. It is hardly my fault if you turned me down,” she says dismissively.

The fur at the base of my neck begins to bristle as I stare at her, my sneer turning into a grimace. Is she really going to take that stance? Really? Luna forgive me, but I may very well have to murder this noble—or at least her reputation. That’s forgivable, right? She’s only a noble, after all! With a snort, I grin wickedly at her once more.

I feel touches on my shoulders, before I speak. Unnoticed in my public confrontation with the bitch on wheels, my beloved Ice Blossom has joined me on the stage along with Gale. Behind them, Chill Beat, Giselle, and Gaius have also joined us onstage. Both Blossom and Gale have a hoof or claw on me in a supportive manner. They nod approvingly, meeting my gaze. Let it all out, Blossom mouths.

“Armistice, now there’s a funny word for you to choose,” I bark, laughing cruelly as my barely-contained hate seeps into my words. “That’s probably the most interesting way I’ve ever heard someone use to describe rape.” As an afterthought, I parrot the words she spoke so long ago in a crass mockery of her accent, “You’ll thank me for this later.”

Any cheering and jeering the crowd had been caught up comes to a quick end at that statement. All eyes in the auditorium are on Aqua Regia following this revelation. To her credit, Aqua’s facial expression doesn’t change much, even if her entire body does go rigid. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she denies in an incredibly monotone voice. Ever so slightly, her eyes flick to the left, and one can just make out a bit of scrunching on her muzzle. “I am not in the least attracted to a mare such as you.”

Leaning closer to the microphone, I half-lid my eyes and bite my lip seductively. “Of course you’re not attracted to me now,” I whisper into the mic, marveling at just how erotic my voice sounds in an amplified whisper. “I’m all grown up!” I pout. “You just couldn’t help yourself seeing a diminutive, foal-like mare experiencing her first estrus. 

“Maybe it was a desire you’ve been harboring for some time, or maybe I was some new and exciting thing to conquer,” I mock, continuing with the erotic whisper that everypony in the auditorium can hear. Even as I say this, I can feel tears begin to roll down my cheeks, but for once they aren’t tears of fear or sadness. The tears are ones of relief. Finally I’ve gotten it all off of my chest. “A foal that isn’t a foal—above the age of consent. In the heat of the moment, it was too good for you to pass up! You had to have me, and ‘No!’ was not an acceptable answer to you and your little magic vibrators!”

Finally, Aqua Regia can no longer contain herself. The entire room shakes with the intensity of her rage as she slams her forehooves into the floor. “Enough of these slanderous lies, peasant!” she bellows in the Royal Canterlot Voice. “If you do not cease this act of sedition, I will gladly remove that treasonous little tongue from your head!”

“Oh, darling, you would love to censor the truth, wouldn’t you? You’d love to show everypony in the room how much you deserve to be a daughter of a noble house,” I trill maliciously, sweeping a hoof across the auditorium, indicating the shocked audience. “Instead of needlessly flaunting your undue station in life, how about you tell them what you do to ponies who say no to you. Tell them what you do to foalish mares who reject your advances—how you violate them with your magic and then demand they reciprocate!”

The enraged noble lights up her horn like an acid green flare, glaring at me. Almost immediately, the audience withdraws further from around the mare, not wanting to get caught up in whatever she is about to do. When a similar green aura begins glimmering around my muzzle, one mare in the audience screams, while many more ponies cover their eyes. “Go ahead, prove me right! I’m not afraid of you, Aqua Regia of House Blueblood—not anymore!” I jeer, angling my head challengingly as a burning sensation encompasses the base of my tongue and it begins to bleed into my mouth. With each syllable, blood bubbles from my mouth and trickles down my chin. “I can always make a potion to grow it back!”

I suppose nopony will ever find out if Aqua was really going to tear or burn my tongue out of my mouth. In the split second it takes for me to blink, a loud boom shakes the entire room and the burning sensation in my mouth ceases. As soon as my eyes open, I see Aqua is no longer standing in the center of the auditorium. Instead, Chill Beat is standing in front of me on the stage, her horn lit, glaring at the pompous unicorn slumped against the auditorium doors, rivulets of blood rolling from her ears.

“This has gone on long enough,” Beat says, hijacking the microphone with her magical grip. “You come in here disturbing an extra credit project my friends and I have worked so hard to arrange, insulting the pony my baby sister loves, and you then assault that pony in front of dozens of witnesses including at least two professors? Get out of here before someone calls the guards!”

I’m half-tempted to explain to Beat that the pony she just blasted with the same bass spell she hit me with when we first met probably can’t hear her, but when I meet Aqua Regia’s gaze, I stop myself. Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the stage in a very obvious manner, I instead hike up my dress and turn my side to face her, revealing the alchemy flask over a crescent moon emblazoned on my flank. With that silent go-fuck-yourself out of the way with, I stick my tongue out at her before joining Gearalt at the back of the stage.

Aqua Regia screams impotently, uneasily struggling back to her hooves. “You will regret this, Silver Script, mark my words!”

Ignoring the embarrassed noble’s words, I sigh, apologetically looking to Gearalt. “Listen, I’m sorry about the concert getting ruined by that royal twat,” I murmur around my partially dissolved tongue. “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know, okay?”

Gearalt only grins—fucking beaks, man—as he runs one claw through the feathers on his head. “Nonsense lass! The concert went swimmingly,” he says coolly. “The aftershow? Now that’s somethin’ I cannae have planned if ye asked me to.” He winks before ruffling my mane. “Sure, that was a vicious disturbance of our allotted time, but just look at how it turned out!”

“Huh?”

“She is getting expelled, Silver!” Blossom explains, bouncing happily over. “She not only disturbed a school-approved event, but she assaulted you in front of professors and an audience of witnesses! They have no choice! You never have to worry about her again.” She wraps me in a hug, wary of my dress and the blood. “Let’s go get you cleaned up though. You don’t want blood to ruin your dress if you’re wearing it to the coronation tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” I nod, gulping down a mouthful of blood. “Let’s get back to my room. You can help me out of this thing.” Casting another wary glance at the door, I sigh. “I think after the ceremony tomorrow, I’m going to come clean to the princesses.”

She dabs at my face with a kerchief to mop up some of the blood. “Please, my love, just take it one step at a time.” The pleading look on her face is far too cute to ignore. “While it is good that you are getting your vengeance, it needn’t be in one fell swoop.” That pleading look quickly dissipates into a reassuring smile when she adds, “I get the impression that the guards will want to question you anyway.”

“That does seem like protocol,” I reply. “Openly assaulting me like that, they’d probably need to know whether I’d like to press charges.” With a shake of my head, I look back to her. “Let’s get out of here.”


~ 24 ~





[From here on out, it’s a clop scene. Feel free to stop here if it’s not your thing.]


Blossom watches from my bed in morbid curiosity as I draw a vial from the rack on my desk. Her eyes are on the vibrant red contents of the glass tube the entire time as I slowly tilt my head back to allow it to flow into my mouth. “Did you mean it when you said your potions could allow you to regrow your tongue?” she finally asks. “Are they really that good?”

I don’t immediately answer her, instead choosing to swirl the potion about in my mouth for a few moments. There’s not much to do but hold my hoof up to indicate that I need a moment. The burned, exposed meat of my tongue slowly begins to knit itself together, reforming and scarring over the wound. Sure, healing potions are meant to be swallowed, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t also great applied topically.

Swallowing down the remainder of the potion, I shake my head. “Not this potion in particular,” I explain, making a point of sticking out my tongue to show her the indented ring of flesh still present in my tongue. “I don’t have the skill or qualifications to be making a high grade regenerative yet, so I’m stuck with lower grade healing potions, which are good for closing wounds and stopping internal bleeding, but not particularly great for restoring damaged flesh. It’d be almost as expensive to make such a regenerative as it would be to make enough healing potions just to regrow an entire tongue.”

She pales, and a look crosses her face implying that she wished she hadn’t asked. “I see.” An awkward expression crosses her face, and she looks toward the door. “Well, now that you are not in danger of losing your tongue or ruining your dress, I guess I should bid you good night. I will see you tomorrow, of course.”

As she rises out of the bed, I sidle over to block her path. “You, ehm, you don’t have to go back to your room, Blossom,” I softly interject. “Gale isn’t going to be here tonight, so nopony says you can’t sleep here tonight.”

My beloved, bless her heart, glances warily at Gale’s bed. “She—will she not mind if her bed is slept in?” she asks naively. 

I look her in the eye with a shake of my head. “Oh, my love, you silly mare,” I purr, pecking her on the cheek gently. “I keep forgetting how unfamiliar you still are with double meanings in this language. Some of them you seem to pick up on, but others…”

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to do something special for you, love,” I continue. “You’ve been nothing but good to me all of this time, and tonight may very well be one of the happiest nights in my life. I want to show you how happy you make me—to show you that even though we’re both mares, that a relationship can still work that way.”

“But—”

“I know you’re still uncomfortable with the idea, which is exactly why I want to make this for you,” I cut her off. “I can introduce you to some of the things a mare-mare relationship can still provide without asking you to lift a hoof. I won’t ask you to return any favors, and if you decide you don’t like any of it, you only need to ask and I’ll stop.”

Blossom backs onto my bed and looks at me pensively. “I am not sure, Silver.”

At this, I cannot help but give her a pleading look. “Don’t think of this as doing something for me,” I beg. “Think of this as doing something for yourself, to eliminate the doubt. You can find out tonight whether you are sexually compatible with mares, or if our love needn’t be of a carnal sort. At the same time, I don’t want to pressure you into this.” I look her lovingly in the eyes. “I will only do this if you’re certain.”

“I—will you be gentle?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” she answers hesitantly, making more room on the bed. “Um, please teach me how... this works.”

I join her on the bed, smiling softly as I nuzzle her face. A part of me yearns to go into a monologue explaining the benefits of loving a mare, pointing out our silky coats, softer bodies, and how much nicer they can feel compared to the rugged forms of stallions, but that part of my mind that’s still an author knows that the time for exposition has passed. Rather than tell her, the author in my heart says, I should simply show her.

Gently, I roll her onto her back with my hoof, giggling at her anxious squirms. It’s unsurprising, but when she realizes how exposed she is, she curls her tail up over her belly and draws her haunches together. In spite of the layer of white fur on her face, her cheeks are positively scarlet. She’s so embarrassed, so unsure of herself, that it’s hard not to take pause. “Well?” she squeaks.

I imagine that is this is probably her first-ever sexual experience, barring clopping, and she probably doesn’t really know what to expect to begin with; she certainly doesn’t seem to be the type to read erotica, so she probably is expecting me to dive right in and ravage her. Hell, if not for my experiences as a mare—if I still had the mentality of a virginal human male—I might even live up to that expectation.

Instead of starting with the main event, however, I take position above her. My lips join hers in a passionate kiss as I lean down to meet her. The surprised squeak she lets out as my tongue parts her lips is only half as sweet as the smothered moan it becomes as my tongue begins probing her mouth. If I thought that I was being bold tonight, it’s Blossom’s turn to stun me with her boldness as she flawlessly wrestles my tongue into submission.

Even as I pull back from her, a streamer of spittle keeping our lips connected, she looks up at me with a half-lidded smile. “I won,” she comments breathlessly. “What do I win?”

I can’t help but laugh. Isn’t that just a ridiculously silly question? “You get a happy ending from the masseuse of your choosing,” I coo, tracing one hoof down her cheek. “I hope you’ll choose me!”

The only vocalization she makes in response is a goofy little mewl, which seems as good a go-signal as any. Slowly I run the tip of my hoof down the side of her neck, tracing her jugular down to her withers. From there, I follow the contour of her leg down her barrel. She giggles slightly as I brush past a ticklish spot on her belly, though she has yet to complain.

I look away from her face for only a moment as I brush away her tail, revealing her pert little mammaries. Now, unlike most ponies of her pristine white coloration, whose skin is an unpigmented pink, the skin beneath Blossom’s fur is a dark gray often mistaken for black. That smooth dark flesh is almost too erotic of an accent for her other very exotic features. As I halt my hoof’s descent between them, the teats capping her supple gray flesh stiffen enticingly, as if to beg my attention.

Yeah, needless to say, I would love to just motorboat these little puppies and suckle them like a hungry newfoal. Thankfully, I have a lot more willpower than that. Instead, I look back to Blossom’s blushing face, and grin. “Now, some ponies like to jump straight into the fray,” I purr, tracing a figure eight around her sensitive little milk factories. When she finally releases a moan, I shake my head. “Foreplay makes it all the more sensual though, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mnnnaaah!” is all she manages. It’s clear that a little teasing is going a long way, and I haven’t even gotten into it. Maybe she’s just a really sensitive girl? “You’re being mean.”

“What do we say?”

“M-more, please!” she squeals as I tease her left teat directly. “I... I—” The squelch of moist, membranous tissues parting interrupts her the same instant she flicks her tail off of her vulva. I’m about to look down to observe her hidden treasure—her cavern of pleasure—when she grabs me suddenly, pulling my face close to hers. My wings shoot up rigidly at the surprise of being grabbed. “Please don’t look!”

Without another choice, I nuzzle her face lovingly as I bring my hoof ever lower; I mean, it’s all I can do not to playfully ask how I can please her if I can’t see what I’m doing right or wrong. Still, just because I’m not going to embarrass her, it doesn’t mean I can’t tease her. I draw back the moment my hoof crosses her southern border, leaving my hoof hovering just far enough away from her vulva that the fur on my fetlock is close enough to tickle her.

Blossom lets out a frustrated little growl at the cessation of my ministrations, and opens her mouth just enough to voice a complaint when I lower my hoof ever so slightly. It’s not enough to elicit a vocalization of some sort, but there’s enough stimulation there to reaffirm her arousal. At the same second her vulva makes way to expose her clit, she bucks her hips against my hoof. For the very briefest of moments, I can feel her wet warmth against me, and my own vulva winks in response and my wings twitch in anticipation.

I pull my hoof back to examine the sticky residue on my fur. “You got me all sticky,” I moan in mock complaint, showing her the marecum on my hoof. “Whatever will I do?”

She gives me this horrified look as I bring my sticky hoof up to my mouth. “No, don—” I extend my tongue to lap up some of her dew. “Ew! Silver! I pee from there too you know!”

Leaning back, I raise my eyebrow. “You do know that urine is sterile, right?” Again I lick up some of her fluids. It’s honestly not too bad. It’s kinda sour like a grape, but has this wholesome, heady mellowness about it. “Besides, you’re too hygienic to be dirty.” Finishing off my treat like a cat cleaning her paw, I ask, “Now, which would you prefer? A bit of oral, or would you like me to hoof you some more?”

She looks away and blushes even more. With an almost Fluttershy-esque squeak, she clenches her eyes shut. If not for me being so close, I don’t think I would ever hear her utter the word oral. I guess I’ve done a good job of getting her fired up, so I suppose it’s only right that I reward her for being so bold. She’s my special somepony after all.

Backwards along the bed I slide until my wings press uncomfortably against the curvature of the alcove and my forehooves are at either side of her hips. “This is your last chance to back out,” I whisper, lowering myself to her belly between her haunches. “I won’t blame you.”

“Silver,” she moans, thrusting her hips eagerly toward my face. “If you quit now and leave me like this, I will never forgive you!”

Um... Wait. What? I stare at her cunt in confusion for a moment. If Blossom was the submissive one a minute ago, why is she suddenly the dom? Oh jeeze. Just how turned on is she? Am I... am I ready for this? What the fuck is going on here? Why am I suddenly so scared?

Oh, right. This is a pretty big step in the relationship, and I just made all the big moves here. I’m suddenly feeling anxious because my last two sexual experiences with others aren’t fond memories. The first time, I was drunk in another pony’s body, and ended up fellating a stallion before performing cunnilingus on my own body as that stallion fucked me, and the second time, my ‘partner’ was raping me with magic. That’s not even counting what went on with Locus. Is it any wonder that I’m suddenly feeling like this?

I shake my head vigorously, blinking away a tear. I will not let those past experiences ruin this for me! Blossom is the pony I love; if I can’t trust her after all, then I have very poor choice in whom I place my amour, and if that is the case, I’m better off going celibate. Sex is supposed to be one of the most implicit forms of trust, right? Well, Blossom’s placed her trust in me, and I trust her even more than I trust the princesses at this point. I will not flake out on her now!

With that, I lean down and gently place my muzzle against her fluid-soaked crevasse. The heavy scent of her arousal alone is enough to drive me wild, but to feel her moist heat against my face draws out a wetness of my own. Before I can stop myself, a moan escapes my throat, resonating through my lips, and against her quivering labia.

Blossom’s reaction to the stimulus is almost instantaneous; her legs clench tight against the sides of my head, rubbing me harder against her hungry marehood. “Nnnn more!” she cries, placing a forehoof against the top of my head to encourage me to continue. “Please don’t stop!” Honestly? The hoof is a bit unnecessary. Feeling her clit push out against my nose is invitation enough for me to continue. I let out a small giggle, something that serves only to tease her more, as I thrust my tongue out to trace the curves and contours of her vulva. 

If she was enjoying the resonance of my moan against her groin, the licks must be driving her insane. Hell, when I’m lucky enough to graze her clit mid-wink, she lets out a small shriek and convulses around me. There’s no doubt in my mind at this point that my little Blossom’s delicate flower is insanely sensitive. No wonder she’s so prudish. If she’s so sensitive that it’s too much for her to even clop herself, she probably shies away from anything likely to turn her on. She’s practically a monk with that sort of self-discipline!

Smiling at the small micro-orgasm I’ve granted her, I decide to step it up a notch. With a low hum, I coax her into winking once more, but before her clitoris has a chance to withdraw back to its hiding place like a startled snail, I latch on with my lips, sucking the area into my mouth and holding it in place. A giggle escapes my throat as I prepare to blow her mind, and I feel her spasm against me.

I begin tracing out the complex swirls, boxes and crosses of the Equestrian script, from aleph to zen, alternating between her labial folds and her clit. Each brush, stroke, and graze of my tongue brings forth new squeals from my love, and soon enough, I have to grab hold of her hips just in order to keep my hold. Before I even get halfway through the lowercase form of the alphabet, her legs go vise-tight around my head, burying my muzzle against her pubic bone as a flood of marecum spatters my face.

She just sits there, trembling in the throes of her climax, my face buried in her snatch. Wow, she sure has a really good grip for somepony having an orgasm. I mean, I’m not complaining, taste and whatnot, but not being able to breathe kinda sucks. Then again, there are worse ways to die than suffocating in a face-full of muff, right?

When Blossom’s finally through choking me with her cum and smothering me with her vag, I’m exhausted. Oxygen deprivation is a wonderful thing. I’m sure If I could muster the strength to reach back with my hoof, I’d probably have a pretty awesome orgasm, but fuck it; she’s loosening her grip now, so I’ll focus on breathing now. Yeah, that works much better.

“Silver, my love,” Blossom croons, freeing her hips from my limp grasp. Through heavy eyelids, I watch as she pulls away, rising onto shaky hooves and turning to meet me face to face. “That was incredible. How did you ever learn to do that?”

“Lossa readin’,” I mutter, panting heavily. “Blowin’ up cars or blowin’ minds, a book can tell you how.”

In spite of the slick mess of her juices on my face, she leans in for a kiss, forcibly probing my mouth with her tongue. I have no energy left to fight her advances, so I content myself in letting her taste herself in my mouth. Something about it is so fucking hot. Watching her pull away, a string of cum stretching between our faces, is almost too much for me to handle. 

A familiar pressure begins building up below my belly, and I can’t help but shudder. I’m being brought this close by a kiss? Normally, I’m not this riled up unless I’ve just gone through some sort of humiliating experience! But holy fuck! I look up into her eyes, and it’s almost like she’s radiating pure sex right back at me. “Can it be taught?” she asks in a voice as smooth as silk.

I’m not sure whether it’s the way she said it, or if a sudden draft of air swept through the room, ruffling my tail against my own aroused pussy at an inopportune time. In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. A surge of electric warmth encompasses my entire being, blinding me to the world. My entire body turns to quivering jelly as I coat the bed sheets beneath me in marecum.

“Did you just...?”

“In the morning,” I mumble, failing miserably at an attempt to move out of the wet spot. Unable to help myself, I yawn and lid my eyes. “The blankets are all wet. Please keep me warm.”

“I love you too.”

> Chapter 25: Breach
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	You know how there are those times where you know, from the moment you wake up, that this is going to be a terrible day? Yeah, there’s always something that gives it away: bad vibes, black cats, curtain fires, lechers on a bus; it’s that kind of deal. My hint that today—a day intended to be one of joyous celebration of a friend’s ascension—is not going to be a good one comes in the form of a knock on the door. Okay, so maybe it’s more of a pounding. Nah, even that’s a rather inept description.

So yes, this not-so-awesome day starts with a bone-rattling crash, as though someone is attempting to break down the door. At two in the fucking morning, someone is seriously trying to break into my fucking dorm room. No, really; who does that shit? Two in the morning is like the most obvious time for someone to be home.

Not that these are the thoughts presently going through my mind as this happens. No, instead I’m groggily brushing the sleep from my eyes with one matted foreleg and trying to figure out what the fuck is even going on. When the second slam on the door comes, jarring my bedfellow awake, I practically have to jam my hoof in Blossom’s mouth to keep her from screaming out.

“Shh, not a sound,” I whisper, withdrawing my hoof. “Someone’s trying to break in.” Someone slams against the door again as if to punctuate my statement of obvious facts. As an afterthought, I silently voice my inner concern, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Silver Script, open up,” someone says through the door, seemingly unbothered by the prospect of waking the rest of the dorm hall. “We have a warrant for your detainment. Open the door, or we will be forced to break it down.”

I look to the sleep addled, but no less terrified, face of Ice Blossom as I slide out of the bed. “Listen, this isn’t right; the guards don’t generally do Gestapo night raids on university campus,” I whisper, pointing at the door. “The kind of threat that would warrant such a reaction is something far more than what I could possibly pose.”

With another slam to interrupt me, I stop to listen to the louts on the other side of the door. “Are you sure she’s even in here?” I hear one male voice say in a clearly non-Canterlot accent. “If she is, is she alone?”

“Yeah! Positive,” the other answers gruffly. “The scryer told us that only one bed in the room was occupied.”

“Too vague for my liking,” the accented intruder replies. “Could be her roommate, or it could be her and another pony sharing a bed.”

I nod Blossom toward the bathroom door. “Barricade yourself in there, and listen,” I instruct her in a firm whisper. “I’m going to answer the door in case it really is the guards. If something happens, I want you to head straight to the castle. Make an audience with Princess Luna during the night court, and inform her of whatever happens here.”

“But...” She begins to object before she catches sight of the dour look on my face in the dim crystal light. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she nods before quietly sliding out of bed and making her way into the bathroom. “Okay.”

Out of the blue—or maybe not so much really—Blossom turns on the spot and throws her hooves around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. I can feel her tear-streaked face pressing into my neck as she whispers, “I want you to promise me that you’ll come back.” It’s clear that she’s fighting back every instinct telling her to ignore my words and make a stand with me. “I’m only going to let you go if you promise me!”

“I promise you’ll see me again soon, you’ll see,” I reply, pecking her gently on the cheek before pushing her away. “Now go on! Get!”

Even as Blossom makes her way into the ensuite, I noisily stomp my way across the floor grumbling. “It’s two in the fucking morning, assholes,” I growl loudly enough to be heard through both doors. “This better be pretty fucking important!”

“Oh I assure you, it is, Miss Script,” a smarmy masculine voice floats back through the door.

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the falseness in his tone. Yeah, this is not a good day, and Luna hasn’t even lowered the moon yet. It’s two in the morning, damn it! I can’t have been asleep for more than five hours! If you wanted to make a show of arresting me, why not do it in daylight?

That answer becomes quickly apparent the moment I pull the door open. Instead of a mixed squad of battle-hardened unicorns and pegasi standing at my door, clad in their shiny gold armor, I’m treated to the rather worrying sight of a trio of griffons, one brandishing a spear, one some scroll, and the other a sword. All three look like they could tear a two-headed bear into ribbons, if their matching bearskin cloaks are any indicators.

“Huh, mercenaries,” I comment, somehow unsurprised by this turn of events. “Really? I don’t even warrant a squad of guards?”

“Can it,” the gruff sounding griffon squawks, leveling his spear tip with my nose. “We have a warrant for your detainment, signed by the princess.”

“So you said, almost word for word, I might add,” I reply hesitantly. It’s not a good idea to fuck with mercs, ever, but there’s something about this whole thing that rubs me the wrong way. “Surely your warrant states what grounds you are to be holding me on.”

“Princess’s orders, missy,” the smarmy one with the sword says. “They need no reason other than offense to detain ponies.”

Okay, that right there? That’s practically a giveaway that Aqua Regia is trying to make part of her many mounting problems vanish, by making me disappear before I can lay any formal charges against her. How can she be this fucking stupid? A crowd full of witnesses to her assaulting me hangs over her head, and she thinks nopony will find it suspicious that I just vanish the next morning?

“It sounds like your employer is legally and socially retarded,” I answer, opening the door further before stepping back and assuming an unthreatening posture. “That being said, I see no purpose in resisting. I am unarmed; you are not.”

The griffon with the scrolls smiles his weird beak smile and steps through the door to join me in the room. Sniffing at the air, even now still laden with the lingering scent of sex, as he moves to my side of the room, he stops in front of my bed and gives me a look. “Yeah, unless you wanna hear how loudly I can scream before you silence me with your talons, don’t even think it.”

He shakes his head before tossing one of his scrolls onto the nearby desk. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says coolly, noting my gaze lingering on the scroll. “No pony will know you are missing, and when they do notice, somebody will find your suicide note.”

Oh. It’s going to be one of those kinds of detainments? Fun. Still, I can only imagine what Blossom is feeling, holed up in the bathroom like that. She’s hearing what is essentially a conspiracy to kidnap and probably murder her lover, but I specifically told her to keep quiet. She must be chewing through something trying to keep quiet.

The griffon momentarily stashes the other scroll in a pocket on his bearskin armor as he reaches for something on his belt. His claw comes back gripping shackles. “Well, that’s not much, is it?” I comment as he draws near. “I mean, I do have wings.”

“Oh, I know.” Something about the tone of his voice frightens me. It’s at that point though that it occurs to me that there are three mercenaries, but I can only see one of the others out of the corner of my eye. I should have kept them all in sight. “I’m just the one carrying the heavy gear.”

The words barely leave the griffon’s beak when something heavy slams down atop my back, pinning my wings roughly to my side. I rear back in an attempt to dislodge the sudden weight, but all that comes from it is a bridle being slid roughly over my face. Even as the bit slides into position and the noseband cinches my muzzle shut around it, I cry out in alarm. Then, just like that the assailing merc jumps off of my back.

“Always did like the way bridles look on you ponies,” scroll griffon says toyingly. “Makes you look less like sentient beings and more like livestock.” He glances back to his companions before shrugging. “I’d like to play a bit more, but we gotta have you in fetters and get you hauled off before anyone in the university notices.”

Were it not for the bit in my mouth, I would probably make some smug comment about them making too much noise already. I might then make some glib comment about still having wings, but even as the thought crosses my mind, I remember the fetters the other griffon had taken from his belt and look back to the item in his hand. On my first glance, I’d only noticed the iron shackles, but looking at it now, I can tell that it’s a lot more than some simple hobble. No, this is also something that any self-respecting pegasus loathes: wing bindings.

When you live in a place like Canterlot for even a short time, you’re bound to see a guard detain somepony eventually. If you’re really lucky, you’ll get to see a group detainment of mixed races. It’s not exactly a pretty sight, watching a unicorn thrashing about as a magic limiter is slipped over his horn, or an earth pony getting fitted with lead shoes to keep them in check. Ponies get surprisingly violent when you try to contain them, but neither a unicorn or an earth pony can match just how viciously a pegasus will fight to keep her wings unbound. I still remember the time I witnessed three earth pony guards attempting to bind a drunk and disorderly pegasus—drunk or not, she held her own until a unicorn guard arrived on scene.

Just looking at the thing is making me shudder. Instinct tells me that if my wings were meant to be bound, I’d have been born without them, and that I should flee those who wish to bind me. A sensation—panic, I realize all too quickly—bubbles up from the pit of my stomach, and before I realize, I’m straining against the reins attached to the bridle, held by the other guard. I shake my head emphatically and give my captor a pleading look as if to say, “You don’t need to bind my wings; I’ll behave!”

“Don’t bother with the eyes, girl,” the last of the griffons says, chuckling as he saunters into my field of vision. “Boss loves his bondage.” Strolling up to the one still holding the harness and shackles, he shakes his head. “We’ve gotta move this along. The shifts change in an hour, and our contacts aren’t on the roster for another week. I don’t wanna to turn into a felony since we had to sit on her for a week because you wanted to take your time.”

That being said, he takes the shackles and harness from his compadre and approaches softly. “Easy, missy,” he whispers in a disarming tone as he begins fitting the harness around my barrel and locking my wings down. “It’s nothing personal, but a job is a job.” He shakes his head as he shackles my hooves. “I’d feel the same way in your position. Don’t worry though, we’re not complete monsters. You’d be too popular where you’re going, so I’ll be decent and make sure our contacts give you the hose.”


~ 25 ~


Being lead through the streets of Canterlot trussed up and bound like some animal still smelling of sex easily tops my list of the most humiliating experiences in my life. Worse, having it done by griffon mercenaries makes it look to observers as though I’m some dangerous, violent sex criminal—and there are many witnesses to my humiliation.

Despite being very much the daytime city, there’s still quite the nightlife in this city. There are plenty of clubs and bars scattered around despite the generally segregated layout, and even the odd brothel, if it suits your taste and you have the bits. The club scene in particular is a popular one, so of course there are many ponies up and about at this late hour.

Needless to say, a trio of griffons clad in bear skins parading a bound mare through the streets gets a lot of attention. I have no idea if Aqua Regia planned this route for them for maximum humiliation or if this is just some ‘happy accident’, but the effect is there, regardless of intent. Ponies along the boulevard catch one sight of me and look away after a disdainful expression crosses their faces.

As if to compound the humiliation, we aren’t even out of earshot when whispers begin. “Did you smell her? They must have caught her doing something insanely lecherous,” is the general theme of their whisperings, and more than once I hear ponies guessing at my ‘crime’. You don’t know humiliation and shame until you have people whispering things like ‘foal fiddler’, ‘foal abuser’, ‘mare molester’, or simply ‘rapist’ behind your back as you go by. Thank Luna my parents can’t see me now.

Through the Canterlot streets we go on one massive humiliation conga, only stopping long enough to alter our path and rile the intrigue of those that pass us by. In less than half an hour, the troupe has paraded me half-way across Canterlot to a rather surprising place: the gates of Ironhoof Penitentiary. 

Suddenly this all makes a lot more sense. It would seem that Aqua’s choice of action is to hide me in plain sight rather than outright kill me, by faking my suicide somehow, and then placing me here. Without me present to lay charges for the sexual assault, she’ll probably get off with just expulsion from the school and a slap on the wrists—dare I say house arrest?—for publically assaulting me.

At least, I dare say that’s how I imagine she thinks it’ll go. Unfortunately for her, she’s a few crayons short of a box. In particular, she seems to be missing the colors of foresight, anticipation, knowledge, and—oh yeah!—common sense. She doesn’t have the foresight to understand how her actions play out. Her ability to anticipate how others react to those actions makes a failing grade. Not only does she not know a thing about me, she doesn’t even have the common sense to do a little background check to know how I work.

At last, in spite of the situation and the bit in my mouth, I begin to giggle uncontrollably. If I was able to open my mouth enough, I would even be cackling like a hyena. It’s not just cute that Aqua is this stupid, it’s absolutely hilarious. There’s some lingering doubts, but I’m seriously leaning towards her being the result of incest at this point. At the very least she’s got some major damage knocking around in her noggin.

My unnatural mirth, of course, gains the attention of the griffons as they lead me toward a heavily guarded door around the side of the well-lit compound. The one with the spear is quick to smack me in the back of the head with the butt of his spear, but even that isn’t enough to silence me by the time we come into earshot of the cloth-uniformed guards. I’m still snorting in amusement when the troupe draws to a stop at the tips of no less than four spears.

“What business do you mercenaries have here tonight?” a unicorn captain asks, inclining his head and shifting the badged beret atop his head.

“Prisoner transfer,” the scroll-bearing griffon says, presenting the captain with one of the scrolls. “Fresh from the palace.”

The unicorn takes the scroll, reads it a couple of times and gives the griffon a suspicious look. “You know, normally a file of royal guards escorts prisoners of this threat level.” He shakes his head. “Why’s this one so different?”

For his part, the griffon is a good enough actor to look genuinely offended by the prison guard’s suspicion. “I don’t know how your job works mister, but when your payment is contingent on instructions being followed to the letter, you damn well make sure you follow it to the letter,” he grumbles, gesturing non threateningly with his talons. “Our contract was to apprehend this cretin, bring her to face judgement for her crimes, and then bring her here.”

His countenance relaxing, the guard captain smiles before nodding his head in the direction of the door. “By the smell of her, you had yourselves some fun with her,” he replies smugly, as though this exchange is nothing but routine to him. “Go on, we’ll get her hosed down, into a jumpsuit and stick her in a cell ASAP. Consider your contract fulfilled.”

From there, two prison guards—guard captain included—replace the griffon’s bindings with their own as they lead me into prisoner processing. For the shortest moment, they chain me to a wall while blasting me with a torrent of water, laughing at my discomfort before throwing me—unbound—into a cell with an orange jumpsuit and telling me to get dressed. Well, when you have folks with spears telling you to put on a jumpsuit, you do it without complaint.

At least with the jumpsuit, my wings are pinned in a much more natural way simply by holding them within the heavy material of the jumpsuit. Instead of slapping a bridle back on me and leading me by the nose in the literal sense, they simply attach a lead to a ring on the collar of my jumpsuit. Sure it’s still degrading, but prisoners are kinda like dogs. That being said, I greatly prefer being referred to as a dog rather than as livestock.

While they lead me through corridors, I notice that every turn we take has ‘Male Gen. Pop.’ marked on a sign. Eager to exercise my newly returned ability to speak, I tilt my head toward the guard to my left and comment, “So, I can’t help but notice that this is the way to the stallion’s wing. I’m pretty sure you guys all got an eyeful of my girly bits when you were using that hose, so what gives?”

“No talking, prisoner.”

An unsuppressed snicker earns me a smack on the back of the head with a spear butt—yeah, that’s not getting old or anything—but I can’t help myself. “Wow, are all of you so crooked that you can’t see straight?” I say confidently. “You do realize that once it’s found out that you guys stuck a mare in with a bunch of stallions, you’ll be fired with extreme prejudice, right? Hell, you might even be unlucky enough to join the animals. I’ve seen enough prison movies to know how long former cops or prison guards last in prison. How many prisoners have a grudge against you, pointy?”

The unicorn drops the lead and whirls on me, smacking me squarely in the cheek. “You will quiet yourself, prisoner, or you’ll find yourself in the maximum security wing.”

“Why stop there? Why not permanently subscribe me to solitary confinement!” I say with glee. “By permanently, I mean a few days max of course. At least when someone comes to get me, I might speak in your favor, citing how gallant you were into ignoring your ‘orders’ to stick me in with all those big, icky boys. In spite of the corruption charges, you might just keep your jobs.”

He looks me directly in the eyes, and I return his even stare with my own glare. If not for my adrenaline and stress induced—delusional maybe?—confidence, I might not be able to pull this off, but as I stare the guard down, his own confidence wavers. Of course, he breaks his gaze quickly, grabbing the lead in his magical grip and continuing to drag me roughly through the halls. I note now, though that the signs we’re following all point to ‘Solitary Confinement’.

“Nopony is coming for you.” Though it’s supposed to be some sort of statement of fact, it sounds less as though he’s telling me this than he is reassuring himself of this. “Now that’s enough out of you.”

I shake my head and grin madly. Sure, they’re being rough and my cheek hurts, but he’s just doing his job while being wholly corrupt about it. I think it might be fun to shake them a bit more. See if I can’t really get them riled. “With all the money House Blueblood is lining your coffer with, you must be able to afford quite the attorney,” I croon playfully. A visible shudder ruffles the fur on the nape of the guy’s neck. Oh yeah; he’s as crooked as they come. “A shame it’ll be when one of your generous benefactors goes before at least one of the true princesses. All that family’s corruption is likely to come to a head in a way that can no longer be ignored, and you know what they say, right?”

Even as he tosses me into a dark cramped cell, I begin cackling wildly. “Shit rolls downhill, motherfuckers!” I howl with laughter as I climb onto the bed as the door slams. “They’re fucked, and they’re going to ensure you get fucked in the ass along with them. Just don’t expect them to have the common courtesy of giving a reacharound!”


~ 25 ~


When presented with a situation where I have absolutely nothing to do but wait, my favorite plan of action is to sleep. Not only would I begin to feel better, but if Blossom went to the castle like I asked, Princess Luna could very well be searching for me. Unfortunately, I’m still coming down off of an adrenaline high, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I can no sooner close my eyes and fall asleep than I can stop my own heart.

No, for this to work, I’ve gotta relax. Sleep is out of the question until I can calm down, but perhaps there is a tool on hand that will allow me to cool off, and even reach a dream state. Granted, I haven’t tried it since I became a pony, so I could very well be quite rusty. Meditation is like a bike though, right?

With my hind legs pulled beneath me in something akin to the traditional lotus position, I sit comfortably with my forehooves on my thighs. In the near blackness of the cell, there’s no point in staring at a singular point on the wall, so instead I close my eyes and envision the flame of a candle flickering in a non-existent wind.  This mental conjuration serves the dual purpose of allowing me to relax by calming my breathing, and helping to clear my mind. If I’m focusing on the flame of an imaginary candle, I’m not thinking about how close I came to being some sort of prison bitch, or worse, preemptively gelding some stallion, just to be placed in solitary anyway.

As I sit, basking in the imperceptible glow of this mental beacon, a surprising serenity washes over me, slowing my heart, easing my breathing, and filling my body with numb warmth. With every passing minute my awareness of my body and surroundings lessens until finally, the candle in front of me is more real than reality itself. The stage is set.

When I open my eyes, I decide with minimal thought, I will not be trapped in a prison cell, but instead in my room at the university, sitting in front of my desk. That should definitely do for a basic setting to start out with. It’s familiar enough that I don’t need to actively think to maintain at any length. So yes, when I open my eyes, that is what I should see.

Slowly, my eyelids flutter open, and as sure as I’ve convinced myself, I am greeted to the sight of my dorm-room desk, covered in various papers, trinkets, and various alchemical supplies. That in itself, I find, is a particularly nice touch. Even as I look over the various papers on the desk, I can’t help but marvel at just how detailed this imagining is. Right in front of me is my sheaf of research notes on Zecora’s zebra marital aid, beginning with the list of ingredients I tacked on. At a glance, I can tell that all of it is one hundred percent accurate.

Seeing as there’s nothing else to do, I may as well take advantage of this time to go over my notes, to see if I can’t make sense of this potion alchemically. Strictly speaking, while this potion is fundamentally the same as some of the other things I’ve worked with, its structure and preparation doesn’t make too much sense.

Most of the ingredients have some explanation in the language of alchemy. The gold and silver dust represents masculinity and femininity, while crystallized rose petals signify shape. The petrified lavender stem signifies the body, and the aconite pollen is a potency inhibitor or amplifier, depending on the preparation. I would almost guarantee that at this point that the poison joke is the alchemical word for change. 

The arrangement of it all just doesn’t make sense. Usually, aconite pollen is used to inhibit or limit certain aspects of ingredients or increasing the potency of another. It usually boils down to raw pollen or a reduction being mixed in with an ingredient simultaneously. If you’re tailoring a potion for a child, you usually mix in raw aconite after the stabilizing agent—ruby flecks, which are absent from this entire recipe—in order to reduce potency and risk. 

In this case though, an aconite reduction is added in before the gold and silver mixture, making it a free-floating modifier. This is completely unheard of in Equestrian alchemy, as it is completely unpredictable. Just looking at this makes my mind hurt.

With a heavy, possibly imaginary sigh, I look away from the notes. Perhaps I’m looking at this with the wrong mindset. Pony alchemy is usually direct and to the point. What if zebra alchemy is a lot more vague, like the roundabout way in which they speak?

Smiling to myself, I call up the ingredients before my eyes, each of them floating free of gravity in the air before me. Going from memory, I reorder them based on the steps of preparation. A petrified lavender stem, a crystalline rose petal, poison joke leaves, aconite pollen, gold and silver: this is the order of the ingredients. Words begin to appear beneath them, and my mouth moves along with it. “Body shape alter/change unbridled/potent male/female.”

For a few moments, I ponder this. Structurally, it doesn’t seem like it should work, but alchemy is queerly as much about the meaning as it is endowed with as it is the interaction of the ingredients. Professor Calcification once told me in a lesson that the most important thing about alchemy is to remember the mindset. “If a potion proven to work makes no sense to you,” his voice echoes in my ears as though he’s right here with me, “you are simply not seeing the potion as it was intended.”

“If the body is changed to the opposite sex, the shape is achieved for breeding apex,” I whisper to myself. A chill runs down my neck as things begin lining up in my head. The potion itself has no stabilizing agent, meaning that it is somewhat in flux. If the potion is unstable, then it is theoretically chaotic in nature. If Discord created a sexually potent creature, he would want it to...

“... breed.” I hardly notice that I’ve spoken the word. I only now realize why the potion works. It isn’t just because of the way some zebra worded this potion. The very essence in progenesis is chaos. Millions of sperm compete for a single ovum; millions of variations exist for a single egg. There is no order in this, but Equestrian alchemy is steeped in the dogma of order. That’s why while ponies can order the body to ovulate or produce more sperm through alchemy, they cannot guarantee conception. Despite the ordered world that ponies maintain, nature is still wild at heart!

Not only have I potentially figured out how to do any number of things using this potion as the basis, I’ve made a very important finding that could turn Equestrian alchemy on its head. We can cure any number of diseases or poisons with alchemy, but when it comes to random things like the common cold or the genetic and cellular mutations that inevitably lead to cancer, our hooves are tied firmly behind our backs. What if we’ve been sitting on the cure for cancer for centuries, but never thought to make it because tradition insisted we add little ruby flakes to a potion?

“I must be intruding on a particularly happy dream, Silver Script,” a voice says behind me, shattering my concentration. “Seldom do I see a mare in your situation grin like the filly that ate the cookie. I suppose, though, that situations often call for happy dreams to distract from the dire cloud over one’s own head.”

Turning around, I’m surprised—am I really?—to find Princess Luna peering over my shoulder. “How is this possible?” I ask, sliding away and banishing the free-floating ingredients and words from existence. “You can’t possibly be here, your highness.”

Of all the reactions I expect to receive from that statement—stunned confusion, offense, silence—laughter is honestly not high on my list, yet here Princess Luna is, laughing at me. “You do realize you’re dreaming, don’t you?” she asks seriously. She pokes me with her hoof, as though that is supposed to pull me out of my non-existent dream-state. “I need you to tell me exactly where you are right now, Silver. You have been foalnapped, and it would appear that somepony is attempting to fake your death.”

I give her a flat look as she pokes me once or twice more before I respectfully raise a hoof to stop her. “Oh, I know all that already,” I say dismissively. “I said that you can’t possibly be here because I’m not asleep. When those asshats at the prison tossed me in a cell, I went into a meditative trance because I felt sleep was impossible at the time. Those aren’t the same thing. For you to be here would be an active invasion of my conscious mind without my consent.”

To my surprise, Luna rolls her eyes and snorts in derision. “You say the two states are different, yet to your body, they are very much the same,” she replies softly. “A deep enough meditative state is indistinguishable from a lucid dream, and recent sleep studies in Canterlot have even shown that these deep trances induce the Rapid Eye Movement state that accompanies dreaming. You say you aren’t dreaming, but your body is very much asleep.

“Now, you said you were at a prison,” she asks, regaining her serious edge. “Is it safe to say you mean Ironhoof Penitentiary?”

I nod somberly. “Fifth cell on the right, solitary confinement, stallion’s wing,” I answer a bit angrily. “When the griffon mercs handed me off to some prison guards, they said they had orders to stick me in a cell in the general population alongside some stallion. Knowing my luck, it’d be that Modest Pants fellow whose job loss I’m technically responsible for. 

“Anyway, I convinced them—peacefully!—into sticking me into solitary. It was better than possibly having to make my roommate my bitch in order to get stuck here,” I continue, calming down “Still, the guys are as crooked as a Corsican highway.”

The princess raises her eyebrows and gives me this cautious look. “I see,” she says, retreating toward a surprisingly undetailed back wall in my dream. “Before I return to the waking world to arrange your—how would you put it?—jailbreak, I wish to ask why you looked so gleeful in what appeared to be a dream of studying.”

With a deadpan expression on my face, I conjure up a little paper caricature of Discord, and a little paper zebra to go with him. Holding them both up with my hooves, I say, “It’s probably not as simple as I’m making it out to be, but Discord and a zebra helped me find a new direction for the cure to cancer.”

> Chapter 26: Seeking Justice Pt. I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I finally wake, it’s to the sound of a great many voices outside my room. At first, I shrug it off as a prisoner in the next cell getting a not-so-friendly wake-up call, rolling on my crappy mattress to face away from the door. The idea of going back to sleep is quickly abandoned, because I don’t think a wake-up usually involves one or more ponies shouting through megaphones about surrendering weapons or standing down. Come to think of it, those sound like the sorts of things you might hear from guards during a prison riot. Seriously though, a riot now of all times? Come on!

“This is highly unusual and uncalled for, Captain Cutlass.” I hear a rather gruff mare protesting, as a set of voices draws nearer. Wait, haven’t I heard that name somewhere before? “I assure you we are not detaining any ponies we shouldn’t be. We’ve been operating independently and under high scrutiny from a royally appointed committee for centuries, so I hardly see a need for a battalion of royal guards taking over the prison. Furthermore, I hardly see why you would be bringing a civili—”

“That is where you are wrong, Warden Gray. I can assure you that this is quite necessary, and well within our jurisdiction,” another voice, likely this Cutlass character, replies in a harsh tone. “This operation is under the personal authorization and authority of Princess Luna. You see, things may look fine on paper when brought before a committee, but it’s a lot harder to hide corruption when one of the princess’s scholars is snatched away in the middle of the night, and when contacted through dreamwalking, that very mare admits that she is being held in solitary confinement of your prison.”

Oh hell! Cutlass was Princess Luna’s personal guard, wasn’t he? Has he been promoted sideways to Captain of the Guard in Shining Armor’s absence? Is the Royal Guard doing a raid on the prison because of me? Surely I’m not that valuable. I mean, if this is a prison operated independently from the Royal Guard, it could very well be that there has been suspicion of corruption here for some time, but lacking any evidence, they simply could not act. Would that mean that I’m a chess piece in the game of politics? Because if it is, it sounds like the sort of thing I wanted to avoid.

The prison warden sputters some near incomprehensible words as they stop outside my cell. “I trust that you are not leading me on a wild goose chase, Warden,” Cutlass adds. “This civilian is that mare’s lover, and she is here to ensure I am not played a fool.”

A key slides into the cell door’s locking mechanism, and I hear the warden speak up again. “This is the only registered prisoner intake last night,” she replies in a defeated tone as the lock clicks open. Clearly some major shit is going on if she is just rolling over like that. “Some of my ponies may be taking bribes or taking part in felonies, but here at Ironhoof, paperwork is sacrosanct. Nopony moves through this prison without a paper trail in triplicate, even if details are doctored.”

It suddenly occurs to me that Cutlass mentioned my lover. Did that guy really bring my Blossom to a place like this? Before I have a chance to compose myself—as much as is possible for a mare in prison orange and an unkempt mane—the door swings open. “Uh, hi ther—oof!”

I’m tackled to the floor by Blossom the moment to the door opens, leaving me sprawled out awkwardly beneath my weeping love. The look on her face in the cell’s dim light seems to be more of anger than misery. She’s definitely angry about this whole situation, especially the way she’s pounding the floor with one hoof while weeping into my chest. “Er... Hey there, Blossom,” I reply as calmly as I possibly can, stroking her mane with one jumpsuit-clad fetlock.

She looks up at me in shock before that pained, angry expression returns to her face. “You... you... you bucking idiot!” she finally sputters, glaring at me. “Do you have any idea how worried you had me?”

“I... yeah,” I nod, stroking her mane and looking apologetically up at the gray unicorn in night-guard armor. It’s clear the guy clearly hadn’t planned on taking her with him, but no doubt it’d been Luna’s idea. As far as he’s concerned, he is on a timetable, and our joyful reunion was cutting in on the time. “I do and I’m—”

Reaching up with a hoof, she taps me angrily on the tip of my muzzle. “No you don’t!” she cried loudly. “When I told the princess, she attempted to scry for you immediately, but even she could not find you! She said that you could be in any number of places, and unless she could make contact with you—assuming you had not already been murdered—she would be unable to find you!”

“It’s okay, Blossom!” I reply sharply, catching her attention. “I knew that they weren’t going to kill me. Aqua Regia may be a pig-headed idiot, but she’s not a total moron. A kidnapping is easier to cover up than a murder, and I think this was only a delaying tactic anyhow.” The stallion and the prison warden both look at me in confusion, and even Blossom’s crying momentarily eases. “Think about it. If she kills me, what does she gain? Same with kidnapping me. Even faking my death wouldn’t get her anywhere for very long, so clearly she had some sort of plan. Being accused of these crimes so close to Princess Twilight’s coronation would be disastrous for the Blueblood family, being found guilty of having somepony killed to cover up a crime, even more so.”

Helping Blossom back to her hooves, I shake my head. “No, in a political atmosphere like this, they would only have me ‘vanish’ long enough for them to curry favor from Twilight,” I continue to explain, rising to my own hooves and stretching like a cat. I take some pleasure in hearing my vertebrae pop up and down my spine, knowing that all of this would be worth it in the end. “At least with this hanging over them, they are more likely to pass it off as one of their subordinates acting on their own volition, or an act of a lesser house seeking their favor. By the time anypony figured out I didn’t belong here, nopony would be able to prove who put me there beyond possibly the griffon mercs and the corrupt guards. Legally, the case would go nowhere, due to the lack of evidence.”

Blossom smiles, possibly catching onto my line of thinking. “But they didn’t count on you being found so soon, so maybe all is not lost?”

“Nah, we still can’t prove it was her or someone working for her,” I reply softly, shrugging. “Nothing we can do about it except bring it up when I press charges, at which point we’ll see where things go. Either way, she’s fucked.”

The prison warden tuts impatiently and looks crossly at Captain Cutlass. “Can we get a move on, Captain?” she asks in a tired tone. “I assume I’ll be occupying one of these cells before the day is over, so I’d very much like to just get it over with already.”

“Miss Ice Blossom, Miss Silver Script, would you two please come with me?” he asks, ignoring the warden. “I do believe you have a ceremony to attend, do you not?”

Reminded what day today is, I glance at him in alarm. “Shit! What time is it?”

“Five minutes to running out of time, I’m afraid,” he answers with a smile. “Do hurry now.”

Blossom composes herself and allows me to exit the cell to join the guard, following close behind. “We’ll never make it in time, never mind being able to get all dressed up and fancy. Are you able to teleport multiple ponies all the way to the castle simultaneously, sir?”

“Yes, but wouldn’t you like to make yourself more presentable?” he asks, almost offended. “This is a momentous occasion. What kind of message would it give if you arrived at the ceremony wearing a prison jumpsuit?”

I glance back at Blossom, a wild grin spreading across my face. “I have no idea! Isn’t that brilliant?” Uncontrollable giggling escapes me like helium from a punctured balloon. “Let’s find out!”

The prison warden steps in front of me, or rather the captain, scowling at us both. “I will not be ignored!” she shouted.

Captain Cutlass looks anxiously between me and the prison warden, deciding whether he would rather put up with a possible madmare or an angry one. Personally, I think the choice is rather obvious; madponies can be quite a lot fun—always something new, and never a dull moment—whereas an angry pony brings only scorn. Thankfully, the captain seems to share this sentiment and gives her an apologetic smile, lighting his horn in a crimson flare. “Go back to the end of the corridor and meet up with Sergeant Wind Whisper. She’ll take it from here.”

“Wha—” Whatever it is she intended to say is lost to the aether as a bright red flash envelopes the three of us. Even as I vanish into nothing, all of my molecules scattering to the wind as the spell tears my very being apart, I can’t stop giggling. There’s no rhyme or reason to my mirth, but the thought of trolling Twilight—and Rarity too!—with my jumpsuit is just too great to pass up.


~ 26 ~


I’m unsure what first clues me in that we have materialized in the castle. It might be the prickling sensation of every fur on my body standing on end, or it could be the slight pins-and-needles sensation as every single piece of me vibrates out of tune, trying desperately to reach harmony and stabilize my body structure. Either way, it doesn’t really matter; point is that I’m in the castle, at the very back of a hall that I’m pretty sure is the same one Shining Armor and Cadance were wed in.

In front of me are scores of ponies all dressed up or wearing fancy jewelry, facing the front of the hall where Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadance are all lined up on a stage in fancy regalia, wings flared proudly, and most of the Element Bearers right up there with them. Every single pony in the room looks excited for this occasion, even if not all of them realize what this is truly about.

None of the ponies in the main audience notice our entrance, as their backs are to the back of the room—go figure—but those up on stage all do. There’s an array of looks. Luna shoots me a knowing grin, while Celestia, Applejack, and Rainbow Dash look almost amused. Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Spike, and Cadance all look horribly confused, but Rarity? 

Rarity’s expression is fucking priceless. The mare looks like she’s trying her hardest not to cry out, or eat her fucking Queen of England-looking hat. If it weren’t for the fact that ponies don’t wear underwear, I would wonder if she hadn’t royally shit herself. She is caught somewhere between horror and outrage, leaving her looking very, very constipated. Totally worth going to prison, all things considered.

Any amusement I might take in torturing Rarity with my shit-eating grin is quickly brought to an end as Celestia walks to the top of the walkway leading onto the stage, her horn lit in a light-gold aura. I recognize the spell she’s casting even before she speaks: a voice amplification spell. Sure, she could use the traditional royal shouting or a microphone, but it’s clear that it’s all for show.

“We are gathered here today in celebration of a momentous occasion,” she announces with a serene, motherly expression. “My most faithful student, Twilight Sparkle, has done many extraordinary things since she’s lived in Ponyville. She even helped reunite me with my sister, Princess Luna.” Celestia pauses to give a warm smile to her sister. “But not too long ago, Twilight did something truly amazing. She created new magic, proving without a doubt that she is ready to be crowned Equestria’s newest princess. Fillies and gentlecolts, may I present for the very first time, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

Right on cue, the doors to my right swing open, and Twilight, fancy in garb—a Rarity design no doubt—and followed by a quartet of Fluttershy-esque standard bearers and a quartet of unicorn guards, strolls through. She looks nothing less than embarrassed, but when the standard bearers open their mouths to sing, I can’t help but blink in confusion and slight recognition.

“The Princess Twilight cometh, behold, behold!” they sing as Twilight walks measured but anxious steps up the center aisle of the room toward the stage. “A princess here before us, behold, behold, behold!”

As they continue their march through the room, their song still going loud and proud, a silent curse escape me. “Motherfucker!” I whisper to myself as the procession reaches the front of the room and Twilight takes the stage. “They stole my fucking lyrics!”

That earns me a jab in the ribs—or at least it would be were it not for the harness in the jumpsuit still binding my wings—from Blossom and a sour look. “None of that matters,” she whispers back in reproach. “Even if they did, it is a good choice.”

Our short conversation comes to an end as I see Twilight up on stage receive her crown from a tuxedoed Spike. A squeal of awe slips free of Blossom as soon as my first mentor is coronated. It’s hard to disagree; Twilight looks absolutely stunning, beautiful even. At this very moment, she looks every bit the princess she’s supposed to be.

Strolling out onto the balcony behind them, Princesses Twilight, Celestia, and Luna face what sounds like a large cheering crowd down in the castle courtyard. After some verbal prodding from Celestia, Twilight clears her throat loudly and moves to the very edge of the balcony to address the crowd.

“A little while ago, my teacher and mentor Princess Celestia sent me to live in Ponyville. She sent me to study friendship, which was something I didn’t really care much about. But now, on a day like today, I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the friendships I’ve made with all of you,” she says turning back to peer at her friends over her shoulder. “Each one of you taught me something about friendship, and for that, I will always be grateful.

“That isn’t to say that I haven’t had my share of weak moments,” she continues, once more turning her gaze to the crowd in the room behind her, as though searching for somepony. “I want you to know now that I am by no means infallible, but I vow to you all now that I will not allow my past mistakes to prevent me from performing my new role. Instead, I will use the lessons learned from those mistakes to ensure I can be the best princess I can be to you all.

“A pony I consider to be a good friend of mine, a pony I once caused a great deal of hurt, showed me that even when ponies feel betrayed by you and that by all rights they have a right to hate you, forgiveness is possible,” she says softly, even with Celestia’s spell amplifying her voice. “Even though my involvement in another pony’s foolish attempt to make contact with another world ruined this pony’s life and drove her to the brink of madness, she’s forgiven me, and taught me more about myself than I ever expected to learn.

“She taught me that my capacity for learning and magic is dwarfed by my propensity for making friends,” she continues with a teary smile, looking out to the crowd, “and that Celestia has taught me well. She proved to me that I might someday make a great mother, even if all I did was teach her about being an Equestrian from the ground up.” 

A giggle escapes her. “Because of her... because of all of my friends, this was possible. Today, I feel like the luckiest pony in all of Equestria. Thank you, friends. Thank you everypony!”

“Aww, was she referring to me?” I whisper, leaning up against Blossom as the crowd goes wild. I nuzzle her gently before watching as Twilight makes her way through her friends and family, and well wishers. “Isn’t that sweet?”

The two of us just sit there, close together as Twilight is stopped and greeted by almost everypony in the room. Her friends, Shining Armor, and Princess Cadance all follow behind her, wherever she’s headed, though she’s definitely in no hurry. When they finally reach the back of the room, Rarity is the first one to speak up, probably out of confusion.

“Silver Script, darling, is that you?” I only nod, batting my eyelashes innocently at Twilight and Cadance. “What are you wearing, dear?”

“Oh, you know... I wanted to start a new trend in formal attire,” I reply sweetly. “There are just so many Canterlot nobles I’m dying to see in a prison jumpsuit.”

“You were in prison? For what?” Twilight, Cadance, and Rarity exclaim all at once.

“Before I tell you, let me take the opportunity to tell you that you are going to absolutely love Canterlot politics,” I answer, looking Twilight dead in the eye. “The nobility loves to think it has the right to do anything.” With a nod, I look over to Rainbow Dash and Applejack. “I just publicly called out a member of House Blueblood on sexual assault... so I was snatched up in the middle of the night by some goons and tossed in prison!”

Rarity’s outraged and confused expression fades from her face as her jaw goes slack. Her lips almost curl into a snarl as she mouths the name Blueblood before finally she gives me a pitying expression. Granted, she’s probably thinking that my encounter was one with Blueblood himself, rather than a relative, but all things considered, that’s not too far off the mark.

“So that’s what mom was talking about last night,” Shining Armor interjects before anypony has a chance to react, shaking his head in disappointment. “You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble, do you Silver?”

“I am staying out of trouble though!” I reply with a giggle. “I’m just shaking up the political scene by exposing mass corruption in the prison system and legally getting the nobility into trouble. Heck, I was going to press charges after the coronation even before the kidnapping last night.”

The prince consort only shakes his head before turning to his wife. “Cady, I know I turned in my commission in the royal guard in favor of ensuring the Crystal Empire can protect itself in the present era, but I kinda want to sit in on this,” he says, nuzzling Cadance before glancing back at me. “Canterlot is still my first home, and I’m curious just how badly it’s to be shaken up.”

“Of cour—”

“What I wanna know is how Silver got so big so quickly,” Rainbow Dash interrupts. “Last time we saw her, she was practically a foal!”

Regaining some of her composure, Rarity glares at Dash. “Rainbow Dash!” she whispers sharply. “How can you be so insensitive? She just admitted that she’s been sexually abused by somepony in power, and all you can say is, “How did you grow up?””

Applejack moves in between the two, holding a hoof up warningly. “Easy sugarcube,” she says to Rarity softly. “Dash and Ah both already knew. Don’t ask; long story.” This comment earns a curious look from the diva. “Anyway, Ah know the question is on all of our minds, especially the Princess.”

When I look back to Twilight, I can see the little gears working inside her head. “Tried out that potion Pinkie dosed some of those cupcakes with, way back when,” I reply quickly. “I was doing some preemptive research for the upcoming term. Basically, it fixed my genes, making me completely pony.” Oh jeeze, now she looks like she’s ready to break down my door for my research data. “My data will be submitted to the professor at the beginning of the term, Twilight. You’ll be able to pull that information at any time.”

Ponies can be heard outside the castle, chanting and cheering, their voices filtering in through the balcony archway. Glancing at the door, I quickly add. “Anyway, I think you have somewhere to be. That crowd sounds pretty anxious to see their new princess paraded about.”


~ 26 ~


The silence as Shining Armor leads us through the castle halls—I refused to send Blossom home until this was all sorted out—is rather unbearable. I know the fact that I have basically started a small revolution in Canterlot sits heavy on his mind, but after a night in a prison cell, I would much rather just talk to ponies rather than sit in silence.

“So,” I begin, unsure of exactly what to say. “How are Cadance and the baby? We didn’t really get much of a chance to talk back there, did we?”

“Her last prenatal exam went well,” he answers stiffly, seemingly uncomfortable. With a pause, he glances back at me. “You know, if the charges you plan on pressing are true, you’re not going to be a very popular pony.”

“Boy or girl?” I ask curiously. “Aqua Regia sealed her fate when she decided to play hide the magic egg in the midget. She cemented it when she tried to silence me last night. I don’t care a lick for popularity.”

“Filly. Not due for a few more months, before you ask.” We all stop in the middle of the hallway and I have to stop myself from bouncing off of his chest. “Take this seriously, Silver!” he grumbles, stomping angrily. “You’ve upset one of the most powerful noble houses in all of Canterlot, been kidnapped and spent a night in prison, and you sound like you don’t even care.”

I narrow my eyes and suck a breath in through my teeth. “I don’t know if anything untoward happened between you and the changeling queen, or if you even know anything about being raped beyond it not being nice, but I assure you that I am taking this very seriously,” I hiss, taking a step forward. “I’ve been spending the last few months living in fear of that mare, worried that if I spoke out, she would harm the people I care about—” I point a hoof at Ice Blossom. “—and the mare that I love! Don’t think that just because I am choosing to be casual about it does not mean that I haven’t considered being a hysterical idiot or taking justice into my own hooves!”

“Enough, Silver, Prince Shining Armor!” Blossom squeals, interposing herself between the two of us. “Fighting each other solves nothing.” She looks to the prince consort and gives him a weak smile. “She is just trying to make this less stressful for herself, sir.”

At this moment, part of me is glad none of the princesses are here to see this. Here I am on my way to press charges against a ‘princess’, and all I can do is lash out at one of my friends. “I’m sorry, Shining,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, and I have no place bringing up what happened at your wedding.”

An apologetic look overtakes his face. “It’s... okay,” he replies. “Sometimes, it’s just hard for me to see ponies acting so... casual about situations like yours, acting like it doesn’t affect them.”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” I reply calmly. “Like I said, it’s all I can do not to be hysterical or violent sometimes. Even when I can hold it together, sometimes I don’t do it well enough. Why do you think I picked a fight with a cockatrice and a lamia?” With a shake of my head the beginnings of a wry smile fall from my face. “It’s a shame my therapist has had to take so much time off.”

That said, nopony manages any more chatter. It’s almost as though the gravity of what is about to happen has sucked the conversationalism out of us all. Not that it isn’t understandable. I kinda do have a habit of creating awkward silence, and setting into motion things I don’t completely understand doesn’t often help things any.

How big is this castle, anyway? Is it like a TARDIS? Is it bigger on the inside? Maybe it’s the inverse of the prison, which looked bigger on the outside. It makes me wonder, though: if ponies evolved from a migratory species—even now in their architecture you can see their preference for spacious areas—would it not be considered cruel to restrict them to a small amount of space like a prison? Do they not have some sort of friendship gulag out in the Badlands or up north, full of wide open spaces and no means of escape?

After what feels like a good little eternity, we draw close to a set of double doors, and a sense of deja vu washes over me, as though I’ve somehow been here before. When the doors open by way of gold and blue auras of magic, it’s not hard to understand where the sensation comes from. On a long fancy couch, Princesses Celestia and Luna sit, serious expressions chiseled into their faces. Before them is a coffee table, a tray of tea and biscuits already laid out upon it. With the couch across from them, there is no doubt in my mind that this is the same sitting room in which Luna comforted me months ago.

“It would seem,” Princess Celestia begins, somberly, “that we need to discuss a great deal of things.”
> Chapter 27: Seeking Justice Pt. II: What is just?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We need to talk.” It’s amazing how much weight four little words can carry, even if you’re expecting them. Whether or not they are phrased exactly that way, the message is clear enough: it is now time to be serious, so it is safe to drop the pretense that all is well. When Princess Celestia, immortal goddess of the sun and maternal figure to most of Equestria, says it, you know shit is quite serious.

Normally, when you are on the receiving end of that statement, you expect the one giving you the speech to look upset, disappointed, or even angry. Luna and Celestia show none of these emotions; they, however, just look tired, and that makes all of this somehow infinitely worse. They could be tired from any number of things: this whole coronation business, retarded nobility, politics, me...

“Yes, we do, Your Highness,” I reply meekly as I lead Ice Blossom to the couch opposite of the royals. She seems a bit awestruck at being in the same room as two of the most powerful ponies in the entire world, quite literally. Rather understandable, even if Luna doesn’t quite have the political clout Celestia has; most ponies seem to have a naturally-instilled reverence for alicorns after all. Turning to Blossom, I smile. “Blossom, you’ve already met Princesses Cadance and Twilight Sparkle, the bearers of the Elements of Harmony, and the Prince Consort of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor. Heck, if this morning is half as interesting as I expect it was, you’ve already met Princess Luna. Still...”

A small giggle escapes my throat as I have to usher my marefriend up onto the couch. “Blossom, my love,” I say again, nuzzling her and leaning against her as I try to find a comfy position on the couch. “These are my benevolent benefactors, Princesses Celestia and Luna.” Looking across the table at the two Canterlot royals, I grin. “I know this is a really strange time, Your Highnesses, but I would like to formally introduce you to the mare I love, Ice Blossom.”

Three ponies stare at me in utter astonishment; only two of them have horns, and amazingly, I am not surprised in the least who they are. While I do not doubt the fact that Blossom has met Luna, it’s still a given that she would be fazed by my attempt at breaking the tension in the air. Similarly, Shining Armor is just sitting there, staring like I’ve just marched a Nazi flag into a synagogue. It’s not so much the look of offense as it is the implied statement of “I can’t believe you did that, you moron.” Yeah, Celestia’s really the only other one in the room trying to hide a small smile.

I give a sheepish nod in Celestia’s direction before elaborating. “Yeah, it was an odd time for that. Since you can’t exactly meet my parents,” I say stroking Blossom’s mane with a hoof, “I figured introducing you to the two goddesses that helped me get on my hooves would be the next best thing.” Looking back at the others, I smile apologetically. “Sorry. Now that it’s out of my system, we’re here to address the charges I wish to press against Princess Aqua Regia, yes?”

Celestia’s smile is no longer hidden now. It’s almost more than a grin. “I was going to question your choice in formal attire,” she jabs playfully. “We can address that too, I suppose.”

“I... Yes,” Luna sputters, getting over the shock of my ludicrous behavior. “Let us discuss the imprisonment, first.” A stack of blank parchment appears before her in a blue flash, along with an inkwell and quill. “What can you tell us about the mercenaries that took you?”

Wow, straight to business, just like that. I guess they want to get to the bottom of this corruption stuff right away. Though I’d rather not throw the mercenaries under the bus—they were just doing what they were paid to do, even if they were breaking the law—they do need this information if they are to catch the ones that hired them. “Three griffons wearing bear skins,” I recount. “One carried a series of scrolls, one a spear, and the last a sword. Had a fourth accomplice not seen; possibly unwitting. A unicorn. Scryed into my room to make sure I was ‘alone’.”

“Was there anything distinguishing about them aside from the bear skins they wore?” Shining Armor inquires. “Any crests or colors?”

I give him an insulted look. “When you’re being held at spear point, being forced into a bridle, and having your wings strapped down, knowing your marefriend is hiding in the next room, scared for your life, it’s kinda hard to think about anything else,” I deadpan. “I could tell you a lot about the spear. Nine foot shaft, probably birch, steel tip probably. Hurts like hell when you get smacked in the back of the head with it. So no. Aside from the bearskins, I didn’t notice anything particular about them.”

The two princesses glare at me as a floating quill records my statement. Right, snapping at Shining Armor doesn’t help anything. Worse, Blossom looks incredibly disappointed in me now. Come on! I’ve been through multiple traumatic experiences that I’m working through; gimme a break.

“Right,” Luna says after a moment of silence. “Did they say anything that might implicate their employer?”

I pause for a moment to think about the late-night exchange. “They stated that they had an official arrest warrant. When I asked under whose authority and what grounds they were detaining me on, they told me ‘Princess’s orders’ and ‘No reason needed other than offense.’ Take from that what you will. Whoever employed them seemed really specific about leaving that suicide note.” Staring directly at Luna, I frown. “I never got a chance to read that, by the way. Can I see?”

The three royals share a look, before Celestia nods to Luna. “The contents of the letter, are... very personal,” the younger says, conjuring a scroll and levitating it across the table. “Whomever wrote this put a lot of effort into this, Silver. They know things that very few ponies know—things about you.”

I accept the scroll without a word and slowly unfurl it.

To whoever finds this,

This is not a letter of farewell nor a letter of apology. For who I am and what I’ve done, there can be no apology, forgiveness, or atonement. Though I am a pony, this was not always so. Nopony but the princesses and my therapist know this, but I am not even originally from this world. The world I come from is one of barbarous, conquering apes whose only delight is in finding new ways to kill each other.

“What the fuck?” I say aloud, glancing up from the paper. “Where the hell did they even get this information? It almost sounds like something I discussed with Clear Conscience, but never in that kind of light...”

“Keep reading, Silver,” Luna says in a solemn tone. “It gets much worse than that.”

When I first came to Equestria, I inhabited the body of a mare I tricked into switching places across worlds. Utilizing my newfound powers and contacts, I ingratiated myself with some of Equestria’s greatest heroes. I made them think that I was their friend, that I was some wounded soul who wanted nothing more than to be returned to my own body before beginning a rampage of violence, vandalism, and murder.

“What.”

What I haven’t told anypony is that the incident with that Ponyvillian foal, the one petrified by a cockatrice, did not happen as I explained. The foal was not initially running in the direction of the forest. Overtaken by my innate bloodlust, I herded him there; I wanted him to go into that forest. Ponies told me of the dangers of the place, and I relished in the chance to condemn a child to death there.

I even managed to play the victim, telling tales of a failed attempt at stopping the child from fleeing to its death. The thrill of bragging to a pony that you’ve just doomed a foal to death is something I can’t even begin to describe. Too bad that mare had to ruin it by basically ignoring everything that I said. It would have been more fun had they found the child immediately, but instead they had to go on a whole search of Ponyville.

Okay, so I lost my temper, defenestrated myself, and tried to murder her too. So what? In the end, I managed to get my body back, although it had become a pony body, and I managed to fool the princesses into thinking I was just a harmless dwarf pegasus, paying for my housing, and even sending me to university, where I can find new ways to hurt ponies.

Alas, I cannot keep up this charade; I am not a pony, and I never was. There are certain things a murderess like me cannot learn. Love, compassion, empathy, friendship, and allegiance are all concepts that have no meaning to a wretched thing like me. Probably the only thing ponies have ever taught me is regret and guilt.

When Aqua Regia raped me, she showed me what it’s like to be the one on the receiving end of malicious behavior. She taught me how much it hurt to be abused by others. What I did to that family of bakers in Ponyville by killing their foal... the guilt eats away at me every day. How can I live with myself knowing that I not only murdered a child, but also took pride in that fact?

The answer is that I can’t. Even if I can find a pony who thinks they love me, I can’t return that feeling, because my brain isn’t wired for it. I don’t belong here in this world. For this reason, I have decided to end it all. There is no point in looking for me. By the time this message is found, the currents will already be taking my body out to sea, where it can never harm another soul.

~Silver Script

I let the letter fall from my hooves. My ear twitches fervently as I stare at the hoof that held the unfurled parchment just moments before. After reading all of that horrific character assassination, my mind is racing. How could they have gotten enough details about my past in order to write such a twisted thing about me? What gives them the right to place the blame on me for all of that?

Sliding off of the couch, I refuse to make eye contact with anybody in the room. Every one of my muscles tenses up as I stalk into a large empty space in the room. I don’t even have to look to know that my tail is flicking violently behind me. The only thing I feel or hear is the pounding of my heart and my heavy breathing.

“Silver, are you—” Blossom begins to ask, before I cut her off.

“Prince Consort Shining Armor, your specialty is creating impenetrable magic barriers, yes?” I demand. “Are they sound-proof?”

With my eyes locked on a single point beneath me, I don’t bother trying to gauge his reaction. Instead, I can hear him reading the letter under his breath. “Silver, what are you thinking?” he asks, his voice level. “I understand that you are upset, but I am not going to imprison a pony without evi—”

“I am not upset!” I hiss back at him, sending streamers of spittle flying from my mouth as I stomp my hooves loudly on the tile mural beneath me. “I am asking you to prevent me from doing something incredibly stupid like burning half of Canterlot down in anger!”

“Surely you know better than to do that, Silver Script,” Luna warns, a steely edge in her voice. “Should you try anything of the sort, the Royal Guard would have no choice but to cut you down, and neither of us desires that.”

I turn around and give them all a flat stare. “I know.” Again I stomp my hooves in an attempt to prevent myself from lashing out and destroying something in this lavish sitting room. “When I’m emotional—pissed, especially—common sense goes out the window, which is why I want him to contain me. If I can vent my frustrations, I’m not likely to do anything stupid, which is a big probability at this point.”

I watch them all with a cold glare as tears of anger spill down my cheeks. There’s no doubt in my mind that I look very close to rabid at this point, so why are they so hesitant? “Look. Either someone conjures me up an angry dome, or we find out how flammable the nobles are! Maybe we find out if they taste like chicken. We could have a picnic!”

Strange how it’s not until I mention cannibalism that they decide the bubble is a good idea. The word chicken is barely out of my mouth before a magenta bubble of magic surrounds me, cutting off all sound to the outside. Maybe Shiny still remembers the memory I showed him when I was accused of bullying and sedition. Regardless, it’s exactly what I’d hoped for; large enough that I can move, turn, and in general lash out, but not so large that I have plenty of room to run.

As I begin to smile, I can’t help but lick my lips in excitement. “This is more like it!” I scream, venting all of my fury by bucking my back legs against the barrier. Much to my satisfaction, a low hum resonates through the confined space as my back hooves connect with the shield with enough force to knock me off balance but not bring pain to my joints. “If those motherfuckers think they can take everything that I’ve been through, twist it up like some kind of emo fanfiction, and try to play me off as a villain while faking my death, they’ve got another fucking thing coming!”


~ 27 ~


In the end, I have no idea how long I was in the bubble. It could be an hour, or even three. Time has no real meaning when you work yourself into such a frenzy that you can’t see anything but blood. Granted, much of the blood is my own, smeared on the inside of the bubble as my hooves began cracking one by one. I don’t even mind the pain, to be honest. As I lay on the floor, heaving and panting, I’m too tired to care.

When the bubble finally drops, sending all the smeared blood to the floor, a concerned Ice Blossom is right there at my side with a medical kit. She doesn’t care that my blood is coating her hooves and coat as she bandages my hooves or passes a cold compress for my bruised muzzle. Her demeanor is patient, caring, and surprisingly calm, given that I basically just behaved like a wild animal.

She doesn’t even seem all that upset as she uses her earth pony strength to ferry me back to the couch. “Sometimes, I swear you overdo things just to get me to coddle you,” she scolds, loud enough for Shining and the Princesses to hear. “I understand how furious you are, but all four of your hooves?”

“It worked with the lamia, didn’t it?” I ask in a teasing tone as she lowers me onto the—not that I can blame them—now plastic wrap covered couch. “Sure, I didn’t once stop my heart this time, but I bet you can still find some way to make me yours.”

“Ahem,” Princess Celestia interjects, reminding us both that we are in the presence of others. “Now that you have, erm—” She glances over at the blood covered tiles with worry. “Now that you have calmed down, we can discuss what has happened.” Lighting her horn up in that regal, golden aura of hers, she points it at me. “We will be monitoring your statements for deception. If any are found, my horn will glow red.”

I nod somberly and begin recounting the relevant events of the last five months. From my first encounter with Aqua to the events of my first estrus and finally up to last night, I spare them no detail. If either princess looks enraged hearing my recounting of how Aqua Regia held me down and violated me with her magic, Luna looks full of absolute, all-consuming bloodlust when I explain how Aqua Regia attempted to silence me the previous night. I dare say she is greatly offended by the idea that ponies still behave in the cutthroat ways of old. Not once does the aura around Celestia’s horn glow red during my entire testimony. The only ponies who manage to contain themselves, somewhat to my surprise, are Shining Armor and Blossom. 

On Shining’s part, it may be because I somewhat expected him to be more reactant to rape given how special his little sister is to him, but at the same time, he also has all his guard training to keep him in a neutral position. He probably also realizes that a lie detection spell is only good if the person under the spell doesn’t believe what they are saying is the honest-to-god truth. That, and I don’t doubt that he realizes that with how close Celestia and Luna are to this, sponsoring me and all; he needs to play the neutral party regardless of his feelings or attachments.

Blossom is the real enigma here. I can believe that she’s used to hearing what has been happening, but given how she almost lost me last night, her face is more placid than the stillest lake. The only sign that she’s reacting at all is the chewing of her bottom lip, and even then, I can’t be sure if that’s anxiety or thought. What is going on in her head?

Finally, as my testimony draws to an end, the magic field surrounding Celestia’s horn dissipates. “That certainly sounds like enough of a testimony to bring Aqua Regia in for charges to be pressed,” Shining Armor says at last. “If she is cooperative, then there should be no need for a trial. Otherwise, we will likely need to sequester the witnesses mentioned in your story to prevent collusion or witness tampering.”

Ice Blossom looks confusedly from Shining Armor to the princesses. “Your Highnesses, why wouldn’t you want a trial?” she asks in all of her innocence. “Would it not do better to show the public that nobles who break the law are subject to the consequences like the rest of us?”

“Normally, yes,” Celestia explains, brushing a feather across her muzzle. “Unfortunately, Equestria’s justice system relies heavily on the judgment of the princesses to ensure due process is followed. Usually, only one of us is required to preside over such a case, but higher profile incidences or those involving the more wily of the nobility have always required a majority review by the princesses.”

“Traditionally, in the days of our diarchy, before my descent into the Nightmare,” Luna continues on for Celestia, filling a cup of tea for herself as she speaks, “Celestia and I both observed high profile cases. Following my banishment, Celestia held the position alone. Cadance took up my role when she grew old enough, but following my return, the three of us have alternated.”

Celestia hijacks the teapot from Luna’s telekinetic grip, pouring a cup for herself. “Now that there are four Princesses of Equestria, a high profile case such as this would require three princesses to preside over the case.” She lets out a sigh, offering the teapot to us. Blossom declines, but I pick up a saucer in my hooves and hold it out as the princess pours it into my cup. “Unfortunately, Cadance is only an Equestrian princess in title now, so legally, Twilight would be required to preside.”

“But as bright as she is, she is not ready for such a high profile case,” I hazard a guess. “You don’t want to mar the week of her ascension with a case like this should it go south. You’d still be able to make it public if she pleads guilty rather than face a trial, and it would still shake up the nobility.

“Even after everything I’ve been through, I’ve still put Twilight through more than her fair share of hardship,” I conclude, giving Shining Armor an apologetic smile. “If it gets it done today and Aqua gets everything that’s coming to her, then I don’t care whether or not it goes to public trial.”

The three royals rise from their seated positions and move off to the side of the room, opposite of my mess. I watch them converse in conspiratorial whispers, noting the furtive glances they throw in my direction. I suppose that begs the question what purpose the glances hold. They all look so tense, standing there and talking amongst themselves. Are they deciding how to handle me? Or how to handle Aqua?

It would seem Blossom is also watching them intently, as she turns to me when they back a few paces apart. “What do you think they are doing?” she asks, watching the three channeling mana into the tips of their horns. “Sil—”

“Captain Cutlass,” Luna shouts, silencing Ice Blossom mid-question. The Captain of the Guard—the very same pony that heralded my escape from prison—pokes his head through the open door. “Please send for Prince Blueblood, with haste. Inform him that he is being called upon as legal representative for his House.”

With but an “At once, Your Highness,” the unicorn ducks his head back through the doorway, leaving the five of us alone in the room once more. I must give the dude credit, though. He looks in on a conference between three powerful royals and two civilians, and he doesn’t even bat an eye at the puddle of blood in the middle of the floor. He’s either trained not to question things where the princesses are involved, or he somehow managed to miss the blood entirely. Either way, dude never says a thing.

Turning my attention back to the spellcasting at work, I actually take the time to acknowledge Blossom’s question and contemplate what the princesses and Shining Armor are actually doing. Celestia and Luna are both accomplished spellcasters in their own right, so I can only imagine that Shining is but a drop in the ocean when compared to them. Are they conjuring forth some demon? Halting time to exact some vengeful plan? Ripping a hole in the very universe to throw Aqua Regia in?

Above them, I can just make out what looks like a shimmering patch of air. Strands of magic, barely visible to the naked eye, trail up from their horns, knitting a circular pattern around that patch of air. Slowly, the air currents in the room pick up, rattling the tray of china and whipping everypony’s hair back and forth.

Then, just as their horns begin to flare at their brightest, Aqua Regia drops from the circle in mid sentence. “—can’t believe they made that whorse a princess just because her brother married into royalt—oof!” The moment the unicorn hits the ground, the three spellcasters cut off the flow of magic and glare down at the dazed noblemare. “What in Equestria just haa—oh my.” Looking up at Shining Armor, she pales visibly beneath her coat. “Prince Consort Shining Armor, how nice it is to see you.” When she turns her head, she catches sight of Celestia and Luna. “Aunties... to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Perhaps it would be best, Aqua Regia, if you remain silent until your brother arrives.” The hate seeping through Shining Armor’s carefully measured voice could cut through a meter of tempered steel. Can anyone blame the guy though? Aqua just called Twilight the pony equivalent of a whore—because ponies love their pony puns—in front of him. Mare’s lucky he didn’t just punch her out. “It would be a shame if your mouth got ahead of you before Blueblood arrives.”

“Why?” she asks petulantly. “I have done nothing wrong!”

A low growl escapes the mare beside me. Before I have an opportunity to respond, Blossom leaps across the room in a mere two bounds, shouting, “Nothing wrong?” I dare say that is that last thing Aqua Regia saw or heard before Blossom cold-cocked her clean in the jaw. “Liar!”

Let me tell you. Seeing Blossom punch that cunt out? So fucking hot. Seeing her vanish in a flash of magic? Not so much. Then again, maybe punching Aqua Regia was a bit much, so it’s no surprise that they would send her to another room.


~ 27 ~


“Aqua Regia of House Blueblood,” Princess Luna says firmly, staring down at the red unicorn seated on the couch before her. “Do you know why you stand here before us today?”

The light-red mare gives a toss of her golden mane as her arctic blue eyes dart back and forth across the faces of Celestia, Luna, and Shining, almost as though looking for some indicator of how fucked she is based off of the welcome she received. “I would presume that I am here regarding my behavior last night.”

“Do not take that tone with us, Aqua Regia of House Blueblood; this is no jest, and should not be treated as such,” Celestia replies in a tone as angry as I’ve ever heard from her. Turning her steely gaze to the unicorn seated beside Aqua. “Blueblood, please inform your sister of the direness of the situation.”

For all the bluster that stallion seems to have when drunk or in a lascivious mood, he knows when to put his spine away. “Sister,” he says in a fairly frightened tone. “You do realize you stand charged with rape, assault and battery, attempted maiming, and public intimidation, do you not?”

“If we want to talk of assault, perhaps I should lay charges against that one’s foreign comfort horse,” she replies angrily, jabbing a hoof in my direction, sitting beside Luna and Celestia’s couch with Shining Armor. “That no-good mare attacked me for no reason!”

“Calling my sister a whorse, questioning her ascension, and then saying you’ve done nothing wrong seems as good a reason as any to me,” Shining Armor mutters darkly, just loud enough to be heard. He gives Blueblood a challenging glare. “Should we maybe add sedition to the list of charges?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Luna replies, shooting the prince consort a warning look. Returning her gaze to the nobles seated across from her, she quickly adds. “I would say that it would be fair to level charges against the mare, should we find no evidence that she had any reason whatsoever to attack you. That being said, if any of the charges laid against you turn out to be true, her crime will be written off as a misdemeanor, and she will be let off with a warning.”

From the look of Aqua Regia’s face, she obviously thinks that this is anything but fair. Hell, she looks like she’s struggling just to put together a sentence to refute that statement. Thankfully, her brother is smart enough to not allow her to speak. “That is very generous, Your Highnesses.” Giving a look to his sister, I see him mouth the sentence, “Let me do the talking.”

“The victim, Silver Script, has already been interviewed on the whether or not her story is credible, and between the three of us, we have detected no lies in any of her statements. There is no doubt regarding the charge of assault, given how many witnesses there were, but regarding the credibility of the victim’s testimony, we have character witnesses as well.” Celestia summarizes levelly. “Should the need become necessary, she has also permitted a viewing of her memories to corroborate that her statements are not false.”

“But Auntie, er, Princess Celestia!” Blueblood protests suddenly, his eyes wide and ears twitching. “Surely a memory can be falsified just as easily as one can deceive a lie detection spell by believing a circumstance.”

“Implying the princesses are so incompetent as to not recognize a bad memory,” I whisper to Shining Armor in a disbelieving tone. “I knew he was a drunken idiot, but I didn’t realize he was mentally handicapped.” 

Ignoring the earlier mudslinging on Aqua’s part, Shining lets out a snicker before whispering back, “I’ve been waiting for this day for years.”

The white princess rises from her seat, spreading her wings threateningly. “Blueblood, you have long been irreverent in my presence, but you dare to question my competence?” she intones angrily. “I would think that between the four of us, we would be able to detect a compromised memory.”

“O-oh,” the noble ‘prince’ whispers, averting his eyes from Celestia. “So I am to be examining the memories as well, then.”

Oh hell no! I did not agree to having that arsehole poking around in my mind. I don’t care whether or not he deserves to know what kind of a twisted slut his youngest sister is! That man—stallion, whatever—is a drunken lout and a lecher. I half expect to come out of the memory to see him sporting a stiffy right in front of me. Ergo, I do not want him in my head.

“Relax,” Shining whispers beside me. It’s not enough to quell my unease, but it distracts me from “Just like last time, he’ll only see what he needs to see.”

“Or feel.”

“What?”

“Are you ready, Silver Script?” Celestia asks, jerking my attention back to the exchange between Celestia, Luna and the Bluebloods. “I understand that this will be uncomfortable for you to relive, but know that we are here to support you.”

I want to point out that I’ve undergone a memory viewing before, and that I’ll be reliving this in the most literal sense, but there’s really no point in getting snarky with the princess. “Nobody is ever ready to relive these things,” I say in my most defiant tone. “I will because I must.”

With a nod, Celestia approaches. Her horn is alight with gold in an instant. By the time the tip of her horn touches my forehead, I barely notice the others drawing near. My vision narrows until it’s a single point of light among the darkness. The last thing I hear before that point of light disappears is Luna speaking. “Cutlass, make sure this one doesn’t go anywhere.”


~ 27 ~


When the memory comes into focus, I’m momentarily worried for the outside world. See, I’m not exactly sure how the body reacts when you are undergoing the sensations of a memory. I recall that when subjected to the memory of eating meat, Shining Armor and the university’s chancellor were both rendered physically ill. Why would that be a problem?

The first moment of the memory begins with me voiding my bladder in the mare’s restroom. Yeah. If two stallions get sick from a memory, would ponies not have accidents as a result of a memory where they can feel their bladder voiding? Think about it. Two princesses, the head of a noble house, and a prince consort delve into a mare’s memories and immediately piss themselves.

My body tenses up at the sound of giggling interrupting the silence of the restroom. It’s not uncommon for gossiping mares to flock to the bathroom together, but in the memory, I’m on edge from my heat, rendered paranoid by Aqua Regia’s cucumber torment. Tentatively, I wipe myself clean, flinching as my oversensitive vulva is agitated by the low grade toilet paper.

Exiting the stall, I’m greeted by the sight of Aqua Regia and a number of her female cronies, just sitting there, giggling. All of them find something humorous except Aqua, who simply stands there, grinning. There isn’t any indication that they’ve been discussing anything. They’re just grinning and giggling.

“Aqua, I sincerely hope you aren’t here to subject me to another levitating cucumber,” my memory doppelganger dryly speaks as the memory directs her. The fear I’m experiencing as Aqua’s stooges position themselves to either side of me, trapping me between the stall door, which has been dragged shut by somepony’s magic. “I would assume a member of the royal family would be above such childishness.”

The mare takes on a look of mock offense, and her fan-fillies let out a number of unappreciative noises. Finally, Aqua’s figment of memory takes on a thoughtful, even concerned smile. “Oh dear, you’ve really got it bad,” she says in condescending false concern. “Let it be known that I am a merciful princess and am always willing to help a subject in need. Aren’t I girls?” Her cronies all snicker darkly, but it does nothing to alleviate the unadulterated malice behind their smiling visages. “I can help you out with your little heat problem... if you’ll let me.”

There’s nothing I can do to hide the unbidden revulsion that surges through the memory. It’s powerful enough that it distorts the entire memory, speeding up my next spoken parts so that it comes off as one rapidfire sentence. “Youcantakeyourhelpandshoveitupyourplot-hole, gofuckyourself.”

After that, Aqua’s response is multitudes more intelligible. “But my darling subject, that’s what I want to help you with!” Even as she says this, things happen in rapid succession. Her horn alights in an acid-green glow, and before her face forms a solid sphere of magic. At that same instant, the goons lunge at me, grabbing hold of my forelegs, and using their superior size to leverage me flat against the wall. The fear coursing through my veins as she approaches is only eclipsed by the dread I feel when she whispers, “You’ll thank me for this later.”


~ 27 ~


Reliving proves too painful, too shameful, and too embarrassing for me to finish entirely. A spike of pain lances through my skull as the lingering feelings of defeat and shame wash over me, just before Aqua asks me to pleasure her in return. My humiliation at being brought to orgasm against my will, and then reliving it while others relive it with me, reignites all of the repressed emotions and fears, sending an icy wave of panic through my system.

Even before my vision clears, I know that I’m crying. It’s not the tears streaming down my face or the sound of crying—you can’t really sob when you’re hyperventilating after all—that clues me in on the fact that I am crying. I think the only reason I initially realize that I am crying at all is the fact that somepony has draped a wing over me.

“Breathe, my little pony,” that pony whispers into my ear. “It’s over now. You did very well.”

“P-p-le-he-hease, d-d-don’t make me g-g-go through that again,” I stutter, after a failed bout of controlled breathing. “I-I-I promise to b-b-be good! I-I-I’ll leave the n-n-no-b-b-bles alone! Swear!”

Blinking away the tears, I look up at the pony comforting me—Luna—as she stares back down at me in horror. When she tears her eyes away from my tormented gaze, the moon princess looks over to Celestia. “I fear this was a mistake, sister,” she murmurs. “We should never agreed to having her relive this.”

“Well, Blueblood?” Shining Armor asks in a shaky voice, as though he too is perturbed by the episode of my dream. “Are you convinced that the memory is real?”

I can’t bring myself to look in the direction of the noble prince or his damned sister. Still his words come. “I am no expert in the mind, but the emotions and... sensations behind the memory felt real enough.” If I were in a better state of mind, I might even take some comfort in how disturbed he sounds. “Shall we take a break while I confer with my sister as to what we have witnessed?”

Celestia doesn’t even break her gaze with Luna. She just nods and says, “You have five minutes.”

All I want to do at this point is curl up and die. It’s simply impossible that the four of them missed the pleasure I took in my climax. Blueblood is likely to try and turn this on me, stating that it couldn’t have been rape because I liked it, and Celestia, Shining Armor, and Luna aren’t going to be able to deny that I enjoyed myself to some degree. They’re going to have no choice but to throw out the rape charge, and Aqua will get nothing but a slap on the wrist!

I shouldn’t have allowed them to my memories. Make them view Aqua’s memories; that’s what I should have done. Aqua’s going to go free, and I’m going to become one of those mares. That is all I’ll be now: the mare that cried rape. Knowing this, Aqua can come after me all she wants, and nopony will believe me!

“Silver Script, you have to calm down,” Luna states in a very commanding tone. “You have just relived a very traumatic incident, and you are now going into shock.” I try to pull away in spite of my injured hooves, but she pulls me tight against her side with a wing, and uses a free hoof to force me to look at her cyan eyes. “I need you to focus on my voice and listen to me, Silver.

“You are not a bad pony,” she intones in a soothing voice. “What happened to you, and what you felt because of it, is not your fault. Now, I need you to take long, deep breaths; by hyperventilating, you are severely limiting the amount of air getting to your brain.” Maybe it’s the sincere look in her eyes, or the way her voice rings true in my ears, but every breath seems to come easier. “You may be feeling dizzy, ill, or faint, and you are likely not thinking straight. This too will pa—”

“I don’t understand, brother!” Aqua Regia shouts in outrage. “She’s just some miserable commoner on a scholarship! She doesn’t even deserve all this concerned attention they are heaping on her, so why do they care so much about her? Look at her, all cozy with Princess Luna while I am on trial!” In spite of my reinforced fear of the mare, I find myself looking in her direction, only to find her glaring back at me. “Why must I be held a criminal for no crime worth mentioning?”

“Aqua Regia, you are crossing boundaries you do not understand,” Celestia says evenly, her voice seemingly barely contained. “This mare is owed a debt that can barely be repaid.”

“What debt, if I might ask?” Blueblood asks, a lot less aggressively than his sister, but no less challenge in his voice. “For all the research Aqua has had me put into the mare, she simply doesn’t exist before last spring. Her first recorded appearance is as a visitor to an out-of-town mare in the hospital. I have found no registration of birth, no record of childhood education, and no medical records. Despite all this, you are providing her shelter, education, and a rather lofty stipend for a mare who has never worked a day in her life.”

“I’m rather surprised you didn’t put two and two together, Blueblood,” Shining replies mockingly. “Didn’t you listen to Twilight’s coronation speech?”

The noble prince stares at Shining Armor in confusion for a moment, mouthing the word speech for a moment. “Oh,” is all he says. Despite the shaken expression on his face, there’s something off about him. It’s almost like he’s working something over inside that tiny mind of his. For just the slightest of seconds, the corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile.

It occurs to me that Blueblood and Aqua Regia have made believable denials in regards to knowing enough about me to have forged the suicide letter left by the mercenaries in the wake of my kidnapping. Who, then, is responsible for all that then? Is this all just some political game to some other noble?

Celestia steps forward, approaching the two nobles. “Now, are you ready to testify in your defense, Aqua Regia?”

The red noblemare shakes her head. “You’ve already made your decision,” she replies irreverently. “You’re going to side with your pet either way.”

“You do realize, Princess Aqua Regia, that a refusal to cooperate in these circumstances can be taken as an admission of guilt,” Shining Armor states in what surely must be a rehearsed speech. “If you do not wish to testify in front of Silver, the four of us can review your memories. There should be no problem there, unless there is something you wish to hide.”

Aqua glares at the lot of us—Celestia, Luna, Shining Armor, her brother, and of course me—with great malice. I can practically see the smoke pouring from her ears and nostrils, as though she were a highly agitated dragoness. “I am a princess! I do not submit to mind probes at the whim of a former guard! I will not be a participant of this gong show!”

A sad expression overtakes Celestia’s countenance as the foolish noblemare digs her own grave. “Let the record show that Aqua Regia’s refusal to testify does not contain any denial of the crimes for which she is charged.” Wait, who is she talking to? Is this being recorded magically or something pending review? “Further, her refusal to submit to a memory examination indicates guilt on her part. Seeing as there has been no defense made in the case of rape, and a number of credible witnesses that can be summoned regarding the assault, we see no other option than to find Aqua Regia of House Blueblood guilty on all charges.”

This kind of thing should be shocking to Blueblood, since obviously this isn’t going to play out well for his family either, so why is he smiling?

“Per the standard punishment for rape, Aqua Regia’s womb and ovaries will be rendered inert by enchantment upon processing,” Luna states coldly. “Further, she will be sentenced to five years in prison on the regard of the assault. For its part in these crimes, for the Head of House Blueblood could surely not have known what one of his own was up to, Silver Script is to be—”

“Actually, Your Highnesses, before you drag House Blueblood into these proceedings, I would like to present you with a document.” Blueblood is absolutely beaming with malevolence as he conjures up a scroll and levitates it over to the princesses.

The elder reads over the document, her face growing confused. “This is a writ of permanent familial termination, Blueblood,” she states in a tone that indicates a response is not welcome. “This is dated two months ago.”

Of all the ponies in the room, none is more shocked than Aqua. Her eyes brim with tears as she looks at her elder sibling. “Brother, what is the meaning of this? This is hardly the time for jokes!”

Grinning, Blueblood answers in a calm tone. “It’s quite simple, my dear. You have proved a threat to the standing and well-being of House Blueblood, so you have been irrevocably terminated from the family.”

Celestia and Luna share a look before glancing down apologetically at me. “Taking into account this disgusting turn of circumstances, we cannot in good conscience send Aqua Regia to prison when an even harsher sentence has been enacted.” What? No, Luna! You do not get to be merciful with this fucking cow! She’s done unto others, now do unto her! “Pending processing, we hereby sentence you to five years probation. You will be required to check in with your probation officer daily, and you will not go within two hundred meters of Silver Script or the university.”

“Do you understand the conditions of your sentence as they have been read to you?” Celestia asks. The mare formerly called princess blinks repeatedly for a few moments before nodding slowly to the princess. “Good. Now, for your disgusting attempts at circumventing your punishment for your sister’s crimes, House Blueblood will be required to liquidate fifty percent of its assets and donate them all to charity.”

“But that’s millions of bits worth of—”

“Sixty.”

My hooves ache in protest as I rise to my feet, but I don’t care. Between the shame I feel at having been forced to relive all that again, and the betrayal of Luna’s mercy freshly slapped in my face, I’m too numb to feel the pain. I don’t notice any of the ponies in the room or their cries of protest as I make my way to the door. How can something that went so right go so wrong?

I mean, Celestia and Luna have one job in this case, and that is to ensure that justice is served! What do they do? They give her a slap on the fucking wrists and a tight leash! So what if she’s stripped of all her belongings, her dignity, her family, and support? If that had been me, I guarantee I’d be straight back into a fucking jail cell! Fuck mercy; the bitch should hang for what she did!
> Chapter 28: Understanding
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Thish ishn’t fuckin’ fair,” I grumble to Blossom some time after that sham of a trial. We’re sitting in her room while I drink away my anger, because why the fuck not? “How could she do thish to me, Blosshom?”

Chill Beat, eying the bottle of Griffish—Irish, in other words—Cream clutched against my belly, frowns at me from her bed. “I know that you’re upset with their decision—”

“You shink?”

“—but try to think about it from their point of view,” she pleads, looking from me to her sister. “Even if there was no public trial, the case will still be made public. They have to weigh the public opinion and make a judgement that will be seen as fair by the majority.”

Blossom pulls me into more upright position and hugs me against her barrel as she tries to run a brush through a random tangle in my mane. “But sister, how is any of that fair?” she asks in honest confusion. “Aqua Regia was found guilty of rape and assault by the princesses, yet she got off with five years of probation.”

“Myeah!” I murmur around the mouth of the bottle as I drain it of its contents. “Wha she shayd.”

Shaking her head, Beat hops off of her bed and trots over to her desk. Enveloping a sheet of parchment and a drumstick on her desk in her pink magical aura, she holds them both in front of her. The parchment bends into a sturdy delta and she balances the drumstick on it. “It’s like this,” she says in a very... teacherly tone. “They’ve already balanced out the crime of rape by rendering her reproductive tract inert, effectively neutralizing her sex drive and, according to recent studies, stunting the likelihood she’s going to do anything of the such again.” The drumstick tilts precariously to one side of the delta, its tip pointing down at the floor.

“Now, normally an assault with the intent to maim lands a prison sentence of five years, and the princesses were fully prepared to do so, right?” she continues, tilting the drumstick back into an even position. “Then Blueblood excommunicated her from House Blueblood with no chance of her ever coming back. She lost her home, her belongings, her money, and most of all, her family and support. That’s on top of her pending expulsion from the university.” 

This time, the drumstick tilts in the opposite direction, pointing the tip near vertically. “If the princesses sent her to prison, Aqua would come out homeless, already stigmatized for her crimes, and no knowledge of the employment atmosphere,” she says angrily. “As much as we don’t like rapists and violent criminals, ponies don’t like seeing their own suffer. Aqua won’t be getting off easily. For the next five years of her life, she’ll be reporting her daily movements to the Royal Guard. Since she can’t even leave town, she’s stuck looking for work in Canterlot and living out of a shelter.”

“Y’almosht shound like yer schticking up fer her,” I grumble, turning away from her fancy-shmancy visual aids, and burying my face into Blossom’s neck. “What shide you on?”

The drumstick strikes the ground with a clatter. “How can you even say that after how I stuck up for you?” Her accusation hurts more than she realizes, because I know how disloyal that sounded. “I was simply explaining why I thought the princesses did it the way they did. I know you’re hurting big-time because things didn’t work out exactly the way you expected, but you shouldn’t take it out on me!”

For the longest while I say nothing. She’s absolutely correct; I have no right to take any of this out on her. She’s under no obligation to let me stay here until I’m sober, yet when I showed up at the door on a borrowed cloud, wearing a blood-stained prison uniform, and smelling like coffee liqueur, she let me right in. It doesn’t matter to her that I’m somewhat belligerent or the fact that I can’t piece together a sentence without slurring my words. What matters is that I’m her friend and sister’s lover, and that I’m hurting in more ways than one.

“‘m sorry,” I grumble. “Is jusht... ’m angry, I guessh. Didn’ even punish ‘er for rapin’ me. Jusht magically make her infertile ‘n shend’er on her way.”

“What do you mean?” Blossom asks, trying to run the brush through my tangled mane. “She is unable to continue her bloodline. This goes against a pony’s natural drive to ensure their legacy lives on. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“Maybe itsh different here, but where I came from, we didn’t jusht geld a man. It jusht don’t work like that,” I mutter, staring down at my still-bandaged hooves. I will definitely have issues brewing a potion strong enough to repair the damage, and even then, I’ll still be limping for a while. “Shexual shadism comes from the head, not the groin, sho even if you geld a shtallion—nishe double shtandard, by the way—he can shtill find other waysh to torture shomepony. Broomshtick, for example. We shtick’em in prison for a few yearsh and rehabilitate’m. Even then, people ‘voided them like the plague.”

“That sounds horrible! How can they imprison somepony for something they can’t help?” Blossom says with great offense. “They wouldn’t imprison a pony just because they suffer from Magpie Syndrome, would they?”

“That’sh jusht it,” I reply after staring at her in confusion for a moment. “Mosht cashes they can. Itsh not that hard to shee you have a problem and sheek pshycological help. Shometimes they like who they are though, sho they don’t. Like I shayd, maybe itsh diff here, and choppin’ shome poor shod’sh nutsh off shtops it, but it’sh more complicated back home.”

“That’s another thing,” Beat says with a disgusted look on her face. “Why do you keep going on about physical castration? Ponies haven’t done anything that barbaric for centuries. Too many complications with the mares, and even the princesses get things wrong sometimes. Sure we still use the word geld, but it’s not like it holds the same meaning as it used to.”

I stare at the mare in shock for a few moments. How is it I had the notion that they were physically removing a stallion’s testes? Wait, it was Lyra. “Prolly cuz Lyra ushed the word to explain why she had to be turned female after an unfortunate encounter with an old friend,” I answer, mollified. “Gotta undershtand, we were the only shentients back on earth, horshes and cattle were jusht dumb liveshtock, and to prevent them from breedin’ uncontrollably on the farms, we generally neutered the malesh.”

I guess that implication is a bit grim for Beat, judging by the look she throws behind me, to Blossom. “Anywaysh, mind if I crash here for the night?” I ask, shifting uneasily about on the bed. “Don’t wanna walk on theshe right now, an’ I think somepony already fucked off with my cloud.”

“No.”

“Of course you can.”

“What?” Beat asks, her body rigid with incredulity. “I don’t wanna hear none of your canoodling. Go home, Silver; you’re drunk.”

“Sister, please,” Blossom counters. “It’s because she’s drunk that we should let her stay. She could get hurt or worse in her condition!”

The unicorn mare looks me in the eyes, returns her gaze to her sister, and then sags. “Fiiine. No canoodling.”

Content that I’m not about to be sent off to drunkenly stagger down the hall on cracked hooves, I let my head flop down unceremoniously on the bed. This, of course, is not without a grumble of complaint from Ice Blossom, who isn’t finished with my mane.  “I shwear,” I murmur into the bedsheet. “If thish bad luck keepsh up, I’m headin’ back to Ponyville.”


~ 28 ~


The next few days go by unusually quietly. After roping Beat into helping me brew up my regenerative—an easy feat when I remind her that she wanted to set me loose while drunk and injured—I barely see any of my friends. At first, I am convinced that they’re just giving me space to brood over the fact that I don’t get the satisfaction of seeing Aqua in a stylish jumpsuit like mine, but that feeling passes, leaving me wondering whether or not they’re just busy preparing for the start of the new semester. Either way, it gets kinda lonely when you’re stuck constantly limping around with nopony’s shoulder to lean on. It almost feels like Blossom especially is avoiding me.

That mystery resolves itself on the evening of the day before classes begin. When I enter the common room in hopes of getting off of my hooves for a bit, I am blasted with confetti and streamers and glitter—seriously, why do ponies think glitter bombing is a good idea? Oh hey; your eyes look like they could use some tiny flecks of plastic in them! Yeah, that's a totally appropriate way to greet somepony.

“Surprise!” a large number of ponies shout as they leap from behind various articles of furniture in the common room. A few of them fire off party poppers at me, while another messy-maned pony decides that a lemon meringue pie to the face is the proper way to greet somepony. Three guesses who I think that is, and the first two don't count. “Happy birthday, Silver!”

So it would seem that today is my birthday. That's news to me! Pretty sure I haven’t actually told anyone my date of birth or age. Wiping the pie—what a waste—and glitter from my eyes, I glare about in search of the pink-maned menace that assaulted me with a treat. After a few moments, I spot her lowering the needle of a phonograph onto a record. “Today’s my birthday?” I ask, licking the meringue and lemon filling from my tension bandage-wrapped hoof. The pie’s not bad, but I’ll definitely need to replace the bandage before the day’s out now. “How do you figure?”

Pinkie smiles broadly and sucks in a long breath. “Well, a little white birdy told me you were feeling down and wanted to hold you a party. Since you never let me hold you a birthday party during your short stay in Ponyville, I figured maybe your birthday had passed. Since you never seem to write anypony but Lyra, except for that one time you ordered that gift for Spike, I never found out if you had a birthday yet.” Pausing to breathe, her smile grows wide enough to threaten the immediate separation of the top of her head. “So I wrote to everypony you know, but it turns out you never had a birthday yet, so it pretty much had to be soon. That works out just as well because this way we can celebrate your first anniversary of living in Equestria early!”

I stare at the mare in shock as people I know—ponies, griffons and royalty alike—gather around me. “I’m going to blow your mind, Pinkie, but I would have told you my birthday if you bloody asked me.” Covering my face with one hoof, I shake my head. “Before you ask why I never told you during what little time I spent in Ponyville, I’d like to remind you about my state of mind in the months following the beginning of my Equestrian life. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.”

Something touches me on the shoulder, and immediately I flinch away. I would be lying if I said I was completely over having to literally relive that horrible event; as much as I might try to deny it, the wounds and trauma of being raped are all fresh in my mind. Every touch of a stranger leaves me fearful and anxious, as though my fight or flight instincts are on autopilot. Am I really so bothered by what has happened because of how absent my friends have been?

Glancing back, I see Blossom watching me worriedly, her hoof hovering an inch away from me. “Silver, I’m sorry if we gave you the impression we’ve been avoiding you,” she pleads, noting the change in my demeanor. Perhaps some hint of what I’ve gone through is showing on my face? “I—after that night, you still seemed so angry and hurt. I worried that if we didn’t give you some space, you’d think we were smothering you, so I suggested we give you some time to think.”

“Where I come from, that would be an incredibly reckless thing to do to the victim of a crime, as it could give them the impression that they’re being blamed or abandoned, which would only worsen their psychological state rather tragically,” I reply flatly. Her expression falls, and everybody else around me seems to wilt as well. “That said, we also have a certain saying, ‘you’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t’. I can’t say that it didn’t hurt, but knowing that it wasn’t done in malice makes me feel better about it.” 

Smiling a bit, I incline my head back toward Pinkie. “October 21st.”

Her eyes sort of twitch in two separate directions, and her mouth opens in a most unnatural snarl, as though her jaw has unhinged. I might almost find it amusing if her whole facial expression didn’t so readily remind me of that damn lamia. Of all the facial expressions the mare could pull, she chooses one that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. Then of course, her voice goes completely demonic, which is completely natural in this sort of situation. “What? But I never miss a friend’s birthday!”

“Relax, Pinkie!” Rainbow Dash interjects. “You didn’t miss it. Just call it a belated birthday party, and you can still hold her one for the next birthday.”

“Apparently missing my twenty-second birthday is a major event,” I mutter quietly. Raising my voice, I say, “Instead of dwelling on that, let’s just go ahead and get this party rolling.” ...and then Pinkie explodes into celebratory glee.


~ 28 ~


I can’t say for sure how long the party lasted. Between the snacks, the presents, and ponies and griffins alike wanting to talk to me, there’s really no gauge for time. All I know is that I feel better following today’s party. The pain and such is obviously still present, but having ponies here for me makes this so much better.

After the little discourse with Pinkie and Blossom, the first pony looking to speak to me is Twilight—Sparkle, not Velvet. She thankfully doesn’t have a gift for me. I say thankfully because honestly, I might expect something like a book called Grief and You: A Victim’s Guide to Dealing with Trauma. It isn’t that I think she’s heartless enough to make such an offering; on the contrary, she’s full of heart. She just the sort of good-natured mare who, in lacking experience with that sort of thing, would try to help the only way she knows how. Either way, just having her here is enough of a gift.

We don’t have too long to discuss my studies or plans for my independent research regarding alchemy beyond filling her in on the gist of it. Of course she commends me for attempting to tackle transformatives and studying the effects of chaos in alchemy, but she definitely manages to take some of the wind from my sails; of course she would mention that in order to maintain a bifurcated study, I would be required to submit twice the amount of progress reports to my professor. Oh well, if that’s the way it has to be, then that’s the way I’ll do it.

After Twilight, Rarity decides she wants a turn with me. Being the mare she is, she’s quick to fuss over my appearance—I can’t really be blamed for not dedicating much time to my mane with my hooves jacked up—but I honestly believe she’s just keeping face. When she looks at me, I can see in her eyes the horror she holds, knowing what I’ve been through. In fact, after her mandatory gripe about my hair, she’s quick to say how sorry she is that I had to go through what every mare fears in one form or another.

Yeah, it’s not exactly something I want to be reminded of, but it’s not like she does it out of malice. Maybe catching on to my mood, she quickly moves on to her ‘present’. I do seem to recall commissioning—as much as it can be considered a commission when they won’t take your money—some new saddlebags from Rarity following my old pair’s demise via lamia. The new ones are a nice olive green, much like that cap I kept with me all this time, held together by an adjustable brown canvas strap. 

Silver Spoon’s contributions to the bag, two artful silver buckles consisting of the convergence of a waxing and crescent moon, are only a portion of what makes this a surprisingly awesome gift; it might be a detour from the original design, but functionally, the buckles work much better in making a whole moon instead of simply a crescent. The right saddlebag, instead of hanging loosely when empty, is not unlike a hardened equipment case. Inside, there are even foam inserts meant to safely house any number of vials, specimen jars, and specimen collection tools. In no uncertain terms, the bag is everything an alchemist could ask for!

Let’s just make one thing clear; just because I end up hugging Rarity until she begs me to let her go, I’m not going soft or becoming like her. My mind might still be reeling in some form of PTSD instability, but I’m genuinely grateful that she talked me out of paying her. I’ll never tell her as much, but her generosity in this case—hah—really does make this feel like a gift.

Not everybody present at the coronation could make it, of course. Applejack and Fluttershy both have occupation obligations that simply don’t allow them to be away for ungodly lengths of time. At any rate, it’s probably for the best. Applejack would likely gift unto me cider, or apple whiskey, or some sort of fattening apple related treat, and Fluttershy would probably end up trying to get me to take in a rabbit or a kitten or some other diabolically—read diabetically—cute critter. By Celestia, who knows what kind of trouble I could get into? Oh! Tribbles come to mind. Definitely tribbles.

From Gale, I receive my compass back, and a package of spicy jerky to be consumed in privacy. Chill Beat did not fail to notice that my shades did not make the return trip from Ponyville, and thus I now own some stylish, protective sunglasses that apparently work well for alchemy and spot welding—I almost wanna ask how she could know this. From Rainbow Dash, I receive some quality flight goggles and an offer for a gig with Ponyville’s weather patrol if Canterlot doesn’t work out for me. Likewise, Princess Cadance informs me that the Crystal Empire could use an alchemist and that I’m always welcome. Gaius’s gift, although more of an offer, kinda feels like a ‘too soon’ sort of deal; his gift is an offer of self defense training. If I ever feel safe being touched again, I might give it a shot, but I’m not holding my breath.

Gearalt’s gift... that’s really something special. Instead of something conventional or practical, his gift is something that I could never have expected. At first glance, he doesn’t appear to have anything for me, but then he points to the gramophone set up just off to the side and tells me that’s part of his gift. From beneath one of his wings, he withdraws a record sleeve and brings it over to the player. I tell you, the moment my voice starts flowing from the machine’s horn, the waterworks just start.

Anybody will tell you that it’s all well and good to think your voice sounds great when singing, but to actually hear yourself as an audience heard you? That is a humbling experience. That’s not why the tears are going, though. The song playing is the very one I vocalized before Aqua Regia made her appearance. That event is forever marred by her appearance in my memory... but now? Now I can listen to my performance in its erstwhile beauty, without having to think back past Aqua. Part of me wants to ask where he even got a recording, but I’m content to just accept the gift for what it is.

When Blossom’s turn comes, I’m actually surprised that she has present. That isn’t to say that I am disappointed—not at all! It’s plain enough to see that this very party is her idea and gift to me. This is the sort of naive, loving thing I’ve come to expect of the mare. Coupled with seeing her Falcon Punch my rapist, a party surrounded by ponies who care about me more than makes up for her absence over the last few days. So a pair of crescent moon barrettes is just the little extra bit of icing on the cake.

Pinkie? Pinkie’s, well... Pinkie. She has the weirdest idea of gifts, but somehow her nonsequitur way of thinking almost makes sense. Only that mare can decide on giving somepony a cucumber, wool shears, and a muffin tin, and still expect them to have any idea what to do with it. Fearing her line of thinking, I’ve no intention of asking. Just... no.

At least I’m having fun.


~ 28 ~


As the night draws to a close, Shining Armor pulls me aside. The royal consort is trying to look casual about it all, but his stiff bearing betrays his intent. “Listen, Silver,” he says with concern tinging his voice, “I know the other day was rough for you. That memory—” He shudders visibly and a blush bleeds through his coat. “—was absolutely horrifying. Nopony blames you for running off, feeling the way you did. Not even Princesses Celestia or Luna.

“That being said, you did leave before we could address your foalnapping.” He looks down. “I know that we all would have liked to throw Blueblood or Aqua Regia under the cart, but they both willingly submitted to memory probes and various lie detection batteries. They did not do it, and if anypony under their employ did, it was without their knowledge or approval.”

“I know,” I reply, turning away to lean against a nearby wall. “It made too much sense for it to be them, as much as I’d like it to be that way.” With a sigh, I paw listlessly at the floor. “I guess part of me just wished that Equestrian nobility wasn’t just some drow-like caste, where vicious political games treat the uninvolved as pawns. Why should a wonderful woman like Blossom have to go through all that horrible shit just because some greedy bastard with deep pockets wants to usurp some other rich bastard’s position?” Before I realize it, the tears are running free. “How is that fair?”

“How is that fair to you, Silver?” he asks sympathetically. “You’re trying to put up a strong front with some bravado, but it’s clear that you’re hurting. It’s okay to let go now though. Aqua can’t hurt you now. Neither can Blueblood. Hay, if Princess Luna has her way, the entire Canterlot upper echelon is going to know that ponies sponsored by the crown are off-limits, and not to be used as pawns in their twisted political agendas.”

Rounding on him, I stare down my narrow muzzle at the prince consort. He’s definitely trying to make me feel better, but to what end? “So the ones responsible have been caught then.” This is not phrased as a question, but as a statement of fact. “And they’re being made an example of.”

Looking away in discomfort, Shining Armor doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating as a stallion his size should be. Somehow, he manages to look cowed by my statement. Why would that be? “No, those responsible haven’t—”

With a disgusted look, I force air through my nostrils in a frustrated snort. “Then they’ve gone to ground by now!” I hiss angrily. “Why even bring it up?”

“Because I trust in my successor to flush them out and bring them to justice,” he replies evenly, meeting my glare with a confident look. “I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t have the utmost confidence in those on the case.” When he softens his gaze, a smile creeps across his face. “Look, I expect you’re tired of all this, so if you’d like, I can tell them you’d like to be left out of the proceedings regarding your kidnapping.”

Returning his smile, I begin to limp away. “Thanks, I’d like that,” I reply. “With everything I want to achieve, I’d rather stay out of the public eye for a bit.”


~ 28 ~


Dear Diary,

Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it. I’m not talking about life, or being a pony, or even studying alchemy. No, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth trying not to look like some sort of Mary Sue in the story that is my life. It seems like every time I’m presented with an option to take the easy way—one I almost always refuse—out and make my life so much more simpler, I am always presented with unbalanced turnabout.

It first happened in the days following my permanent stay as a pony. I was in a right awful state, unsure of what to do, reeling with my parent’s rejection and denial. In the state I was in, I probably could have asked the princesses to set me up with a small fortune, and maybe make me a noble, and they probably would have obliged me. Instead I asked only a stipend to live on until I found my niche in life and a scholarship for education. What did that earn me? A lot of hardship.

I probably could have done really well with myself if I’d decided to side with Aqua Regia instead of standing up to her. Who knows, maybe I could have even made a difference in the mare’s life. Maybe none of what happened to me would have happened the way it did. Instead, for standing up against a stuck-up noble, I’ve been raped, shunned, and in general not been welcomed.

Following that, I had the option of keeping my mouth shut and hoping she’d simply back the fuck off. Maybe it would have turned out differently? Instead, I made public her indiscretions, and put into play some random noble house’s grab for power. I had to relive one of the most traumatic events in my life to ensure Aqua was bent over and fucked by the princesses.

So do I regret the choices I’ve made? No. In spite of every ‘bad’ choice I’ve made, something good has come from my actions. If I hadn’t made enemies with Aqua, I would never have ponied up and eaten meat. I wouldn’t have even met Blossom, my love, since I would never have convinced her I was some mythological cannibal.

Without the mental scars of my rape, I might not have been as malignant toward Rainbow Dash during my trip to Ponyville, and wouldn’t have put her on the spot. We wouldn’t have made peace. I probably wouldn’t even have made it out of the forest without everything that I’d inadvertently set up with all of my choices.

For all the bad it’s done me, my traumas made me the mare I am. I don’t think I’d trade it for anything in the world. My friends have helped me through everything that life has thrown at me, and they continue to be a beacon of light. Even now that school’s back in play, they’ve been very supportive of me, especially Blossom.

The love I hold for that mare... it grows every day. Not long after the party, we met up in the atrium, much like we did that one night so long ago. Beneath the very same tree, in fact. We decided that my actual birthday wasn’t going to be one big party. Just the two of us, maybe try to make something special of the night. We’ll discuss it more the closer the date comes, but a nice night out together sounds great.

At least something became of that interrupted night together, read kidnapping. It took some time, but eventually that Captain Cutlass fellow managed to get to the center of all that corruption and tracked down the assholes that tried to fake my death and pin it on the Bluebloods. Turns out some noble house that had fallen out of power in the last decade used to have good ties with House Blueblood, but started a blood—hah—feud following the disappearance of their daughter. I think the house’s name was Shimmer or something equally glittery. Whatever, I just want to wash my hooves of the whole affair at this point; so long as they are punished, I don’t want anything else.

My research projects have been working really well. Both branches are going incredibly well. Most of the details are going into my research notes, but I made some interesting observations about the zebra potion during a case study. What’s more, I’m almost certain that I’ve gotten the key to transformatives. The cure for the common cold is also looking good. If this pans out, my research could be used as the basis for curing many maladies that have an almost random basis. I even managed to make a stable version of the zebra potion, where you are at absolutely no risk of knocking a sexual partner up or being knocked up. That alone would go well on the recreational sex market, I think... though I wonder if maybe Blossom might like to play with that?

Probably the only thing that seems to be going awry for me is the fact that things have been going missing. Starling’s cursed compass, my brush, and various trinkets of mine have gone missing from my room, but more importantly, I somehow misplaced one of the vials of zebra potion for a clinical trial. I have my suspicions, but Gale insists it wasn’t her. One of the other students seems to have been rifling through the professor’s cabinets full of student research data. My data is among some of the things to have gone missing. So of course one has to worry that someone’s trying to take credit for my findings.

So yeah, I’m worried. For now, though, I’m going to knock off for the night. Gotta be well rested if I plan on trying to give myself griffon talons. Luna only knows how much a transformation like that is going to hurt.

~Silver Script, late o’clock, September 29th, 2002 PH

> Interlude V: Eros
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Zebra Potion Clinical Study - Notes for Report



Operated by Silver Script and overseen by Dr. Caduceus


Purpose: Study the various effects of the Zebra Potion, hereby dubbed Eros, on ponies and how it interacts with various affectations of pony physiology.

Study Group: Five ponies of each sex and race, totaling fifteen stallions and fifteen mares.
-Three mares and three stallions volunteered to be temporarily ‘neutered’ for part of this study.
-Two trial subjects have had gonadal tissues removed for medical reasons.
-See appended list for full pre-trial subject details.

Study Format: 1 - Subject dosed with 50 ml Eros.
2 - Physical and magical examination by Caduceus. [See Examination Protocols for full procedures.]
3 - Allow subject a fifteen minute privacy/grace period to experience altered form.
4 - Subject dosed with 50 ml alchemical purgative Mother’s Kiss.
5 - Pay subject 15 bits from research grant following reversion.

Examination Protocols: 1 - Collect blood, semen/ova, dependent on subject’s altered sex, and tissue for comparison to preserved samples collected by medical student Locus.
2 - Record pheromonal changes in altered subjects.
3 - Probe for physical changes, and check reactions to stimuli.
4a - In the ‘neuter’ subset, check dormancy spell interaction with effects of potion.
4b - In the cases with the physically altered mare and stallion, check gonadal state for changes/regeneration.
Addendum - To prevent unwanted accidents, no two subjects of the opposite sex shall be transformed simultaneously. See Findings for further details.

Notes: In preemptive trial, a baseline has been set for ‘pseudo-stallions’. Pseudo-stallion baseline ‘Subject Zero’ [See Appendix B. for full details] exhibits exaggerated arousal state and an unnatural magnetism toward receptive sexual partners, regardless of sex. Likewise, Subject Zero sample found to be highly virile and contains compound found to induce estrus. Pheromone blockers highly recommended for those involved in study operations. While no baseline has been set for the pseudo-mares in the study, it is postulated that physical stimulation might somehow cause an estrus-state to make up for lack of heat-inducing compound in the semen of non-altered stallions.

Findings: All subjects in pseudo-stallion test pool match with baseline established in pre-emptive study. Compounds in semen found to match estrus-inducing compound in Subject Zero samples. Curiously, a larger test pool has revealed an enhanced proclivity to seek out a receptive mate. While Caduceus’ medical team was examining a pseudo-mare, a pseudo-male subject left his exam room and intruded on the exam. Subjects were quickly subdued and separated before copulation could occur, but both were behaving in an almost feral manner, lacking any indication of consciousness beyond a drive for sex until they were reverted. To prevent any further incidents, all tests following this one alternated between two mares and two stallions.

It should be noted that following even minor vulvar or vaginal stimulation, even the use of a speculum, pseudo-mares rapidly entered what can only be described as rapid estrus. The pheromone secretion levels are tenfold compared to those of a normal mare in heat, and multiple cases show indication of multiple simultaneous ovulations. I worry that should the two subjects have been permitted to breed, quadruplets would not be out of the question. Caduceus might have been eager to determine whether or not a natural reversion would occur following impregnation, but the legal ramifications of allowing such a thing when the subjects are clearly not in a proper state of mind were more than enough to assure him we did the right thing. It is at least worth including for a future experiment, should we find volunteers interested in such a trial.

Unfortunately, from our findings regarding the ‘neuter’ subgroup, we now know that this marital aid will never be able to be sold or distributed without regulation. The spells that render a stallion’s sex drive and gonads inert is completely different from the ones that render a mare’s womb, ovaries, and sex drive inert, and therefore did not translate in the transformation. This means that a neutered mare is very much an ‘active’ stallion, and vice versa. Worse, in the ‘neuter’ group, it was observed almost unilaterally that transformed subjects’ sex drives were far higher than the non-neuter test pool, causing them to act as though some biological urge to make up for even a bit of lost time. These pseudo-stallions exhibited immediate, lasting erections and achieved multiple climaxes during their privacy/grace period, and the pseudo-mares in this group were even more sensitive than the main test pool. The neutering spells were recorded as still being intact upon reversion. With this in mind, a pony ‘neutered’ as punishment for a crime could theoretically use this potion as a manner to skirt their punishment and continue their bloodline.

Sadly, the regenerative effects observed with Subject Zero do not seem to extend to the cases with physical removals. Neither subject was observed exhibiting the slightest bit of arousal following their transformations. The mare turned pseudo-stallion bore no testicles, and the stallion turned pseudo-mare did not express the same estrus symptoms due to lack of ovaries.

That isn’t to say that this potion does not have some therapeutic use. One mare in the test group was cured of colorblindness, and likewise a stallion had major depth perception problems. Both issues the subjects had suffered from since birth, and both could see much better following their transformations and reversions. I can only reassert that some random, chaotic little piece of this puzzle alters the recipient’s genetics to remove anything that might be detrimental to the survival and spreading of one’s genes.

Suggested Points of Study: Forward research to ponies in the field of genetics and advise that this could be used as a form of gene therapy. Likewise, the core of the transformative effects should be isolated and tested with a stability catalyst added in. Objectively, this research may lead to stable, non-breeding related sex transformations, targeted body-part transition, or even entire changes in species.


~ Interlude V ~


Dear Diary,

Right, so, just got out of the emergency clinic. Interesting story. I may or may not have made my hooves explode while testing my griffon-claw potion. Well, explode might be the wrong word. Explode implies a violent rapid expansion. This was more of a splitting from the edges of my hooves right up my fetlocks. They were prehensile, but extremely painful. Like I said before, I had to go to an emergency clinic to have my forelegs bound after having a purgative to revert my forelegs back from claws.

For the record, my potion DID do its job. My hooves did take on the texture of a griffon’s avian claws... along with most of the rest of my body. The transformation just wasn’t complete. In spite of the agony—or was it because of the agony?—I immediately knew what went wrong. Although I swapped out the ingredient symbolic of the body for a target-specific ingredient, I failed to account for the changes potency resultant of removing that potency modifier involved in the original sex-change potion. The stabilizing agent I threw in probably didn’t help any, either. Worked better in the ‘Safe Eros’, because there weren’t any changes in magical interactions in the body in that case.

Now that I know what went wrong, there are so many other things I can start experimenting with. Unicorn horn filings sound like an interesting point to work from; it could be interesting to try to work out my fear of magic. Or, I could work out how much of an eye from my ‘trophy’ would be necessary to give me the gaze of a cockatrice without killing me—the toxicity litmus kit revealed that all of it is highly toxic. Can only imagine how much fun I could have with that.

Good thing is that I’ve almost got the right ratio for a proper cloud-walking potion. This alone would likely be enough to make my grade, but more importantly, I can give Blossom a real special treat. It’s one thing to go for a roll in the hay, but what about going for a roll in the clouds? According to certain... texts I’ve read, sex in the clouds has an especially erotic sensation, and the use of cloud-walking charms and cloud beds is commonplace in honeymoon suites. Even if we don’t do it in a cloud, I could show her the world the way a pegasus sees it.

I also managed to convince Blossom to be a stallion for me for my birthday date. All I have to do is take her on a similar date as a stallion the next week. So there’s something to look forward to.

~ Silver Script, October 14th, 2002 PH


~ Interlude V ~


Dear Diary,

I finally got an opportunity to test a curative today. Not in the way I would have expected, which ideally would have been in a lab setting with actual physicians providing bacteriological samples and test subjects, but it was still something.

Basically, Gale showed up last night looking like shit. This morning, she was basically walking death—runny nose, dry eyes, cold sores on her beak, and a cough that could wake the dead. The girl looked absolutely miserable, and worse, she had a presentation to make that she couldn’t just miss.

My cure for the cold wasn’t tested, so I wasn’t sure I’d gotten all the bugs out of it, but I offered her the opportunity anyway. I didn’t exactly tell her that if this went horribly wrong, I’d essentially be giving her an autoimmune deficiency. It’s not really the sort of warning that instills confidence, you know? Granted, most of the danger lay in properly separating Gale’s red and white blood cells, blood plasma, platelets, and everything else from the bacteria, and that can be blamed on the false advertisement on the perfect magical centrifuge one of the professors in the medical groups granted me limited access to.

Needless to say, my cure didn’t exactly work as planned, but by no way was it in the bad sense. I didn’t give Gale the equivalent of AIDS, but I didn’t cure her cold, either. I can’t be sure what actually happened, but I can guess.

The potion I made was a modification of the blood cleansing potion that I killed the lamia with. Instead of using a clean blood sample as a basis for the purgative, I made it targeted a sample for purging, which is why I needed to be so careful to keep the sample isolated to bacteria. If even a single white or red blood cell got into the sample, she’d be in huge trouble. Seeing as I was unsure of how potent the potion would be without a stabilizer, I didn’t use the standard potency amplifier from the base potion.

What I think happened is that the potion’s yield wasn’t enough to kill every single bacterium in her blood, but left enough dead and weakened cells for her immune system to get a real advantage over the cold. It might even be worthwhile for me to leave this current iteration as the standard. Think of it like a vaccine, only it’s made in your body as the potion works its magic. Instead of purging the infection from your system, your body gets to learn how to better fight future infections of that sort because you left enough there for it to fight. 

Unfortunately, in its present form and preparation, this is going to be very expensive to make. Sure, it can be used to ‘immunize’ anybody to pretty much anything, but unless you have a whole lab dedicated to separating samples and some way to economically mass produce this treatment. Without some major financial backing, only the rich would be able to afford such care. Even then, it’s not something you’d see becoming a part of the standard free healthcare in the next five decades.

Either way, Gale improved enough to be able to make her presentation this afternoon. I just hope she didn’t get me sick. My birthday date with Ice Blossom is just around the corner, and I don’t think I have enough leftover materials for an attempt at curing myself of a cold.

~Silver Script, October 19th, 2002 PH
> Chapter 29: Abyss *
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


At the request of multiple users, there is a trigger warning for the entirety of this chapter. This chapter is soul crushingly brutal and contains violent, sexual content that is incredibly likely to upset many users. Viewer discretion is strongly advised.



Something isn’t right, I realize with a start. There are clear memories in my mind leading up to a certain point—punctuated by a blinding pain radiating from the base of my skull—but beyond that, there’s just this empty feeling in my mind. No, there’s something else too—dread.

I can remember going back to my dorm room to get prettied up for my birthday date with Blossom. That much is clear, because I’m still surprised by how eager she was to be my stallion tonight. If all I had to do was throw together my Safe Eros potion... why can I remember nothing but pain?

Perhaps a better question right now might be where the hell I even am, and who the fuck locked me in here. I mean, this kind of looks like some kind of place out of a horror game. The room is dusty, musty, and dark, yet there’s this vague familiarity about the place. All of the stone walls but one are lined with scorched bookshelves, their contents burned beyond recognition. The one bare wall looks as though it once bore a door and two windows before being bricked over. Hauntingly enough, the way the door and windows are bricked in reminds me of a screaming face.

Almost contrary to physical laws, there is a sourceless beam of light permeating the darkness in the center of the chamber, placing great emphasis a black stone—no, that’s definitely obsidian—dais. The only thing occupying the dark slab is a single unburned tome. Looking at the heavy book, I feel as though there is some sort of trick of the eye about it; whenever I look at it, my eyes almost beg to look elsewhere in the chamber, as though whatever that book contains should not be viewed by mortal eyes and should instead be quickly forgotten.

With nothing else in the chamber worth my attention, however, I find myself paradoxically drawn to the object my mind insists I should leave be. Closer inspection of the tome reveals to me what my subconscious had long ago picked up on: this book is bound in a gray, fuzzy skin—most likely a pony’s, if the cutie mark is any indicator. Just a glance at it betrays the suffering catalogued within, filling my heart with a dread unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

Wait a second! Isn’t that my cutie mark? Sure enough, a second glance at the mark on the cover of the tome reveals an alchemy flask over a crescent moon, its u-shaped points aimed in the same direction as the top of the flask. What in the fuck is going on here? This can’t possibly be mine! Mine’s still attached!

Without giving a thought to what might happen, I move to open it. Almost immediately I regret it; when my hoof touches the edge of the cover, my entire nervous system is wracked by the sudden onset of pain. It’s so all-encompassing that I can’t even separate it all and determine what’s sore and why. Given the sudden burst of agony and just how intensely my body aches, it’s no wonder that I collapsed onto the dais mere moments after touching it.

The strange part is, that the very instant my hoof breaks contact with the cover, the pain ceases. If I had to guess, the book is enchanted—or cursed—to force a very specific number of sensations onto the reader... but why would anypony make something like that? That’s just cruel. It’s even more cruel to lock some poor sod in a room with it, when in all likelihood the only answer to getting out is in that book.

Sighing in resignation, I pull myself completely onto the obsidian dais before lowering myself into a prone position in front of the book. Maybe if I can just flick the pages with a primary feather I can discover the contents of this book and find a way out of here. If I’m lucky, the pain might not even transmit through feathers. Getting out of here could be easier than it looks!

Not wasting any more time, I extend my wing forward and touch it to the cover of the book. My hypothesis is unfortunately not correct, however. Much like before, my entire body seizes up in pain, only this time, a lot of it is centralized in my wing, close to the base. Anypony who has ever had a broken bone recognizes the pain of trying to utilize that limb, and that is most definitely the sensation I’m feeling right now. Drawing back my limb, relishing in the vanishing pain, I allow myself to wonder if it is contextual to how the body is posed.

Turning the pages to this book is going to be a literal pain. Why would anypony make a book like this? Maybe... maybe the pain is intended to be context for the contents, but if that’s the case, why would this help me any? I want to curl up and cry like a little filly after only touching the book twice, and I can’t understand why this is happening at all.

I take a deep breath before firmly affixing my resolute stare on the artifice of agony. “Somepony wants me to understand something,” I whisper to myself, realizing for the first time how hoarse I am. My entire throat feels like I’ve been screaming for hours. “It’s time to find out what this book is all about.”

Again I place my hoof on the cover of the book, and allow the pain to flow through me. Past the initial blinding torment, the sensation dulls slightly until it feels like my body. Wincing, I shut my eyes and begin taking stock of the sensations throughout my body. Somepony went through a lot of trouble to hard-code their pain, so the least I can do is share in it.

The first suffering I sample is the anguish radiating from my muzzle. It’s almost as if I’ve been bucked in the face by a horse. Almost subconsciously, my tongue moves to prod at my teeth. With a squeak of distress, my teeth feel changed—broken—as though every tooth in the front of my muzzle has been shattered like glass. The surprise is too much for me, and my hoof twitches off of the book, returning my teeth to a sensation of normalcy.

It’s a devious little enchantment that not only shrouds the reader in woe, but tricks their very senses into living through what they experienced. A stray memory comes to me, reminding me that Twilight once tried explaining illusion magic to me. I can remember how horrified I felt when she told me that a sufficiently powerful unicorn could convince somepony they were dead. That is why higher tier illusion magic is for the most part restricted. This book is like the magnum opus of some ranking unicorn studying that art, or worse, one of the princesses during a dark, dark time. Nae, it has to be an alicorn; how else could my wings ache as they did?

Shaken, but not dissuaded, I once more dive into this author’s misery. Working my way back from the shoulders, her injuries slowly but surely become apparent. Her wings are both broken at the bases, and she has a few broken ribs, as if somepony had stretched her wings out and then stomped them into her sides. Various other bruises and cuts cover her abdomen, but what surprises me most is the internal suffering. Many of her internal organs feel battered, and I worry that she might have been dealing with internal bleeding when she made the book.

Oh yes, this pony is very much a she. When you have owned a vagina for any length of time, you know what one feels like. If the searing agony of her torn vagina and anus are any indicator, she is definitely the recent victim of sexual abuse. Luna preserve me! This mare... It’s almost as though she were beaten, raped, and left for dead.

I pull my hoof off of the book quickly, choking back a hoarse sob. Is it the pain that’s getting me? Am I empathizing with her because of what... Aqua Regia did to me? Why does my heart ache so much? “No, stop, Silver. You need to take a moment to rest!”

Sometimes, my voice isn’t strong enough to reach my own ears. How simple it would be if I could listen to myself all of the time. I might save myself some hardship if I just accept this place, whatever it is. “Somepony will come for me! They have to! Ice Blossom wouldn’t just let me vanish. She loves me!”

Ignoring my own voice, I plunge my hoof forward and flip the cover open.


~ 29 ~


“Oh?” a voice calls out in the darkness. It’s... male, but vaguely familiar. Who is this? “You’re finally awake, are you?”

A feeling of dread fills me as I open my eyes. I’m sprawled out on the floor in my room, and a strange unicorn stallion is here, standing over me and grinning victoriously, as though I’m some hard-won prize. Between the light-red coat, the golden mane, and those piercing blue eyes, I have a pretty good idea who this pony is, but I really, really don’t like it. Aqua Regia—somehow a stallion—is here in my dorm room, staring at me like a piece of meat.

A number of things begin to click into place in my head. Ever since Aqua’s expulsion and concurrent repudiation from House Blueblood, it always feels like somepony has been following and watching me, looking for something. Things keep going missing—from little mementos to important things kept locked away in my chest here in the dorm—without any explanation. Hell, if I remember correctly, somepony broke into the professor’s office and stole all of my submitted research. Even my dreams are haunted by an ominous feeling of being watched. That one event is the start of it all... but then...

“How wonderful! You figured it out without ever having asked a question,” he says with a pointed glare. “This gives me so much more time to enforce your penance for your crimes against me.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Aqua,” I growl, pushing myself up off the floor with practiced ease. “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

“I’d rather exact my thrills from your... admittedly pleasing form,” he purrs mellifluously. “I will, however have to do something about that awful mouth of yours.”

I stare at him in disbelief. He can’t really be so desperately stupid to do this in the dorm room, can he? “Are you some kind of m—” That’s as far as I get before, with blinding speed, his hoof collides with my muzzle in a vicious left hook. The sensation of teeth shattering nearly causes me to white out, and I certainly would have if not for the fountain of blood, vomit, and teeth following soon after. 

“You’re thick!” I cry out, cringing at my newfound lisp. Every breath and splash of blood is like raw acid poured upon my exposed dental nerves, but still I force myself to speak. “You’ll nefer get away with thith!”

With a sibilant chuckle, he ignites his horn in that sickly green glimmer of his magic. “You make it sound as though I care,” he growls, wrapping my throat in a magical vise. Using his magical grasp, he leverages my head down to give me a clear view of the glistening black mass bobbing beneath him. More terror fills my heart as I look at the thing. It’s fucking huge! “The most dangerous creation of any society is a mare who has nothing to lose.”

If I could, I would gurgle out some placatory words, but it’s for the best that I can’t. If Aqua Regia is this sick in the head, he isn’t going to listen either way. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll kill me first and then rape my body. That might be preferable to whatever he can do with that massive monster cock he’s so eager to wag in my face. A stray thought imploring me to bite his cock off crosses my mind, but fear and logic are quick to point out that he’ll just crush my larynx anyway.

“Mmmmyes, I think you’re getting the picture nicely,” he whispers into my ear with faux sensuality. “Don’t fight it, and you just might live.”

He pulls away suddenly, and the aura surrounding his horn increases. With just as much warning as his sudden retreat, my wings flare out against my will, and quickly drag me down to the floor. Stretched painfully, my own limbs pin me precariously to the ground. “Unfortunately for you, I plan on having some fun either way.” 

That’s all the warning he gives before rearing up and slamming his forehooves—and the entire weight of his body—down on the bases of my wings. A sickening crunch makes itself known to me as the fragile bones in my wings shatter and the not-so-fragile ribs beneath give way beneath his heavy-hooved blows. If he feels it, he certainly doesn’t make it known. There’s certainly no way he heard it with how loud I’m screaming in pain. He seems too distracted by the fact that in my agony, I momentarily lost control of my bladder.

The screaming—my screaming—lasts for nearly ten minutes. I scream until I’m completely hoarse, and even then, I find some way to scream some more. It’s a wonder that I haven’t torn anything inside my throat, or that I’m not choking on my own blood right now. Even more worrisome, Aqua Regia doesn’t even seem bothered that I’m screaming so loudly or so much.

Rather, my screaming has the worst possible effect on him. The black mass of stallion-flesh bobbing beneath his belly throbs once, before leaking a steady stream of pre-seminal fluid. The thing looks impossibly larger too—easily the length and circumference of my entire arm. “Scream all you want, you worthless wretch,” he purrs coldy. “Nopony is going to hear anything through my sound-proofing talisman.”

Whimpering, I drag myself away from the maniac stallion, his steadily pulsating erection, and the puddles of blood, vomit, teeth, and urine. He knows he can’t get away with this, right? Somepony will find us, and he’ll be stopped. Aqua’s on probation and is under a restraining order, so somepony has to know where he is. He can’t not know this, unless he does know, but doesn’t care whether he lives or dies. “You’re really going to kill me! On my own birthday!” I whine, the hopelessness of my situation finally settling in. Before I can stop myself, I foolishly ask, “Why?”

His nostrils flare in anger, and for a quick moment, he has me convinced that he’s about to crush my skull for my impudence. “What do you want me to tell you,” he says, sighing and sagging. “Do you want me to tell you that I’m doing this simply because I have nothing to lose? You already know you’ve taken everything from me.” He stomps his hoof in anger, thudding loudly against the flooring. “You have no idea what that even means, do you!?”

Striding forward once more, he places himself firmly in front of me with a glare that, by all rights, should be capable of killing. “You have no understanding what being a mare in the Blueblood family even means!” He all but screams this in my ear before lighting his horn and grabbing hold of my body. Unlike the paresthetic sensation of magic that I’ve received every other time a unicorn has ever used magic on me, I’m treated to sensations not of numbness, but pain. Just the touch of his magic burns with the agony and hate he feels for me. “As a mare, I am only as useful as the connections I make. I will never have importance in the family. Mares are just pawns in political marriages and resource acquisition, purposely kept stupid to the true ways of the world. Oh sure, I was pampered and spoiled by my brother, because he was grooming me to sell me off to one of his business partners. All they taught me was that money and political clout equaled power.

“Getting him to allow me to go to the university was a small victory in and of itself,” he snarls, wrenching my body around with his magic, lifting my hips. “My hopes—my dreams—were of finding a way of proving my worth to the family. If only I could make the right connections and learn the right things, I could have turned House Blueblood on its horn. I could have challenged my brother and become the first mare to become head of the family. The right to choose who I love—who I marry!—would have been mine! You. Ruined. EVERYTHING!” He throws his hooves around my flanks, positioning himself for what I know is to come. “I have nothing, now. You’ve taken away my name, my money... I’m not able to have foals now! All because of you!

“How ironic it is then, that the one bit of research that could have helped me was found by you?” he asks gravely, holding his behemoth genitals mere millimeters from my marehood. Much to my disgust, Aqua nibbles gently on my ear. “You could have been the pony I was looking for—the one to help me change House Blueblood for the better!”

“Do you even lithten to yourthelf?” I mutter, once again cringing at my lisp. “You prattle on and on about the thingth you’ve lotht, acting like you’re thome kind of fictim in all thith! Thith ith nothing but clithed fillain bullthit meant to make the protagonitht feel bad for them. ‘Oh no, I’m not efil; I’m jutht mithunderthtood!’ You’re no fictim, Aqua Regia! You’re fucking thick in the head!”

Biting down on my mane and tugging it fiercely, he snorts. “Oh, I know,” is all he says before he shifts himself upward ever so slightly before thrusting into me, cackling madly all the while. “Hold on, now, darling! I’m going in dry!”


~ 29 ~


Screaming in agony, I slam the book shut. “What the fuck was that?” I screech, smacking the book off of the dais with one hoof. That is the most disturbing thing I have ever seen, bar none. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” a long forgotten voice asks. That voice... I know it, but it can’t be... “Of course it can be. I’m you, or at least a part of you, sorta.”

I turn my glare from that disgusting book to look for the source of the voice. At first, there’s nothing there in the darkness, but after a few moments of staring, a tall, bipedal silhouette becomes tangible at the edge of the dais. “So, Soren, why am I here?” I ask in a wavering voice, as more and more familiar features resolve themselves from the dark form. “What’s happening to me?”

“There’s no gentle way to say this, Silver,” he says, toying with a lock of brown hair with ashen-white fingers. “You’re dying.”

I stare at the spectre in confusion. “I can’t be dying,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I feel fine!”

His hauntingly familiar blue eyes stare at me pityingly for a few moments before he turns away, frowning. “Think—really think—about it, man,” he pleads, strolling around the dais to join the unseated book. “How can I be here? You know humans can’t exist in Equestria in their natural forms. So what am I?”

I take a few agonizing minutes to ponder this as he reaches down and picks up the tome with his bare hands. “You’re... a figment of my psyche,” I guess, earning a solemn nod from my human counterpart. Looking around at the room once more, I shudder. “I’m locked inside my own mind again, aren’t I?”

Frowning, Soren crawls up to join me here on the dais. Placing the tome beside him, he stuns me by pulling me into a tearful hug. “What we’ve been through... We’re on the precipice of life and death, Silver,” he sobs into my mane. “We’re trying so hard to just shut down and block out what has happened. What we’ve witnessed, it makes us want to die, but we can’t. I won’t let you.”

“So, what,” I ask, eying the book at his side. “You’re the part of me that wants to live?”

Aside from placing the book before me once more, he sighs. “If you delve into your memories once more, there will be no returning here,” he says flatly. “You’re going to be confronted with your worst fears, and this is where you will have to make a choice. One is to live, but throw me away, costing you everything. Another is to keep me and do nothing, ensuring our deaths. The final choice will be the hardest of all.”

Slamming a hoof on the obsidian, I glare at what I can only assume is the manifestation of my bloodlust. “Quit being so fucking cryptic, Soren,” I growl, feeling the results of the screaming done in that vision, nightmare, or whatever it is. “I’m not one hundred percent convinced that this isn’t all just one great big mindfuck, and that you aren’t who you say you are!

“For all I know, you’re some batshit insane changeling who gets his or her kicks from agony instead of love!” I stare Soren in the eyes for a good few moments before continuing. “Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

If looks could break your heart, the way Soren’s face contorts in sadness would leave an entire village mourning. Tears begin streaming down his spectral, ash-white cheeks in earnest. He points his hand toward the brick face in the wall. In a hitching voice, he says, “You can still save her, Silver.”

Watching at the wall part like two opening eyes is a haunting experience for two reasons. First, the sensation that I am indeed staring out through my own narrowed eyes courses through me. I really don’t like what I see, and I’m fairly certain that I’m going to be haunted by it for the rest of my life. On the other side of the viewports is Aqua Regia’s lower half, hunched over Ice Blossom’s face, furiously pumping away, plunging his stallionhood further down her throat.

With the wail of a banshee, I tear my eyes away from the scene before me, making a mad grab for the book. Tears streaming from the corners of my clenched eyes, I whimper, “No, I won’t let this happen. Not to Blossom!” Disregarding the pain, I throw the book open and plunge my hoof down on a random page. “I’m coming, baby!”

As the pain engulfs my body and mind, I can just hear Soren speaking his voice changing with every syllable. “I am so sorry, my love; I never meant to lie to you, but it must be this way,” the sentence ends with Blossom’s voice. “I love you, Silver Script.”


~ 29 ~


“Back for more, are you?” Aqua Regia purrs in my ear, before biting down hard enough to draw blood. I feel his member pulse against my back in enjoyment of his cruelty. “That’s good! You’re so much fun when you’re conscious. When you were unconscious, it was like rutting a corpse.”

I cringe away, pointlessly attempting to pull myself from beneath him. At the first sign of struggle, he places one hoof on my side, just above my broken wing and ribs. It’s not a threat, but a promise that if I make things difficult for him, he will make my death long and drawn-out. At this very moment, I’d like nothing more than to black out once more, before he can get back to raping me.

“Now, you’ve gotten me absolutely filthy,” he says in a very manic tone. “You’re going to lick me clean before I continue my fun.” At that, the domineering stallion pulls himself off of me, walking around me to place himself perpendicular to me. “No teeth though, or I’ll crush your head and leave you at your lover’s doorstep.”

The thought of Blossom finding me in such a state is terrifying enough to ensure I don’t do anything rash. It’d break her heart. How can he be this cruel? Surely what I did to him isn’t worth casting aside his equinity. I mean, he’s likely to be sent to Tartarus for this. He can’t possibly be right in the head.

“That’s not the sound of you cleaning my cock, you worthless whore,” he growls, raising one hoof to my head. “Do it, or I’ll help myself to your precious Ice Blossom, too.”

Grudgingly, I drag myself closer to his penis. The black, veiny length is absolutely glistening with my blood, but it’s unfortunately not the only thing coating his flesh. Choking back a sob, I extend my tongue, and gingerly drag it up his length starting from the medial ring. Immediately, the acrid taste of shit and blood fills my mouth, causing me to retch violently. No, I can’t, but if I don’t he’s going to take it out on Blossom too.

Up and down I run my tongue up his shaft, openly sobbing. Each time I cry out, his length twitches in excitement, bouncing off of his chest in lustful abandon. Somehow, I think I should be comforted in the fact that he seems to be getting more satisfaction out of my suffering than he does from my ministrations, but really? It only scares the fuck out of me.

A frightening thought crosses my mind, then. He wants something out of this, clearly, but he’s receiving no pleasure from the contact. That means he’s a sexual sadist, right? I gulp down air in fear, careful not to swallow the vile mess in my mouth. He’s only going to get off by making me suffer.

“You’re not doing a very good job, you guttersnipe trash!” Enveloping my head in his burning corona of magic, he drags my face toward the very end of his shaft, positioning me right in front of his urethral opening. “Clean me completely, and then swallow. You’ll do it unless you want me to hurt everypony you’ve ever loved.”

With a whimper, I lick at the head of his penis, once more exposing my palate to the disgusting sludge of blood and feces. Almost immediately, his glans begins to flare out, marking just how close he is. Please, not in my mouth. I lick once, twice, and then once more for good measure, and then he’s clean. I look up at him pleadingly, silently begging him not to make me do this.

“You’re going to do this, wastrel,” he says, his hateful tone betraying just how aroused my suffering makes him. Lighting his horn once more with magic, his acidic aura surrounds my muzzle, crushing my mouth and nostrils shut. “You don’t have a choice.”

With no other choice, I screw my eyes shut, and swallow my own filth, praying desperately that I don’t become ill while he holds my mouth and nostrils stuck. As much as I might want to die right now, choking on my own regurgitated blood and shit isn’t what I have in mind. I would rather suffer heart failure or blood loss, depriving him of any more fun.

Almost immediately after I swallow, he forces my eyelids open with his magic, leaving me with no option but to watch as his urethra opening parts. The very instant the first stream of semen shoots forth into my eyes, he viciously drags my mouth open with magic, nearly unhinging it. I honestly can’t tell which hurts more at this point, the burning sensation of the semen in my eyes or my near broken jaw.

Sobbing weakly to myself, I just sit there in agony as he paints me with a near unending amount of cum. It’s in my mane, my fur, my eyes, and my nose. Worst of all, it’s in my mouth, and try as I might, I can’t ignore the bitter saltiness of it all. I almost welcome the acrid taste of my own crap to this bastard’s fluids.

My suffering doesn’t end there, though. Once he’s covered me in his semen like some common whore, he grins down at me, his horn still lit. Almost giggling like a school-filly, he gathers as much of his vile product as he can in a bubble of magic—not once caring as he tears out some of my mane in the process—and holds it in front of my mouth. “Eat.”

I shake my head, glaring up at him. “I hate you.”

“Wrong answer, commoner filth!” He slams his hoof against the side of my head, knocking me flat on my side. The moment my head strikes the floor, the bubble of cum and fur is in my mouth, and once more, he holds my mouth and nose shut. I don’t reward him by swallowing this time. No, instead I choose glare at him out of the corner of my eye, watching hatefully as I begin to black out.


~ 29 ~


My entire body aches. Why is Aqua doing this? How can she blame me for any of what she said? Is House Blueblood really that terrible to mares? Did her upbringing deny her any of the social graces required to actually make friends—real friends? Am I really such a bad pony for wanting to live my life the way that I am? Maybe I’m the crazy one after all... Maybe I do deserve this birthday present.

No matter how long I lie here, trapped in my own thoughts, I keep coming back to those questions. There’s no reason for her to hate me this much—to go as far as to turn herself into a stallion to rape and probably murder me—unless I deserve this, right? How could I ever have thought that I could come here to Equestria and interfere with the lives of its citizens? I’m an aberration—a mistake. All I do is ruin the lives of those around me—those better than me. I’m a monster that Celestia and Luna should never have set loose on their ponies.

This must be what Aqua Regia is trying to show me. My very presence is a corrupting influence—a blight—on Equestria, and now I’m being punished for it. This is what he meant by penance. My penance is to be shown the error of my ways before purging me from existence like I should have been so long ago.

My hope and resolve shattered, I slowly open my eyes and draw in an aching breath. A gentle shift of my body weight allows me to roll relatively painlessly onto my belly, a comfort I don’t deserve. My eyes never leave the floor, though. “I’m ready,” I whisper in a hitching voice, taking great care not to lisp in spite the terrible dentistry enacted by Aqua Regia. “Do what you must, and rid Equestria of me. You’re only doing what you think is right for Equestria...”

Whimpering fills the room, as well as dark laughter. “Oh, isn’t that precious, darling?” Aqua Regia’s still-male voice booms with raucous laughter. “I think I broke her!” A whimper and a muffled sound replies to his jibe. “What’s that? Play with her some more? What a lovely idea!”

Despite my hesitance to look upon Aqua Regia any more, the presence of somepony other than Aqua in the room is too important to ignore. Slowly, I begin to look up to the source of the whimpering, praying it isn’t Ice Blossom...

“It’s funny, really,” Aqua chortles in a manner that scares me more than anything. My eyes lock on him in an instant and my blood goes cold. There, bound and gagged beside him on my bed, is Ice Blossom, crying and whimpering. She looks so desperate to get away from him, and I can’t blame her. “I could have sworn I locked your door in addition to sound-proofing it, but I guess I was mistaken. Oh well, I took care to make sure of it this time.”

He drags his tongue slowly up her cheek, wiping up a stream of tears, before hopping off of the bed. “Honestly, this couldn’t have worked out any better!” he croons cheerfully. “You went and blacked out on me, and I was convinced that you weren’t going to respond to any stimulus I could possibly provide, and then she just walked right in without a clue in the world!”

“Don’t hurt her, you bathtard!” I scream wildly. “Thee hath nothing to do with thith! Thee doethn’t detherfe any of thith!”

Trotting across the room toward me, he smiles at me coldly. “Oh, I know. That’s what makes this all the more sweet.” He glances over his shoulder, quickly using his magic to ensure her legs are completely bound. “I could make you suffer before you die without ever touching you.”

“You don’t hafe to do thith! Jutht let her go!” I sob, burying my head in my hooves. I don’t want her to see how pathetic and worthless I am. “Itth between you and me!”

“We’ll see,” he says in an oddly placatory tone. Is that... regret? Fear? “You know what comes next, though.”

I nod silently beneath my hooves. There’s nothing else to do but count the seconds before he begins his assaults once more. Each step he takes is like an earthquake to my ears, causing my stomach to clench in fear. Maybe... if I cooperate he’ll be gentler? It’s stupid to think the apparent sexual sadist would somehow be gentler now that he has my marefriend captive as well, but despite it all, I find myself rising to my hooves—assuming the position, as it were.

Even so, I don’t remove my gaze from the floor. It doesn’t take a genius for me to figure out that watching me is breaking Blossom’s heart, either. The moment my hips are raised and my tail is flicked aside, a new stream of sobs and muffled screams erupt from her, and with every sob and smothered syllable, a new torrent of tears streams forth from my eyes.

When the assault doesn’t come, I begin to tremble. What if he’s going to go after Blossom instead? Is my cooperation no fun for him? “Go ahead! Get it over with,” I sob, trying hard once more not to lisp in spite of my shattered teeth. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to ruin me in front of the one I love—to make sure she could never love me again, because you’ll never have love yourself, right? Well?”

The goading seems to do the trick. With a snarl of anger, he mounts me, slamming his forehooves down on the bases of my broken wings. Newfound furor invigorates him, and it doesn’t take him long to find my marehood with his monster. It’ll never rightly fit, but he doesn’t care. A few moments of mindless battering are all it takes before I feel something tear.

I would like to think I didn’t scream as agony like I’ve never felt radiates from my torn vagina, and truth be told, it isn’t a scream at all. Instead, I jam my forearm into my mouth, biting down as I scream. The resulting sound instead resembles the impotent, strangled growl of a furious mare, only, I’m not furious; I’m hurt, scared, and wish this all to be done with.

“Don’t you talk about me like you know me, you ungrateful mongrel!” he screams, battering my dock and buttocks with his hips on every syllable. Each time he does, I scream impotently into my leg as I feel my womb being crushed against my diaphragm and my birth canal stretched almost to the breaking point. Looking between my forelegs, my fears are realized when I see my belly distending beneath me with every thrust. “All I’ve ever wanted is a chance to live like a normal pony—to have friends and feel love; to be free of politics. I wanted to give the mares of House Blueblood a chance to live as more than tools! You took all of that from me!”

Again with this? “Stop being so fucking delusional, Regia!” I growl into my foreleg, the fur and flesh of my leg preventing the air of my breath from whistling through my broken teeth. “You did this all to yourself! I didn’t make any of this happen! You did it all on your broken lonesome! You’re getting the death penalty for this, you know. You’re beyond help, so they’re going to put you down like the rabid dog you are!”

“ENOUGH!” he screams, slamming my head into the floor once more. “ANOTHER WORD, AND I’LL SLIT YOUR DAMN THROAT!”

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” The scream from Blossom catches the both of us of guard. Try as I might, I can’t bring myself to not look at her, and to my shock and sorrow, she’s chewed through her gag and bindings. She’s off the bed, and slowly approaching the two of us. “YOU LAY ANOTHER HOOF ON HER, AND SO HELP ME CELESTIA, I WILL TURN YOU INTO PASTE!”

I look her pleadingly in the eye and shake my head. “Blossom, please get back,” I whimper, feeling my legs going limp beneath Aqua Regia’s bulky stallion form. “He’s not right in the head! He’s not thinking straight! He’ll—”

My eyes go wide, quickly filling with tears. In a flash of acid green magic, the head of Ice Blossom—the pony I love more than all else and would willingly bear foals for—soars across the room, severed cleanly at the neck. There’s no sound—no scream, no tearing of flesh, nothing at all. One moment she’s there, poised to strike Aqua Regia, and then... her head is just sitting there on Gale’s bed, blood already pooling on the griffon’s bedding.

That’s when it gets infinitely worse for me. Before my beloved’s body realizes that her head is no longer attached and goes limp, falling to the floor, her heart beats steadily for a few seconds, showering both of us with blood. I blink repeatedly, trying to get her blood out of my eyes. I close my mouth and open it again, upon finding her blood on my lips. 

Even though I know what I’ll see will hurt, I find myself looking back to the bed and her head. Just when I thought I couldn’t be subjected to any more horrors this night, I make eye-contact with her. For just a fleeting few seconds, I watch the remaining life drain from her eyes as she blinks repeatedly in confusion. It’s as though she doesn’t yet understand that she’s...

Blossom, the only pony—the only person—I’ve ever considered loving more than my family or even myself is, dead. Killed before my eyes, she’s just gone. My beloved is just... No more. Gone. Deceased. No longer living.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. This is all just one great big nightmare. I’ll just close my eyes, and this will all end. She can’t be dead. She isn’t... No. No. No. No. NO!

Tearing my eyes away, I scream in grief, rage, fear and self-loathing. “ICE BLOSSOM!” 

It’s then, at the apex of my scream that I feel his penis flare, wedging inside me, painting my insides with his fetid seed. As more and more of my womb is pumped full, and my distended belly swells further, a familiar feeling—one that I dread—starts to radiate from my aching and bloodied vagina. Heat. Of course he would have used the original Eros potion and not the safe modification in my research papers.

When I feel Aqua Regia’s member slowly pull out, I slump to the floor, joining the mixing puddles of Ice Blossom’s blood, my own, and semen. There isn’t a shred of hope in me left. Knowing that I’m soon to follow, and seeing the death of my beloved behind my clenched eyes, I can’t bring myself to care about how dignified I am before I die. Blood and cum or squeaky clean—it doesn’t matter! Not... not... not without Blossom alive!


~ 29 ~


“I love you, Silver Script.” Blossom’s voice echoes throughout my mind, wrenching my heart, and bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Why did this happen? She deserves better than this! She was only trying to defend me, so why does she have to be the one to die?

“Stupid, stupid mare!” I hear Aqua Regia muttering, his voice wavering, but tinged with anger nonetheless. “I never planned on touching you, never mind killing, so why did you have to interfere?”

Opening my eyes, I see Aqua Regia perched on the edge of the bed with Blossom’s head. He not just sitting there with her, talking angrily to her, though. No, that would be too simple. That bastard... he’s fucking violating her. Like some cheap onahole, he’s just holding her there, thrusting into her mouth. Crying.

“I never wanted to kill anypony, you stupid, stupid pony,” he cries, clenching his eyes shut. “I didn’t even want to kill her! All you had to do was sit there and w-watch me ruin her—to make her feel as helpless as I did when she took everything from me—but n-n-no! You j-just had to ruin everything! Now I have to kill her too, and there’s no way they’re not going to know it was me! Life in p-p-p-prison I could take, but I don’t want to die!”

He doesn’t want to die? HE DOESN’T WANT TO DIE!? 

With the fury of a lunar impact, I fight back the agony wracking my body and force myself to my hooves. Each step I take toward Aqua Regia is engulfed in pain, but the fire crackling in my heart is almost tangible, filling me with untold strength. My entire body feels of fire, and it’s not hard to imagine that my mane and tail—hell, even my wings—are engulfed and replaced entirely by surging flame. The room even seems somehow brighter—hotter—in my anger, but Aqua doesn’t even notice my approach.

“YOU DON’T WANT TO DIE?” I roar, dislodging the flesh and hair from my teeth as I rear up to slam my forehooves into his face and horn. He cries out, and beneath one hoof I feel a strong crunch. When I draw back for a second strike, I see a massive crack on his horn, radiating from the point of impact. Grinning the almost fanged-smile granted by my broken teeth, I slam down again, breaking it clean off. “HOW DO YOU THINK THEE FEELTH?

“THEE NEFER WANTED ANY OF THITH!” I hiss, smashing him in the face with a wicked backhoof. Releasing Blossom’s head, he falls across Gale’s bed. Streamers of blood fly from his mouth, painting the alcove in his blood. “THEE JUST WANTED TO HAVE A NITHE EFENING OUT—TO THPEND THE NIGHT WITH HER LOVER.

“THEE NEFER ATHKED FOR THITH.” I smash his muzzle with a solid kick. “THEE NEFER ATHKED TO THEE THIS.” I punch him repeatedly in the ribs. “AND THEE NEFER ONCE ATHKED YOU TO FIOLATE HER DEAD BODY!”

I stare smugly down at his bruised and bloodied form, heaving from exertion. Curling himself into a ball, he sobs weakly like a foal. He looks so defenseless, now, robbed of his horn, beaten and bloody, wracked by the guilt of killing a mare. He’s so pitiful looking now, and I hold all the power. I could grant Blossom vengeance!

“Go on then! Kill me!” he whimpers. “If anypony has the right to kill me, it’s you. Celestia knows it’d be better than what’ll happen when the guards get me.”

Frowning, I look down at Ice Blossom’s severed head. Her pupils, dilated fully upon her death, are already slowly, agonizingly contracting in rigor mortis. It’s haunting, really. She’s just staring in the direction her head pointed when she fell, but it feels like she’s still somehow here with me—judging me. 

“There’th a fery real part of me that would like nothing better than to end you, Aqua Regia,” I intone in an almost neutral, but wavering voice, staring with all the hatred I can muster. In spite of myself, tears begin streaking steadily from the corners of my eyes. “Thee wouldn’t want that, though.”

I look down at him, trembling with anger and grief. Turning away, I shake my head. “Blothom ithn’t the type of mare who would want my hoofeth thtained with the end of your damn life,” I whisper. “You’re thick—mentally ill, efen—but thee would not wish death on you. Perthonally? I think death by my hoofeth ith far too good a fate for you.”

With that said, I grab her broken horn with one hoof, and flip him onto his back, revealing his penis no longer hidden by his curled form, but hiding away in its sheath. “W-wait!” he simpers, bringing his forehooves up to cover his face. “You just said you weren’t going to kill me!”

“I’m not,” I whisper sadly. That being said, I bring my hoof down, pinning him to the bed by his scrotum with his own horn. With some somber satisfaction, I feel one of his testicles pop beneath the horn before it continues through into the mattress and the wooden slab beneath. The pseudo-stallion begins screaming. “I’m making thure you’re not going anywhere.”

My rage abating, I stagger to the door. Try as I might, though, the door is firmly held in place. Upon further inspection I see the locking mechanism is actually melted. No! I need to get help! You have to open! I slam my hooves uselessly against the door, accidentally knocking the soundproofing talisman free of the door. Taking note that of the fallen talisman, I once more pound at the door. “Thomepony, anypony! Help!”

Much to my surprise, I hear a voice right away, and it breaks my heart to hear it now—Chill Beat. “Silver? What’s going on?” she asks, a tone of fear in her voice—no doubt from hearing the still-screaming Aqua Regia. “Where’s Blossom? Where’s my baby sis?”

“Beat... I...” I can’t bring myself to say it. “Please... Call the guardth. The lock is futhed, and I need medical athithtance.”

“Silver,” she asks again firmly. “Where is Blossom?”

“Don’t make me thay it, pleathe!” I scream, trailing off into sobbing.

Just barely, I can hear her on the other side. “No, no. Please, no...” She’s crying; why shouldn’t she? The only reason somepony would say what I said is if it is something too terrible for words. Her next words, with how empty they sound, hurt almost as though my very soul is being raped. “I-I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll bring the guards. T-take care of my baby sis...”

The receding sounds of hooves and crying is all the assurance I need that help is coming. With that taken care of, I return to Blossom—or at least her head. I don’t know how long I stand there, just looking at her lifeless head. There are no sounds in the room beyond Aqua’s fading screams of agony, and my own whimpering. I’m just so tired…

With all hope and happiness dead in my heart, I cradle my beloved for the last time. Like she once held me, never willing to let go, I do the same. I want to protect her from this terrible nightmare, whatever the cost. That’s what this is, after all: a nightmare!

That’s the only way any of this makes sense. This is all one bad dream. That is why in the gloom of the room, it feels less like I’m sitting in a puddle of blood and other fluids, and more like a rain-soaked forest glade. I can even see it in my mind’s eye. With the rain, like falling teardrops pelting my forelegs and Blossom’s lifeless form, this scarcely feels like reality at all.

“Thith ith all just a nightmare, Blothom! You’ll thee! I’ll jutht wake up and you’ll be okay!” I whimper. “Pleathe... don’t leave me here alone!”

By the time help does come—in the form of Shining Armor and a file of unicorn guards blasting the door apart—they find me sitting in the middle of the room, rocking back and forth as I cradle and sing to Blossom’s severed head like a foal, sniffling all the while. “Huth now, quiet now; it’th time to lay your thleepy head. Huth now, quiet now; it’th time to go to bed...”



“Oh no... Silver.” The prince consort’s whisper is the last thing I hear before succumbing to my grief, trauma, and blood loss.
> Chapter 30: Denial
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“How is she, Doctor?” a regal, familiar voice waveringly asks, drawing my eyes past an IV line toward the door. Princess Luna is there, peering in through a slot in door. “What happened?”

Another pony—a mare, also familiar—answers sadly. “You’d need to speak to one of the guards for a better analysis of the events leading to her injuries but...” The mare pauses, either to shudder or whisper something beneath her breath. “Most of her injuries are consistent with assault or torture; both of her wings were broken near the bases, along with nearby ribs, and she has multiple contusions to her head. Her front teeth have all been shattered.” Again, the mare pauses, but this time I can clearly hear her crying. “There is significant vaginal and rectal tearing indicating violent and repeated sexual abuse.” After one final pause, the mare continues. “With all the internal injuries and blood loss, there’s a very real chance that…”

There’s an audible pause before I hear Princess Luna whisper a name in a sad tone I’ve never heard from her before. “Why is she muzzled and being held in the most secure room in the hospital’s psychiatric ward?” the princess finally asks. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“You’d have to ask the Guard Captain that Prince Consort Shining Armor accompanied, or the mare he has posted inside, about the muzzle, but she’s reacted rather... violently to the very sight of any of the hospital’s male staff.” I look at the female guard—an earth pony—posted inside the door before flicking my eyes up toward the ceiling. “Against the Prince Consort’s protests, the Captain insisted she’s dangerous to herself and others, and doesn’t want her unattended at any time. Poor Silver...”

The sound of Princess Luna’s voice accompanies the sound of an opening door. “I’m going in to speak with her.”

A heavy clunk reverberates through the room, and the guard straightens. The door swings open soundlessly, and there she is, Princess Luna, in all her winged glory.

“Hello, Silver,” she greets solemnly. I watch her creep slowly across the tiled floor, her hooves never making a sound. Just as silently, the white mare in the gold plate-mail follows behind the royal, leaving her post at the door. When the princess reaches the side of my bed, she watches me in silence. “Silver?”

I just look away, tears rimming my eyes. She’s the Princess of the Night—the Dream Warden! She can protect ponies from their nightmares, so why isn’t she helping me? If this is all a nightmare, why won’t she make this go away? Maybe the princess doesn’t know I’m dreaming… Maybe she just can’t find my dream. Surely the real Princess Luna will come soon. I don’t wanna be here anymore.

“Please, Silver,” Luna says softly, her voice breaking. “I know this is hard for you, but we’ll help you through this. Just let me in.”

Closing my eyes, I try desperately to steady my breathing. If I speak now, I’m going to yell, scream, and cry at this oneiric simulacrum of Princess Luna. That’s what this nightmare wants from me! It wants me to feel completely isolated by forcibly destroying all of my relationships. I’m not going to let it though! Surely the real princess would understand!

“I don’t mean to intrude, your highness,” the guard speaks in a soft voice somehow not befitting a service-mare, “I was there with Captain Cutlass and Prince Shining Armor when they arrived on scene. I heard her crying and singing lullabies to... the other victim. The things she was mumbling... I think she’s convinced this is all a horrific nightmare.”

“One which she expects me to free her from,” the princess speculates in a wounded voice. “Oh Silver Script... You’ve been through so much and yet it is not enough for fate.” Hoofsteps recede from the bed—a curiosity, given that neither made any sounds on approach. “Why is she muzzled?”

A sigh from the guard follows more receding hoofsteps. “When the Captain ordered some of his men—a pair of stallions—to separate the two, she reacted violently, lashing out at the guards.” The guard’s tone is one of disgust and sadness. “Anypony could smell what happened in that room, yet instead of choosing any number of the mares in the squad accompanying him, he chose stallions to deal with a clearly traumatized mare.”

“What are the conditions of the guards she injured?” Princess Luna asks. Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I see she is trying to comfort the guard with a wing.

“They don’t have any life-threatening injuries,” the smaller mare concedes. “Clash will probably have a bit of a limp for a while, and Hunter lost the use of his right eye and good looks, but I honestly think they blame the captain more than her. They initially refused, agreeing with Prince Consort Shining Armor that mares would be a better choice, but he threatened to have them in irons for dereliction of duty.”

“So he muzzled her when she attempted to defend herself from what she perceived to be further torment at the hooves of a stallion,” the princess concludes in a disgusted voice, casting a pitying look over her shoulder at me. It’s a look I quickly turn away from. “That stallion has served under me since my return, and when Shining Armor tendered his resignation, he seemed like the obvious choice for leadership. It seems I was gravely mistaken.

“If you need time to deal with what you’ve seen today, you are welcome to as much paid leave as is necessary,” she says kindly. “This offer is extended to everypony in your squad.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the guards-mare agrees, nodding. “I’ll pass it on to my peers if I see them, but I personally will not take you up on your offer. This mare—Silver Script... she needs somepony here for her when she finally decides to open up. I know what it’s like to be living when you have nothing more to live for. I know what she’s going through.”

“Thank you Sergeant Whisper.” When Luna’s voice reaches my ears, she isn’t far away, but instead, right next to my ear. I open my eyes to find her standing over me, her horn lit in a glimmering blue aura. With a gentle nuzzle to my neck, she whispers, “Rest well, Silver Script. We will all get you through this.”


~ 30 ~


Waking from a merciless nightmare, I find myself in a bed, crying. The bed is not my own—mine doesn’t come with straps to bind me to it—but for some reason I can’t bring myself to call it uncomfortable. In terms of support, it is so soft and fluffy, almost exactly like a cloud. Just being in this bed is almost enough to distract me from the nightmare I awoke from. Almost.

This room is not the same one as I first woke up in days ago; it’s different—less oppressive. Everything is painted a calming off-blue color, even the bedclothes. Even the plume in the guards-mare’s helmet is blue. Maybe it has a different meaning to ponies, but being surrounded by all this blue is making me feel blue.

It’s hard not to feel this way. Every day, I wake up and ask to see Blossom. Every day, somepony tells me that I can’t right now. With the way they won’t let me see her, they’re obviously trying to get me to believe that she’s dead. Why would they tell me such lies? Do they not know that saying these things is not going to be conducive to my well being?

I think even Luna has abandoned me. Every night I see her in my dreams, tormenting me. Even if they aren’t nightmares, she is there, watching. She tries to get me to listen to her, to believe the same implied lie that my beloved is dead. All the begging for forgiveness she does on behalf of her, her sister and the legal system that has apparently failed me, but for what? Nopony will even tell me why I’m even here in the hospital, never mind why I’m being apologized to.

The worst part is the visitors. Gale, Gearalt, Gaius, Twilight... hell, even Doctor Forceps is a frequent passerby, despite working in... Vanhoover, wasn’t it? They all stop by to ‘check in on me’ and ‘see how I’m doing’. When they look at me, though, it’s almost like they’re afraid of me... or for me. They try to make everything seem alright, but the pity in their voices betrays it all. If these beings care for me so much as to stop by, why aren’t they being truthful with me? It’s like they aren’t even the people I know!

Then of course there are the doctors and the nurses. They won’t even tell me anything concrete as they change bandages, check on my broken wings and ribs, or feed me potions. All they tell me is that they are treating me for external and internal injuries, and that the restraints are necessary in order to keep me from disturbing the wounds. Still, sometimes I get whispers of what’s going on with other patients through the doors. Apparently some poor mare in some nearby room was raped repeatedly and beaten half to death. Just thinking about that sort of thing makes my entire body ache. I feel terrible for that mare whenever I hear them talk about her, because apparently, she might not even be able to have foals.

I really do have to wonder about what happened to me and why they have to have me strapped down. Did I get into a fight? Did I kill somepony? That’d explain my ever-vigilant guard, somewhat, but at the same time... her eyes aren’t ones of judgment. It’s recognition I see in those hard eyes.

The door opens, and in walks a nurse—a pegasus mare, this time; it's never a unicorn or a stallion. Like all the others, she’s wearing the same forced expression as naturally as she wears that little white cap with a red cross on it. Perched on her back is a tray of the same god-awful hospital food they’ve been feeding me for days, and the same pills that make me dull. 

“Oh good! You’re awake,” the nurse says with that sickening superficial cheer as she trots up to the side of the bed. “It’s always sad when I have to wake a pony for their meals. Rest and dreams are good to help you heal.”

“I’m not awake,” I whisper, watching her with wary eyes. Licking my barely-regrown teeth anxiously, I marvel at the way they feel as air passes over them. At least they don’t have a muzzle on me anymore. “This isn’t real.”

“Well that’s just silly!” I watch as she lowers the tray of food onto my blanketed lap. “If this isn’t real, we couldn’t be having this conversation.” Lifting a spoon full of what could only be baby food between two primaries, she grins. “Open wide! The sooner you eat, the sooner you can get your sponge bath!”

Bubbly nurses should be against the Geneva Convention. Sponge baths too.


~ 30 ~


Two weeks—today marks the end of the second week I’ve spent being poked and prodded by these ponies. Every day, it’s the same routine. Wake. Eat. Medicine. Bath. Rotation. Lies. Eat. Sleep. The only variation throughout the day is who stops by. It’s always some random therapist or someone I know, but the conversations are almost always similar; how am I feeling? Am I in pain? Can I remember anything? They ask all these things, yet they won’t even bring me news of the outside world. Worse, they always seem distracted and never make eye contact. It’s enough to drive a pony crazy, and I have little appreciation for it all. Why should I accept visitors when they aren’t really interested in how I am?

One of the most unchanging things is the guard. It’s always the same mare, Sergeant Wind Whisper. Whenever I’m awake, she’s right there, not moving or talking; just watching like some guardian angel. The mare doesn’t even stop to pee, drink, or eat. I’m not even entirely sure she’s really there; she doesn’t even blink, and believe me I’ve tried to stare her down. When you are stuck in a room all day and nopony will even give you a newspaper, you end up staring at the guard posted in your room.

“So what’s your story?” I finally ask, bored to tears. It’s the first I’ve spoken since I started turning away visitors and drawing in on myself, and I barely realize I’ve even said a thing until the guard raises her eyebrows in surprise. “How come you’re watching over me day and night?”

The mare gives me a tired look before she finally breaks eye contact. With a sigh, she removes her helmet. The thing barely clears her ears when her eyes and incredibly short mane change from the anonymous blue mane and eyes to matching graying browns. With practiced ease, she reaches below herself and undoes something within her armor. As she removes her platemail, the enchanted white of her coat bleeds away, revealing a body crisscrossed with various scars. I almost can’t help but cringe remembering how I gained a few similar scars.

“Penance,” she answers in a surprisingly soft tone. Running one hoof through her close cropped—a buzz cut?—mane, she gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry if I surprised you; a lot of ponies prefer me with my armor on. It’s just easier to talk without that armor bearing down on me is all.”

“I’ve been eaten alive by a gigantic mutant lamia and wrestled a cockatrice. Scars don’t scare me. Magic users, on the other hoof,” I say dismissively. “So, Sergeant Wind Whisper,” I continue, recalling the name used by the princess when I first woke in the hospital, “penance for what?”

“Now? For breaking an oath I swore on the grave of my husband.” There’s some serious pain there. She can’t even maintain eye contact as she says it. “I vowed that I would never allow those serving under me, or those serving alongside me to bring disgrace to what I believed were the honorable forces of the Equestrian Royal Guard.”

“It’s a vow I’ve now broken twice in a short period,” she says. “I was responsible for assigning the guard that was supposed to be watching over Aqua Regia. He was a good pony, but I guess his good heart got in the way of things. He took her for her word, and she played him like a fiddle. He never even verified her alibis, investigated her movements, or interactions with others. On the night he was needed most, he was passed out in front of a coffee shop.

“Then, that same night, I let my commanding officer bring great dishonor to the Guard.” She looks away, ears back. “My vigil is my penance before I tender my resignation.”

I watch her carefully as she quietly inches her way around the room. It isn’t something I’ve noticed before—how could I when she’s always been standing like a statue?—but there’s a perceptible hitch in her gait, as though a previous injury to her leg or hip still causes her discomfort or pain. It’s not so much surprising as it is jarring. Just from that, it’s clear that she’s been through some really heavy shit, pushing herself in order to remain in the guard.

“There’s more to it than that,” I state in an observant, but unaggressive tone. “There’s a reason you’d swear such an oath.” Recalling words she’d spoken previously, I raise an eyebrow. “You said you know what I’m going through—that you had nothing to live for; that I... What are you talking about?”

The mare frowns and nods as she reaches the bedside. “That’s right,” she replies, not making eye contact. “I could tell you a bit about it if you’d like, but I must warn you, nopony I’ve ever met has ever managed to sit through my tale. To put it in perspective, my therapist is still in therapy, and there’s a jar full of bits at my favorite haunt waiting for the pony who can sit through the entire telling.”

I can’t help but cock an eyebrow at that. There are plenty who would exaggerate a story, especially if it can turn a profit, but I can see it in this mare’s eyes that it isn’t the case here. I figure, there’s no harm in asking, “I get the impression that somepony else made a game of it, if it’s enough to scar a therapist.”

“I’d never try to profit on my greatest shame!” she replies angrily. “I just started going to the tavern to drown my sorrows in alcohol and salt after scarring the doctor. Thought maybe if I could just talk it out with somepony, I could ease the hurt of it all. Ponies’d come asking to hear my story, but suddenly come up with reasons to leave. Then the bartender would come up and offer me whatever drinks I wished, compliments of the listener. Told him to keep the money or give it away to charity. So now he holds onto it, says whoever hears my story through to the end will need it for therapy.”

“I... wow.” Hearing this, can I honestly say no now? It sounds like it would be a complete disrespect to challenge her to tell me her story and wuss out just because the sort of thing that a mentally unhinged person like myself shouldn’t listen to. “I would be honored to listen to your tale.”

She gives me a pitying look and nods. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”


~ 30 ~


“You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I was actually a Sergeant Major at one point in my career. Was the senior enlisted advisor to our platoon leader. Used to be on the fast track to a full Officer Candidate School scholarship at that. It was a pretty big deal in my day for a mare to reach that sort of position. The only mares whose careers soared then were in the air force branch, now known as the Wonderbolts. A ground pounder mare above the rank of Lance Corporal? That was something special.”

“Our platoon was one of the best too. We weren’t special ops, but we got things done, hard and fast.” With one fetlock, she wipes some tears of sorrow from her eyes. “We got all sorts of things that would make the lot of these city guards cringe. Border skirmishes with slavers, monster extermination, putting down uprisings. You name it, we had a hoof in it. Maybe some of the things we had to do were the less than glamorous things that never made the news.”

“We were dispatched to clear out a den of dogs terrorizing a village near the Badlands. I’m not talking about some mindless mongrels or a pack of strays, but rather a highly organized pack of sentient dogs calling themselves the Breaker Dogs, after the old mine they’d taken up residence in. They weren’t like some of the packs you’ll hear about around Equestria. They weren’t interested in taking hostages and making them work their mines. They had only food on the mind, and they’d developed a taste for pony.”

“When we arrived at the mine, the Eltee split the platoon into three squads and marched us in like it was just another inspection on the parade square.” She looks away. “I advised him we were walking in blind, and that we should hold position at the front of the mine. Send in a single scouting party with a unicorn runner in the case of an ambush.”

“The stupid foal had become arrogant and overestimated our element of surprise.” She rounds on me, scowling. “We never stood a chance. Two squads made it through the mine entrance before somepony set off a trap rigged to collapse the entrance and alert the dogs to our presence. The third squad was completely crushed in the collapse. 

“You see, dogs like to dig, a lot. With their claws, they can even dig through bedrock. When they have prey, it doesn’t matter if there’s a solid rock wall between them. They get what they want.” The scowl is gone; she’s just trembling now. “My husband was in the squad directly behind us, so when the dogs came snarling out of the walls and floor, he was one of the first ponies set upon. It was a complete bloodbath.”

“Ponies began screaming and trying to get away as the dogs tore through the squad. Everypony was pushed further into the dark labyrinth of the dogs’ mine, the only hint that we were getting anywhere was the fading screams of our comrades. At some point, I must have gotten separated from everypony else, because when I finally wandered into a lit area, I was almost alone.”

“I hadn’t found my salvation, though. I had stumbled right into their den. A trio of males advanced on me rapidly, and before I knew what was happening, they had me pinned to the floor, my armor scattered around me in pieces. I don’t know how he knew, but the smallest of the three knew I was with foal. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell my husband or apply for a transfer to a nice safe desk, but he knew.”

I want to look away from the mare, to just close my eyes and plug my ears and drown it all out. With every word, my body aches more and more. So vivid the mental images are that I just want to beg her to stop, but the words never come! It’s like in the entirety of a few minutes I’ve consumed an entire desert, for all the dryness in my mouth and throat.

“He ripped into my abdomen with one claw! He... he pulled out my uterus and... and...” Somepony in the room sobs. Is it me? Or is it her? Maybe it’s both; I just want somepony to unbind me, to let me just hug this woman and let her know she doesn’t have to relieve her pain. “He didn’t make it quick, either. Once he was done, he made sure to cauterize it all by stuffing my belly with dirt and hot coals from their fire. He then rolled me onto my still open belly and mounted me. He told me, ‘You ponies is good for nothin’ but livestock. We’s gonna have lots a’ fun with you before we show you your place.’ I tried to convince them to let me go. I tried threatening them, but to no avail.”

As if spurred on by something she said, a male voice growls in the back of my mind, “You make it sound as though I care.”

My ears fold back as the chill of danger shoots down my spine. No, no, no. I’m not hearing voices. Shaking my head, I clench my misty eyes shut as Wind tells me how the dogs began taking turns violating her, torturing her, and trying to feed one of her subordinates to her. Barely any of the story is reaching me now. All I can see in my mind’s eye are two icy-blue eyes glaring out at me amidst a sea of red.

“The most dangerous creation of any society is a mare who has nothing to lose!” Wind Whisper continues her story, either unknowing that something is happening, or uncaring. As she continues about how their canid knots stretched and tore her, a different scene plays out in my mind. A stallion—Aqua Regia—begins beating, berating and violating me.

I whimper and thrash against my bonds, wishing the vision would end, but to no avail. It keeps coming, harder and faster, and then suddenly Blossom is also there. The sergeant’s recounting begins looping in on itself as though it’s some disgusting religious chant. When her voice is at its most fervid, Blossom’s head leaps free of her body, severed cleanly where her neck once met her torso, and—

“Sergeant Wind Whisper!” The door slams open, and the very room shakes with an explosive roar. The sheer volume and force of the voice is enough to rattle the bed frame and, by the sound of it, overturn the now disused mobile IV stand beside my bed. “What in the name of all that is good do you think you are doing?”

Out of alarm, I force my eyes open, and as I sweep my eyes about the room, my heart freezes. The door is a crumpled mess lying at the hooves of a frightening looking Princess Luna. Her mane looks somehow... darker—less glittery—than normal, and its flicking about like a flag in a wind storm. If the aura around her horn and the snarl on her face aren’t a big enough of a giveaway to her emotional state, the frightened guard pinned to the wall certainly is.

“You took upon yourself one simple task,” the princess hisses, advancing on the mare. “Watch over my little pony and be there for her when she opened up.” Taking one step forward, she levitates up the discarded pieces of guard armor. “What part of that task gave you the impression that you should force her to realize the truth if she wasn’t ready?” A levitating portion of breastplate begins to warp, glowing white hot and collapsing slowly in on itself, as if it is all that keeping her from slagging the mare instead. It’s certainly enough to sober Wind Whisper. “Did you even think of the harm you might be doing?”

In spite of the Moon Goddess’s fury, Whisper doesn’t flinch away when Luna comes muzzle to muzzle with her. If anything, it only seems to give a steely resolve to her eyes. “She wasn’t getting better.” She locks eyes with Luna and bares her teeth. “Every day I watched her draw further in on herself.” To my horror, she even spits in the princess’s general direction. “You aren’t even a medical professional, but you told the doctors you wanted her to realize the truth on her own. The one pony whom she needed to see and speak to the most wasn’t allowed to see her at all. Not even her friends were allowed to talk to her about it when she needed them most.” Whisper tears her eyes from the Luna’s and nods in my direction. “She needed to be reminded, Your Highness, and she does. Now the healing can begin.”

“Perhaps you are somehow unaware, Miss Wind Whisper, but she has a history of violent mental instability!” Luna stomps her hooves, and by the sound of it, she’s broken a number of ceramic floor tiles beneath her, not that I can really see from this angle. “I wanted a calm atmosphere for her, where she wasn’t at risk of entering a full blown panic attack at the sight of a horn. That the staff even allowed Doctor Forceps and Twilight was blessing enough, given how well they’ve been following my wishes concerning her treatment. To allow her deceased lover’s sis—”

“Will you fucking listen to yourself?” When Luna looks at me in shock, the flickering of her mane lessens. “You are one of the last ponies who has any right to speak of what is best for my mental health right now!” The sheer vehemence of my voice gives her enough pause to release her hold on Wind Whisper. “Let’s all lie to the woman who’s been fucked ten ways to Tuesday and had the woman she wanted to marry murdered right in front of her eyes! There’s no way that reinforcing her denial with completely retarded reasoning will make her even more paranoid. It’s not like paranoia was what made me violent to begin with!

“Did you even think about what I must be going through right now?” Straining against my bonds, I lean forward enough for my still bandaged wings to flare out slightly. “The mare I love is dead. All of my friends are worried sick about me, but they couldn’t comfort me because of some bullshit executive decision. I have been on the verge of another bout of paranoid delusions. She brought me back from the edge. You should be thanking her, not threatening her.” I vaguely point at my savior before locking eyes with the only mare in the room with any power. “When you sentenced Aqua Regia, I expected that to be the end of all of this bullshit. She was supposed to be fucking watched and reporting to a guard! Where were they when she was raping me? When she managed to steal all of that shit from my room? Hell, if you thought I was in any danger at all, you could have had the university move me into a different room!

“So I ask you now,” I hiss, “What gives you the right to dictate my life when your legal system can’t protect victims from reprisal from the accused? Why should your word mean anything when your ancient system of crowns and aristocracy has devolved into backstabbing corruption so obvious that you ignore it out of shame? You may be thousands of years old and hold power over a celestial object, but when it comes down to it, you’re just as foolish and powerless to the corruption as the rest of us! No two ponies should hold all of the power! Power corrupts, Luna; you know this better than anybody. Absolute power corrupts absolutely!”

“I will forgive you for this offense because of what you have lost,” she says coldly, her eyes becoming as harsh as the void of space, “but you need to remember that I am still your benefactor. You haven’t the right to make such a judgement.”

“Doesn’t she sister?” The three of us swivel our heads to the now doorless entrance to the room. Unsurprisingly, Princess Celestia is standing atop the ruined door just inside the doorway, a tired look on her face. “Can you honestly say she is wrong?”

The way Luna is staring at Celestia at this very moment is somewhat disconcerting. It’s not that I am afraid some battle of the gods is about to break out with me still strapped into a bed. Being in Canterlot’s hospital, I expect them to have enough restraint not to be firing death-rays at each other in the middle of a nest of injured civilians. No, it’s disconcerting because of how easily her shocked expression has completely changed my mood. Seeing her confounded so, I can’t help but snort in amusement.

“Sister, I don’t understand.” Her mane loses its ethereal form, revealing her natural blue mane as she glances back at me. “She has neither the leadership experience nor a sufficiently long life to judge our rule. She hasn’t even lived in our lands for two years. How can you consider her to be a fit judge of Equestrian governance when she is so blinded by grief?”

“Luna, we are all grieving to some degree,” Celestia says solemnly. She trots soundlessly across the floor to join her sister beside my bed “The shame we bear in our failed judgement of Aqua Regia, and the embarrassment the Guard now bears is enough to cloud even our own judgement, dear sister. Can you really say that you aren’t angry at all? That you aren’t acting out of passion?”

“Sister, I...” Luna turns to face the shamed guard as the mare backs away along the wall. As the princess meets Wind Whisper’s acerbic glare, the last bit of fire leaves her eyes. “No, I cannot claim that I wasn’t.” Looking back to her sister, she lowers her head. “Between the strain that Ice Blossom’s murder has placed on diplomatic relations with Neighpon, the public outcry at the miscarriage of justice that lead to this,” she says, turning to me warily, “entire situation, and the dissent in the ranks of the Royal Guard following Cutlass’s failure and subsequent demotion, I dare say we both are too taxed to be making fair judgments.”

“That bad, huh?” I say, allowing all pretense of aggression to slip free of my voice. To be honest, I’m probably engaging the princesses just to distract myself from the inevitable truth threatening to shatter the cold, hard shell of anger that has protected me from my grief... that Blossom is...

Celestia glances dourly at the guard as the mare all but scrambles out of the door. Once the guard has left, she looks at the straps on the bed and sighs. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” she answers, unbuckling my limbs from my restraints. “The average pony has been chafing under the aristocracy for a few centuries. Many are treating this case as grounds for a revolution. There’s a civil war brewing in our own lands for the first time in more than one thousand years, and we just don’t know what to do.”

Stretching my limbs for the first time in ages, I sprawl out belly down on the bed, happy to be free of my constraints. “Tell you what.” A gurgle escapes my stomach, and I look up at the princess. “If you treat me to lunch and tell the bedpan brigade that I’m not going to flip out and murder somebody, so that I can get a sit-down with Chill Beat, then we can discuss all this over food.”

> Chapter 31: Vindictation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Right, so one of the first things anybody who has been off their feet for any length of time is going to notice is how hard it is to get back up, for any number of reasons. You’re too tired to get up, it’s too comfy where you’re sitting, or you’d get up, but your leg fell asleep. To some extent, they’re all valid excuses. When you’ve been lying in bed for at least two weeks, you better believe it’s not going to be a cakewalk. If you’ve been bound for your own protection, only changing position enough to prevent bedsores, it’s only going to be harder. That’s kinda how I feel right now.

Every muscle is sluggish, as though rather than cords of flesh expanding and contracting, there’s silly putty beneath my skin. That’s not to say my limbs have gone completely gimpy in my forced indolence; I can stand and walk just fine. It’s just keeping on my hooves that’s a problem. Feeble is definitely a word that could describe me right now.

Just watching me struggle along the halls seems to be enough to make both princesses eye me worriedly. “No, before you ask, I do not need help or a wheelchair,” I say, making direct eye contact with Luna. “After being bound in a bed with limited movement for so long, I’m going to walk to that cafeteria if it kills me.”

It’s Luna, after glancing at the small retinue of their personal guards, that shakes her head. “Silver, you are still incredibly weak at this point.” Nodding toward two mares in the squad, she looks apologetically at me. “It will do you no good to turn down kindness in favor of pride. Please, let us help you.”

Laughable, her helping me. This all came about from her helping me, didn’t it? The whole reason I’m so weak is because she made an executive decision regarding my well being. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t feel like being touched right now.” Looking pointedly at Celestia, I sigh. “I know your sister means well, but I’m sure you understand how little comfort her presence presently brings me. May we please dine in private?”

Luna stops in her tracks, rounding on me with pleading eyes. “I know you are hurting, but please do not push me away.” 

Oh, bloody hell! Is she really trying that look? Bitch, please. Watery eyes and trembling lip ain’t gonna work with this pony right now. “You were the closest thing to a mother figure I had here in Equestria, Luna. I trusted you explicitly because you basically promised me a good life.” In spite of my shaking legs, I bring myself nose to nose with the woman I once looked up to. “I put my life in your hooves coming forward with my rape, even after being kidnapped by the same conniving rich bastards responsible for Equestria’s government being so fucking corrupt, and for what?

“You decided to have a heart when it came to the psychopath that raped me, letting her off with a slap on the wrists!” I snort angrily, glaring at the guards around me out of the corner of my eye, daring them to blast me. “Then, when she comes back and rapes me again, and murders the mare I love, instead of being allowed unfettered access to the one mare who needs me most, you ask the doctors to restrict the access of magic users to me. Worse, you allowed me to live in denial for two bloody weeks! You wouldn’t even let anypony talk to me about what happened until I admitted that it happened.”

Turning my head, I spit on the floor. “There’s only one creature in this world I trust less than you right now, Princess Luna. I can only hope she’s locked up in a prison cell pending a very public trial.” I shove my way past a very perturbed looking guard, not even sparing the scorned royal a second glance. “It’s going to be a very long time before I can think about forgiving you, never mind trusting.”

The guards around me are fuming, and all of them look ready to attack. Can’t blame them, either. When you shout down the one they’ve sworn an oath to protect and leave her on the verge of crying, you better bet they feel the need to protect her honor. At the same time though, since this entire exchange happened in a public hallway here in the hospital, there are many witnesses to my tirade—nurses, doctors, orderlies—who know most the details of my situation, a lot of whom look very sympathetic right now. As much as Luna is one of the country’s figureheads, the guards clearly see no win in attacking the mare with admittedly valid complaints against her.

Even as I stride past Celestia, once more utilizing the strength of my rage to keep me moving, Luna says, “Ladies, leave her be. I have... other matters to attend to.”

For a moment, I worry that I’ve pressed too hard and alienated Celestia as well as Luna. It’s not that it ultimately matters, but personally, Celestia is somepony I’d rather deal with over the doctors. Most Equestrian doctors, while good physicians, seem to have terrible bedside manner, while a head of state like Celestia is more diplomatic and thoughtful. What that means to me is that while she’s charismatic enough to be comforting, she’s also intelligent enough to know that I need somepony until I can talk to Chill Beat.

Eventually, though, I hear Celestia join me at my side, her own guards flanking us. “As justified as it might have been, that wasn’t very nice.”


~ 31 ~


Sitting down across from Princess Celestia with a tray of food stocked with shepherd’s pie, chicken noodle soup, and a great big porkchop—fuck you! I need protein, even if it is hospital food meant for griffons—I quickly realize that I’m the center of attention. Worse off, I get the vague impression, that it isn’t my choice in food or company drawing their attention. Ponies, the odd cow, and griffons are all staring at me with varying looks of pity, sympathy, curiosity, or even suspicion. Worst of all, some even look judgmental or outright accusatory.

“I get the impression that there’s more than one reason I haven’t been allowed access to a newspaper,” I say, lifting a spoonful of ground pork and mashed potatoes to my mouth. For one short moment, my worries about the onlookers are completely unimportant as I’m treated to the first bit of meat I’ve had in weeks. “Just what exactly has been happening while I was locked away in my cage and mind?”

“Following your false imprisonment and subsequent appearance at Twilight’s coronation ceremony, a photograph of you appeared in a popular tabloid,” she says. A paper clipping appears on the table in a flash of magic. I barely halt myself from diving under the table, but my shriek does turn a few heads. “It wasn’t the most flattering article, but it wasn’t entirely bad, either.” 

Floating it up to eye level, she allowed me time to read it. Princess of Magic or Underworld Crime Boss? the headline reads, beneath which a photograph of me, conversing with Twilight Sparkle after the ceremony, is displayed. The article is your standard tabloid fare, promoting conspiracy theories about the newly crowned princess and her relation to a mare in a prisoner’s jumpsuit. According to the author, I’m apparently an enforcer in a prison gang, broken out by the royal guard on orders of Don Sparkle for recruitment purposes.

“That doesn’t seem so bad.” Finishing off my shepherd’s pie, I move on to slurping my soup. Even though part of me wants to laugh out loud at the article, it’s still hard to even smile, given the way that Celestia doesn’t seem to agree. “Something more happened, I take it?”

“Remembering seeing you at the ceremony, real reporters began asking questions about your identity.” The princess sighs before conjuring up a pot of tea. “For a time, our insistence that you were just a friend of Twilight who’d shown up at the reception dressed like a prisoner as a prank had been enough to sate the reporter’s petitions for information... until the day following that tragedy.

“The Head of House Shimmer, the same house responsible for your foalnapping, apparently instructed the private investigator that had gathered the information used in the forged suicide note that if he were arrested, he wanted that information passed on to a reporter almost a month following the arrest.” Sipping her own tea, she seems not to mind my own lack of decorum as I devour my meal. She instead piteously watches me. “The morning after that event, the same reporter showed up for morning petitions, brandishing the information sent to her by the P.I., stating that Equestrians had a right to know that there was a real alien living among them on the crown’s bits.”

I put down my bowl, leaving a few stray noodles in the bottom, and look sullenly at her. “So you did the only thing you could do under pressure; you went public.” My face fell, and it suddenly felt like I was in a sniper’s crosshairs. No wonder ponies were looking at me funny. “How much did you tell them?”

“At the press conference, we told them everything we thought the public needed to know.” She glances at somebody across the room and shakes her head. When I look back over my shoulder, I don’t see anyone I recognize, but for all I know she was just signaling an aide about something. “I verified that you were indeed the same pony mentioned in Twilight’s coronation speech, and that you were not always a pony. The circumstances regarding you becoming a pony, while censored for the privacy of many, have been made public. When asked how they might get into contact with you for an interview, we concluded the conference by stating that you would be unable and unwilling to submit to an interview while receiving ongoing treatment after being victimized in a violent crime.”

So why are they staring at me like that? I want to ask. Surely they wouldn’t look at me with scorn or suspicion when I have done nothing wrong. Instead, I settle simply on warily asking, “What has changed, then?”

Celestia looks sourly down at her cup of tea, as though its taste has become bitter and offensive. Heaving a sigh, she looks up at me with a pained grimace as I cut into my porkchop. “Investigative reporters do their job almost religiously.” A bright flash of light goes off somewhere to my side, and when I look, a stallion with a camera is being tackled by some of Celestia’s entourage. “Even now, many of them pry into what happened in Ponyville.”

“Fffffuck,” I hiss, taking a mouthful of pork. This is the last thing I need to hear. If they know about Ponyville and are trying to milk my friends for information, then invariably they’re going to get to Lyra at some point. “So even when I go back to Ponyville, I’m not going to get any peace?”

This much catches the princess off guard. “You’re leaving? But what of your education?”

“Celestia, don’t!” I say as I drop my fork, my appetite gone. Suddenly, my head is beginning to ache most painfully. “There’s too much pain for me here.” I look down, rubbing at my temples. “Even before this all happened, I thought about it...” Slowly, my chin lowers to the table, and my body begins to feel weak. “Before, I had Blossom as my pillar, my reason to stay if things went bad. Now, I don’t—I’m never going to get over this, you know? Every day I spend at the university, even if I’m in a different room or even dorm hall, I’m going to be reminded of what’s happened and what’s been taken from me.”

I let out a sniffle. “If I can’t do my studies via correspondence, then I’ll buy the books I need and learn it the old fashioned way.” With a defeated sigh, I force my tear stained eyes to look directly into Celestia’s. “After all, if I don’t bury myself in my research, I’ve got nothing left but pain.” In spite of myself, my lips pull into a smirk. “I heard them, you know—the nurses. Talking about how I’ll never have foals. I tried to deny that they were talking about me, projecting my feelings so that she was some poor mare in another room, unable to have her foals.

“It’s funny, really; when Beat was talking about how important offspring were to ponies, that it was like a punishment in and of itself, I thought she was crazy,” I whisper. “Hearing those words through the door, something inside me clicked. It was like the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach from Blossom’s murder was suddenly enough to eat me whole, like all of my hope was torn from me with surgical precision... and... and...” I clench my eyes shut and loose a mournful wail. “Why do I feel this way? Why does this always happen to me?”

Imagine my surprise when somepony small hugs me. When I open my eyes, there’s a tiny vanilla alicorn with a patchy coat hugging my side—being incredibly gentle about my bandaged wings, no less—beaming up at me with big blue eyes. “It’s okay, Miss,” the filly says in that exuberant tone of innocence only a child could have. It takes me a moment to understand what I’m looking at; this child, gaunt and lacking a mane or any tail hair, has leukemia, or at least, some pony equivalent. “Even when you feel sad and your future’s not so bright, sometimes just making others happy can make you feel alright.” She looks across the table to Princess Celestia. “Right princess?”

“That’s right, Aur—”

“Aurora!” a mare calls out from across the room. The voice isn’t angry, but there is some admonishment to the voice. “You know we don’t just hug strangers like that.”

The filly, Aurora, looks back across the room sheepishly before letting go of me. She makes to return to her guardian, whoever she is, but pauses, looking back to Celestia. “Will you still be coming this Friday for Princess Time?”

The princess nods and smiles at the filly. “That’s right, Aurora,” she says in her motherly tone. “Princess Celestia never misses Princess Time. Run along now, though. We don’t want Nurse Hope to get in trouble, do we?”

Rather than replying, the filly runs off, pausing only to give me one last smile. “I thought alicorns didn’t get sick...” 

My voice is little more than a whisper, but it doesn’t escape Celestia’s ancient ears. Shaking her head, she says, “She’s only a winged unicorn—no earth pony blood in her.” Raising an eyebrow, she smiles. “I thought Twilight went over this with you?”

I look confusedly at Celestia for a moment before a thought occurs to me. “We may or may not have operated on the assumption that I already knew all the pony races because of the show,” I admit, surprised at just how well a sick kid managed to calm me down. “She never mentioned the possibility for hybrids, and I never thought to ask. In hindsight, it makes sense, though.

“I’ve seen pegasi who are too bulky—built like Applejack’s brother—to be very aerodynamic, and earth ponies too agile for the strength rippling beneath their muscles,” I recount, looking thoughtfully at the drab ceiling. “So... winged unicorns? Not quite as powerful as alicorns then?”

She once again shakes her head. “Usually not even as strong as most unicorns.” A crestfallen look crosses her face. “Hybrid ponies are either decent fliers, strong, or have a certain proficiency in magic, but never all of the above; their bodies don’t have enough magic. Winged unicorns have it worse in that most never master anything beyond telekinesis and have stunted wing growth. For whatever reason, the odd one is born with a fair balance of unicorn and pegasus magic, and are proficient in both, but these ones are invariably prone to certain maladies like cancer. Like Aurora.”

“That’s a real downer, Celestia,” I say, shifting uncomfortably on my seat. “Why tell me this now?”

Once more a smile creases her visage, but this time, there is something more to it. “You did seem to be confused on the subject,” she says almost teasingly. “Besides, it isn’t that you will not have any foals at all; you just probably won’t be having them any time soon.”

“Wha—”

Celestia leans forward and whispers, “You suffered a lot of internal tearing during the attack, and there were a lot of infections. Your fallopian tubes as they are right now are very scarred, even after much magical healing. The scarring will fade with time, but as it stands, your physician felt it pertinent to stop you from ovulating to prevent further complications. You’ll still function normally and even go into estrus, but you won’t ovulate.”

“But they said...” I shake my head. This is good news, right? I mean, if there had to be a lot of treatment, maybe nothing took. So why do I still feel bad. “Um, I think I need to lie down for a while.”

Nodding solemnly, the princess rises. “I was going to ask for your input on preventing a civil war, but I am not so out of touch to see when a pony needs time alone.”

Standing up—much easier this time around—I give her a false smile. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t help you,” I say flatly. “Hell, even if I didn’t blame you both in part for everything that’s happened to me, Equestria is your country. It’s not my place to tell you how to fix it.” Turning my back on her, I say over my shoulder, “Vox populi, vox Dei. Figure that out, and you might stand a chance of fixing your country. Remember, they’re not your little ponies anymore.”


~ 31 ~


I don’t really know how long I dozed on my hospital bed. Having my first chance to be on my bed without being bound, it’s just too easy to get comfy. If I know me, and you know I do, I can say without a doubt that I probably napped the afternoon away. It sounds like the sort of thing I’d do when stressed, that’s for sure.

More to the point, the first thing that clues me in that I am awake is Wind Whisper at the door. “Silver, your friend is here to see you.” 

Bleary-eyed, I’m still trying to figure out at what point Wind Whisper, new armor and all, got back when my heart sinks. Chill Beat is standing there just inside the doorway, haggard and disheveled. I know I said that I wanted to talk to her, but seeing her now, I just wanna crawl beneath the bed and die. It’s so bad that I almost can’t look her in her eyes.

“H-hey.” When your mind blanks, it’s really all anypony can manage. Can I be blamed for that? So many things can happen right now. She could blame me, or hate me for being the one to live. In some way, am I not to blame? Didn’t I ask Blossom for a date on that specific night? “You look every bit I feel.”

Beat traces a path to the bed, an almost drunken list to her step. Despite everything that’s happened, she smiles weakly at me. “Because you look so much better,” she says, lacking all the emotion that would otherwise make it a sarcastic, albeit friendly greeting. There’s no anger there. Rather, it’s a complete lack of any emotion. “I was wondering if they’d ever let me in to see you. They made it sound like you’d get violent if you saw me.”

Backing up to rest entirely on my pillow, I invite her to sit with me on the bed with a pat of my hoof. “Sorry it took me this long to snap out of it.” Watching Beat crawl onto the bed, I almost have to wonder which one of us was really raped here. I admit I was raped physically and maybe a bit mentally, but what about her? Is the murder of her sister not a spiritual rape? They shared blood, so doesn’t it stand to reason that she lost a part of herself along with Blossom? 

“There’s no excuse for any of it; I just couldn’t admit to myself that any of this happened, you know? I was so insistent that it was all some horrible nightmare, that I’d just been in some sort of accident, and at any moment, Blossom would just come strolling in to tell me everything would be fine. I—” A lump rises in my throat, and my eyes begin to burn. “I’m still not sure it’s really hit me yet that she’s really—that I’ll never see her again.”

“Must be nice,” she says longingly. Her lips quiver as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “I was the one who had to identify her remains, even though they knew it was her. You were in the hospital, and she had nobody else here.” With a sniffle, she asks, “What happened to her, Silver? Why did Icy have to die like that?”

Lacking any idea exactly what to say to her, I just stare for a few moments. “Aqua Regia was out of her mind,” I say at last, and suddenly, the words come to me much easily. “She wanted revenge for everything I’d taken from her, as though it was all somehow her right to do so. She broke into my room, and with the very potion I brought out of the Everfree, beat and raped me repeatedly.

“In the midst of it all, Blossom showed up for our date. I didn’t actually see it, but Aqua tied her up so she wouldn’t get in the way.” I don’t actually know if Aqua ever touched her, well, before murdering her, but I’m not sure I should even tell her that much. How do you even tell someone that their sister’s murderer desecrated her corpse?

“Did she touch her?” Beat asks. Why do you have to ask me this? “Did she touch my sister?”

“No... no!” It’s too quick of a response, and it feels like a lie. “But... when Blossom broke free of her bonds and tried to stop her from hurting me, Aqua lashed out with her magic and...”

Having to tell her any of this is eating me up inside. It doesn’t help that her gaze is basically matching her name now. “But what Silver? Why did you start with a but?”

Flattening myself on the pillows, I throw my arms over my head. If there’s a time to panic, it’s when your dead lover’s sister is looking at you so coldly because she knows you’re not telling her something. 

“IblackedoutandwhenIcametoAquawasusingBlossom’sheadasacocksleevepleasedon’thurtme.”

Beat lets out a startled sob before gently placing a hoof on my shoulder. “W-why would I hurt you Silver?” She almost sounds offended. Peering out beneath one of my arms, I see a hollowness in her gold eyes. “Icy loved you! Even if I did blame you, which I just can’t bring myself to do, she would never have forgiven me if I hurt you.”

“But she’s dead because of me!” I push her comforting hoof away. “Don’t you hate me for that? For not avenging her? For...”

My pathetic whining comes to an end when Beat pulls me into her warm embrace. “No, you did what was right, and Blossom would agree,” she whimpers into my ear. “What happened to you both wasn’t your fault, even if you were the reason she was there. You couldn’t have known... Mother might say differently, but Blossom’s blood is on the Guard’s hooves, not yours.” To my surprise, I feel her gently nuzzle my neck. “You made sure that monster didn’t get away...”

Just sitting here being hugged by Beat, this is what I really needed—not some mollycoddling or protection from the truth. It’s enough for me to know that in spite of my fears, I’m vindicated in Beat’s eyes. I don’t have to hold it all in so not to somehow cheapen the grief of others with my own. It’s... okay to be sad. “When’s the funeral?” I say, my eyes blurring with tears. “Please tell me I haven’t missed it.”

“It’s tomorrow, actually, but Silver?” She stiffens slightly and looks me warily in the eye. “Mother is going to be there. Are you sure you want to face her? By all rights she likely vilifies you in all of this.”

“If it meant going through all of that again, to bring Blossom back, I would,” I answer, sniffling. “Nothing will bring her back though, so at the very least, your okaa-san deserves to hear the truth... from me.” Once more, Beat pulls me into a tight hug, and together we weep. For Blossom.

> Chapter 32: Dirge
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Random fact: Royal Guard armor chafes. A lot. It might be because I’m wearing armor meant for a unicorn mare rather than a pegasus, thus pinning my wings beneath plate mail, or it might be that I’m just a bit fat, but I really do not like this armor. Sure, the helmet enchantment and false horn make me as anonymous as the next guard, and nopony can see my wings, but come on!

“It’s okay, you’re doing great,” Wind Whisper says, walking beside me in her own replaced armor. “I know it’s not the most comfortable armor, but it’s all I could scrounge up on short notice.”

Giving her a sidelong glance, I try my best not to break character and allow my emotions to show through. “Yeah, and I appreciate it,” I say anxiously. Taking note of the flurries falling from the sky and the wisps of steam as I speak, the armor doesn’t seem so bad. “I just wish it wasn’t necessary at all.”

What does necessitate sneaking out of a hospital dressed up as a guard anyway? Apparently, word of my ‘recovery’ somehow got out during the night, so a whole lot of ponies with signboards are outside the hospital right now. Some of them are cheerful, while others look anything but. 

Worse is that there are multiple groups with different messages. One group is clearly made up of reporters, hoping to interview me or even just snag a photo, while others look to be of the noble sort. These ones all have picket signs with messages like ‘Go sow your dissent elsewhere’, or ‘Don’t disturb the natural order’. I don’t even know whether I should be offended by the sign with a blown-up photo of me accompanied by a blown up photo of Discord and an equal to sign. It’s not as though I did any of this purposely. If they wanna lynch somepony, go string up Blueblood.

On the flip side of the nobles and reporters, I’ve also got more normal looking citizenry here. Some have signs like ‘Power to the pony, not the noble’, or ‘Row, row, fight the power!’ I’ll neither confirm nor deny that there’s a Che Guevara-esque caricature of me on a banner behind a quartet of ponies who look frighteningly similar to John Lennon, Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison, because I’m still struggling to figure out how to make sense of the fact that the Beatle ponies apparently see me as a Marxist revolutionary.

It’s still better than the ones who think I’m nothing but an alien monster who doesn’t belong. ‘E.E.—extra equestrian—go home’ and ‘Stop trying to steal our stallions, space freak’, aren’t exactly great for someone’s self esteem. Then again, they’re only being stupid because they’re ignorant, right? After all, if they’d bothered to do their research, they’d know their mares posed a bigger risk of being stolen by me, and even then it isn’t funny. I’ve no reason to say “Take me to your leader” or “I come in peace” because both already kinda happened, right?

Okay, yes, I know I’m distracting myself from the issue at hand, but it’s much more preferable to thinking about the oncoming train at the end of the tunnel. Passing through all these crowds of ponies, the only way I can retain my disguise is if I can remain stoic, and that means not thinking about the pink elephant in the room.

“So exactly how long was I out?” I ask as we pass out of sight of the hospital. “I mean, I know I’ve been cognizant of two weeks passing, but given my past near death experiences, I’m usually out of commission for a day or two. How much time passed between that night and me waking up in the new room?”

Wind Whisper glances away, eyeing some signpost seemingly at random. “Six days.” Wow, was I really dying or something? I mean, even with the lamia attack, I only set my record at something like two or three days... but six? Yikes. That makes it, what, about three weeks since I was put in the hospital?

“Six?” A dry lump forms in my throat as I speak the words aloud. “How? Why?”

Her head bobs so minutely that it takes me some time to realize it for what it is: an armored shrug. “Magically induced coma; field medics do it all the time in the Royal Guard.” She cocks her head aside as though remembering something. “It makes it easier for them to regulate your vitals until you’re stable enough that you won’t injure yourself.” Leading me down an alley, she says, “This way.”

That actually deserves a humorous snort. “Yet they still had me bound. Classy.”

“Well, when you come in violently, they probably expect you might come out of it swinging.” Her response is not intoned accusingly but rather as a simple observation of fact. “Traumatic incidents as they are, you woke up in a strange place after being imprisoned against your will and raped repeatedly. An expectation of disorientation and fear is not too absurd. Besides, you did thrash about an awful lot for a pony put into a coma to prevent you from doing exactly that.”

Damn you, logic. Why do you have to make so much sense? “Then I guess I’m still a fighter,” I say dryly. “Here’s hoping I don’t get into it with anybody at the funeral.”


~ 32 ~


When we arrive at the funeral home, the service is well underway. It’s about what I expected, given that it was Beat’s suggestion that I show up late and stay near the back until I pay my respects. Since appearing as a guard isn’t part of the plan, I of course lose time worming my way out of the armor in the coat-check. I get a few strange looks from some of the attendants as I strip myself from my borrowed armor, but such looks are... oddly normal for me by this point.

Once I free myself of the plate chestpiece and helmet, we slowly make our way to the parlor where Blossom’s service is being held. The first makings of a sermon, appropriately multicast in Neighponese and Mainland Equestrian, filter through the doors as we draw close. It hits me, hearing these mournful words, that this is the first funeral I’ve actually attended. My ears droop as I push the door open with my muzzle.

Seeing the crowd, or rather the lack thereof, gathered in remembrance of my beloved hurts almost as much as losing her. Rather than there being numerous ponies who know and love her, I’m appalled by how few are really here. Up in the front are six white ponies, Chill Beat included. Besides her, there’s a decrepit looking mare with an unmistakably matronly look about her, and four other ponies who, while older than Beat, are definitely related to her. The rest of the handful of people here are either classmates of hers, or her friends.

In the back of the room, I spot the GG’s—my friends—all congregated on one pew, clad in black cloaks. I immediately make my way to join them, noting that Wind Whisper doesn’t follow me beyond the end of the row. Gale peers out at me from beneath her hood, and nods shallowly as I take a seat beside her. “You got my note?”

She gives me a tired smile. “Yeah, your friend there found me okay.” Reaching beneath her cloak, she produces a small object swaddled in an olive cloth. “You sure you wanna do this? You had me go through a lot of trouble just to get it back from the Royal Guard after they tossed her place, just to see it burned when they cremate her body.”

I nod solemnly, taking the item and tucking it beneath one of my wings. “It’s a symbolic gesture,” I reply, my voice trembling. “You study folklore, so you know how the symbolism can be as important as the message.”

She only nods in acknowledgement. There’s nothing else to be said at this point, so the both of us return our attentions back to the service. Despite both priests speaking simultaneously, it never once feels as though one is talking over the other. It instead feels as though they are speaking in harmony with one another. The beauty of the service doesn’t escape me, nor does it prevent me from feeling any better about it all.

When the Equestrian priest instructs us to open our hymnals, I can barely choke back a sob. Written there on the leaflet for all to see are the words I brought to this world, with the lyrics accredited to Gearalt G. Gilios and a close friend. Before I have time to look accusingly at the griffon, I catch sight of Beat up front between the priests, facing the congregation with a hymnal floating before her. Was this her idea?

A few sad bars from the organ are all the indication Beat needs to begin. “There are loved ones, in the glory, whose dear forms you often miss...” She begins quietly at first, unsure of herself, but she grows more confident with each word, singing the lyrics with slow deliberation. “When you close your earthly story, will you join them in their bliss?”

“Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, by and by?” I surprise myself when my own voice answers back loudest, leading the group into the chorus. To her credit, Beat manages to smile and I feel somehow lighter for it.  “Is a better home awaiting in the sky, in the sky?”


~ 32 ~


By the time the hymn comes to a close, my boldness is gone, crumbled beneath the onslaught of memories spurned on by the song. At every verse, a new image hits me. Blossom shouts at Beat as I’m suspended in her sister’s magical grip. I blink and then I’m introducing her to my other friends. In another verse, I’m sprawled out on the ground eating goodies in the park, while a merchant caravan is in town. A heartbeat later, I’m in a tree, looking down at her when she says yes to being my marefriend.

More and more the memories come, and with each wave, my strength dissolves. When I relive our first kiss in the afterglow of Twilight’s ascension, watching the way her eyes glimmer in the pink light cast in the sky, I can sing no more. I crumple against Gale’s side, sobbing. Thankfully, I’m not alone. Beat is up there, barely holding it together herself, and a loud keening can be heard from the front row. Even Gale has tears in her eyes as she pulls me into a tight bearhug.

Alas, when it comes to an end, the time comes for respects to be paid. Blossom’s mother and Beat both take up positions beside the casket, the other four arranged behind them protectively. After ponies filter up from the rows to say their goodbyes, they stop respectfully before the family to offer their condolences. Pony after pony steps up to the casket, leaving flowers or coins—an offering to the ferrymare on the River Styx, if you believe in that sort of thing—on it. Oddly enough, I can see ponies offering up envelopes of what I can only imagine to be high denomination coins to Blossom’s family. Even between worlds, some things never change.

I kinda just stare in silence for a while as other ponies waltz up to Blossom’s coffin before me, a worrisome unease spreading throughout my belly. Is it possible that I am so bothered because of my relationship? Blossom was my love, for crying out loud; why should I be one of the last to say my goodbyes?

No, I have no right to claim entitlement over anything. The things I’ve lost and the things I’ve been through do not make me a victim. If I let my hardships strengthen me, they cannot—will not—happen to me again. I won’t let myself become a slave to my emotions here. No anger, no regret; only remembrance.

As Gale helps me to my hooves, my eyes wander from the coffin to the snow white matron. Even though looking upon my beloved one last time is going to tear my heart asunder, facing her traditionalist mother is going to be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do. No hate; just be the better mare. Ice Blossom would want me to make peace with the mare, so I’ll need to keep my emotions in check. What kind of trouble can I even get into when I need to lean against a friend just to walk up the center aisle to my marefriend’s casket?

In spite of the violent, bloody nature of her death, it is an open casket funeral. Fear alone nearly sends me scrambling away from her pall, but I tamp down on my inner anguish and temper it into resolve. I push away from Gale, dragging myself to the open box, and steel myself for what is to come.

When I look down at her, my heart clenches painfully within my chest. None of that night’s torments are visible on her immaculately preserved remains. Looking at her, one could never even tell that she was... that she was decapitated. There’s a barely noticeable stitching at the base of her neck where it was reattached to her torso by a beautician, and even that is covered by her natural coat and carefully applied make-up. She looks every bit as beautiful as the day I met her. It’s almost like she’s just asleep—ready to wake at any moment. She’s just Sleeping Beauty, waiting for her prince.

Breathing a shaky breath, I dip my head beneath my wing and grab my memento. With all of the care I can muster, so not to disturb her body, I place the item on her chest, just above her the hooves crossed on her chest. I step back, sighing and sagging against my friend, and look down once more to my Blossom’s face.

“Blossom, you were the best thing that ever happened in my life,” I say, pitching my voice loud enough so that the family gathered to the side can hear. “In a time where I was unsure I could ever be normal again, you showed me who I really was, and gave me a more human—no, equine—reason to live than trying to fix the things beyond my control.

“Every day I spent with you is one I will cherish for the rest of my life.” Gale gives me a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder as I glance in Beat’s direction. “You made me a better mare than this world had any right to expect of me, and I would like to think that I helped you grow in turn. In just a matter of months, I watched you go from a timid girl, convinced by cultural differences that I would eat you, to a strong woman who stood up for those she cared about... even if it cost you your...”

A sniffle escapes me, and tears rim my eyes as I turn back to look at the memento I’ve placed with her: my compass. “I’m going to be lost without you, Blossom,” I say in a soft voice. When I lean down and nuzzle her cheek, a strangled growl stops me. I can see her mother glaring at me. “May you never lose your way as you go on into the afterlife. I love you Ice Blossom, now and always.”

I give Gale a warning glance before turning to face Beat and her mother. With a heavy breath, I gather all I remember of etiquette and bow deeply. I don’t adjust my head in order to observe, to even tell if the bow is being returned. Instead, I allow my nose to graze the carpeted flooring of the parlor. Depth and the length of bow are important, after all.

I hold this position for almost two minutes before raising my head. “It is heartbreaking that we must meet under these circumstances, okaa-sama,” I say as respectfully as I can manage for a mare who blames me for her daughter’s death. “I wish that we could have one day met on happy terms.”

The elder mare narrows her eyes and snorts in derision. “There are no terms I would willfully meet you on, bakemono,” she snarls. “You are an abomination even without your abhorrent ways. You come from another world and take on the shape of a pony, lying to all you meet. It did not satisfy your deceitful soul to charm the kami of these lands, nor did it satiate you to pervert my daughter—my Hyouka—from honored tradition.” She slams her hooves into the floor. “You stole her from me, and now you mock me at her funeral.” 

My jaw clenches tightly at her words. Despite expecting to be wholly blamed for her death, it hurts nonetheless. “Please, don’t give me that shit,” I say, returning the matron’s frosty glare. “You call me a deceiver, a monster, and tell me that I perverted your daughter.” The corners of my mouth pull up in a toothy snarl. “Tell me, do you honestly believe that? If you do, you’re not only pissing on her grave, you are disrespecting everything she stands for.”

The mare’s nostrils flare angrily, and she lowers her head, taking an aggressive stance. “You dare—”

“You’re damn well right I dare, you narrow-minded old biddy!” I flare my wings threateningly. “She may have been naive, but she was never stupid. Ice Blossom was the brightest mare I ever knew, so to tell me that I am a deceiver, and that I corrupted her is to admit that she was stupid and easily misled. I loved your daughter and told her everything. There was no deception.”

Uncertainty bleeds into her eyes, and her stance sags. “Even if that is so, a mare cannot sire young,” she argues. “With you, she could not continue our legacy.”

Before I can speak, an answer comes from a surprising source. Beat, who had remained silent up until this point, interposes herself between us, gently pushing us both back with her magic. “She could have, mother,” Beat says. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time. Silver’s an alchemist; she can make a mare into a virile stallion. I know; I peeked in on her study.”

Her mother begins trembling, and her legs give way. “But... she took your sister from us.”

Beat shakes her head. “No, she didn’t,” she says, embracing her mother. “She gave her life to ensure the pony she loved could continue to use her alchemy for good.”


~ 32 ~


That is by far one of the stranger encounters I’ve had here in Equestria. Yes, the woman was blinded by grief and blamed me for the death of her daughter, but who is to say that in her position, I would not act the same? We are only ponies—creatures of emotion—and we only follow our design.

After some exchanged apologies and a promise to meet again in peace before she leaves, I’m back into the guard armor with the faux horn once again atop my head, Wind Whisper at my side. Despite the armor being no different the second time around, I still feel multitudes lighter, as though a great burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

“Why the compass?” the sergeant asks as we exit the coat-check. “Of all the things you could have left, why that beaten up old thing?”

I give her an appraising look before smiling. “It’s like I said in my little speech at her pall,” I reply. “I’m lost without her, hence giving her my compass.” Bobbing my head once, I look away. “Besides, if that thing really was cursed, it won’t harm anypony ever again.”

Much to my amazement, I actually get a reaction out of the off-hand comment. Wide-eyed, she asks, “A cursed compass? What?”

“Oh yeah, it will lead you to what you desire most, but apparently it brings its owner misfortune.” With a half-hearted laugh, I say, “It even has a backstory if the curio merchant was telling the—”

My words catch in my throat as we round a corner. Standing before us like some suave douchebag is Prince Blueblood. With my head pounding hotly, I stride confidently towards the damnable ignoble unicorn. That motherfucker—and that might actually be true if purity of bloodline is really that important to his clan—has the fucking gall to show up at the funeral of the mare his psychotic sister murdered?

“Prince Blueblood, sir,” I say, pitching my voice in a tone of faux authority. “We do not recommend that you enter there at the present time. It would be a grave mistake on your part.”

Glaring down at me, he snorts derisively. “What rot are you speaking?” he asks, trying to bump past me. “Lady Frostfall is mourning her daughter, and I come on behalf of House Blueblood to extend our condolences.”

I shake my head, and in spite of his larger bulk, I stand my ground. “There are many in the public who do not recognize the validity of the disownment of Aqua Regia, your highness.”  There’s just enough acid in my tone that he chances a second glance. “Some might presume you come not to comfort, but to gloat. Given House Blueblood’s standing, as of late, can you really afford to cause an international incident?”

“Get out of my way, or I will have your commission, soldier,” he says coldly. “You may be a member of the guard now, but I can guarantee you will not have a position of power in this so-called new world order to come.”

Stepping out of his way, I smile. “If I have my way, neither will you.” The Garbage Prince shoves his way past, and my smile becomes a grin. Taking inspiration from Applejack herself, I sidestep in behind Blueblood and buck out with all the force I can muster.

A girlish shriek escapes the recipient of my attack, and when I turn to face him, he is curled into a tidy white ball, cradling and protecting his assailed testes with his hooves. “That is for contributing to the conditions that led her to become a murderess, Blueblood of No House Worth Mentioning.”

> Chapter 33: Madness Pt. I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The next morning, as I’m filling out my own discharge paperwork in the hospital lobby, a runner clad in Luna’s colors arrives. The young mare passes off a ribbon-bound scroll to my ever present guard. I observe the exchange from the corner of my eye, noting with great satisfaction that Wind Whisper does not seem at all amused to be receiving new orders bearing Luna’s seal. She’s nothing but professional in addressing the mare, but she doesn’t bother to hide her rolling eyes once she’s gone.

“Not good news?” I ask, tapping my hoof onto an ink pad provided by the hospital staff and pressing it onto one corner of the last page in the document. The sergeant smirks and shakes her head as she unfurls the scroll. “What’s happened now? A new draconequus has appeared, laying claim to the throne?”

She blinks repeatedly as she mulls over my comment. “What? No!” Shaking her head, Whisper glares back at the door. “It’s only a request from the princesses for you to join them at Helping Hooves Clinic for the Criminally Insane.”

Her words draw a flinch from me, and the quill I’d been using to sign myself out with drops to the ground. “They want me to go where?” I shrill as I whip my head around to stare at her in wide-eyed horror. “Run that by me again.”

The guardsmare doesn’t make eye contact with me; rather, she seems very intent on staring down the receptionist’s window, instead. “They just want to talk, Silver.” After rewrapping the scroll in the ribbon, she tucks it into her armor. Rubbing her temple anxiously, she adds, “Nothing is going to happen.”

My jaw clenches as I snatch the quill back up from the floor. She can’t seriously fucking believe that, can she? “You’re telling me the princesses just want to have a talk.” I snort dismissively as I start signing my name. “In an asylum.”

“Yes,” she says as the final pen stroke goes onto the paper.

“An asylum for the criminally insane,” I reiterate through gritted teeth, just to make myself clear on the issue. “A place where just talking ends with me in a long-sleeve jacket that fastens in the back. A place where I am at the complete mercy of ponies who may or may not be just as bad as the prisoners there. Let’s not forget that I’ve already basically been held on a psych hold!”

“Firstly, Helping Hooves is a very reputable facility; they would never employ any staff that might mistreat their patients,” she answers firmly. “I know your trust in everything official is practically non-existent right now, but I want you to trust in me that they do not want to commit you. Rather, I get the impression they wish to speak to you about what happened yesterday.”

Really? What do they think they’re playing at? “Why, then, do they want to meet me in the nuthatch?” When she doesn’t answer, I smirk back at her. “I don’t see them just handing off control of Equestria to Twilight or Cadance and then committing themselves; do you? No, I thought not.”

It occurs to me that handing off control to somepony might actually be on the agenda at some point down the line, but with Princess Cadance tied up in running the Crystal Empire, and Twilight too inexperienced in the realm of politics, it is rather unlikely to be either of them. Instead, Celestia’s either going to have to figure out a presidential or parliamentary system and urge ponies of like minds to form their own political parties, or she could just state that neither she nor her sister are fit to rule any longer, abdicate, and let her little ponies flail about on the severed apron-strings. While I admit that the inevitable anarchy that would arise from the latter sounds fun, I doubt that Celestia would allow such a thing to happen. Fuck what Luna thinks, for that matter.

For whatever reason, Wind Whisper doesn’t have an answer to the question previously put forth. Instead, she smiles and shakes her head once more. “I give you my word that if they have been dishonest, I will not allow anything to happen, as I am still bound by my word that you will come to no harm while you are under my watch.”

I raise an eyebrow as she walks forth, placing a reassuring a hoof on my shoulder. “Speaking of that, how long do you plan on watching over me like you have?” I glance momentarily at the receptionist on the other side of the pane of glass, and, pushing the paperwork forward, give the window a little tap. “Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but surely you’re getting bored of watching over me.”

Her smile fades slightly, and I can see something in her eyes. “I’ve actually been considering retiring. I’ve put in enough years for a full pension, so it’s not like I’ll be hard pressed for money. I could also transfer into OCS’s training division and make sure another Cutlass never happens again,” she says. 

It finally strikes me that the look in her eyes is one of apology. “That being said, I am bound, too, by my oaths as a member of the guard and am still required to follow direct orders from the princesses.” Her hoof’s grip on my shoulder—still a disturbing prospect, these pony hooves—tightens, as does her face. “Trigger.”

A blinding white light fills my eyes, and for the second time in recent history, my atoms are scattered to the wind. I really hate teleporting, now that I think about it.

I brace myself for trouble before the teleport blindness even wears off. She says there’s no reason to expect trouble, but on the same strand of logic, she also said no harm would come to me—that she wouldn’t force me to go somewhere I don’t want to go. She knows that I don’t trust the princesses as far as I can throw them by this point. To force me to see them in a place like this... with magic, no less! The conflicting loyalties are driving me crazy.

Without warning, something is slipped around my neck, and I prepare to lash out if the whatever tightens. Thankfully, the item does not cinch tight around my neck like some sort of restraining collar. Instead, a reassuring hoof comes down on my shoulder, and I hear Whisper’s voice. “Relax, Silver. It’s only a lanyard with your visitor’s pass. You’re safe.” Even though by all rights her voice shouldn’t be soothing, her tone does help calm my nerves. “I simply activated a return spell in the letter, for faster transit, by the way.”

I look down at the card hanging from my neck, and sure enough there I am smiling in prison oranges with the word visitor stamped in bold. “It’s no ‘hitchhikers may be escaping convicts’ sign, but I suppose it’ll do,” I say in a half-joking tone. That gets me a look from the orderly standing in front of me. “Oh hey, I didn’t notice you there. Thanks for this. At least I have a ‘get out of hell’ free card, now.”

Okay, I know it’s a bad idea antagonizing employees of an asylum when I’ve clearly been through multiple traumatic ordeals and arguably belong in such a place, but in my defense, the thought of being in an asylum is my idea of hell for me. For others, it might not be the worst possible outcome, but a place like this is the end of the line as far as I’m concerned. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel at all apologetic as the orderly glares at me.


~ 33 ~


Regardless of any hurt feelings, an employee of the ‘clinic’ leads us through the winding corridors of this asylum of the damned. We pass through a checkpoint every so often as the level of security increases from wing to wing, repeatedly subjecting us to magical searches. You know, ‘cause clearly I’m going to smuggle a hand grenade inside my vagina. Granted, there are one or two ponies I can think of who might deserve a cunt-bomb.

Eventually, the orderly stops us just past a door following a search at the checkpoint for the wing called ‘Lessons in Mourning’, as if that’s not an ominous place or nothing. Given that we just passed through the ‘That’s not Yours’ wing, I think I have a good idea what sort of pony is housed here. Unsurprisingly, there are two Royal Guards and two Night Guards posted outside the door. The same can be said for the next one down the hall, for that matter.

The door in front of us has observation stenciled on the frosted window, and I’m fairly certain the other door has interview on it. All the pieces settle into place, and suddenly I really don’t want to finish this puzzle. “Nope,” I say firmly, backing up a step. “Not going in there.”

Beside me, my escort sighs. “Silver Script, please... Princesses Celestia and Luna are going to be here all day, and will have even less time as the days go on.” She actually looks pretty anxious. Maybe she recalls her last interaction with Luna. “Certain elements are pushing them to bring Aqua Regia to trial. Before any of that happens, they have no choice but to ensure she’s fit to even appear in court.”

“I do not want to see her, unless she’s being drawn and quartered,” I hiss, taking yet another step back. “She robbed me of my dignity, my self esteem, and most importantly, the pony I love. I may have been merciful when I was half-dead and full of rage, but now, when I’ve had almost a month of living in denial, that mercy is gone.”

Surprisingly, my answer comes not from Whisper, but from the doorway. “Then you will be pleased to hear that Aqua Regia’s assessment has not yet begun,” Celestia says. “Do come in, Silver. We have some time yet before she is to be interviewed.”

Something about her tone tells me that it would be foolhardy to say no. With much unease, I follow Celestia back into the room, noting sourly that Wind Whisper isn’t following. I don’t wait for prompting to take a seat across from Luna. Despite the one-way window into the other room, it’s rather clear that they set the room up for a small meeting between the three of us, and the chairs have been set in a neutral square. It occurs to me that there might be a fourth joining us, given the fourth chair, but any worries are quickly forgotten as Celestia takes a seat.

“Now then,” she says, casually conjuring up some tea, as if she doesn’t see me ready myself for fight or flight. I don’t understand why they continue to use magic around me despite everything that has happened. Is it really so difficult to accommodate a justifiably thaumaphobic mare? “Before we actually begin, I’d like to ask why you think you are here.”

I look cautiously from one to the other, reminding myself that while I have every right to be wary of them, they cannot just make me disappear after taking a stance against corruption and making my very existence public knowledge. “Frankly, my first impression upon hearing the name of this place was that you wanted me locked up,” I say, turning away an offered teacup with a trembling hoof. “When you look at it, it makes sense.

“When I lost my shit before, I tried to murder somepony I respected.” Both royals cringe at my vulgar mouth, but make no indication to curb my vicious tongue. “That’s strike one. I also recall venting rather furiously inside that bubble, causing myself a fair bit of physical harm. That’s strike two.”

I look Celestia directly in the eyes. “Then, after Aqua Regia raped me, murdered Ice Blossom, and desecrated her remains, I viciously beat her. I could have stopped when I gave that bitch a keratotomy, but I had to make sure she’d never forget. That’s strike three. In light of that, I probably belong here.”

Celestia and Luna exchange a worried look. “Then it is both good and bad that it is not the reason we have asked you here,” Luna answers apologetically. “Tell me, did you happen to see Prince Blueblood during the funeral yesterday?”

“Can’t say I remember seeing him.” I look her right in the eye as I say this. I note that they aren’t bothering to run a lie detection spell. Curious, do they not actually care? “What, did the slimeball show up to spread some false sympathy after I left?”

“Blueblood claims that a mare dressed as a unicorn guard assaulted him for no reason at all before he could offer his condolences to the family.” She raises an eyebrow and inclines her head toward the door. “It’s a description that matches the uniform requisitioned by Sergeant Whisper to allow you to leave the hospital unseen, and he seems to think it was you.”

I give her a nasty scowl before looking to Celestia as she sips whatever tea it is she’s drinking. “It sounds like that no-name showed up somewhere he wasn’t wanted and got what he deserved when he ran afoul of a bereaved mourner.” With a shrug, I incline my head back to Luna. “If he’s trying to pin this on me, I’d like to get that bastard locked up for harassment. His family has done enough.”

A curious look lights up Celestia’s eyes. “Why do you think he deserves it?” she asks, emphasizing her interest in my opinion. Her horn lights up with that familiar golden aura, nearly sending me scrambling for cover beneath my chair. When nothing happens, I realize that only now is she testing for honesty. What are they playing at?

Frowning, I look down at my hooves. “He deserves it because he and the rest of his ilk are responsible to some degree for the monster Aqua Regia became,” I say weakly. “When Aqua was... when she was raping me, she kept going on and on about how a mare born into the Blueblood family was only as useful as her connections, that she was just to be another pawn in the political game, without a claim to power.”

“So you blame him for the way that she was raised?” Luna inquires.

“That’s right.” My forehooves grip the edge of the chair as my body begins to quake. “That’s probably the most honest thing she ever said to me, and it had to have been when she... Just how bad was it for mares in that home that would lead her to an all or nothing mentality about changing their family? Was it really bad enough to cause her to become a complete psychopath just because she fucked up?”

“She’s not lying Luna,” Celestia says, turning to her sister as the glow surrounding her horn diminishing. “Or at least she believes it.”

“Indeed,” Luna replies in a whisper that I don’t think is intended to actually be heard. “It even confirms some of our suspicions. But she almost sounds like she pi-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I growl, the pure hatred in my voice startling the princesses. “Make no mistake. I blame her no less for what she did, but House Blueblood, regardless of whether or not the disownment was at all legitimate, is just as much to blame for her actions.” What I don’t say is that if I don’t see that noble house removed from any sort of power, I have half a mind to see their house up in flames. Literally.

“I-” Whatever Celestia intended to say dies in her throat as I catch sight of movement in the next room. The door opens, and in steps a brown earth pony stallion in a lab coat, followed by a brawny looking unicorn mare in an orderly outfit, and a face I really don’t want to see. Try as I might, though, seeing is no longer a choice. “We were supposed to have another five minutes before the interview began.”

I’m not listening. When Aqua Regia walks in, I have to do a double-take when I see her, to make sure this is the same pony I remember. There’s not even a sign of the damage I did to her horn, which honestly isn’t all that surprising; the whole thing is fucking gone, as though it’s been filed down from the point where I broke it. That’s not the biggest difference, though. Clutched against a light-pink patient’s gown by one of her forehooves is a ragged-looking stuffed rabbit. Puffy-eyed and pigtailed, she looks less like a murderess than she does a frightened child.

“I dun like dis place,” I hear her say through a one-way intercom, and I flinch at her childish tone. “It’s scary. Can we go to da gawden?”

The doctor frowns and shakes his head. “Not right now, Aqua.” His voice isn’t scolding, but there is a displeased edge in his voice. “Remember, we’re here to answer a few questions.” Plaintively, Aqua takes a seat and hugs the rabbit closer to her chest. “Now, do you remember why you’re here today?”

“It’s cuz I snuck a cookie after bedtime, right?” She looks pleadingly at the doctor, glancing anxiously at the orderly every few moments, before bursting into tears. “I pwomise not to do it ‘gain! I dun wanna go o’phanage!”

I scream.


~ 33 ~


I jerk awake with a start, almost falling out of my bunk on the sleeper car. My throat is parched, and I imagine that is, in itself, a small blessing. After all, the other passengers in this train car would hardly be happy to be awoken with a shrill scream. Ain’t fair of me to torment the other passengers by waking them in the dead of night when it’s so hard to fall asleep on a train to begin with.

Still, I’m on a train out of the fucking madhouse that is Canterlot. Just can’t take that place anymore. Ever since that day, I simply can’t get any sleep. Always reliving that same day in my dreams, night after night. Waking up screaming just wears thin after a few days.

Seriously, though? Why the fuck did they have to have me meet them there if they wanted to ask me whether or not I punted Blueblood? What could they possibly have gained from showing me just how fucking broken Aqua Regia is? Am I supposed to feel bad for my rapist because she was incapable of reconciling what she did and regressed to the mental state of a tormented young filly? For all I know, it could have been a show, and Aqua’s really just trying to buy herself time before going to trial.

I personally don’t know why they were so surprised when I told them to take their money and shove it, telling them never to contact me again. I mean, lately, all I’ve gotten from them is shit. They keep treating me like one of their little ponies, who seem to be able to confront their issues just like that, but they seem to keep forgetting that I wasn’t always a pony. They even know from prior experience that my coping mechanism is to run away from my problems until I’ve had time to come to terms with them—and that was when nothing worse than a life-altering transformation and what was technically rape on the part of Lyra, and Bon-Bon, had affected my life. They should remember what happened the last time I confronted something too soon, so I don’t understand at all why they did that.

It doesn’t matter to me that, just days after that colossal cluster-fuck, House Blueblood was formally dissolved by the crown on grounds of massive corruption, with all proceeds going to charity and Blossom’s family, or that many of the elders of that house are facing child abuse charges, or even that Blueblood himself is being retroactively charged as an accessory to rape. I don’t even give a shit that some of the proceeds from the dissolution ended up in my bank account; I’m just fucking done. All I want to do is get to Ponyville and try to live a normal life.

Groaning, I slide out of my bunk and creep toward the door. It’s late, but I imagine the commissary car is still open for those of a more nocturnal nature, or simply ponies looking for a nightcap. I just hope that there’s a bar in there. It could be very helpful in getting back to sleep. Heck, if memory serves me correctly, while alcoholic beverages can make it easier to nod off, they also impede REM sleep. In other words, no dreams, no memories, and no turncoat Luna.

At least fate has the decency to make my trip to the food car an uneventful one. With all that’s happened—from the very beginning when Lyra raped me and my life—it’s a small miracle that a changeling hasn’t burst out of my vagina, robbed me of what little love I have left, and taken my place. I could even imagine it going undetected for some time, its missteps dismissed as PTSD.

Stepping into the food car, my gut clenches. Lyra... Man, I did not think this through. Maybe it won’t be so bad though. I mean, what happened with her and Bon-Bon was gentle and tender, even if it was nonconsensual. It’s not like either of them would do anything to me now; they have a daughter to take care of. There’s nothing to worry about.

“We’re closin’ up fer a few hours ma’am,” an older earth pony behind the food counter says, as she wipes the surface down with a wash-rag. “Clean-up before the mornin’ rush, ya know?”

I frown and glance back at the door. “So, I wouldn’t be able to order a quadruple shot of scotch?” I ask morosely. “I was rather hoping to get back to sleep without much trouble.”

“If’n yer payin’, cain’t rightly turn ya away.” Smiling, she inclines her head toward one of the stools around the counter. “Pull up a chair ‘n stay awhile. Ya sound like ya need a drink or two.” I half-smile at her demeanor and, climbing up onto the indicated stool, take her up on her offer. “Ya sure ya want straight-up scotch? Ah can whip ya up a cocktail that’ll put a warmth in your belly all the same, without none of the hangover come morn’.”

Eying her apple cutie mark as she pulls a decanter of my chosen poison from a cabinet behind the counter, my smile becomes an honest one. “If it’s an Apple family recipe, you have me sold.”

“Well shucks, almost sounds like ya know a cousin or two.” She begins mixing a beverage, which tastefully includes some apple juice and cordial. “Got some in Ponyville, but it’s a shame Ah cain’t disembark to say howdy.”

“Anypony who doesn’t know an Apple doesn’t know what they’re missing.” The mare mirrors my smile as she slides me a beverage. “Apples are good folk who do right by their kin and their friends, and that’s something you don’t get in a lot of places.” That’s right; even if it doesn’t work out with Lyra, Bon-Bon, or Honeydew, I’ve still got choices. So long as I keep this in mind, I’ll never have to be alone. “I can pass on a greeting to Applejack and them if you want.”

“That sure would be swell, friend,” she replies, returning to her task of wiping down the counter. “So what brings ya down Ponyville-ways, if’n you don’t mind me askin’?”

I give her an appraising glance as I sip at the cocktail before me. Holy shit, that’s strong stuff! I flinch slightly as the overly strong bite of the beverage burns my throat, and I realize that I am way too used to low alcohol per volume beverages like cider for this. Either that, or she mistook vodka for the scotch—one of the two.

Noting my flinch, she eyes me warily. “Ya don’t have ta if’n it brings ya pain,” she says softly, seemingly jumping to the wrong conclusion. “Ah know how hard it can all be when ya have somethin’ ya just want to run an’ hide from, but mah pa always used to say talkin’ does wonders for ya.”

“What would you like to hear?” I ask almost bitterly, staring at my drink. “I could say that I’m running away from an abusive relationship to return to the closest thing I have to a family or herd and leave it at that. Wouldn’t be a lie in the strictest sense, either. What I’ve been through, though...” Returning my gaze to her face, my eyes grow steely. “What happened to me, I wouldn’t wish anybody to have to hear about, never mind have happen to them. Still, it is easier to talk to someone who isn’t knee-deep in everything... Just, what I have to say, it’s going to be horrible, and it could very well haunt you to the end of your life.”

The apple mare behind the bar smiles at me as she gets a glass and a bottle of cider. It’s not a condescending smile or one with the implication that there’s nothing I could tell her that could faze her. Instead it’s a tired, world weary one that says that she’s carrying a number of such stories with her. “Ah don’t doubt it,” she says, pouring herself a bit. “Ya look like ya could use a talk more than Ah could use sleep.”

So I tell her everything, from the very beginning with Lyra changing my life. I just talk while we drink. There’s no emotion in my voice at all through my retelling, given how tired, angry, and genuinely numb I feel over this all. It probably helps that the alcohol kept my mind unfocused enough that I didn’t immediately devolve into hysterics. The entire time, she just listens, a horrified look never leaving her face, even as she pours us both refills.

The sun is already rising by the time I’m finished, and my listener is even more intoxicated than I am at that point. When we pull into the station, I stagger back to my bunk in the sleeper car to get my things; not my chest of belongings and supplies—those are being shipped to me later—just my saddlebags. When I finally step out onto the train platform, a heavy thought occurs to me.

“Feels like home, but I s’pose time’ll tell,” I whisper.

> Chapter 34: Madness Pt. II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I step off the train, I’m not treated to the early-morning hustle and bustle of Ponyville or a somber welcoming committee of friends and loved ones. I’m not even treated to the sight of Ponyville at all. The moment my hoof comes into contact with the platform, a sense of unease fills my chest, and when I blink, all of my surroundings vanish.

“Oh come now,” a cruel voice whispers in the darkness. “Do you really expect to be free of me that easily?”

I glance around, a dark chill running down my spine. None of my surroundings look familiar. This barren field is strange enough, because Ponyville is always so full of life, yet as far as my eyes can see, I see only hard-packed dirt and a fog that seems to absorb all light. Up above, in the sky, the moon glares back at me, a jagged rent torn from its surface, scattering a glassy trail about the orbiting body to create the illusion of a maw spraying blood. How did I even get here? Where is here, for that matter?

The crunch of displaced dirt echoes behind me. I reflexively jerk my head in the direction of the disturbance, only to find the darkness swirling about ominously. Pretty disconcerting given how creepy this place. In fact, I’m reminded of a novella I once read. After all, there could be anything hiding in those mists: a lovecraftian horror that is more tentacle than body, or maybe insanity itself. It’s almost as though if I get lost in there, I will be driven as mad as a hatter. Hell, just being here is putting my mind ill at ease.

“Who’s there?” I whisper, acutely aware that my voice doesn’t seem to want to work. Again, something moves, this time in front of me. Once more, I turn and look, treated to only the sight of the dancing void. “Where am I?”

“Before it all, there was only I,” the voice taunts in a cloyingly sweet tone, “and after it all is gone, so too shall I remain.”

What? A fucking riddle—seriously? “Discord? Is that you?” I say, hoping I don’t betray the fact that I’m about to piss myself. “Listen, dude, I know you’re all big on the chaos and riddles thing, and I’ll be the first to admit that I love a bit of insanity as much as the next guy, but I would have hoped that you’re above tormenting a traumatized mare. Can you plea—”

The ground beneath my hooves begins to quake violently, and that voice screams. “You dare compare me to that madcap?” It occurs to me that with how loud the voice feels, my eardrums should have ruptured, yet it only feels like a thermonuclear warhead went off inside of my skull. Doesn’t that mean that whatever this thing is would have to be speaking inside my head? “I am the emptiness, the void, and eternity itself!”

“So, a presumptuous asshole. Got it.” I glare up at the moon, seeing as it’s the only thing around with a face. “I’m going to assume that you brought me here to torment me. How about just killing me instead?”

“There is no fun in death without pain, and there is always pain to go around,” the void purrs. “I would rather toy with you for a few billion years—and believe me, you will live that long.”

Shit. Why do the insane things always come to me? Lyra, the princesses, Aqua Regia, this. It’s like I’m a fucking crazy magnet. “I’m going to go with, nope. Seeya!”

At that, I bolt off into the dark mists. It’s my deepest hope that I’m running away from danger, rather than toward, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that in most cases it is less dangerous if you’re not out in the open. Were it not for the situation, I might even quote a certain song, but I’m more focused on staying alive and untortured.

For what feels like hours—although ideally it has probably only minutes—I run blindly through the darkness. There is no telling what is out there, and it would be suicide to find out what is. For all I know, this reality has the equivalent of Daedric Princes, and I’ve pissed off some fucked up equivalent of Vaermina, Hircine, and Namira, trapped in some pocket reality or nightmare, being hunted by some unknown horror.

“Oh, please,” it whispers. “Your attempts to understand me are so pedestrian.”

I shake my head, desperately trying to rid myself of the voice. The very sound of it is like ice water in my veins, and every time I hear it, my hooves grow heavy. My very being just wants to cease to be and begs for me to let the darkness come for me. That’s why I can’t stop moving.

Unfortunately, a sound out in the dark mists is enough to bring me pause. It’s ever so quiet, but there’s a soft keening coming from somewhere in the darkness nearby. A trick, no doubt. After all, this... entity said that it wants to torture me. What better way than to lure me into the maw of some sort of subterranean pitcher plant than to appeal to my need to help others?

The dirt crunches beneath my hooves as I peel off in a direction I presume to be away from the source of the wailing, hoping desperately that I’ll soon find my way out of this insane quagmire. No good can come of this place, ever.

“Nothing good comes from you, either,” that hateful bit of darkness teases. “Everything is about you, after all.” My best efforts to get away from the mournful sound are met with utter failure as I sprint through the darkness. The ominous, ever present noise only grows louder and more intense, regardless of the direction I move. “That’s right, you will see what I want you to; you will go where I command.”

I screech to a halt and wince as little pieces of gravel dig into my hooves, scraping the soft flesh of my frogs. “No,” I say in a wavering voice. With a defiant snort, I screw my eyes shut. “I am not your fucking plaything, nor will I play your sick game. I’m going to stand right here until you either come kill me, or put me back where you found me.”

A low, contemptuous chuckle filled my ears, momentarily overpowering the baiting cry. “I have my ways of ensuring that you play along,” the voice purred. “I hope you can play nicely with others.”

The words echo hollowly in my mind as I stand in the darkness, listening to that torturous lament. For an instant, another sound reaches my ears: wind through the treetops. Never mind the fact that no matter where I ran in the darkness, I never saw a hint of foliage. Where is it even coming from? It’s almost as though I can even feel it on my face.

Only... it’s not just the wind I’m hearing. There are voices in the wind. Quiet as whispers in my ears, their tone paradoxically sounds like shouting.

“Where is she going, Twilight?” one voice says from a direction decidedly behind me. Even with a certain degree of distortion, it almost sounds like Rainbow Dash, but... How could Twilight or Dash be here?

“I don’t know, Rainbow!” That’s definitely Twilight’s voice! There’s no mistaking that tone of annoyance. “We’ve got to catch her before she hurts herself!” I’m about to call out to them to help me when she continues. “It’s worse than it was before. We need to at least attempt to—” A gust of wind drowns out her words. “—Wind Whisper gets Life Flight.”

“Rainbow Dash, Twilight! Help me!” I scream out as my legs begin to tremble. “It’s so dark! I don’t know where I am, and whatever it is here wants to hurt me.”

Standing still here in the darkness, screaming, turns out to be a very bad idea. Something slams into me from the side with the force of a shotgun blast and sends me sprawling on my back. Before I even touch down, my assailant is on top of me, pressing the side of my face firmly into the gravel and holding my limbs in place.

The force of the impact is strong enough to shock my eyes open, but there’s nothing there. All that my eyes see is the dark mist surrounding me, taunting me.

I clench my jaw and await a killing blow, but none comes. It’s like my invisible assailant seems to be content just to hold me down. Or at least, that is my initial assumption. Something sharp and needlelike prods at the side of my neck, a sensation that I willfully struggle against.

“Get off of me! I won’t let you poison me!” I snarl, wrenching one of my hooves out of the creature’s grasp. With my limb free, I swing my hoof wildly above me in hopes of scoring a hit on my attacker. Though my hoof doesn’t connect with anything, a pained whinny echoes inside my mind and the weight holding me down vanishes.

There’s no time to waste on my back with my belly exposed; the instant I am free, I roll back onto my hooves and stagger away from the site of my attack. Blind and driven by panic, I run as fast as my four equine limbs will allow for. There’s no turning back, no back, no forward, or left and right in this seemingly dark hell, but still my direction is somehow decidedly away from everything else.

There’s nothing I’d like better than to cry out for help, even if I pose the risk of getting attacked. If I heard Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle, there’s no reason to assume that others aren’t also around, right? So what if I was hearing voices from between realms? If I can hear them, I can’t exclude the possibility of being heard. Fuck the danger of calling for aid.

“Somepony!” I scream, “Anypony, please help! I—”

The fog around me vanishes with a sickening sense of vertigo. Walls, those familiar walls, curve up around me. Beneath my hooves, the hard-packed dirt shifts and changes into hardwood floorboards. All around me, furniture sprouts up from the floor and alcoves sporting bedrolls carve themselves into the wall, giving the room a very familiar look.

“No, not here!” I croak. “Not now!”

From a single point on the ceiling, rivulets of blood begin running down the walls. It pools and writhes almost eagerly around my hooves as the room is bathed in red. In mere moments, the crimson tide rises by inches before stopping as quickly as it began.

There isn’t even a chance for me to wonder if the end has come. Like some horrific occurrence of abstract gravity, the ocean of red gathers, coagulating into a single amorphous clot larger than even myself. The great crimson lump quivers in tune with my heartbeat, and I watch in mute horror as flecks of jellied gore fall away. 

My own blood goes gelid as the mass slowly assumes the form of two ponies, locked in coitus, thrusting away even as they take shape. “No!” I cry helplessly as the golems of blood and viscera assume faces from my memories. “Stop this!”

“Why would we do that?” the top golem says over wet slaps, wearing Aqua Regia’s face and voice. With a sickening squelch, Aqua Regia caves in on herself and gives way to Lyra. “We’re just showing you what you already know.”

I glance down at the bottom creature, retching as its face continually shifts between Ice Blossom and myself. “After all, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Blossom’s voice floats free from bloody lips.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper.

“You will,” the things promise, both sporting my face and voice. Like a recently pecked toad, the bloody monsters bloat and bulge. They grow ever larger, losing their equine shapes, looking more like a giant cyst than a threat. “We hope you like yourself, because you’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

The clot explodes, showering the room with hoof-sized chunks of coagulated blood and viscera. Only... that’s not what the really chunks are. Tiny, hatchet-wielding pegasi bearing a striking resemblance to Rainbow Dash—or is it me?—take form from the mess. Hundreds of them, some of them even on me fill the room, and all of them have a hungry look in their eyes.

With an inequine shriek, the swarm descends upon me. Their heads swing wildly as they hack and slash with their weapons of bone, scoring the of flesh of my body. Pain erupts across my body as these angry little mes carve gashes into my face, neck and torso.

Blind abandon overtakes my faculties, and I sprint headfirst into the door, shaking the angry midgets from my body as I run. To my great surprise—and relief—the door is not solid at all, simultaneously stripping me of my murderous passengers and placing me outside of the hospital.

The first thing I notice upon appearing outside the hospital is that I’m once more wearing the platemail of a royal guard. Ash falls from the sky like snow around me, and I see Wind Whisper making her way down the street, the gold of her armor tarnished and graying where the ash accumulates.

“Help me, please!” I cry, trotting after her. “This place... I think it’s trying to drive me crazy.”

The sergeant halts in her tracks. A prickle of danger-sense goes down my spine as she turns to face me, and I immediately regret getting her attention. The fur and flesh vanishes from her body in a puff of ash, leaving behind a skeletal mask. Turning on me, I see her eyes have an almost greasy, boiled look about them.

Her mouth opens, and a laugh like fingers sliding along guitar strings floats free. One bone hoof points at me, or rather past me. I almost don’t want to look to what the skeleton guard is gesturing toward, but it occurs to me that, whatever I do, I’m going to see what this dark realm’s keeper wants me to see.

“Don’t look, Silver!”

My head turns a fraction of an inch, and various incarnations of... me are standing to one side the hospital entrance. All of them are dressed in fancy ‘noble’ clothes, and all of them hold picket signs. The signs themselves remind me of what I’d seen on my way to Blossom’s funeral. ‘Delusional’, one sign proclaimed, while another declared me as ‘Self-centered’ and a ‘Narcissist’. Evidently, the signs were just as twisted as the rest of this reality, as their words transform and tell me ‘Die’, and ‘You belong in hell’.

Unlike the time in reality, there is no crowd of ‘supporters’ picketing about world revolution. The side of the door opposite the picketers with the hateful signs is populated only by ruined corpses. One copy of me lay decapitated, her severed head sitting in the entrails of her drawn and quartered neighbor. Another looks as though her flesh has been partially digested, while the last has been impaled on her own rigid spine.

I turn back to the skeletal Whisper in order to ask why she’s showing me these things, but she is gone. In an instant, the scenery around me flashes and rearranges itself into the hospital cafeteria, darkened by the apparent evening outside. All of the tables but one are occupied by filly-like clones of myself. The odd table out, on the other hoof, is occupied by Celestia and Luna.

“Please, come sit with us, Soren,” Luna says, beckoning me forward with one hoof. “We have a wonderful gift for you.”

I want to scream and run away; these aren’t really the princesses, and whatever ‘gift’ they have, I won’t want any part of. The choice to run, however, is taken when not-Celestia’s horn is surrounded by an oily-black aura. Of its own volition, my body inches forward one trembling hoof at a time.

When I’m seated directly across from them, not-Celestia gives a horrific, rotted grin. “Thank you for joining us, Soren,” she says. “We wanted to thank you for all the advice you’ve given us in regards to how to run our country, so we got you this.”

A large hatbox, covered in what looks to be oil and blood, rises out of the tabletop, and Luna raises an eyebrow. “We do so hope you like it.”

“Don’t open it, Silver!”

The desire to run and hide once again flits through my mind, and for the shortest of moments, my body almost obeys me.

“Open it! Take what we deserve!” the crowd of mes shouts. “This is our gift to us!”

One shaking hoof rises against my wishes, and pushes the lid off of the box. As much as I don’t want to see what is inside, not-Celestia’s horn glows that inky-black once more, and my body leans forward, directing my eyes into the box. Inside the box sits a crown woven of razor wire. It is only now that I realize that Celestia and Luna aren’t wearing their normal regalia.

“Silver, run!”

The crown of thorns, for lack of a non-biblical description, rises out of the box in a cloud of blood corresponding to the aura around not-Luna’s own horn. I can only watch in paralyzed horror as the thing floats above my head. Their mouths move in unison when they say with a single voice, “You seem to have such wonderful ideas on how to fix our world, so we want to make you the princess.”

“Snap out of it, Silver Script!”

It is already too late. The moment the crown touches down on my head, it begins to spread and grow like wildfire. Vines of razorwire snake across my body like angry serpents, tightly binding and slicing my flesh. I try to scream in agony as the wire begins to force its way into my rectal and vaginal orifices, but the wire is so tight around my throat that the only thing to flee my mouth is a torrent of blood. It just continues to slice and grow, slice and grow, until finally the only parts of my body left uncovered by wire are my eyes.

Suddenly, I feel a pinprick on my neck and the pain goes away, replaced by blissful numbness. My body is no longer wrapped in razor wire, and I am no longer in the hospital cafeteria in Canterlot. 

Instead, I find myself in the middle of a forest clearing, Rainbow Dash holding me down. I’m... safe, I realize as Twilight steps into my field of view with Lyra. Both of them look so worried. Even Dash looks tearful.

“Guys, help me,” I try to say around a mouthful of blood, choking slightly as some of it goes down my throat. Why can’t I breathe through my nose? “I think... I think I’m going out of my mind. I-I need help. Please, just get me help.”

Lyra just nods sullenly, leaning down to nuzzle my neck as Dash gets off of me. “I know,” Lyra whispers. “You scared the entire town half to death.”

Through blurring eyes, I watch Rainbow Dash shoot off into the air and start waving wildly, as if trying to catch somebody’s attention. It’s funny, but I can almost swear that the first pony to join her there is... Ice Blossom. It can’t be her, though. She isn’t—

A wave of lethargy washes over me, and my head slumps back into the dirt. It can’t be Ice Blossom, because she isn’t a pegasus; she’s an angel...

“I love you, Ice Blossom.”


~ 34 ~


The therapist sits down on the snowy bench beside me without a word. Nothing needs to be said, really. I skipped out on our regularly scheduled appointment in order to... do what, exactly? I honestly don’t even know why I came out to the courtyard garden in the first place. It’s winter, after all, and there’s snow everywhere.

“Good morning, Doctor O’Hannigan,” I say, turning to face the griffon. I’ve been here for almost a month, and I’m still not used to an idea that a griffon doctor can work in the Ponyville hospital’s mental ward, and yet ponies here are still uncomfortable around them. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? Because I missed our appointment?”

Rather than sounding angry—the doctors here rarely ever spoke out of anger, so it’s unsurprising—or at all disappointed, he sounds amused in his response. And of course he does that queer beak smile that griffons can do. “Not at all,” he replied cheerfully as he idly packs some snow into a ball. “We know that your medication can make some of our patients forgetful, and because of that, the doctors here at Ponyville Hospital always have contingency plans for such occasions.”

My ears flatten against my head, and I can’t help but look away out of guilt. “I didn’t exactly forget about our appointment, Doc,” I admit, ruffling my wings beneath my patient’s gown. “I came out here for something, but I can’t remember what. I’ve been out here since then, trying to remember.”

His demeanor sheds some of its cheerfulness as he watches my expression. “That means you’ve been out here for at least an hour in the snowfall.” He places a claw on the exposed part of my neck and shakes his head. “Aren’t you cold at all?”

A smile creeps across my face as I turn my gaze back up to the sky. An ashen mare with blonde hair tends to the clouds without a care, and I in turn watch her there. “Not really. I mean, sure, the snow is cool to the touch, but there’s no real wind chill,” I comment, pushing a pile of snow off the arm of the bench and lowering my head to it. “It’s what I used to think of as wintertime ‘shorts and t-shirt weather’ back on Earth; it’s cold but not uncomfortable.”

“Are you thinking about home a lot?” he asks, throwing his ball of snow across the garden and into the frozen fountain. “I know the Hearth’s Warming holiday season is often depressing for patients.”

“Tch, home,” I grumble, fixing the doctor with a sideways glare. “I’m not even sure I have a home. Remember now, my parents disowned me, doctor. Even with Lyra, Bon-Bon, and Honeydew, I sometimes wonder if I actually belong... in Equestria at all, even.”

“You do not think you are welcome here any longer.” It’s not a question, but more of a general statement from the doctor, as if phrasing out loud what will go into his notes. “Is it about what happened in Canterlot?”

It takes me a few moments to put together what he means. A number of things happened to me in the capital, and all of them give me reason to feel uncomfortable. “Do you mean how delusional I am—was?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “You didn’t leave the capital in the best of mental health, and your state of mind did skew your perception of reality.”

He means my delusions of grandeur, then. The mistaken belief that I had somehow pioneered a revolution or uprising. Yeah, Celestia and Luna are actively undergoing an inquisition into how corrupt the nobility actually is and what can be done about it, but there haven’t been any public demonstrations of dissent. I’m not even entirely sure that there were ponies with signs outside the hospital on the day of the funeral.

“A lot of that is still kind of foggy,” I say. “Some things still seem so real in my mind, and I still doubt which is actually real. How much of what happened was simply a result of my frayed mind trying to make everything about me, so that I wouldn’t feel insignificant in the world at large? Like, did C—Princess Celestia actually try to ask me about how government functioned in my world? Or did I cryptically spout off something about democracy in the middle of the cafeteria and confuse the hell out of her and those around me?

“And what about my trip to Helping Hooves clinic?” I asked rhetorically. “Did I actually see my rapist, the donor for the foals growing inside me, regressed to a childlike state?” I shake my head. “More than that, I can’t help but think whether or not I somehow left her so brain damaged when I broke off her horn that she can’t even face trial. What if she’s not even aware of the crimes she has committed now?”

Is that really what bothers me? Am I really so hateful in hoping that she isn’t brain damaged enough to be punished? Am I really thinking that so that I don’t have to feel guilty about wishing the death penalty on someone who might have been rendered incapable of understanding what they’ve done? 

Could I even wish death upon a child or someone with the mental capacity therein? I suppress a shudder at the thought and look down at my own belly. I can no sooner harm or wish harm upon a foal than I could bring myself to abort Aqua’s children when I found out I was pregnant.

“I’m uncomfortable because I’m not sure I can trust the legal system to do what is right,” I say with a quaver, after giving the doctor a momentary glance, “because I’m not even sure what right is anymore—”

I lost my mind out of grief and hatred. There are so many things that could have happened when I ran through Ponyville in the midst of a colossal mental breakdown. Who might I have hurt? What if I had killed somepony? What if I had hurt a foal? Would I be any better than Aqua if I had? Was she not out of her mind when she raped me and murdered Ice Blossom?

“—and the more I stay here, and the more I talk with you, Doc,” I continue, “the less I feel angry at the one mare I have every right to. Hell, the more I think about it, the more I actually do pity her.”

Looking at him with tears in my eyes, I ask, “How fucked up is that? She took everything from me, and I pity her?”

The doctor stares at me quietly for a few moments before smiling at me. “It sounds like you’re beginning to work past your grief and rationalizing everything rather than simply lashing out in anger,” he offers. “At any rate, I would like you to think about what we have discussed here this morning for our next session. Aqua Regia is clearly on your mind, and it is good that you wish to discuss it.

“For now, however I want you to go inside and warm up,” he concludes, tilting his head toward the door. “We allow you many privileges because you are so eager to help the ponies and staff here, but you’re still technically on self-harm watch, and sitting out here in the cold like this is hazardous to your health...”

It’s an idle threat made in good spirits, and one I can manage a self deprecating laugh for. “Sure, I show up all cut up and battered from a trip through mental hell, and everybody makes a joke about it,” I reply drily. “Happy Hearth’s Warming Eve, and... Merry Christmas.”


~ 34 ~


Returning to my room, I take a seat at my writing desk—how is it like a raven?—and quickly pull out a sheet of parchment from the drawer. There’s a lot I need to write down while it’s still fresh in my mind, and all of it needs to be said. Dipping a fresh quill into my pot of ink, a ball of guilt forms in my stomach.

Dear Dr. O’Hannigan,

If you’re reading this letter, and I’m not here, there is a very real chance that I might not be coming back at all. I’m not running away or anything like that. I’m not even leaving the boundaries of Ponyville. There’s something I need to do to help somepony, and it might cost me my life.

Firstly, I want to apologize for lying to you. I knew fully well why I was outside this morning, and why I missed our session. I was out there because I was trying to convince myself not to go through with what I am about to do. I’m not telling you what, because this is something that I alone can—must—do.

I also apologize for taking advantage of all the privileges that I have been granted. In allowing me access to my alchemical stocks and equipment in order to prepare potions for the staff and the patients, I was able to get the one thing I needed. I’ve been sitting on this for more than a week, waiting for the right opportunity, and the time is now.

I must also apologize for risking my life and the lives of my two foals. This in itself is the sole reason I wanted to convince myself not to do this. When I found out I was pregnant, I—

A tear drops onto the parchment as the conflicting emotions I felt that day return to the surface. Elation at the thought of bringing new life into the world. The despair of bearing the spawn of my rapist. Regret at the fact that they couldn’t have been Blossom’s. The joy of achieving a dream I’d once put off as impossible. Surprise at being pregnant despite being told by Celestia that I wouldn't be. The anxiety of whether or not I would be a good mother. I am feeling all of these now, but there is another emotion added to the stack: fear, not only of my own death and those of my unborn young, but also of the failure that will result if I am wrong about all of this...

—felt so many things. Chief among them, the desire to make sure that they got the upbringing Aqua never got. In the faith I was brought up in, abortion was a great sin, and I still find myself thinking that what I am doing is a sin. But maybe, if my sin releases another from her suffering, maybe I will be absolved in the afterlife. I want you to know that I do this not in the interest of self harm, but in the promotion of life.

Please, if this is the last I ever say, I want you to let Lyra know that in spite of all that has happened, she is absolved of everything in my eyes. I want a third of my accumulated funds directed toward Honeydew’s education. She needs a chance to be all that she can be.

The rest of my money, and my research, I want dedicated to the continued betterment of alchemical medical science. There are so many things I wanted to do but might never have the chance to. If my research can give hybrid fillies, like Aurora, a chance at a full and healthy life, then I feel I will be vindicated regardless of whether or not I live or die.

Aurora... Just the thought of the filly brings up another doubt. If I live through what I have planned, what of my foals? I don’t know anything about Punnett squares, or what the odds are that my foals might be born hybrids, or what the chances are that they would be born with the same condition that gave that little winged unicorn cancer? My research could be the key...

In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Nopony will be able to stop me from doing this, and I can only hope that I succeed. I only hope that you can forgive me for this.

~Silver Script

P.S. Sorry for the distraction.

With a gentle flap of my wings to fan the parchment in order to speed up drying, I begin rooting through the bottom drawer of the desk to find my oversized jar of ink. You’d be amazed what sort of things you can hide in a big jar of black fluid. Nopony really thinks to look in such a place in part because of obviousness, and partly because of how messy it can be. For example, nobody thinks to look for a misplaced key or two full alchemical flasks in the ink because of how innocuous it is.

Ever so carefully, I twist off the cap partway, just enough so that I can catch the hidden string with the tip of my hoof before removing the cap the rest of the way. The key to the recreational art supplies closet comes out first. Oh, there is a hyperactive filly who would very much like an early Christmas present like this.

Removing the flasks, I smile. This has been a long time coming. Were my life a story, the readers would share an opinion with me. It’s about time. Pound Cake, you’re going home.
> Chapter 35: The Mare with the Cockatrice Eyes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Upon exiting into the common room of Ponyville Hospital’s low security mental wing, I can’t help but shudder slightly. Oh yeah, just the thought of breaking out on Christmas Eve has me all quivery. The excitement of doing something I’m not supposed to—yet totally am—and breaking routine to do something other than what I am told to ‘for the sake of my mental health’. As nice as it’s been not getting raped, attacked, psychologically abused by my own mind, or being even slightly in the public spotlight, being a mental patient is boring.

See, something I noticed real quick-like when I got here is that the patient gowns don’t have any pockets, so you can’t really bring novels or magazines back to your quarters unless it’s approved. Anything you can do during your free periods is dependent on the say-so of the staff. Getting them to allow me to work on my alchemy studies? I don’t even want to get into that. But I digress.

The lack of pockets makes it rather difficult to, er, carry things you’re not supposed to. I suppose that’s another reason I’m shuddering slightly. As it happens, my alchemical storage flasks are little more than enchanted test tubes with stoppers on which you can etch a glowing symbol with your hoof. Being of tubular shape, they’re the perfect size to fit in... well. Let’s just say that the untitled cockatrice-eye and Mother’s Kiss potions are safely hidden in the pocket my rebirth gave me.

Keys are a lot easier to hide, thankfully. Just tuck it beneath a wing and nobody even notices, unless the orderlies have a reason to search you. That’s something that doesn’t really happen with me, though. Most of the orderlies are stallions, and most of them know what happened to me. It helps that the first time one of the ones who didn’t know tried flirting with me—why, I will never know, because I’m in a fucking asylum; don’t stick your dick in the crazy!—I had a miniature panic attack and pissed myself. They give me a wide berth now, for the most part.

It still amazes me how much this place is unlike what I had convinced myself living in an asylum would be like. Maybe it’s all the movies, games, and books in my memories of Earth that painted them in such a dark relief in my mind. After all, isn’t it in the asylums where patients are used in cruel and horrific psychological or scientific experiments? Isn’t it the orderlies who sexually abuse the patients when nobody is looking? Isn’t it the staff that physically disciplines them for things out of their control?

I see none of that here. I mean, yeah, you get the occasional inappropriate flirtation from orderlies, but I’ve never been struck for misbehavior, nor have I been treated in any way that made me uncomfortable; they’ve respected all of my personal boundaries, including my thaumaphobia, and treated me like an actual person instead of some sort of incompetent! What’s more, most of the staff is just the right amount of friendly. Not condescendingly saccharine, but at the same time, they aren’t complete dicks, either.

They’re incredibly good to everypony here, especially Pastel. They maybe spoil her just a bit, given that she’s only six, but they recognize that this bubbly little earth pony’s energy brightens up the lives of those around her. Sure, they’re hesitant to leave her to paint murals unattended, given her history with strange mediums and disturbing imagery, but when she’s happy, she tries her hardest to make others happy. She’s almost so Pinkie-like that I have some doubts as to whether or not they’re related. Is it any wonder that she makes the perfect distraction?

Okay, I know how evil it seems, encouraging another patient to do things that will get her into trouble—and a young filly, no less—so that I don’t get caught, but I am fully willing to take the blame if—no, when!—I get back. And what’s the saying? Sometimes you have to do wrong things for the right reasons. It’s most certainly getting myself and somepony else into trouble if it means I can get this right.

That’s probably why I experience very little guilt when I spot the little pink filly in the corner, drawing a charcoal sketch of one of the other patients as he reads. “Hi there, Pastel,” I say while trotting up to her, taking care not to get in her light. “How are you today?”

“I’m okay, Miz Script,” she replies, not looking up from her drawing, in a voice that doesn’t really seem all that okay. The crayon falls adorably from her mouth as she speaks. “Just miss my mommy is all. I wanna spend Hearth’s Warming with her, not here.”

I nod solemnly at her sentiment, but give her a bright smile. “You know, where I come from, we give the ponies we care about gifts on Hearth’s Warming,” I continue. “You make so many ponies happy here, and it sucks that you can’t spend the time with your mom, so I spoke with the doctors—” Oh, that is such a horrible lie. “—and while they couldn’t let you go home for the holiday, they agreed we could give you something almost as good.”

Her ears perk up, and she immediately fixes me with a wide-eyed stare. “A gift?” she asks enthusiastically, switching gears in that way only children can manage. “What’s almost good as going home?”

I open my left wing, allowing the key to fall to the floor just in front of her paper. If Pastel’s eyes were wide before, they’re practically bulging from their sockets now. “I thought you might recognize this key.” I chuckle and nudge it towards her with my hoof. “I want you to get some of the big canvases and make a Hearth’s Warming mural showing everything about the holiday that makes you and others happy!”

Pastel’s mouth broadened into a grin, and her eyes were practically twinkling with childish glee. “You mean it?” she squealed. “I get to go into the art supply closet and pick anything I need?”

My chuckling evolves into full-fledged laughter. “Just don’t go overboard. We don’t want to use up the hospital’s art supply budget all at once now, you hear?” I turned to eye the ward door. I’d have to move soon, while the orderlies changed shift. “Oh, and remember what the doctors say. The only fluids should be paint or ink, hon.”

The pink filly eagerly snatches up the key between her teeth. “Okay!” she says, scampering toward the closet.

“Don’t forget to tell anybody who asks that I put you up to this,” I tell her before she’s out of earshot. I shook my head. She might get in trouble later, but for now, it’s nice to see a little girl excited about her Christmas gift. Nothing is more valuable than that glee, except maybe the happiness in the eyes of a mother reunited with her son...


~ 35 ~


For all the things I’ve been through, one would think that I would be in some high security mental institution like Helping Hooves up in Canterlot. Maybe it’s out of respect for those incidents, or because my admission was not involuntary, that they grant me leniency, but regardless of the reason, I’m glad Ponyville Hospital isn’t one of those supermax prison-like places. My ‘escape’ literally consists of me slipping out into the courtyard when nopony is looking, shedding my gown, and taking flight. There’s no wing harnesses or primary clipping to keep me grounded, or any kind of binding hex, like the one Twilight cast so long ago, in order to keep me from getting far.

It feels good to stretch my wings, at any rate. They don’t exactly forbid pegasus patients from flying here, but unless accompanied by an orderly of the same winged inclination, you can’t exactly get what would be considered regular flight time in. Doing wing push-ups where there’s space just can’t compare to actually taking flight.

Flying into Ponyville also has the added bonus of not having the two tubes teasing me inside as vigorously as they would were I walking. Oh, sure, getting off is fine so long as I don’t start thinking about certain things, but I’d rather not get all hot and bothered right now. It’s bad enough that I’m going to be showing up where I’m still technically unwanted. If I showed up smelling like a bitch in heat... well. I’m pretty sure Missus Cake will murder me. 

She very well might, anyway. When you’re whacked out of your gourd, challenging ponies to duels the day after their son ‘died’, it doesn’t leave a fantastic impression. When you tell a mother that you’re challenging that pony to a duel because the one in question is to blame for her son’s death and it is the only way to assuage your own soul, that mom definitely starts to dislike you. Unless I’m mistaken, I’m pretty sure there’s still a picture of me behind the counter that says ‘Do not serve’.

I have no reason to think that all this time later, she’s got any less reason to dislike me, even though I’ve saved two other children of the town. If anything, she might even resent me more over it. I know that I would certainly resent the pony who saved two children but had failed to save my own. Then again, I think it’s well established that I’m kinda fucked in the head.

The only problem with flight at this time of year is that it is really cold without a scarf, a jacket or boots, and that I could run into someone who could recognize me. Chiefly, Rainbow Dash is my concern on this matter. Even though she’s been attending the Wonderbolts Academy, she still finds the time to manage the Ponyville weather team. With the cloud front scheduled to dissipate this afternoon, there’s a very real chance of encountering her before I even get to Sugarcube Corner, thus ruining my plan.

The plan... I call it that, but really, all I’ve ‘planned’ is to wing it. I could go straight to the graveyard and dig up Pound’s casket. Only problem is that feasibly someone could see me and report me to the guard before I can do the job, and suddenly, I’ll be labeled criminally insane and transferred back to Canterlot to live in Helping Hooves. That’s not beneficial to my plan.

A wave of nausea washes over me as I pass over a mare carrying her bundled up baby—shit, is that Bon-Bon and Honeydew?—and I’m reminded of the day I found out that I’m pregnant...


~ 35 - Physical ~


It’s still hard to believe it’s only been four days since I found out. I mean, living in the mental wing of a small town’s hospital means one has easy access to health care. You know how it goes: I start feeling tired all the time, the odd abdominal cramping, and I’m urinating frequently. My breasts are swollen, and I’m unable to keep any food down. Fearing that there’s some complication with my medication, I ask to be seen by a doctor, and am taken to the outpatient clinic by one of the orderlies.

Not too many ponies are looking for medical care since it’s the holidays, so I’m seen to pretty quickly. A nurse escorts me from the waiting room to an exam room, and they’re good enough to give me some privacy, asking the orderly to wait outside the door.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse says, ushering me to take a seat on the examination table.

No sooner than I’m up on the table does a doctor, the very one that treated me after the whole lamia affair, stand in the doorway. “Good morning, Miss Script,” he greets with a jovial smile. “What seems to be the trouble today?”

I look at him from atop my paper-covered perch, rubbing one fetlock along the back of my neck. “Well, Doc,” I say with a tired groan, “You remember how my heart ain’t the greatest, yeah? Well, I’ve been having some side effects with my medication...”

The quizzical look on his face says it all. “I don’t follow, Miss Script,” he says after a moment’s awkward stare. “If your medication in the mental health ward is causing you trouble, haven’t you spoken to your therapist about alternative treatment?”

My ears flop down to the sides of my head, and I look away. “It’s not like I don’t trust O’Hannigan’s judgment; it’s just that... after all I’ve been through, I don’t trust my own constitution.” I return my gaze to the doctor. “If getting symptoms like frequent urination, cramping, fatigue, nausea and vomiting, and of course some sort of hormonal imbalance causing my teats to swell are all going on in the foreground, what’s going on that I don’t know about? Something like persistent tachycardia could put too much stress on my heart. All I want is a physical examination to make sure I’m not going to keel over tomorrow.”

Both doctor and nurse share a look of confusion. “You know, that might not be your medication, causing that,” the nurse offers in a regretful tone. “Have you—”

“No! Nope, can’t be!” I interject almost too quickly. “Doctors in Canterlot believed... hell, Princess Celestia told me my tubes were too scarred... that I’m infertile. I can’t be pregnant.”

Again, the two share a look. “Miss Script, please understand that you’ve just come out of a very confusing time,” he says in an ever-so-soft voice. “You can’t be sure of everything you thought you heard at that time.” He pauses for a moment, pulling a file from... somewhere, and looks it over. “None of the medical records we’ve received from Canterlot show any record of tubal scarring.”

“No, no, no,” I reply. “I may have hallucinated a lot of things, but I did not hallucinate that.”

He nods and returns the file to wherever it is he pulled it from. “It could very well be that you are right, and it’s simply an oversight on your record,” he says. “But if it would please you, we can have a sonography machine brought down from radiology...”

“Please... please do.” I want them to know that I’m not completely crazy... that there are lingering scars.


~ 35 ~


With a shake of my head, I veer slightly off course to place a rooftop between Bon-Bon and myself. I can’t be thinking about friends and family right now. The only things that need to be on my mind are getting to Sugarcube Corner and not getting caught. The order doesn’t matter in the least because they’re effectively the same plan, but it’s easier to split it all up into multiple objectives.

Even with the slight delay, the bakery is not far off. As I pass over the thatched roof of a two-story home, grazing it with my hoof, I can make out the finer details of the upper portion of the building. The three candle lamps atop the cupcake loft are glazed with a fine sheet of ice, probably from melting snow during the night. The pony weathervane’s candy cane sports a nice dusting of snow and some very holiday-esque icicles. But is that snow or decorative icing lining the branching chimney? Oh look; there’s Pinkie up in the loft wind—oh fuck!

I drop closer to street level out of reflex so quickly that I barely notice that her back is to the window. That doesn’t reassure me much, in all honesty. Her preternatural sense of precognition is a variable that I hadn’t even thought about; what if she has a Pinkie Sense for ‘escaped mental patient showing up to attempt to depetrify the boss’s son’? Would she warn them before I can get anything done? Or might she sneak out the back to get help once I’m in? The hairs along the back of my neck bristle with alarm at the thought.

No, Pinkie isn’t like that at all. Thinking about her like that is only begging for her to have a Pinkie Sense about me. I’m just being paranoid, which admittedly is partially why I was in the mental care wing of the hospital to begin with. Not that there’s anything ill about wanting to help a pony, right?

As I close the last bit of distance to the front step of the fanciful bakery, I drop the rest of the way to the ground, blending in with the crowd as best I can. At least with a white mane and gray coat, I don’t really stick out much in a crowd during winter. Hell, if I didn’t have such piercing blue eyes and color on my cutie mark, I’m pretty sure I could just stand still and pretend to be a snowpony someone erected in the middle of the terrace.

One hoof in front of the other, that’s all there is to it. Just walk with my head low; don’t bump into anypony, and I can ignore the flasks grinding against each other inside me. It’s honestly easier than it sounds. Ponies are polite enough to give each other some space as they go about their business, and there’s always gaps in the herd to slip through.

Upon reaching the door, my heart begins to pound. “I’m actually doing this!” I whisper excitedly to myself. For more than a year, this has been in the back of my mind, a goal that I had thought I’d never actually achieve; and now here I am, about to either achieve it or die trying.

I pull open the door with some trepidation and step inside, grateful for the warmth of the bakery. It might only be a physical warmth given that I’m not particularly welcome, but it beats the cold outside by miles. Once I’m in, I politely pull the door closed once more, before any snow can trail in behind me.

Any warmth the room is breathing into me is stolen in one fell turn; my blood goes icy when a small voice reaches my ears as I turn back to face the shop’s relatively empty cafe area. “Momma, is Pound come home dis year?”

My head swivels in the direction of the voice, and my heart leaps into my throat. There, at a table in the far corner sits the pudgy matron of the business, Cup Cake, and a little yellow and orange unicorn that could only be Pumpkin, cuddled against her side. Missus Cake looks down at her daughter with a heartbroken expression that tells me this isn’t the first time that question’s been asked lately. 

“Oh dearie,” she says as she leans down to nuzzle the toddler. “He’s gone to the Elysian Fields to be with Nana and Poppy.”

Pumpkin clutches something against her chest—a little pegasus doll—and whimpers. “But he never visits...”

“I know, baby, I know,” she murmurs, pulling her daughter into a tight hug so not to let her see the tears forming in her eyes.

For a moment, I cannot breathe. For all the time I spend thinking about fixing Pound, what his mother and father are going through, or what they might do if I ever show up here in the bakery, it’s never once occurred to me that Pumpkin would suffer from his loss too. What is it like at that age to have someone with you every day of your life, only for him to just vanish? How does it feel to not understand that he isn’t coming home?

At least she isn’t going to have to find out that mommy’s been lying about her brother because she was too young to understand death.


~ 35 - Risk ~


I watch the display on the machine as the nurse glides a probe across my belly. In grainy black and white, I can see shapes that might be the uterine horn, but damned if I can make heads or tails of what I’m actually seeing. Still, the doctor and nurse seem to be able to understand it. Better, they seem satisfied with whatever they’re seeing.

“No indication of a developing embryo present in her uterus,” the nurse states, looking from the monitor to the doctor. “She does not appear to be—”

Something catches the doctor’s eye, and he shushes the nurse. “Go back an inch,” he says curiously. As the nurse complies, a white mass resolves itself on the display. “Hmm, there’s the scarring she mentioned, but...” A curious sound other than my own heartbeat comes through the display. Is that another heartbeat? “Can you get that from a different angle, nurse?”

The nurse complies without a word, and leads the probe around to my side, and struggles to find the mass once more. There, on the display, is something among the scarring. It doesn’t quite look like a pony, but... it definitely has that shape. Then there’s that unmistakable heartbeat, pulsing away surprisingly quickly. 

“An ectopic pregnancy,” the doctor mutters. He looks from the machine to meet my eyes. “You certainly don’t seem to get many breaks, do you, Miss Script?”

I barely hear his words as I stare at the display. There’s a tiny little pony growing in one of my fallopian tubes, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that this sort of thing is risky. If it’s growing there, it means that an ovum was fertilized when I was raped, but had nowhere else to go. It will continue to grow, until it ruptures the space it’s growing in.

The nurse speaking to the doctor, however, does catch my attention. “Doctor, I don’t think that’s a single heartbeat.” I snap my eyes away from the doctor as she leads the probe from my side to my belly, keeping the fetus in focus. The heartbeat is still there, but it’s not nearly as frequent. I watch the screen as it pans across my abdomen, noting the heartbeat fading as it leaves the focus, and another scarred area comes into view. Another fetal heartbeat can be heard over a whispered prayer from the nurse. “Dear Celestia...”

Even the doctor seems taken aback by this. I’m not just pregnant; I’m pregnant with fraternal twins, and both of them are growing in my fallopian tubes. “Holy shit,” I finally say with a gasp. “I’m... pregnant? I’m really pregnant?” My stomach churns, and I begin to feel queasy. “I’m pregnant with my rapist’s...”

“Yes,” the doctor manages. There’s a lot of concern in that single word. “Miss Script... Silver, this is an incredibly risky situation. Without intervention, you could be facing—”

I glare at the doctor from the corner of my eyes before I shake my head slowly. “I know enough biology to understand that this will tear me apart inside if nothing is done,” I hiss between clenched teeth as tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes, “but don’t you dare even mention termination.”

Much to my surprise, the concern on his face contorts into anger. “Why I never!” he said. “I don’t know what it’s like where you came from, but here in Equestria, this sort of thing is easily treated with... with magic.” He looks almost apologetic when the word slips free of his mouth. Could thaumaphobia be noted on my medical record? “Admittedly, we will offer a mare the option to terminate the pregnancy before the three month mark if it is clear that she doesn’t want to follow through, or if it’s deemed high-risk, but never has anypony in this hospital ever broached the subject immediately after telling a pony she’s with foal.”

I blink at the doctor before wilting slightly. “I-I’m sorry, Doctor.” I look away in shame. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that,” I say after a moment’s pause. “It’s just... the way I was raised... abortion was as mortal of a sin as murder, if not worse. Even if I stopped believing, some things just stuck with me.

“On the one hoof, I’m pregnant with the children of the pony who raped me,” I mutter, sniffling. “I don’t want to feel this way, but if I carry them to term, am I not letting the bastard win in the end by sticking to the beliefs I grew up with?”

The nurse places a comforting hoof on my shoulder and smiles softly. “We...” She pauses, as though struggling or the proper word. “We understand that this is a difficult time for you, but you mustn’t think about it like that.” She squeezes my shoulder gently. “If you think like that, he’s already won.”

I nod numbly. Even if I do carry them to term, how do I go about my days without being reminded of what happened? Can I really go through with this when I know I’ll find myself wishing they’d been Blossom’s? Will I end up hating them for who sired them? Am I even cut out for motherhood?

Before I can stop it, I pull the nurse into a hug and began sobbing into her shoulder. “I don’t want them to die, but I’m scared,” I whisper. “Is magic really the only way? Isn’t there surgery that can do it?” 

The nurse shakes her head, though from where I sit, it feels more like a nuzzle. 

“By this point, the embryos have already implanted in your oviducts because of the scarring,” the doctor says. “With magic, the bonds can be momentarily broken as the embryos are relocated to the uterus. Surgically, the only course of action available will be an oophorectomy, the partial or complete removal of the ovaries and fallopian tubes.”

I look to him, crestfallen. “Can I at least be put under for the procedure?”


~ 35 ~


Quietly, I make my way around the edge of the room, my head down. Is now really the time? Should I really bother her while she’s with her daughter, when they are clearly upset? I could always come back later, right?

No, I really can’t. If I fail at this once, I’m pretty much guaranteed that I’ll never get another chance to do this before I get out, if I ever do. Any other time, and it loses some of the symbolism, too. In a time of great giving, what greater gift is there to give than to return her son to the realm of the living? It’s got to be today!

I stop in front of the table and nervously clear my throat. “Um... excuse me, Missus Cake?”

The older mare looks up from her now weeping daughter in confusion. It’s not that she’s surprised by an interruption in her family time; rather, it seems to be a complete lack of recognition. “I’m sorry, dear,” she says softly after sitting quietly for about a minute, “I’m on my break right now, but if you ring the bell on the counter there, my husband will be right out to serve you.”

Her insinuation that her husband is the only one currently working catches me off-guard, and I almost find myself asking why Pinkie isn’t helping out, but one thing at a time. I’m here to talk to her about her son, and talk to her I will. “Actually, ma’am, I was hoping I could talk to you.”

Her eyebrow arches upward, and her eyes narrow slightly, but her facial expression stays fixed. “I’m sorry, what is this about, Miss...”

“Script, ma’am. Silver Script.” 

I watch as her eyebrow lowers and her lips part just enough to reveal some teeth. Not looking away from me, she says in a firm voice, “Pumpkin, honey, go upstairs and tell Pinkie that Miss Silver is here, and then stay upstairs until I say it’s okay.” 

Adorable little Pumpkin looks uneasily from her mother to me, and then back to her mother. She repeats this twice before the urgent tone of her mother’s voice sinks in. With its ear between her teeth, she hauls the doll after her as she scampers into a doorway around back of the counter. She even manages to make her travel up the stairs, audible in that way that only children can be.

“Again, what is this about?”

“It’s about your son, Missus Cake. I...” My tongue drags across my lips. “I think I can bring him back.”

Her eye twitches, and her lips pull into a full snarl. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” she shouts, rising to her hooves. Despite her cushioning layer of pudge, there’s undoubtedly an earth pony beneath all that, and the rippling muscles as her body tenses proves that. “My baby is dead; do you think that’s funny? This is the second Hearth’s Warming without my little boy—another year of loneliness ahead of my daughter, who is too young to understand—and you come here, today of all days, pulling this?”

I shake my head, not breaking eye contact. “Pound isn’t dead!” I say, my voice raising from a whisper to a harsh croak.

She flinches as if she’s just been slapped before returning her glare to me. “Don’t mess with me!” she yells. “Princess Twilight Sparkle, the local expert on magic itself told us that he couldn’t be fixed! Princesses Celestia and Luna told us that it was even outside their power!”

Rather than yelling back, I take a deep breath to steady myself. “They didn’t have all of the data. They didn’t know there was another way,” I state flatly, my right eye darting to the door. Did I just see Pinkie Pie dart by? “The cockatrice is dangerous to be around even as a full-grown pony. Nopony had ever attempted to put a pony near a cockatrice other than the one that petrified them.

“I’ve seen a cockatrice feed, really feed.” I lower my hips to sit, pausing just long enough to ease the muscles gripping the flasks enough for them to slide out and roll to sit by my front hoof, hoping she doesn’t notice. “Their prey doesn’t just die and turn to stone! He’s in stasis, because they very much like their food alive while they eat.

“It’s a hunting and self-defense mechanism, if I had to guess,” I explain frantically, a mad glint in my eye, no doubt. “Their small size and cumbersome gait make it difficult catching prey and competing with apex predators, so they use their petrifying gaze to catch smaller prey while hunting to incapacitate prey and predator alike. The thing is that they also compete for food against other cockatrices. Months ago, I saw a cockatrice in captivity depetrify and eat a mouse frozen by another.”

Some of the anger bleeds from the mare’s face as her eyes widen in shock. “If you knew how to save him all this time—” She narrows her eyes once more and continues to glare at me. Still, the hope building in her voice is encouraging. “—then why tell me now? I could have had my baby back!”

I look down in shame, letting the fringe of my mane cover my eyes. “I wasn’t sure it would be safe,” I lie. Well, sort of lie. It’s only a lie in that I didn’t tell her then, because at the time, I was pretty sure she hated me and wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. “A cockatrice once petrified Twilight, and she should have been able to recognize the danger and not make eye contact. Because they can even get the drop on a pony one might consider an expert, I don’t think there’s such thing as a controlled setting with a cockatrice. Even with unicorns present, they would have to be lightning-fast with their spellcasting to safely remove him from harm’s way, because it would have to be practically on top of him. I couldn’t forgive myself if my advice brought him out of stasis, only to be maimed or killed in front of your eyes.”

“Then why bring it up at all?” That building hope comes crumbling down in a mere moment. To say she sounds even more heartbroken than when she was dealing with her daughter is an understatement. The defeated quaver in her voice brings tears to my eyes. “Did you just come here to taunt me?”

I shake my head as I look up to her with a smile, tears streaming down my cheeks. “No,” I say firmly. With one hoof, I grab both flasks from the floor and hold them up to show her. “I’m an alchemist... a problem solver, I guess you could say. It was dangerous to work with a live cockatrice, so I made a potion to give me its eyes. Unless I completely fucked up, I should be able to free him.”

Silence stretches on as she stares at me. Cup Cake eyes the flasks, her mouth agape. It’s clear by the look in her eyes that the gears in her brain are pulling some serious RPMs. Her mouth works itself open and closed as she struggles with her thoughts. More interestingly, a flame of... desire... hope, alights in her eyes.

“Prove it,” she says desperately at last.


~ 35 - Regret ~


I’m a little tipsy when the nice guardian pony wheels me away on the marvelous rotating-disk affixed bench, more commonly known as the wheelchair. This is the greatest thing about ponyland; they have some amazing drugs here. I feel awesome, and I only just woke up after the doctors used their scary magic on my insides to move my little bundles of joy around so that I don’t pop like an overfilled balloon.

Still, I like to think that even with the sedative in my system, I’m lucid enough to deal with whatever comes my way. Take the orderly behind me for example. There’s absolutely nothing to stop me from striking up conversation, and no filter between brain and mouth!

“Saaaaay, buddy,” I drawl, leaning to one side in my mobile chair. “You have any kids?”

The stallion pushing the chair lets out a surprised little sound, as though he wasn’t expecting me to be awake enough to converse. “Yeah,” he says. “A son. He was about your age.”

I smile and giggle before tilting my head enough to look at his face. Normally, looking him in the eye would be the objective, but I’m nowhere near as flexible as Twilight’s freaky owl. “I bet you just love him to bits all the same!” I purr. “I’m gonna have babies too, you know. Two of them! Just n—eleven, wait, nine months away!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says in a serious tone that doesn’t really invite conversation. Is he thinking about the late nights? Or is he one of the guys who regularly works with me? I can never tell in this bloody world because uniforms apparently equate anonymity for his type.

“Don’t be!” I reply, my drug induced smiling not abating in the least. “So what if I was raped and my babies will never have a father? That just means I have to love them extra hard. I’m gonna make sure they don’t just get the love they deserve, but the love their donor never got as a child, too!”

The orderly only nods in response. He doesn’t seem to be of the sort to be talkative, but that might just be that his job description doesn’t include small talk. He just pushes the wheelchair through the hospital corridors all serious-like. Wait... maybe I upset him? Did he say his son was my age? Oooh, and here I am talking about babies.

My ears droop, and I glance away. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say hesitantly. “I’d like to say it’s the drugs, and maybe it is, but I should have picked up on the past tense about your son... It was really insensitive of me to go all mommy-squee about being pregnant after hearing that, and I’m sorry.”

Much to my surprise, the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. “Don’t be,” he parrots back to me, not quite matching my insanely cheery tone. “He gave his life to ensure other ponies could live safely and happily; ran into a burning building a few years back to save a little filly, and got her out alive. When he was in the hospital with all of his burns and smoke inhalation, I told him I’d never been more proud to call him my son than right then and there.

“You know what he told me?” he asks with misty eyes, knowing full well he intends to tell me anyway. “He said, ‘Dad, don’t be proud of me for doing what anypony would. If I have the power to help a pony in need, I should use it, no matter the cost.’”

“He sounds like one hell of a guy.” I nod as I turn my head so that my neck doesn’t develop a crick, resting my cheek on one of the arm—foreleg?—rests. He might not know it, but his fond memory resonates with something inside me. Oh no, I’m getting ideas now... very dangerous ideas. “Somepony has to do what everypony thinks anypony would do, lest everypony gets angry because nopony does.”

“That’s the gist of it,” he concludes. I tilt my head just enough to catch him winking when I peer at him from my peripheral “Now, somepony has to have a discussion with her doctor when she gets back.”


~ 35 ~


“Ma’am, I can’t do that right here,” I reply. “If I drink the potion now, it’ll kill me before we have time to dig up your son.” Her confident look falters momentarily, and just as she opens her mouth to speak, I hold up a hoof to stop her. “The draught is made with a high toxicity ingredient—” No need to tell her what. “—that makes the entire thing in itself toxic. 

“It might not put me into cardiac arrest within a minute like that one time I nearly died because of a typo in class, but it’ll still kill me if I don’t drink this,” I say, holding up the flask of alchemical purgative. “But if I do drink it, it flushes all of the magic out of my system in addition to the toxic elements, and I don’t have access to the supplies necessary to make a second ba—”

You know how sometimes on the show, ponies silence each other by putting their hooves on or in the mouth? Never in all my years would I ever expect a pudgy blue pony to put her hoof on my mouth. I mean, I know she’s probably clean as all fuck, being a baker and whatnot, but still. Feet. “That won’t be necessary,” she interrupts. Her own ears are low, and her cheeks are red with... shame? Embarrassment? “We couldn’t bring ourselves to bury him—what if he’s still alive, we kept asking ourselves out of hope—so we made a small shrine in the basement.”

That kind of brings a horribly depressing mental image to mind. There she is, in a dark corner of their basement, where I can imagine there is a heck of a lot of baking supplies stored, reading to her petrified baby boy by candlelight. Maybe her gangly husband, Carrot, is right there with her, or maybe he’s upstairs reading a bedtime story to Pumpkin. Pinkie might even avoid the basement altogether out of her own sense of guilt.

Did Pinkie ever accidentally walk in on one of those sessions? Did she run out crying? Would Cup Cake head upstairs to comfort her, and then maybe tuck her in, after she finishes Pound’s story? What... if...

“I still wish I’d gotten a chance for some kind of animal testing, just a little white mouse or something,” I grumble, staring down at the floor. “I could have, too, but I was afraid... and then...” No! Do not think about that—not now! “Things happened.”

When I look back up, the matron of the place has this kind of guilty, excited, and slightly dispepsic expression. Like, how do you even do that? How do you look guiltily excited while simultaneously ill? Fuckin’ ponies, turning all green in the cheeks, smiling, and breaking eye contact.

“If you promise not to tell Fluttershy,” she whispers conspiratorially as she rises to her hooves. Without really inviting me, she just starts walking toward the front door. She pulls open the door and flips the wooden placard hanging from the door to read closed before turning back to me. “We caught one of her wicked little critters breaking into our pantry this morning. We trapped it in a little mason jar in the kitchen, and we were going to have Pinkie take it to Fluttershy this evening, but...”

“Then I showed up,” I offered. “So what you’re saying is that you want me to freeze and unfreeze a mouse or something before you let me near your son.”

That queer guilty look returns to her face, and she frowns. “Don’t put it that way, dearie; it makes me sound... evil.”

“Not evil, just skeptical, and that’s a good thing.” I glance at the flasks still sitting on my hoof. “Um, so just in the kitchen then?”

She nods and darts behind the counter, vanishing into the kitchen door. Not wanting to get left behind, I tuck the flasks beneath my wing—the thought momentarily occurs to me to just carry them in my mouth, but now’s really not the time to be tasting myself—and I canter anxiously after her. Is this really happening?

When I step into the kitchen, my senses are immediately overpowered by the smell of baked goods. There are stacks of chocolate chip cookies cooling on racks on one countertop. On another is something that looked suspiciously like tapioca, reminding me that I skimped on breakfast this morning. And there’s Missus Cake whispering excitedly to her husband as he pulls a basket of crullers from a deep fryer.

I can’t hear what she’s telling him, but when you’re a former writer like me, your imagination fills in the blanks. No doubt she’s saying something about how I sincerely believe that I can free Pound from his stony cage, and her idea about me proving it first. Judging by the suspicious, and rather angry look from him as he sets the crullers aside, he’s probably heatedly whispering that I’m an escaped mental patient, scolding her on indulging my delusions, and then asking if she thinks I might be dangerous.

“Even if she can’t,” she pipes up as she turns to me, “it won’t hurt if we keep her occupied until Pinkie gets back with some orderlies from the hospital.”

“I assure you that I’m quite lucid, Mister Cake,” I say, wilting away from his suspicious glare. “If you would allow it, I would like to help return something precious to you. If you won’t, I... I’ll allow you both to do whatever you think is necessary to keep me here until Pinkie returns—no resistance. Just... please let me try.”

The tall stallion stares at me suspiciously before letting out a snort. “If she thinks she can do this, there’s no harm in letting her try.” He nods toward a small cupboard. “Your test patient is in that bottom cupboard over there.”

I nod and walk over to a cupboard with an L-corner in it. The workspace on the countertop is surprisingly barren, except for a single overturned sack of sugar. As I look closer at the mess of sugar on the surface, I can see spots where tiny paw-prints displaced some of the granules. Definitely a small critter, but I’m no ranger. That could be a field mouse or a bloody hedgehog for all I know.

Putting aside the tracks for now, I lower my head to the cupboard door and close my teeth around the handle. It’s stupid to think that some monstrous little rodent is going to burst out of the cupboard like some horror movie jump-scare. There’s no need to steel myself for what’s inside, nor is there any sense in prolonging it, but my entire body is tense from the excitement. 

The door opens with a twitch of my neck to reveal a rather obese looking gray squirrel trapped in a jam jar with some sort of slotted straining lid so that he—or she—still has air. My eyes widen as it hits me. I’m about to petrify this squirrel, one of Fluttershy’s woodland friends, with no guarantee that I can break the spell. What if the cure was in a gland in the cockatrice’s lungs, secreted into its very breath? Nope, I can’t think like that now. I’ve come too far for self doubt. This has to work because I need it to work!

“Hey little fella,” I whisper with a voice of forced calm. “Have you been in here long?” To my amazement, the squirrel nods vigorously. “You know, I doubted whether or not Fluttershy was full of it when she made you little critters out to be as smart as ponies.”

My little test subject begins gesturing wildly with its tiny little paws. Upward pointing, wringing strangling motion, point at me... Wait, is that one of those goofy-ass gangsta poses? Oh, wait... I think I get it. Let me out, and I’ll hug you... or that might be screw-up poser. I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.

“Well, little guy, here’s the thing,” I say in a louder tone. “Missus Cake says you were caught stealing from her pantry.” It—no, he, I decide—makes a very good effort of not making eye contact as he falls to his rump. “Fluttershy is going to be very disappointed in you, isn’t she?” 

His shoulders slump, and I hear a very loud sigh from such a little creature. Dude, fuckin’ relax; you’re getting a scolding from Fluttershy, not Pyramid Head. It’s not like she’s going to flay you alive for stealing. Still, with the way he’s acting, you’d swear getting a scolding from the world’s most cowardly pegasus is the worst thing in the world. Definitely something to capitalize on.

“Relax, bud,” I soothe. “I’ve worked out an arrangement with the Cakes to cover the costs of your scoundrelly foraging.” His black, beady eyes go wide, and a smile splits his face. “You just have to help me with an experiment. All you have to do is sit there. How about it? Easiest job and free meal ever, right?” In spite of the rather cruel way I’m leading him on, I manage a genuine chuckle as I reach into the cupboard and pull the jar. “So I’ll get you out in just a sec, and then you’ll be on your way.”

Placing the squirrel jar on the floor, something I heard months ago floats up from the pool of my memories. “You could safely look them in the eyes because their petrification works on mutual, uninterrupted eye contact,” I murmur, remembering Flam’s words. Would I have to remove the top, or would the slots in the lid suffice?

Carefully, I remove both flasks from beneath my wing. The purgative I place on the floor, just inside my reach. A bubble of anxiety works its way up my throat as I pop the top off of the cockatrice potion, and I very nearly spill it when I find myself coughing. Rather than risk some shaky hooves spilling everything, I knock it back like a shot and close my eyes. “I really wish I could make these things taste better.”

More out of caution than anything else, I extend my wings, allowing the air flows to give me a picture of the room without sight. I haven’t had the opportunity to do this in ages, but with this body, it’s like riding a bike. The heated air flows away from an open oven behind the cakes, painting them firmly behind me on the other side of the kitchen. Good.

When I sense the bakers creep closer to observe, I warn them back. “Alright, Mister Cake, Missus Cake? Under no circumstance are you to look me in the eye until I drink the contents of the second flask, okay?” I shudder slightly as I feel the potion’s primary effects take hold.  At first, it’s just an... itching along my optic nerve. Then, my eyes begin to water as a burning sensation washes over them repeatedly for what feels like hours. 

As quickly as the pain begins, it recedes into a minor headache—one that I know will worsen as the toxicity builds up in my system. Unlike with poison, regular potion-based alchemical toxicity effects are a lot more gradual. Whereas the lethal dose of the poison nearly killed me within two minutes, I should, in this case, have at least ten minutes before I’m incapacitated, and another three before I croak. Should, however, is the operative word.

I grab the jar between my hooves and point its top toward me. “So, my little friend,” I whisper to the squirrel. “All you have to do is have a staring contest with me.”

Opening my eyes, I cringe as I try to understand what I’m seeing. Almost everything in my vision is a burnt red color, making it hard to distinguish what is what. However, when I discern that I’m looking through the lid of the jar, I notice a hazy blue aura where the gray squirrel should have been... and something else: a bright pinpoint of light, like a sun in miniature. An eye, I belatedly realize. I tilt the jar slowly until I see a second sun appear from behind the lid.

Something in my mind almost tangibly clenches, and a single word floats past the headache, petra. The squirrel’s blue aura begins to gray, radiating out from the fading suns of its eyes. Part of me wishes I could observe like the Cakes are now, curious to see whether the petrification is actually beginning around the eyes, or if it starts from the base up. 

It’s all so fascinating, so where is this sense of dread coming fro—oh. Oh no. Say it isn’t so. Am... I really feeling the squirrel’s fear as it comes to terms with its fate? Are cockatrices really so vile? 

My stomach churns and cramps as the alchemical poisoning takes hold and combats my growing disgust in both myself and the species itself. “This is so wrong,” I can’t help but whimper. “Why can’t I block it out?”

Eventually, the critter’s empathic link breaks from my mind, and I hear a horrified gasp from one of the Cakes. The jar slips free from my hooves, breaking on the ground, sending shards of glass dancing every which way. Not the squirrel, though. He’s much more solid than some flimsy glass, some instinctual part of me giggles. He must be if he’s to be preserved and eaten.

“So this is how they see,” I murmur aloud, looking down at the petrified squirrel, and catching sight of my own hooves, glowing every bit as blue as the squirrel had before. “They don’t perceive the world so much by sight as they do by... life. They see life.” The squirrel before me still glows a muted gray among the near invisible shards of glass. “Even when petrified, I can see his lifeforce...”

Rather than letting myself get swept up in the implications of a cockatrice’s sight and whether or not they could see invisible ponies, I lean down and nuzzle the squirrel. “Hey, little guy. You gotta stop being stoned now, okay?” Nothing happens. I breathe heavily on him, but to no avail. Though I breathe his aura remains gray. My head throbs in tune with my pulse. “Come on, this isn’t funny. Please don’t tell me I gave myself the ability to petrify but not depetrify.”

Shaking my aching head, I think back to what I saw at the Flim Flam monster menagerie in hopes of clues. I know I saw the rat’s stony glaze crumble away when the cockatrice went to eat it. Was it something in the saliva? The touch? Or do I have to convince myself that I’m really going to eat my first squirrel?

My stomach heaves violently, and I begin to feel something trickle down my lips and chin from my nose. Shit, I don’t have near enough time as I thought. “Forgive me what I am about to do,” I croak numbly as I bat the petrified rodent onto its belly with one hoof. Rapidly leaning down, my eyes clenched shut, I slam my teeth closed over the squirrel’s tail, hoping and praying desperately that it’s just fur I’m biting into.

Rather than the crunch of tiny petrified hairs shattering, my teeth click together, painfully catching the inside of my cheek. There’s something else in my mouth in addition to blood and flakes of dust though—fur. I open my eyes, and I can see the gray haze about the squirrel blow away like fog, leaving only the vibrant blue form of the squirrel’s back as it tries to scramble away, having just found itself with its tail in my teeth.

“She did it, dear!” I hear Cup Cake cheer. “Go get Pound, quick!”

Though my eyes are still open, it is with my perception of the air flow in the room that I watch the stallion move off toward the back. He tweaks something on the floor—a trapdoor, no doubt—and then he’s gone. I just hope he hurries.

I close my eyes again and let the squirrel’s tail go. “Go on, little hero,” I say haltingly, unable to say much more with the cramping spreading outward from my stomach. Even my legs ache something fierce. “You are now part of a very... important day in history.”

Before I can catch myself, my legs give out, and I sink to the floor. With all the cramping and pains shooting throughout my body, I don’t even notice if any glass from the broken jar pierces my belly. All I can really do is lie here, breathing heavily, and praying Carrot isn’t late.

“Are you okay?” the baker’s wife asks, interrupting my observation of how a squirrel flees a confusing situation with the air flows. It’s actually getting kind of hard to interpret it now that my wings are spasming violently from the cramping. “You really don’t look too well.”

“I’m not,” I say, expelling all air in a single breath. “Very painful. Is he—”

Something rather heavy clunks to the floor before me, and I don’t really need to guess what. I open my eyes, and before me I see the vibrant white glow of the petrified Pound. Not just gray, but completely white. I almost want to ponder what it means, but there’s not much time.

“Hurry,” she pleads, recognizing now that this is quite literally killing me.

A fresh wave of pain from my head surges tears into my eyes, obscuring my vision. With one forehoof, I wipe my eyes, noting that there seems to be something... other masking the blue aura of my hoof, before spinning Pound so that his tail is facing my way. There’s no time to wonder why my eyes are bleeding. I haven’t much time left.

I drag myself forward, cringing as, yes, glass bites into my undercarriage and forelimbs, and level my head with his tail. “Merry Christmas,” I mumble, biting into the petrified mass of tail fur.

Click. “Ow.” Once more, my teeth meet only fur and the inside of my cheek. “Did I do it? Did I—”

A terrified wail shrills in my ears, spurring on my headache and encouraging my heart to beat harder. 

At first, I mistake it for Cup Cake, thinking that I’ve buggered up somehow, and only his tail unfrozen, falling off like a bloody tree limb. I say at first because before I can ponder that line of thought any further, a small hoof collides with my face, and a small buzzing of wings fills the room.

“Maa!” I hear Pound cry out. “Mama!”

Even without the Wind Sight or my own two eyes, it’s not hard to see what is happening with my mind’s eye. The young colt bolts immediately for his mother, who sweeps him up into a tight, tearful hug. His father closes in to join the hug, as though afraid that his little boy might leave him again if not restrained.

“Oh Pound, my darling baby, I missed you so much!” she cries. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again if it’s the last thing I do.”

Now, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m dying quite painfully from poisoning here, I might even allow them to have their little moment. As it stands, though, it’s too painful to move, and the strain with which my heart is beating now worries me a lot. She got her baby back; I should get to live too, right?

“Missus Cake,” I wheeze, waving a trembling hoof in the direction of her voice. “Flask... help... ‘m pregnant... don’t want... die...”

Now, I can see how it’s kind of sick not to tell her that I’m pregnant before I poison myself, but rather after I’m nearly dead already. In my defense, I have enough respect for the mare to know that she isn’t the sort of mother who would want to endanger unborn foals just to get her own little one back. There’s also the fact that in many documented alchemical poisonings, fetuses have outlasted the mother for minutes after her heart has stopped and she’s officially been declared brain dead. Some kind of bullshit magical nonsense that would never work in the human world. It’s fuckin’ Equestria, so I’ve kinda been operating on the assumption that I’m not going to die.

Much to my surprise though, somepony else beats her to it—a very princessly somebody I didn’t ever want to see again, judging by the voice and the telltale tinkle of magic in use. “Silver Script, you foolish mare,” I hear her voice, soft as a whisper in my ear, as a flask is pressed to my lips. “You really did it.” A sweet liquid forces its way past my lips and down my throat, sending a tingling sensation burning throughout my body.

I can hear Cup Cake’s shocked voice too. “Pinkie! I told you to get staff from the hospital! She needs medical assistance!”

Why does my body feel suddenly cold? I... Where’s my heartbeat? Oh fuck, when did it stop?

“I did! They were right behind me!” Pinkie rebuts. “See? There they are!”

Someone, help me. My heart has stopped and I don’t have the strength to tell any of you. Please... I don’t want to die. I don’t want my babies to die. I just want to live and be a good mommy. Is that so much to ask?

The voices grow more distant and strained in my ears. “Why isn’t she getting better, Princess L—”

I promise I’ll never do anything stupid again! I’ll be good! I’ll donate to more charity! I’ll do community service! I’ll even make peace with the Princesses if I have to, just please don’t let me die.

“She doesn’t have a pulse!”

Please, Luna, save me!

> Chapter 36: Goodbyes
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It’s so amazingly warm where I lie. The only way I can describe it is like lying in front of a hearthfire as a child after an entire day of playing in the snow. Its great warmth; strong, but not overpowering. The welcoming heat embraces me like an overbearing mother, full of love and a desire to never let go.

Yet... I’m definitely not in front of a fireplace. I mean, the ground is as soft as a down-filled blanket, but it feels more like I’m on a lawn that hasn’t been cut for days. Accompanying the grassy feeling is the smell of wildflowers. Not too far off, I can even hear a river and a waterfall. It’s all very comforting, and yet... something is missing.

Where was I before, and what was I doing? I try to remember. I know there was something important I was supposed to be doing, but what? For that matter, how did I come to be in a sunny, grassy field in the midst of winter?

My eyes open tentatively, even laboriously at first. It’s not unlike waking from a long sleep. Why open my eyes when I can just lay here, basking in the warmth? Because I need to know where I am, of course. As comforting as the warmth is, it isn’t my bed at the hospital, and I know I’ll get in trouble if I’m gone too long.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing that I see is fairly tall grass. Given that I’ve been sleeping here for God knows how long, I’m surprisingly unconcerned by all this. It’s probably just the equine in me now, but sleeping in a grassy meadow feels... right—like home. This isn’t home however. My home is... undecided, but not here.

While I am surprised at just how much effort is required to stand, it is of minor consequence when I take in my surroundings. It would be impossible to overstate my perplexion or surprise at what I am seeing, for it is all so amazingly wondrous. The field upon which I stand is in fact a very small island amidst a large river, but the wonders are not the island or the river at all; it is what lay on either bank.

Countless large, wrought-iron gates line the riverbanks, each providing windows into the curious worlds beyond. Most are closed and only the empty fields beyond can be seen through the bars. Outside each gate is an adornment or marker of some sort. 

A Buddha-like pony holding a stone tablet beckons to any who would see to join him beyond his gate. Through the portal, I can make out many buildings of Oriental design, and many scholarly-looking dog people, ponies, and griffons milling about peaceably. Unless my eyes deceive me, there are even alicorns and great wolves among them.

Beyond another portal, marked by a claymore thrust into the ground with a copper ale mug hanging haphazardly from the crossguard, I can see what looks like the interior of a gigantic mead hall constructed from bone. As I watch, I can see and hear the griffons and dogs within burst into uproarious laughter as two earth ponies fight atop the edge of an overturned table, biting, grappling, and shouting about spilled mead.

Yet another gate on the opposite bank is adorned with... the cutie marks of Celestia and Luna. Again, there are ponies, these ones frolicking happily about the many fields and rolling hills beyond the opening. Yet, unlike the place marked by the Buddha pony, there are no buildings—a simplistic, yet happy place.

Downriver of me, a waterfall spills down into a dark chasm. Only, when I look toward the chasm, I can hear screaming. Belatedly, I realize that rather than the spray of mist rising out of the depths, it is steam... like some hot place of torment.

Then there’s the one gate that looks to be made of cloud. There is no marker to imply what sort of place it is beyond, but then again, with one look, I don’t particularly need a hint. At first, I actually assume I’m looking at pegasi flitting about the cloudy landscape—real clouds instead of just ground—but when one figure strays too close to the gateway, I let out a gasp. A human girl with wings and a halo, dressed in what looks like a white toga...

“Just where in the world am I?” I whisper to myself. “I thought I was past having hallucinations.”

I look up to the sky, hoping to momentarily forget the sights before me, but that seems to be a mistake as well. If I thought that gateways into depictions of various interpretations of the afterlife were perplexing, this sky pretty much hurts to look at. Rather than a blue sky, clouds and a sun, I’m treated to a rainbow waterfall just... coming into existence beneath a starry expanse. No, not coming into existence beneath it—flowing into.

If I look into that expanse long enough, I even see myself... only, I’m not standing on a grassy island in the middle of a river. The me I see is lying on her back on a floor, curved shards of glass protruding from her chest and belly. There are ponies around her, and even somepony doing chest compressions and mouth to mouth.

“Greetings, little pony, and welcome,” a voice echoes softly through the field behind me and inside my mind. I swing about to face the speaker just in time to catch an earth pony mare of bay coloring in a black robe coalesce into existence before me. Just behind her, I can make out gray silhouettes of other figures: a griffon, a dog person, a minotaur, a centaur, and even what looks like a human. “I am Epona, and I have been chosen to be your guide into the afterlife.”

I back away, turning my gaze momentarily up to the sky, watching the pony giving my body chest compressions switch out with somepony else. “This is the afterlife?” I ask hesitantly before covering my face with one hoof. “No, you can’t take me yet! I’m not done living!”

To my surprise, my psychopomp guide, Epona, smiles apologetically. “It’s okay to be afraid, Silver Script,” she says in a serene voice that reminds me of Celestia. “I was afraid when I first awoke in the Nexus of Souls as well, but you needn’t worry here. You can be at peace.”

I shake my head as I take another trembling step back. “No, I can’t be here,” I reiterate with a gesture of my hoof to the skyborn vision. “I’ve got to get back. I’ve got to have my babies. How can I watch them grow up if I die and they die?”

Epona’s smile fades away, and she glances warily toward the human figure behind her. “Charon suspected you might feel this way,” she says with a sigh. “He said humans aren’t content to pass on when they die young.” Returning her gaze to me, she shakes her head. “We cannot grant you your life back. Whether you live or die is up to you and those taking care of you,” she concludes, looking toward the rivers on either side of the island. “I can only help you decide whether or not now is the time to move on.”

I follow her riverward gaze and see a small raft rise out of the roiling water on the shoreline. “Why would I want to pass on?” I ask incredulously. “I have so much to live for.”

The robed mare nods, as if my reaction is something she’s heard so many times before, which it probably is. “What would you like to know?”

I snort and trot toward the island edge facing the meadow gate. Sitting myself on the riverbank with my hooves in the cool water, I shake my head. “Given that I’ve already made up my mind, your breath is wasted unless you want to tell me how I can return to the land of the living,” I growl, flicking my ears as I watch the ponies on the grassy fields beyond the gate. “Then again, you probably have this whole spiel you’re, well, not quite paid to repeat time after time. So tell me about the gates.”

Epona sits herself down beside me, and when I look, I see her beaming. “I’m so glad you asked,” she says chipperly. “You see, the gateways lead into different iterations or realms of the Hereafter.” She points at one of the closed gates. “Not all of them are open to you, but for every type of person, or pony, there are always many options.”

Her hoof swings toward the gate that displays the most common rendition of Heaven. “There’s a place for those of faith,” she says softly. “From the devout to those who wish to reconnect with their faith when they have nothing left, there is a place for all beyond the Pearly Gates. Are you willing to return to the word of your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?

“Or perhaps you wish to continue your scholarly ways,” she continues, gesturing her hoof over her shoulder in the direction of the Buddha gate. “In the realm of Nirvana you could master your art and move on to even greater studies. Are you ready to learn the truth behind the truth?

“Ah, but I know you have an adventurous, noble soul!” Again, she gestures, pointing toward the sword gate. “In Valhalla you would lack neither sport nor companionship with tales of the cockatrice and lamia. Dare you go where only the brave live forever?”

I stare at the mare blankly, not entirely certain that this is happening. Putting aside the fact that I am greatly reminded of a certain talking hat, I can’t help but wonder why so many of the places named after things from various mythologies and faiths in my world. Is she giving me names she thinks I would recognize? Or is it perhaps that the afterlife is the same point in space-time, regardless of what universe you’re in or come from?

My guide just smiles at me knowingly. “What you’re thinking, I already know,” she says in a lyrical tone. “In the end, does it matter from where you go?”

“Stop that.” I glare at her before snorting and turning my attention back to the meadow beyond that last portal. “Rather than taunt my inquisitive mind with an annoying rhyme, why don’t you tell me about this gate. It’s Elysium, right?”

“That it is, my multiform friend,” she says. “Should you go for friend, family, or love, ‘pon the Elysian Fields you’ll find two of three, in the end.”

Love and friend both, eh? It certainly wouldn’t be family, and the only friends I know who have died are Professor Calcification. Surely he would have gone to Nirvana. His mind was wasted as a professor, even if for the most part he was more intent on earning Luna’s favor. Who, then, would be waiting for me?

Before I can ask answer, I catch sight of movement outside the entrance to Elysium. A familiar icy-white earth pony stands at the opposite bank of the river, smiling broadly at me. Even without that unmistakable blue-white mane, I can never, for as long as I live, forget those eyes... Ice Blossom.

“My oh my, this is a rare sight even for me,” Epona says after I dare not speak for several seconds. “Most ponies are content to go on into the afterlife and wait, but she looks as though she’s been waiting a very long time for you, doesn’t she? Would you like to hear what she has to say?”

I nod, uncertain that this isn’t some sort of trick to convince me to pass on. To be honest, I don’t really care whether it is or not. It’s Blossom for crying out loud; how could I not at least say hello?

The guide lifts one hoof and up from the river rises a small stone hoofbridge. Blossom canters quickly across, and before I can even stand up, she wraps me in a tight hug. Tears of glee well in my eyes, and I return the hug, nuzzling her shoulder, weeping with a big, goofy smile on my face.

Epona, it seems, is charitable enough to back off and give us some time together.

“I’ve missed you so much, Blossom,” I whimper into her shoulder as she holds me close. “Everything’s been so horrible since you left. I lost one of the most important people in my life that day...”

“I know, my love,” she replies softly. When she finally releases me from her grasp, I notice that she looks somehow... older than when last we met. There are far more laugh-lines around her eyes, and there are a few well-earned wrinkles here and there. “You will tell me as much when you greet me on my arrival here, many years from now.”

What?

“If I am to be honest, I have known for a long time now that this day would be coming,” she says. “I want you to know that I have watched every day of your life, from birth to death—everything you have done, and have yet to do... I am so proud to have been your first love. You will move on, even if it does not feel like you ever will, but that is okay. We have and will spend a century together here, upon the Elysian Fields, after your passing, but now is your time to live.”

No, seriously. What? “I’m confused. How can it be both?”

“I asked you the same question when I first arrived and saw you waiting for me.” A small giggle—oh how I’ve missed that laugh—leaves her throat, and her smile grows. “You told me, ‘Time isn’t made of lines; it’s made of circles. That is why clocks are round.’”

I plant one of my hooves squarely on my forehead. “So basically, time is either meaningless here, or it loops in on itself in a cyclic manner... and I could not find a better fuckin’ analogy than a Cabooseism.” Blossom only nods, giggling some more. “Does that mean I’m also beyond that gate?” I ask, pointing toward Elysium.

“Nope,” I hear myself say, only I haven’t even moved my lips. “I’m right here.” I turn and stare at myself in surprise, blinking. There I am, a lot older looking, and with a particularly long fringe that obscures my right eye. “No, bad Silver. Stop thinking about time paradoxes.”

“But—”

“Look, there’s no way to make this easy,” the other me says. “You’ve got to get back to the land of the living so you can have my daughters, and Blossom and I really need to get going if we’re going to catch the next rebirth together.”

“But we’ve only just said hello.” Tears rim my eyes as I look down at my own hooves. The disappointment that I can’t spend more time with Ice Blossom stings, but if this makes any sense at all, it sounds like I’ve got a whole century to spend with her in the future. Swallowing my unease, I nod. “I’ll wait for you, then,” I say, looking back up to Blossom. Turning to my future self, I snort. “You take good care of her, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Future Silver laughs, peering tiredly from beneath her mane at me. “That’s not hard, given that you’d probably do a horse if you had the opportunity,” she snarks back. At my horrified look, she grins. “Don’t worry, we’ll be closer than you think.”

The older pair nods to one another and, not giving me an opportunity to respond, they trot up to the end of the island facing the aetherborn waterfall. To my amazement, the both of them step into the water together and begin swimming effortlessly upstream. Even when they reach the waterfall, their momentum doesn’t break. If anything, they both seem to be accelerating, climbing the falls higher, faster, until finally, they vanish into the starry void above.

“Sounds like you’ve got things cut out for you,” Epona says softly in my ear.

I barely hear her, too fixated on the scene playing out in the stars above. My body is lying in a hospital bed, and I can see the pulse oximeter attached to me working away, reflecting a steady heartbeat. “That is where I need to be,” I whisper.

The stars above stretch into lines, and my vision fills with white.


~ 36 ~


A soft, rhythmic beeping fills my ears. Having been in the hospital enough times by now, and aided by the fact that I feel more like I’ve just come out of a very restful sleep rather than a trip to the afterlife, I know almost immediately where I am. You just get a feel for the beds, the antiseptic air and the equipment. Then there’s the discomfort from the medical tape adhering to shaved down patches of coat on each foreleg, holding IVs in, and something strapped over my face.

It’s also nice to wake up in the hospital knowing exactly where you are and why you are there for a change. No confusion, temporary amnesia or delusions; just waking up in a bed feeling pretty damn good. Surprisingly good, even. I don’t even feel any of the spots where I know I fell on the glass. How’s that for coming out of a near-death experience?

Not everything feels as it should, though. For one, it feels like there’s something plastic protruding from my vagina. Oh, and I can feel something—really, it can only be a bandage—wrapped tightly around my head, particularly the right side of my face. I’m pretty sure that it completely obscures my vision, but what I can’t understand is why; it doesn’t even hurt, and I can’t have fallen onto glass after depetrifying Pound, because I’m positive I was already collapsed on the floor. Even if he kicked me in the face, why would I need to be bandaged? He’s a bloody kid.

“There’s nothing I can do, I suppose. When the doctor or nurse arrives, I’ll just have to ask,” I whisper to myself, not quite eager to open my eyes and sit up. Who knows what else I’ll notice attached to me if I move.

“It is good to see you finally return to the waking world, Silver Script,” somepony nearby says. My ear twitches in response to the voice, as though the very appendage is offended by the speaker. I mean, this can’t be the same princess I told to stay out of my life, can it?

I open my unbandaged eye in an attempt to see the speaker. Unfortunately, it would seem that they are rudely standing to my right. With a slight tilt of my head I shoot Princess Luna a wary look. My entire body tenses at the very sight of her, eliciting a very uncomfortable feeling from my urethra. Of course they’d put a catheter in. “Given the circumstances, I can’t exactly say I’m not happy to see you,” I murmur through the mask, “and I’m not even going to mention having told you to stay out of my life, but why are you here?”

Her face wavers for a moment, before she turns her back to me. “When you told us to go—to stay out of your life—I’ll admit that I was hurt. We both were,” Luna says, levitating her crown off of her head and placing it somewhere outside of my peripheral. “With the chaos of the Aqua Regia trial, the nobility corruption investigations, and the backlash from the Neighponese government, Sister and I were running ourselves ragged.

“The unfortunate day that we met you regarding your encounter with Blueblood, we truly did not intend for you to see Aqua Regia. That day, though, we saw just how hurt you truly were, not just by what Aqua had done, but through my own action as well, when I allowed my fears of the Nightmare returning to blind me to the fact that you were but a normal pony.” Luna turns back to me with her face downcast, doing a very good job of staring the floor into submission. “So when I heard that you had been hospitalized voluntarily, I asked that I be kept up to date on your progress, and notified immediately if anything happened.”

I look at her witheringly, unable to muster up any anger at all. She had just admitted to trying to micromanage my life after I had already told her to fuck off, and yet it only makes me feel tired. “So I’m guessing somebody found my note sooner than I had hoped, and you were notified,” I offer, receiving a near imperceptible nod. “And, knowing my past, figured out where I might be and rushed to Ponyville as fast as you could. Why?”

Much to my surprise, a sheepish smile blooms on Luna’s face, even though she won’t break eye contact with the floor. “You remind Sister and I of ourselves when we were young, full of ideals and a desire to help others, no matter the cost, when we first faced Discord,” she says. “You might not be a savant like Twilight, or even a paragon of any of the aspects of harmony, but in spite of all that life has thrown at you, you have persevered. The level of dedication to a noble end, risking your life and your name, required to do what others could not... few ever express such a quality, and those that do are a very precious commodity that the Equestria of today lacks.”

Now it’s my turn to look away. That’s why they’ve been trying to protect and preserve me? I remind them of themselves, and resemble a trait apparently lacking in the present day; they think that Equestria in some way needs a pony like me. Maybe it does. I mean, I’ve changed everything they thought they knew about petrification.

“Luna, listen... We’ve both done and said things we regret,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I want to hate you for everything that I’ve gone through, but I’m just so tired...”

“If you wish, we can continue this discussion later, assuming you would still have me,” she says gravely, missing my meaning as she casts a furtive glance to the heart-rate monitor. “You were legally dead for three minutes before you were finally resuscitated, and it took you more than twelve hours to regain consciousness.”

Shaking my head, I look back to her with a weak smile. “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.” A groan of pain escapes me as I shift, momentarily pulling the IV lines taut. “I’m tired of being angry and sad. Sure, my grief and obsession have led me to do some amazing things, but I’m not getting anywhere by driving everypony away. It’s time for me to stop running away from everything. I met some people in that messed up afterlife, and they told me that I have a lot to live for, so now I have something to look forward to.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you for all I’ve gone through because of you, but it’s time for me to start moving forward, even if it means letting go.”


~ 36 ~


I figure I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time I open my eye, the princess—and with some surprise, I realize I’m not as offended thinking of her as such—is gone. In her stead, there is a pink-maned nurse at the side of the bed switching out a cloudy bag of dark amber fluid—oh jeeze, is that my piss?—for an empty one. She’s so gentle that I barely feel the catheter being disturbed at all. Of course, I don’t exactly pay attention where the used bag goes.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Script,” she says, hanging the empty bag off the side of the bed. “How are you feeling today?”

There’s not much room to shrug, what with these wired leads affixed to my torso and limbs, so in its place I tilt my head, groaning slightly with the effort. “I feel like Rip Van Winkle,” I say, straining to be heard over the cacophony of the various life monitoring apparati. “Please tell me that I haven’t been asleep for twenty years.”

The nurse—Redheart, I think it was—lets out a pleasant laugh and smiles at me. “That’s preposterous,” she answers softly, almost contrary to the rather stern demeanor I recall from the show. “You’ve only been unconscious for about a day; your body is exhausted.”

I blink tiredly a few times at the nurse before tilting my head thoughtfully, my gaze lazily wandering to the clock on the wall. A day? That’s not too bad. Thirty-six out of the last forty-eight hours beats being asleep for three days... unless she’s about to tell me that I’ve actually been losing consciousness for a day and forgetting the time spent awake repeatedly over the span a week. That would definitely suck, and it would probably be symptomatic of some pretty severe neural trauma. Shit, what if I’ve had these exact thoughts six times in a row already?

“... have been very worried about you, especially the Cakes.” My eye flicks back to Redheart, and I can’t help but flush with embarrassment as I realize I haven’t been listening to a word she’s said. “They were so grateful you gave them their son back that they wanted to give you a big basket of their best baked goods, but I put a stop to that. In your condition, we can’t have you just pigging out on sweets.”

When you only have half of your facial features available to you the way I do, it can be rather difficult to accurately portray what one is feeling. While my intent is to look incredulous, I think it’s honestly coming off as angry instead. “Why would you do that?” I ask weakly. “Whatever you’re putting in the IV isn’t doing much to give me my strength back, and I doubt it’s doing my babies much good either.”

Redheart’s disinterested smile falls away, replaced by a mask of worry. “Y-your foals...”

Okay, I am really not liking that worried look. “Yes, my foals,” I rasp, baring my teeth. “You know, the two beings growing within my womb?” I try my best to sit up, but I can barely muster a full-body twitch. “Future me in the afterlife said I was going to have our daughters. She didn’t say anything about losing any foals!” My eye begins to water as my lips quaver around the words. “She didn’t say I need to be strong... She didn’t warn me of trag—” I break off into a sobbing cough.

“Your foals are just fine,” she states firmly before I can begin again. “They’re perfectly healthy and safe!”

“Then why sound so surprised when I asked about them?” I whisper accusingly. “Why make it sound like it’s a topic that you don’t want to discuss?”

The nurse takes a deep breath and hardens her expression. That’s never good. “Make no mistake; I respect what you did for the Cakes... but what you did was reckless and absolutely inexcusable, regardless of your mental instability.” Her eyes narrow to mere slits, and her voice lowers to a harsh whisper, as though she is making every effort to prevent herself from yelling. “With your training, it’s impossible for you to not have known that this could very well kill you! You can’t justify risking their lives by saying it all turned out okay or you had the best intentions. Were it up to me, your foals would be taken from you the moment they’re born.

“So you should be able to understand my surprise when your first question is not of self-interest, but of the very foals you risked.” She seems to deflate as she says this.

I stare at her levelly for a few minutes, considering her words. They aren’t anything I haven’t already thought myself, and hearing it from her is actually reassuring; it means the world is still sane and, by that reasoning, so am I. With a nod, I smile beneath a mask. “I know,” I croak. “I can barely forgive myself, but it had to be done.” I look her in the eye and sigh. “It had to be now, while Pumpkin was still young enough that she might forget the lies her mother had to tell her. I hadn’t intended to die; I miscalculated.”

Nurse Redheart sighs and nods. “You miscalculated more than you realize,” she agreed. “Your alchemical purgative wasn’t nearly potent enough to rid you and your foals of both the poisons and magical energies from your potion... The unicorns on staff haven’t seen anything like that magic, and they were able to determine that it won’t dissipate naturally.”

“... and Mother’s Kiss is only truly effective when there are poisons present,” I say, staring up at the ceiling. “Without a poison, it cannot flush away a magical effect, and the magical effect is still present...” Wait. If the magics are still present, I wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye just now. “Where is it? I didn’t petrify you, so the effect isn’t still in my eye, so what happened.”

“Our first reaction would have been a stronger purgative tailored from the blood samples you gave when you were admitted,” she says, turning to stare out the window. “You would probably be familiar with the one I mean, which means you know why in your position it was out of the question.” Not being wholly of my blood, it would have aborted my babies... violently. “The unicorns treating you determined that you could not be treated until after the births of your daughters, but by that time, the potion’s effect may have blended with your body’s natural magics... and theirs.”

“A curse...” I mutter, feeling my left cheek become wet. Irritatingly, the bandage over my other eye begins to itch. “They’re going to be born never going to look upon their friends and loved ones with their own eyes?”

Redheart just smiles at me knowingly. Her reaction is surprising to say the least. How can anypony simply smile after giving that sort of news? She definitely knows more than she’s letting on, but what?

I blink at her for a moment, before feeling my own lips tighten into a grin. Of course; that makes much more sense! No medical professional would want to curse any child with such misfortune. There would also be concerns whether, if diluted between the two of them, the remaining magic would even have enough power to fix accidental petrifications. Their mages would probably want to concentrate the energies in one spot, but rather than afflict one or both of my foals, it would be the logical choice to use me. 

Assuming that some of the potion-based enchantment had been flushed out by the Mother’s Kiss, the effect would probably be weakened if spread across both eyes, looping back to the potency issue to a lesser degree. What better place to concentrate is there it than one of my eyes?

“Clever ponies... So they surgically removed the afflicted eye, then. Hence the bandage,” I conclude tiredly, feeling all of my strength flow out of me. It certainly made sense. They would probably have to cut into my face to properly excise the eye, and rather than leave an empty socket or sew it permanently shut, they’d probably put in a glass prosthetic for aesthetic purposes. The bandage would be there to keep the sutures clean, and probably keep the prosthetic in so that the muscles heal in the proper shape. “Makes sense.”

The nurse shakes her head, her smile vanishing and her brows furrowing. “Not yet,” she denies, looking down at the foot of my bed, where I can only assume my chart is located. “You’re still not stable enough for surgery at this point in time—” I can imagine that, what with my heart probably being far weaker because of all the alchemical poisoning; just a general anesthetic would probably kill me and therefore my foals. Who knows how much time I’ve shaved off my life? “—and even then, we generally don’t perform such surgeries without consent.”

Huh, so if I want to, I can keep this accursed eye and start a depetrification service. Admittedly, that does sound like something ponies might like to have around. Heck, the princesses probably keep a secret vault containing all the ponies that have ever been petrified over the centuries. The thought of ponies coming out of stasis, Han Solo style, has a certain appeal to it.

It could even have emergency medical benefits. Somepony in critical condition and they probably won’t survive the trip? Pshaw, Silver ‘Stone-eye’ can help. What if I could even replicate this effect and give it to all Equestrian EMTs? Patient survivability across the country would skyrocket.

Then there’s the possible law-enforcement aspect of it as well. Police shootings aren’t likely to be a prevalent problem here, but even guard brutality claims would plummet... And the military, well... I don’t imagine anypony would march against a platoon of stonegazers who can petrify entire companies of soldiers and let them live.

“Um... are you okay?” Redheart asks worriedly, interrupting my own musing. I snap my eye open to stare at her, unaware that it had closed. “I asked if you were okay with being scheduled for the enucleation surgery once you’ve stabilized, and you just started laughing madly.”

“Show me,” I say with a giggle.

A confused expression overtakes her concern, and she asks, “Your laughter?”

I beam at her, flashing her a toothy grin. “I need a mirror.”


~ 36 ~


For a long time, I can do nothing but sit in front of the full-body mirror in what, for the last three months, has been my room. It’s been a long time coming, but the doctors here no longer think that I’m at risk of self-harm, and believe me stable enough to be released on my own recognizance. To be frank, I don’t really have any idea of what all I’m supposed to be doing now that I’m fit for release, or how it all seems to have shored itself up after depetrifying the Cake foal. Maybe it’s just the little bit of balance needed to tip the scales of my psyche in the right direction.

All I can do is stare at my reflection and feel... naked. I just don’t look quite right without the patient gown on. It does have me feeling kind of naked without anything on, but I suppose that just goes to show that you can get used to anything over time. Maybe I can get myself a lab coat...

Can’t rightly say that asylum life has been treating me badly though. As I trace a hoof along the gentle swell of my belly, I’m reminded just how good the food was here. Of course, very little of it is fat per se. You just happen to get sort of round when you have two small lives growing inside you and you’re only around three and a half feet tall... and pregnant. It also helps that the kitchen staff isn’t averse to allowing a pregnant mare to indulge in her cravings. Mmm... stuffed habaneros and icecream.

My eyes dart away from the lower half of my reflection, trailing up my body to meet my gaze. First, I focus in on my left, good eye. With both eyes open, it’s kind of hard to tell if my left iris is blue or purple, but that’s the way it works when your vision is permanently tinged red in one eye. Like the Wind Sight, it’s just something you get used to and learn to filter out.

There’s no mistaking the difference my right eye, however. It’s a very vivid vermillion now, but not in the avian sense. While a cockatrice’s eye has no discernible pupil, sclera, or iris, I maintain the basic equine eye structure, lacking only a visible pupil. If I had to guess, there is no pupil because the membrane that would normally operate as the iris instead filters out the visible light spectrum so that only the underlying... 

But now I’m just mentally rambling without any real experiments to back up my wild guessing. Not like it’s really safe to test theories about my eye here anyway. This is a mental care facility, not a laboratory. It might be a controlled environment, but the staff would never let me experiment on other patients, not that I’ve ever considered it.

With a great sigh, I tear my gaze away from my heterochromic reflection and slip on the eyepatch I wear daily. Two months to the day: that’s how long I’ve had this eye, and every day I see my reflection, I’m reminded of Blossom. Her green and yellow eyes are still fresh in my mind... but, it doesn’t hurt deep down now. The sight of her confused eyes staring at me as her head lay separated from her body is no longer the image that comes to mind when I think of them; in my memory, I see them soft and surrounded with the laugh-lines of a well-lived afterlife.

Turning away from the mirror entirely, I look at the saddlebags sitting at the foot of the bed—my saddlebags. Even not having seen them for months, it’s impossible to mistake Rarity’s craftsmanship and the unique touches she made to make it mine. Regardless, it’s all mine, and it is another step towards normalcy.

The trip over to the bed to retrieve them is short, but sweet. It’s not even all that difficult to get it back on, although admittedly I’m going to have to start adjusting the strap to account for my ever-growing belly pretty soon. As absurd as it sounds, putting on saddlebags is like riding a bike; you never really forget.

Stepping out the door of my former room, I smile at the mural adorning the wall directly opposite of me before folding my ears back in momentary shame. It’s fun to pretend that the mural, depicting ponies having fun in various ways amidst the messages of good health and self-betterment, was a staff approved endeavor, and that they asked Pastel to paint all of this. Sadly it’s but another consequence of the day I changed it all. 

Pastel is definitely the little artist, I’ll give her that, but she definitely has a hard time following instructions when she gets excited about something. Don’t get me wrong; the Hearth’s Warming mural was awesome, and I have no doubt that they will bring it out of storage for next year given how much everypony else liked it. Just, when she finished, she kinda forgot what I told her about not bankrupting the art-supply fund. Needless to say, between my escape and subsequent injuries, she managed to get a fair bit of the walls near patient rooms before anypony managed to put a stop to it.

Heh, I don’t even mind that, after I was released back into the ward, I was made responsible to help ‘clean up’. Well, it’s not really helping when I’m the one removing all the more, um, disturbing pieces with a paint scraper while a little filly cries and apologizes about going overboard. At least I can take pride in the fact that she wasn’t crying because I got her in trouble... or that I had to take it all down. It also helps that I convinced the staff to let me leave up the mural across from my door. On the plus side, the next pony to get this room will always get a cheerful bit of positive reinforcement every morning before breakfast.

Turning down the hallway, my slow and measured steps carry me toward the common room. Leaving here marks another turning point in my life, and it’s hard not to be apprehensive. This is probably the safest, most stable environment I’ve resided in since staying with Doc Forceps and Candy Stripes for the first seven or so months living here in Equestria, and with all that I’ve been through, I really don’t want to give any of that up.

At the same time though, what I said to Luna weighs heavily on my mind. It’s time for me to start moving forward. I think that in order to go forward, with that in mind, there is some backtracking I must first do. To get anywhere in life, finishing my doctorate in Alchemy should be my top priority. Even if it means a lot of time spent on campus... where it all happened.

Before any of that, however, I’m going to spend some time with Lyra, Bon-Bon, and Honeydew. Losing my mind hasn’t been any easier on them than it has for me, and I intend to make it up to them. I apparently have a lot of money on my hooves—three guesses where that came from, and the first two don’t count—and I’m sure they’d all love to go on a nice vacation. After being in here, I know I certainly do.

There’s honestly nothing more I’d like to do right now than just sit down and pretend to have a normal life for a while. Just go traveling with the herd I was offered the opportunity to be a part of so long ago, and get to know each other again. Mom and ‘Dad’ will probably get some time to themselves, and I’ll get an opportunity to spend time with my goddaughter. It’ll be good for me, at any rate. I need the experience, what with two of my very own on the way.

Upon reaching the common room, I’m greeted by the sight of Lyra sitting by the door to the main hospital. Despite her smile, it’s clear that she’s uncomfortable here, not that it’s really surprising. She’s all ramrod stiff, as if afraid to move while being hounded by none other than Pastel. 

I’ll probably never be ready to live in one of the dormitories again, but once I go back to Canterlot, I plan on checking in with Candy and her mother. God knows I’ve neglected my relationship with the pair of them since I hit the university. You can only do so much to keep in touch when you’re contacting ponies via letters... especially when you initially turn them away when you’re in the hospital after being brutally raped. Still, they’re back together in Canterlot again and I at least owe it to them to... what? Apologize for becoming withdrawn and trying to protect them from my crazy rather than letting them help me.

With a smile of my own, I sidle up beside Pastel. “Sorry, hon,” I say, winking at Lyra. “I know how much you want to paint somepony new, but I’ve really gotta borrow this pony. See, she’s my ticket out of here.”

Pastel’s bubbly demeanor falters as she turns to me, her mouth agape. “What? You’re leaving today?” she squeals, surprising Lyra. “Honest and for true?”

I nod and sit down to hug the little filly. “Sorry, kiddo, but yeah,” I say with a wince as she wraps her hooves around a foreleg, squeezing tightly. Okay, so I might not be a horrible mother. I mean, someone else’s kid pretty much looks up to me and is going to miss me, so I am doing something right... “I’ll miss you too.” With the tips of my wings, I embrace her in a tight, feathery hug. “You be good, okay? Do what the doctors say, and you’ll be out before you know it.”

Lyra watches me, a smile creasing her cheeks as I release Pastel from the hug. “How are you so good with kids?” she asks, slowly shaking her head as she watches the little filly scamper off to talk to one of the nurses. “Are all human males good with children?”

With a shake of my head, I turn toward the exit. “Nah, I was just a big kid once upon a time.” With a teary smile, I say, “Let’s go, Lyra. It’s high time I got my life back on track.”

Lyra begins to trot after me, until I stop. “Oh... by the way,” I add casually, my smile morphing into a grin. “I’m pregnant.”

> Chapter Ω: Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“There were times in my life that I’ve wanted to cry, times I’ve wanted to die, and times that I’ve wanted to watch the world burn. I’ve gone by many names, even before I became the mare I am today, and I will no doubt go by many more before my time is done. I’m in no way important, and yet I have left my mark on Equestria as Silver Script.

“For a time, I was Soren Friedrich, a human from Terra Firma, Earth, or whatever you want to call it. I was a nobody who watched and wrote about tiny cartoon horses, and it made me happy. Through the anonymity of the internet and assumed identities, I’d made a small name for myself and I was content with who I was.

“That’s when Lyra Heartstrings broke the barrier between worlds and shattered my perception of reality. I didn’t know what to think when she turned my life upside-down, beyond the fact that I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a pony, and I never truly wanted to go to Equestria... but as certain songs back on Earth pointed out, life didn’t always go the way you wanted it to.

“Did I give up? Did I cry uncle or lay down to die? No. I might have wanted to, but at the same time, the world never stopped moving around me. It was a chance at a new life, and I took it. I studied hard under Twilight Sparkle so that I could get into university, and it paid off. I’ve known love and loss, hate and fear, pride and failure, and the inexplicable desire to do better.

“Through alchemy, I’ve achieved and lost much. Infertility, my dwarfism, the common cold... even petrification seemingly could not stand before the might of my determination. With sheer perseverance, a bit of lingering human ingenuity and a decent research fund, is there anything that I can’t do?”

I stare down at the oversized typewriter and groan inwardly. The words on the paper are certainly true, but it all seems so pompous when I put it that way. Surely there are better ways to preface my life’s story without sounding like some stuck-up rich pony. Okay, so I’m kind of rich because of patents and whatnot, but still! I don’t need to sound like a Blueblood.

A moment’s glance at the mountain of paper to my left reminds me just how fucked up this all is. “Why did I leave the preface ‘til last?” I mutter aloud, tearing the sheet of paper from the typewriter’s grasp. With a growl, I crumple the sheet and toss it into the bin. “Why do I care if she sees a proper foreword?”

The door to the bedchambers in our loaned royal apartment creaks open behind me. “Mommy?” a small voice asks. “Are you okay?”

I glance over my shoulder at the young speaker and give the filly a tired smile. “Mommy’s fine, Pura,” I say, feeling every bit as tired as the little gray unicorn looks, peering out from beneath the bedraggled mop of blond that is her mane. I slump down on the floor. “Just frustrated with my writing is all.”

Pura pulls her head back into the other room for a moment, and then emerges a comforter sheathed in a blue aura. Smiling as she snuggles up against my side, I draw my wing around her. My daughter, in turn, wraps the large blanket around us both, murmuring tiredly into my side. “You work too hard,” she declares, eyeing my memoir disdainfully, “and you promised that you’d spend more time with me and Clara.”

Seven years ago, I might have flinched at the sight of the floating blanket; I would be plagued by thoughts of how it could be used to strangle or incapacitate me. Not now, though—not with my daughters. Raising a pair of unicorns, you don’t really have a choice but learning to cope with magic. Don’t get me wrong; I’m still wary as fuck around unfamiliar unicorns, but I’m definitely more trusting than I was after everything Aqua Regia did.

“I know, hon,” I admit, stroking her mane with one hoof. My beautiful daughter... It doesn’t matter to me if she’s almost the spitting image of her sire. She’s too pure to be marred by the sins of her father—my little Aqua Pura, my Pure Water. “I promise after I finish my business here in Canterlot, we’ll go do something special. Maybe we can even divert to Ponyville before heading back to the Empire.” Nudging her playfully, I add, “I’m sure Clara would love to see Honeydew again.”

The filly beside me groans. “Ugh, can we not?” she whines. “They get too noisy when they’re together, and I can’t re—Hey!” Her cheeks flush as she realizes I’ve tried to put one over on her. “Why did we even have to come to Canterlot?”

I sigh, glancing back at the door to the bedchamber. “Mommy has to visit somepony. That’s why I’ve been working so hard on that bit of writing...” To tell the truth, I don’t really know how to explain that I’m visiting their murderous rapist father in order to make her understand what I’ve been through. That I am giving a mare her penance before she is executed tomorrow. “It’s for that somepony to read before they go away... forever.”

She watches me, her amber eyes cool and calculating, for a moment before reflecting my sigh. “This pony hurt you, didn’t they?” she says morosely. “It’s in your voice—your pain. You use that same voice whenever Clara asks about dad. He’s... he’s the pony you’re going to see, isn’t he? And he’s in prison.”

No joke, I often think that Clara and Pura’s names got mixed up at birth. Pura is anything but innocent; she’s too inquisitive and is too well read for a filly her age. Not only is the filly incredibly bright, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that she’s quite adept at reading ponies. She definitely knows more than she lets on at times, and I think she’s always known on some level that the pony that sired her was not a good pony—my precocious little munchkin.

Not my Aqua Clara, my Clear Water, though. She’s oblivious and bubbly, if not a bit shy. She’s the paragon of foalhood innocence, if there can be said to be such a thing. Scared of the dark, hiding behind my tail at social events, having imaginary friends... there’s no denying that she’s a filly. She might be a big baby at times, but she’s definitely my big baby. I’m just happy that at least one of my daughters is ‘normal’.

“Mommy, Pura?” Speak of the little angel now. A look over the shoulder isn’t necessary to inform me that Clara woke and found herself alone in the room. Her wide, teal eyes, peering out from beneath a curtain of white, are full of apprehension and a bit of fear. “What’s going on? I woke up and nopony was there...”

“I was just finishing a bit of work and Pura was worried about me is all,” I reply, unraveling the blanket and extending my other wing in invitation. “Not sleeping well?”

The crimson little unicorn meanders out of the bedchamber, a familiar stuffed pony in tow. After all these years, the Blossom plushie is still with us, but she has gone from watching over me in my times of need to being a guardian and friend to the more sensitive of my daughters. Tenderly and painstakingly loved, she’s weathered well over the years. Once Clara is nestled beneath my other wing, I pull the comforter over her as well.

“Nuh-uh,” she says, resting her head on the plushie like a pillow. “Havin’ bad dreams.” Noticing the stack of papers and my typewriter, a sleepy grin spreads across her face. “Tell us a story.”

Pura’s eyes light up, and she begins to grin too. “Yeah! A story!”

“Tell us about the time we were born!” Oh jeeze... “That was the happiest day in your life wasn’t it?”

“Um... heh, I was certainly happy that they cut you both out of me,” I tease, tickling them with my wingtips. “Don’t you know how fat you made mommy look?”

“Mooom,” they chorus. “We’re serious!”

I shake my head, looking from one to the other. “Girls, I’ve told you before... I don’t remember much about that day,” I tell them in a soft voice. “The doctors said that it would be dangerous for you to be born the normal way, on account of my weak heart. I was so out of it that day because of the medication they gave mommy that it was like I wasn’t even there when they pulled you out of my tummy.

“I could tell you about the time I witnessed the birth of your friend; I was there for that.” I smile knowingly. They look slightly disgruntled at receiving the same answer they’ve gotten countless times, but they do not speak against my counter-offer. “I thought you might like that compromise. It all happened seven years ago, on a very sunny day in June...”


~ Ω: Epilogue - Cameo ~


I sit alone in a private booth, glancing nervously about the rest of the cafe, trying my damnedest not to think about the letter in my bag. Okay, so it’s more of an invitation than a letter, but given who the sender is, it may as well be a royal summons. With how long it’s been since I saw them last, I would think that they’d both be rather busy, having no time to pop down to Canterlot to have a coffee with me... Oh crap, I’m thinking about it again!

A waitress stops by to ask if I would like to place an order, to which I quickly answer, “I’m meeting somepony here; would it be too much of a problem if I hold off on ordering until they arrive?” Without breaking eye-contact with her, I tip a satchel of bits onto the table, spilling forth a few medium denomination bits, and smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be tipped well.”

The young mare looks unsure of herself for a few moments, biting her lip as if struggling with some sort of internal dilemma. What do I know about this cafe’s service rules? It isn’t some top-tier sort of place, where they can afford to have a table not bringing in cash for a few minutes, but it also doesn’t look like the cafe is in a bad place. At last, though, she nods, and tells me simply to flag her down when I’m ready.

So with nothing else to do but stare at the table and wait, I fidget about in my seat, unable to keep my mind from wandering back to the letter. Not only is it short, but it’s incredibly vague, mentioning how they wish to discuss my talents. Could they be rescinding their earlier offer following my major spat of mental instability? Or maybe with the baby, they’d like to increase—

“No, please; don’t make a fuss on our accord!” somepony familiar says, cutting me off mid-thought. Jerking my head up, I see my contact standing before the now-anxious waitress, trying her best not to have a scene made on her accord. “Really, I’ll be fine!”

My jaw drops upon seeing her. It’s hard not to gape, and even more understandable as to why ponies would make a fuss. There, swathed in a travel cloak, is a very, unmistakably pregnant Mi Amore Cadenza. It’s hard to even process... I mean, by this point she would have to be, what, fifteen months pregnant! How can that be?

As she spots me and, beaming, makes her way over to my booth, my eye drifts to her husband. Shining looks every bit as happy to see me as Cadence, but despite the cheerful facade, there’s a certain pained—haunted, even—look present when our eyes meet. Yeah, I kind of imagine that there’s a certain lullaby that he won’t be singing that kid when it finally decides to pop out.

I nod slowly at him before turning my focus back to the pink pregnant pony princess. “Princess Cadance, Shining Armor, it’s so nice to see you both,” I say in a welcoming tone, glad to be able to mask my anxiety with a bit of surprise. A bit more nervously after a second glance at her distended belly, I chuckle and add, “I would have thought congratulations were in order, but... what? How?”

Cadance shakes her head, smiling tiredly. “Hasn’t been her time yet,” she says in a tone betraying some of her annoyance. “Aunt Celestia says it just runs in the family, and that I also wanted an extended stay.” She rolls her eyes at the thought, but her smile momentarily pulls into a smirk. “Aunt Luna says that it’s simply the nature of being born an alicorn—that it takes longer for an alicorn foal to develop ties to the world’s magical leylines.”

“Personally, I believe Celestia more,” Shining teases, nudging his wife gently with his nose. “Ever since the fourth month of her pregnancy, she can’t pass up an extended stay in a nice warm bed.”

I mull over these words slowly, hoping and praying that he isn’t insinuating what I think he is. Then, of course, it hits me that they are both still standing. “How rude of me!” I condemn myself, gesturing at the seats on the opposite side of the booth. “Please, have a seat; you must be exhausted.”

Both of them clamber onto the seating, Shining Armor of course being protective of Cadence and unborn foal and instinctively taking the aisle seat. Once they look somewhat relaxed, I glare pointedly at some interested onlookers before returning my attention to them both. “So, um, Your Majesties,” I say, flicking my ear gently as I watch the waitress out the corner of my eye. “You said you wanted to discuss something pertaining to my alchemy? I mean, when I got the letter, I thought you had already had the baby and wanted to turn Shining into a mare to be a wetnurse, but...”

“Nothing of the sort,” Cadence replies, snorting in amusement at what I just suggested. “We’re in Canterlot because the Crystal Empire honestly still needs modernizing in some fields, medical included, and at this point we want the best care available for when the next princess decides to make her debut. When we returned, we heard that you were back to studying and wanted to talk to you about our previous offer.”

“Decided you don’t want a stone-eye nutter for your court alchemist after all?” I offer in a defeated tone. “I don’t blame you. Losing my mind a couple of times definitely doesn’t look good on a health-record for prospective employers.”

Shining Armor frowns, and for a moment I worry he might shout. “What? No, no!” he denies, waving his hooves emphatically before him. “That offer still stands, but we were hoping you might consider finishing your alchemical doctorate in the Empire.”

At my surprised look, Cadence elaborates. “When we heard you were back at university and had decided to pursue the Restorative School of alchemy, we pulled the summaries of your research. Gene therapy, inoculations to common illnesses, the merits of petrifaction in emergency medicine.” She almost sounds giddy at the prospect. “Given some time, we could set you up with everything you’d need to make these a reality; in the meantime, you would be able to learn the relevant medicine along with the medical staff in the Empire.”

“Do I get a cute outfit?”

A look of sudden confusion crosses the prince consort’s face as he stares at me. “Wait a second. Why would I have to turn into a mare to wetnurse?” he asks slowly. “Why would you even suggest that when there are plenty—”

Both Cadance and I begin giggling uncontrollably, probably for completely different reasons, as Shining belatedly picks up on my joking comment. “I’m not sure if you remember where a mare’s mammary glands are located, but I think it might be just a bit too—” I laugh even louder at the mental image. “—stimulating.”

When no sign of understanding dawns on his face, I grab a pepper mill from the table and turn it on its side. “Okay, this is your... yeah,” I say, indicating the mill. “Pretend my hooves are the mams, and watch carefully.” I place my hooves on either side of the dispenser, gently brushing back and forth in a slow jerking motion. “Can you see why that might not be great when nursing?” I add with a smirk. “Besides, you’d look much cuter as a mare, nursing a little foal while wearing a maid’s dress.”

As Shining Armor’s face flushes with crimson, Cadence begins to lose it. It doesn’t help any that he immediately adjusts his posture, slouching and placing his forelegs as close together as possible. I can’t even tell what’s worse, that she’s laughing at a lewd joke, or that she has yet to object to my suggestion that her husband would be cute dressed as a maid. Then again, at like fifteen months pregnant, the bedroom life is probably full of anxiety.

Her amusement rises from light giggling to a steady howl of laughter, as tears spill freely down her cheeks. She clenches her eyes shut and wraps her hooves around her distended belly, but her laughter has changed. Rather than sounds of mirth, her ha-has sound more like pained gasps. Um... wait. Shit.

“Um... nobody panic, but I think you just went into labor.” Wow, way to sound reassuring, Silver. “Er...”

Princess Cadance rises to her hooves as though she’s about to burst into a run for the door, but she makes no further movements. Her eyes widen with alarm as she realizes that everypony in the cafe is now staring in her general direction with varied expressions of shock and alarm. Oh shit, oh shit, oh no; that baby’s ready to come out, and I don’t think it’s going to wait for an ambulance!

“She’s gone into labor?” Shining whispers hoarsely, his own eyes as wide as dinner plates. “But the books all say not to teleport once it begins—” His glances at me, noting my own gravid form. “—and you aren’t in any condition to go get help...”

“Don’t leave me, Shining!” she pleads, her voice trailing off into a keening cry. “It hurts so badly.”

Keep calm and help her deliver that baby, Silver. It’s nothing new, and this sort of thing has been happening for as long as mammals have had live births. It can’t be too difficult, especially with ponies, right? “Shining Armor, can your shield spell be made opaque?” I ask, glancing at the crowd gathering near the booth.

When he nods, his face becoming incredibly pale, I turn back to Cadance and grin half-heartedly. “Alright, Your Highness, Shiny there is going to put up a small privacy screen with his magic so we can get this done, okay?” Once Shining Armor conjures up a large rosy dome and I’ve shed my saddlebags, I upend the table and lead the pregnant pony princess into the center of the space. At first I worry that her legs have locked and that she’ll be foaling practically on top of the bench, but then, slowly, she leans against me for support as we inch out into the space.

Now, at this point, there isn’t much anypony can do but wait. It’s all up to Cadance to breathe and push and all that fun stuff. Well, if I’d known I was going to be playing midwife for the ruler of another country, I would have brought a mild painkiller—enough to deaden the pain, but not enough to make it so she can’t even feel the contractions—but that’s neither here nor there. For one, I’m technically not supposed to be making that sort of stuff. Controlled substance laws, and all that.

I’d also like to pretend that I can just sit off to the side, waiting. Unfortunately, somepony has to be watching to make sure that things are going okay. Shining certainly isn’t; he’s just standing in front of Cadance, trying to comfort her in spite of the look on his face that says, “Childbirth is the destroyer of vaginas.”

So there I stand over the span of an hour or two, not unlike the time with Lyra, staring at another mare’s genitals, watching a bubble of amniotic membrane protrude and distend, slowly filling with color. At first, there’s only a pair of light amber hooves, but as the foal comes out further, I can even see an almost azure color atop the horned little head through the membrane. Strangely, I don’t even feel sickened watching this. It’s just... magical in its own way.

Once the foal is out past her shoulders, it’s almost a simple affair. With a gush of fluid, the rest of the body practically glides out of her now gaping birth canal. Regardless of how icky the amniotic sac might feel to the touch, I’m right there to make sure the increased height of the alicorn mother doesn’t lead to any accidents, guiding with my hooves.

“Shining Armor, the amniotic sac is intact,” I say, not really expecting him to know what I’m actually saying. “In the hardcase saddlebag, there’s a surgical kit that I generally use for sample collection. Get me the scalpel and two forceps. No questions.”

I kneel down in front of the membrane-swaddled foal, and accept one pair of forceps from Shining Armor. Clamping down on the sac just in front of the foal’s muzzle, I accept the other pair and clamp off a point just above the little one’s hooves. Finally, with the proffered scalpel clenched between my teeth, a cut is made between the two points.

I waste no time at all diving forward to tear at the incision with my hooves, tearing the membrane and freeing the little horned head. The newly christened parents watch in awe as the sac rips further under my ministrations, revealing two tiny little wings. Sweat begins to cover my brow as the last of the sac comes away.

With a smile, I say, “Congratulations, Cadence; it’s a healthy little alicorn filly.”

The two share a look, before they both say in unison, “Our little Etherea.”


~ Ω ~


“... and that’s half the reason I got a cesarean,” I conclude, glancing down at my two sleeping daughters. With a chuckle and smile, I take care not to wake them as I slip out from beneath the comforter, allowing them to rest against one another. “Sleep well, little ones... Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.”

Returning my attentions to the memoire on the desk, I frown. Maybe I don’t need to preface it, but I do need to address Aqua Regia somehow. Forgoing the noisy typewriter, a fountain pen and a sheet of parchment is retrieved from a drawer on the desk. It takes almost half an hour to organize what I want to say, but with one final glance at the clock, I begin to write.

Aqua Regia,

I don’t think either of us expected our lives to turn out the way they did. There are times when I think that life is but a play, and from time to time, the playwright is either flat-out drunk or hates us all. It’s not to say that I excuse or forgive what you have done, but I am beyond blaming you solely for all that has happened.

I have heard some of the things Blueblood—the house, your father, and your brother—has done to you, and it’s clear that up until attending the university, you’ve had little control in your life. Words can’t even describe what a horrible existence House Blueblood must have been for you, but as I said before, I excuse nothing. Having gotten to know your history while tracking your rehabilitation, I feel that you should also have the opportunity to know mine.

The enclosed memoir is all my life’s experiences since first coming to Equestria. Everything I’ve gone through, all the torture I’ve faced, and most of all, all of the accomplishments I’ve made in spite of it: all is a part of this. It’s not enough for me to know that you know what you did was wrong before your execution. I need you to understand how what you have done has affected my life. Since it’s really the heart of the matter, I like to think of it as the Alchemist’s Heart.

That being said, I will be visiting the same day you read this message, late in the afternoon. I will not be alone. If you have read the memoir in its entirety—not like you have much else to do there—you will know who will be joining me. You might thank me, or you might damn me for it. That is for you to decide when that time comes.

I also would ask you to think on something. If you had been born to any other family, do you think you would have turned out the way you did? Would you do the things you have done? If you had a chance to do it all again, to do it right, would you take it? Do you think you are deserving of such a second chance? I’ll ask the answer before the end of my visit.

Sincerely,

Silver Script

Content with the letter, I affix it to the sheaf of papers making up the memoir, tying it with twine, and carry it to the door. With a tug of a tasseled rope nearby, one of the castle servants is here in minutes. After that, it’s only a matter of time until the memoir is on a same-day trip to death row at Ironhoof Penitentiary.

Finally, I allow my tiredness to catch up to me. With a yawn, I lay up atop the comforter, curling my body around those of my daughters. I think Blossom would be proud of me if she could see me now. In fact, I know she is.


~ Ω ~


“Mommy, why are we in a prison?” Clara asks, hiding beneath one of my wings. We are seated at a table in a fair-sized room, waiting. “Was I bad?”

Before I have a chance to respond, Pura interjects with a grin, “Don’t be silly, sis. This is a visitation room! It said so on the door.” There’s an almost me-like glint in her eye for a moment, and she quickly adds, “Why? Did you wanna see the Scared Straight program firsthoof?”

Looking down at Pura disapprovingly, I shake my head. “One of these days, I’m going to start restricting what books that librarian lends you,” I state flatly. “You read too much for your own good.”

“Just think how disappointed Princess Twilight would be in you if—” Whatever attempt at trying to guilt me out of hampering her attempt at reading all the books in the Royal Library in the Crystal Empire falls silent as a door on the opposite side of the room opens. In steps a guard, followed by a tall mare in an orange jumpsuit.

After all these years, I can scarcely tell that Aqua Regia is the same mare that I knew. Her once-lustrous mane is cropped short, the meaning of which I can only begin to guess. A look of recognition crosses her gaunt face as her near-hollow eyes flick from me to the fillies—recognition and pain. Her ears are splayed back, and even beneath that prison uniform, I can tell that she’s judging whether or not she wants to book it.

As she creeps slowly to the table, unable to make eye-contact with any of us, my eyes instinctively flick up to her forehead, where her horn once was. I’d seen her without her horn before, less than a month after she’d raped me, but at that time, the area around it had been shaved back to allow doctors to properly remove the broken horn. It’s different now; the fur has grown back, but there’s still a round bare spot where her horn once was... almost like an Indian Bindi.

I purse my lips and nod when she reaches the table. “Aqua Regia,” I say in lieu of any other greeting. “You’re looking well today.”

“More than I have any right to be, Silver Script,” she agrees, taking a seat across from us. “So they are... ?”

I nod. “Pura, Clara, this is Aqua Regia,” I explain, looking each of my daughters in the eye in turn before once again looking at Aqua. “Aqua, these are my daughters.”

The murderess nods, shifting away from the table. “Hello,” she says in a surprisingly timid voice. “I’m—”

“A bad pony who hurt mommy,” Pura growls in a hateful tone I’ve never before heard from her. She hops onto the table to place herself between the two of us, taking a stance I’m sure she intends to be intimidating. In reality, it would almost be cute if not for how heartbreaking it really is. “You raped my mother. I don’t know how, but you did.”

Now, this is the sort of moment where if one were to have a beverage in their mouth, they would probably be spraying a fine mist of it across the table in surprise. Nobody ever expects their seven year old daughter to know what rape is, never mind that they would be able properly guess that the pony sitting before us is indeed the one who did that very crime.

Clara looks from Aqua, to Pura, and then to me. “Mommy, what’s rape?”

“It’s not something either of you should have to know about at your age,” I say softly, nuzzling Clara. Glancing up at her sister, I add, “Somebody is definitely getting a talking to about age-appropriate reading when we get home.” My gray daughter looks back at me, agape, but at my stern look, she makes no further protest. “Come down off of the table.”

Pura complies with my command, but seemingly grudgingly. The little unicorn takes a seat between my forelegs, resting her chin on the table, glaring across the table at her sire. I too turn back to looking at Aqua, and am unsurprised to see a stricken, guilty look on her face.

“She’s as clever as her mother,” she notes with a sad expression. Looking to Clara, she visibly winces and a look of near panic crosses her countenance. “And you... you have her eyes. I don't know how, but you do.” This last bit is a quavering whisper.

“As Pura has already guessed,” I state for Clara’s benefit, “Aqua Regia is your...”

“Daddy?” Clara offers hopefully.

Aqua shakes her head. “Sire.” There’s no sadness or anger in her voice; instead, I can almost hear pride. Pride not in what she’s done, but in what I’ve done in spite of it. “What I did to Silver was the most heinous of things a pony can do, and I have no right to claim any title pertaining to familial roles.” I realize that she is speaking not to me or Pura, but Clara specifically. “Even if your mother forgave me, which she can’t, it would be wrong of me to lay claim to such a role when I haven’t been there, and soon will not be around at all. There is no place in your life for a diseased mind such as mine. You all deserve better.”

Something, or rather, someone, bumps into my chest as her head shoots up. With a glance down, I’m happy to see that there’s a surprised look on Pura’s face. It would seem that Pura misjudged how Aqua would respond. She probably expected an unrepentant killer rather than the pony who is taking the presence and disdain of the fillies she begat with the stoicism of somebody about to die.

“You’re sick in the head?” little Clara asks, slipping out from beneath my wing to place her forehooves on the table to peer at Aqua expectantly. Again, the former unicorn looks as though she’s been physically slapped, and I think I know why. “But if you’re sick, why did they put you in prison? Mommy says we should help sick ponies whenever possible, but they can’t help you if you’re here!”

I look down at my daughter in pride and nod. “I’m actually still curious about that myself,” I admit. “When I saw you last, you were frequently flashing back to moments in your foalhood. I’m surprised your lawyer allowed it. You could have been living out your days in Helping Hooves, but...”

Aqua frowns and then rubs her head gently as a small trickle of blood begins to trickle from one of her tear ducts. At my look of alarm, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing; just a small aneurysm. Small price to pay to not be reduced into a blithering child,” she says dismissively. “I dismissed my lawyer as soon as he attempted to argue mental incompetence. The court—the princesses—agreed that as long as I was lucid from medication, I was fit to stand trial. I knew what I had done and the penalties associated with my crimes. I asked for this sentence when I plead guilty. Auntie... Princess Luna wasn't about to deny my request simply because it was what I wanted; everypony got what they wanted. The public got justice, Ice Blossom’s family got peace of mind, and I get what's coming to me.”

I nod, knowingly. She’s had to live with what she did for seven whole years, over which time she’s been receiving therapy to help her understand what she did. She murdered somepony I loved and brutally raped me. There’s no coming back from that, and I don’t think she wants to come back from it.

Again, I look to my daughters. “Girls, there’s something I need to talk to Aqua about privately. Do you think you could go ask the guard by the door we came in to take you to a vending machine to get some snacks?” I flick my saddlebag open with one of my wings and hook a small, foalish coin purse on one of my pinions before offering it to the fillies. “Anything you want as long as you bring me back a soda.”

Both Aqua and I watch the girls move to harass the guard before nodding. “So about my offer,” I say, stretching one of my hooves across the table. I don't even flinch as my hoof contacts the invisible barrier dividing the room. “Would you take a second chance if offered?”

“Silver, I can’t!” she cries, another bloody tear racing down her cheek. “I have to die, or else Ice Blossom’s family will never have justice. Even if you’re offering what I think you are, I couldn’t. The princesses—”

“Have already approved the testing, and rehabilitation programme,” I interrupt. “All inmates on death row are being offered this choice as an alternative execution. Make no mistake, you will die. Maybe not your soul or your body if all goes well, but who you are as a pony will cease to be...”


~ Ω ~


I walk quickly through the streets, fighting against the early-morning hoof traffic to get to my destination. There’s no reason anybody would think anything odd about a mare out and about with the sort of precious cargo she’s carrying on her back, but they are kind enough to give me enough space so as to not disturb it. For that I’m thankful.

My hooves practically lead me based on a memory from years ago: an out of the way spot in the residential district, overlooking much of the city. It was there that I first had a discussion with Shining Armor here at sundown on a day marking the end of one phase of my life, so it’s only fitting that I choose to meet somepony who helped me through a rough time at the beginning of a new era. So as I round a corner, getting a good glimpse of the cityscape as Celestia’s sun begins to crest the horizon, I’m pleased to see the pony already present.

At first, I barely recognize her; between her long gray-streaked brown mane and the cloth uniform of an instructor at the Royal Guard Officer Candidate School obscuring her scarred body and tan coat, it’s little wonder. That’s definitely the pony I came to see.

“Silver Script, it is so good to see you again,” she says before nursing what smells like a latte of some sort. “How are your daughters doing? I heard you took them to meet that awful mare, in spite of all she did.”

I nod. “Ponies value progeny, Wind Whisper, and even though she did all those things, I wanted Aqua to take peace in knowing that even though she didn’t deserve it, she helped create two wonderful fillies.”

“Most ponies wouldn't do what you did, though. It’s a kindness and cruelty beyond what most are capable of.” Wind Whisper shrugs, before noting the bundle on my back. “I didn't know you were pregnant again; congratulations Silver!”

I shake my head, smiling. “She isn’t mine,” I admit. “Project Genesis—death row inmate testing for a potion intended to revert a pony to foalhood whilst also purging any traits making a pony prone to illness—was a success,” I explain, lowering myself to the ground before retrieving the sleeping foal from my back. “This is one of the volunteers.”

The former sergeant eyes the swaddled filly guardedly. “Silver, I...”

I raise my hoof to hush her. “You were on a list of ponies looking to adopt, for which there were no suitable adoptees to choose from.” A foalish giggle escapes the now-awake child at my hooves. “She’s going to need a good mother.”

“But... isn't she... ?” she asks, noting the little cobalt eyes peering up at her from beneath the nubbin of a tiny crimson horn and wisps of blond mane. “Why give her the choice?”

“Everypony deserves a second chance,” I say, passing her the filly. “She’s yours if you want her. She’s a blank slate now, so you could make sure she doesn’t become the mare she was again.”

Tentatively, Whisper accepts the bundled filly, a tear staining her cheek. “I don't know what to say, Silver.” Hugging the cooing foal against her chest, she lets out a small sob. “Thank you so much.”

“Just say you’ll treat her right,” I say. “Love her like her family never did.”