Persona

Chapters

Bravado
Vanity
Sacrifice
Delusion
Propriety
Ambition

Bravado

With a great deal of effort, I raised a porous foreleg and hooked it over the ledge, straining to pull myself up and onto the flat surface at the top of the cliff. I lay there, exhausted from my climb, panting, staring at the dusty sky. I sat up with a grunt and looked over the edge, my right wing dangling uselessly against my side.

Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my eyes, looking off into the distance, into the Badlands, just barely visible on the horizon. Even then, I could almost feel the pull of—

No!

I jerked my eyes away from it. The time for looking back was over. Instead, I faced forward, getting up onto my wobbly legs. I found myself on a dirt road hugging the side of the mountain, and I followed the road with my eyes until…

There! Just at the bend there's a guard’s hut, an Equestrian flag flapping in the wind. With a grimace, I began to limp towards it, ignoring the pain in my wing. I’d come so far. Just… a little… farther…

There was movement at the hut. The border guards had spotted me. They began galloping in my direction—two of them—and then their gait slowed as they got a better look at me. Thinking quickly, I plopped down on my haunches, raising my forelegs into the air to show that I wasn’t a threat. They stared at the sorry creature before them, surrendering to them, and the two of them exchange a wary look. Then, they nodded to one another.

One of them, a pegasus, approached me, placing his hooves on my shoulders and forcing me to the ground, and I winced a bit from a jolt of pain to my injured wing. Then his unicorn companion unfurled a length of rope in the glow of his magic and bound my limbs. I lay there, restrained, weeping and smiling.

The last thing I saw was a black sack being lowered over my head.

My eyes dart open, and for a terrifying moment I don’t know where I am. The dream lingers in my mind—the sensation of being tired and afraid and filled with desperate hope, like falling out of a thundercloud. But sure enough, the fog begins to clear. The sweltering Las Pegasus heat embraces me like a dear friend, and I blink my eyes across the sparsely furnished lengths of my bedroom.

I’m home. It wasn’t just a dream.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Almost noon. I let out a small whine. A part of me has often wished that I could wake up earlier and enjoy the gilded newness of early morning, but too many late nights have set me in my nocturnal ways. For better or worse, this bird doesn’t need to wake early to get her worm.

With a groan, I roll out of bed, setting my hooves on the carpeted floor. I trot into the bathroom and look in the mirror, examining my reflection with large, pupilless blue eyes. I try not to shudder at my disheveled appearance. It’s not that I’m an especially fussy changeling, but for someone to whom looks do matter, the creature staring back at me, with her crooked crest fin and scuffed chitin, is an insult.

Oh well, I think. It could be worse. I take a moment to turn to the side and look at my right wing. Aside from a scar near where it attaches to my body, it looks as it should. I give it a small buzz, and smile.

One long soak in the tub, and I feel good as new.

I amble into my apartment’s kitchenette, humming happily as the sunlight, even sifted through the window blinds, makes my hide shine. After fetching myself a glass of water and a ramekin of pistachios, I proceed to the living room, flicking on the radio and collapsing onto the sofa as if I’d walked there across the wilderness. I munch on the pistachios—eaten for my enjoyment more than any nourishment they might provide—and listen to the music, a stirring rendition of Rimsky-Horsakov’s “Procession of the Sisters”.

The music reminds me of the dream, still fresh in my mind. It strikes me then just what my life has become. I sit here in my comfy apartment, munching on salted snacks and listening to Equestrian classical music, with a job that keeps me well fed. It’s all a far cry from what my life used to be, before I took matters into my own hooves and came to Equestria. I have a new life; a better life. And it would be downright selfish of me to ask for anything more, wouldn’t it?

The song ends, and for an instant my apartment is utterly silent, all except for a single release of breath through my nostrils.

A sudden knock on my door startles me, and I very nearly inhale a pistachio. I continue to sputter as I make my way to the door. I peak through the peep hole, seeing a familiar face on the other side, and I can’t help but grin.

I take a moment to put up my usual, off-the-clock disguise—a thoroughly ordinary earth pony mare with a beige coat, greenish eyes, and brown mane and tail. Then, I open the door, revealing a large, burgundy stallion with a deadpan expression.

“Good morning, Middleman!” I chirp.

“Hey, Naamari,” he drones. “Enjoy your day off?” His small talk, as usual, has all the warmth of a penguin’s backside.

“Sure did.” I lean to the side and look at his saddlebag. “I guess you have a job for me today, huh? I’m feeling a little peckish, if you know what I mean.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Something tells me I don’t.” He reaches his muzzle into the saddlebag and extracts a manila envelope with his teeth.

I take it in the crook of my hoof, scrutinizing it. “Anything good?”

“You know I’m not privy to details, Naamari. I’m just a messenger.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, you got my allowance for the week? I’m running low on pistachios.” I give him my toothiest grin.

He rolls his eyes before reaching back into his saddlebag and tossing me a bag of bits. “If you had any brains at all, you’d be putting that into savings. Isn’t junk food a little superfluous, all things considered?” He gestures at me with a hoof.

“Privy? Superfluous? Middleman, have you been using word-of-the-day toilet paper?”

I always enjoy seeing his glare. I’m certain glaciers have melted under lesser things.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he growls.

I blink innocently. “But I thought pestering you was my job…”

Middleman turns with a huff and trots off without another word.

“Nice talking to you!” I call with a wave of my hoof.

With a chuckle, I retreat back into my apartment, dropping my disguise and returning to the couch. I switch the radio off with an emerald flare of my magic. Turning the envelope over, I break the red wax seal bearing the Persona crest and begin poring through its contents. For now, I set aside the paper-clipped bundle containing information on the client, instead looking at my role for the evening.

A familiar face looks back at me from a glossy headshot. With a suspecting smirk, I glance at the client’s info. Yep, a pegasus, just as I’d guessed. This job will be a piece of cake. Hardly the first time I’ve played the role of this particular pony.

I begin leafing through the client’s information, committing certain key details to memory.

At the end of the day, our job at Persona Escort Services—and I suppose the same could be said for a changeling’s life in general—is acting. Granted, it’s also to give our client some companionship, whatever that might (and usually does) entail. But how well we can do that depends entirely on how well we play our part. Details are the name of the game. We have to become our characters, not just in appearance, but in behavior and personality. Any deviation from this, and the illusion may be broken.

Obviously, our clients know that we’re changelings. For legal reasons, they have to know. But so long as we’re convincing, everyone gets what they want.

Feeling confident on my grasp of the material, I return all the papers to the envelope and lay it on the coffee table, scooping a few more pistachios in my hoof while I’m there. I still have a few hours to kill before I need to get going.

I pop the pistachios into my mouth and chew, and my crunching is the only sound in the entire apartment. I fiddle with my hooves for a moment, then look at the ceiling.

It sure is hot today.

...

You know what? It’s never too early to get into character. I want to be prepared, after all. I spring from the sofa and jog over to the mirror, closing my eyes and getting a clear mental image of my role.

A flash of green fills my apartment.

Setting four yellow hooves on the spongy surface of the landing area, I raise my eyes and get an eyeful of the spectacle that is Stratopolis. The cloud resort—complete with hotel, amusement park, shops, and restaurants—floats high above the flashing neon lights of Las Pegasus. Other cloud structures dot the sky in every direction, proof of the city’s pegasine heritage.

A short trot gets me to my destination: a diner tucked away off the beaten path. A flickering sign above the door reads “Raoul’s”. I approach the door, taking a moment to adjust my sunglasses—even though it’s night—and pull my hood more tightly over my head. Then, satisfied that I look the part of a celebrity trying to fly under the radar, I enter the diner.

I immediately take a liking to the place. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cozy, and the air is filled with idle conversation and the smell of delicious pony food. There are several other patrons, seated at the bar or in booths lining the windows, but they’re too focused on their meals or on each other to pay much attention to a straggler such as myself. Then, across the diner, I see my client. Or, I assume it’s her, if the shock of multicolored mane is any indication. She’s sitting in one of the booths, her back turned toward the door, stirring a milkshake with a hoof as she gazes out the window at the nearby amusement park. Judging by the twitching of her wings, she’s feeling antsy. Not so uncommon for our clients, really.

With a smirk, I approach the booth. She doesn’t notice my presence at first, but finally her eyes catch my reflection in the window pane. The hoof ceases its stirring, and her eyes widen. She whips her head around, finding none other than the captain of the Wonderbolts standing beside her.

Now that I see her up close, I realize that she looks oddly familiar, like I've seen her before. Try as I might, though, I can't place her. Not wanting to get distracted, I shrug off the feeling.

“Hey, Rainbow Dash,” I say in my best impersonation of Spitfire’s voice.

She gapes at me for a moment, then whispers, “Whoooaa… You look just like her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Y’know, like Spitfire!”

All movement in the diner comes to a halt, every face turning in our direction to ogle the celebrity suddenly in their midst. I facehoof; I suppose I walked right into that one. Best nip it in the bud. Turning to the other diners, putting the same commanding edge in my voice that Spitfire uses at the Academy, I say, “Do you mind?” It has the desired effect. They quickly return to whatever had occupied their attention before Rainbow’s outburst, though the occasional murmur of Spitfire’s name is audible above the din.

Sliding into the booth, I meet Rainbow’s wincing eyes and say, “Can you just be cool? I’m trying to keep a low profile here.”

She grins sheepishly. “Heh, sorry. Got kinda carried away there. It’s just… wow, you look great.”

“Why, thank you,” I say. Now that my cover is basically blown, I pull back my hood, and as I remove my sunglasses, I not-so-inconspicuously run my eyes over Rainbow’s athletic form. “You don’t look half-bad, yourself.”

She gives a small blush. “Thanks…”

The sound of hoofsteps approaching catches our attention, and there stands a stallion wearing an apron and a paper hat, his eyes mostly drawn in my direction as he grins nervously. His nametag identifies him as the diner’s namesake.

“C-can I get you two anything?” he asks.

I look at Rainbow with raised eyebrows. “We’re eating here, right?”

“Oh, definitely!” She grins, then catches herself and lowers her ears. “Heh, if you want to, that is. I know it’s not fancy, but the food’s great, and—”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a menu. “You order first.”

“Okay, um…” She turns to Raoul. “I’ll take a hayburder with cheese, and an order of fries.”

He jots it down, then says around the pen in his teeth, “And you, Miss… S-Spitfire?”

I give him a reproachful smirk, then say, “I’ll take the same. And a milkshake, too, please.”

“Coming right up!” He takes a few steps backwards, then wheels around and darts into the kitchen. A cacophony of barked orders and rattling pans issues from behind the swinging door.

I give a long-suffering sigh, then turn to Rainbow, who’s giving me a curious look. “Do you guys really have to eat?” she asks. “Because I know you guys feed on…” She trails off and gives her head a shake. “Sorry, never mind.”

I give her a reassuring smile. “Do you only eat when you ‘have’ to?”

“I guess not, heheh.”

Raoul appears with my milkshake, and I thank him as he sets it down and returns to the kitchen. I suck a taste of it through the straw. Instantly, my faith in Rainbow’s taste in food increases dramatically.

“Celestia, that’s a pretty freakin’ good milkshake,” I say, smacking my lips.

“I know, right? I came to Las Pegasus a couple years back to watch one of the Wonderb—… er, one of your shows, and I just stumbled across this place.”

I take another sip, then get down to business. “So, what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Well, I figured we could have dinner, and maybe hang out for a bit at the amusement park. Then… whatever.”

“’Whatever’, huh?” I ask with a waggle of my eyebrows. “You looking forward to Whatever?”

I never knew a blue pony could turn so red. She looks out the window in, I assume, a bid to compose herself. I give her a moment, studying the expression on her face.

“Sorry,” she says after a while. “I have to remind myself that you’re not really her. You just… look so much like her, and it’s like I can’t stop myself.”

I reach over and place a hoof over her own. She freezes at the contact, but doesn’t recoil.

“I am Spitfire. And you wanted to see me, Rainbow Dash. That’s why I’m here. I’m guessing there’s something you’ve always wanted to say or do. Well, this is your chance.”

She meets my eyes, and I give her Spitfire’s most confident smirk—the one she uses in posters and headshots; the one that says, ‘You can be a Wonderbolt, too’.

“Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Our eyes linger in their contact, and I sense an opportunity. Opening up, I feel a warm glow of emotion radiating off the young pegasus. It’s more than just attraction, but it’s not quite love, either. Love needs time to grow, contrary to what the romance novels say. What Rainbow’s feeling is like a really strong crush, but laced with feelings of admiration and respect. The kind of thing that might become love someday. I take a pull of the emotions, careful not to take too much. In this business, you have to sip, not gulp, or else there might be side-effects.

It’s pretty heady stuff. Clearly, this is a passionate pony with lots of heart. But ponies don’t come to Persona unless there’s something else going on. If there weren’t, they’d be with the real thing.

Suddenly, as if catching herself, Rainbow breaks our eye contact, sitting up straighter and sweeping a hoof through her mane. I feel the emotions choke off, and raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “Tonight’s gonna be epic!”

I study her for a moment before responding. “I can’t wait.”

With no further ado, Raoul shows up with our food, setting a couple of plates down before doffing his paper hat and ducking away. I give him a smile, then turn back to Rainbow, finding her already chowing down.

“Go ahead,” she says through a mouthful. “This is awesome.”

I look down at my burger. I’m pretty sure that if I had a normal, pony stomach, it’d be growling right about now. I may feed off emotion, but I’m a sucker for pony food. I pick the burger up and give it a big bite, then freeze, holding the bite in my mouth as I turn widening eyes to the miracle in my hooves.

“Oh, dear Celestia,” I slur. “I think my tongue just had an orgasm.”

Rainbow beams at my show of approval, and we continue to eat in companionable silence.

“So,” I eventually say between bites. “I’m curious: What makes Rainbow Dash tick? In all the times we’ve crossed paths, we’ve never really had a lot of one-on-one time. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

She gives me a cocky grin. “Alright. Well, I’m from Cloudsdale. Though, I guess you already knew that much…”

“… and Rarity and Pinkie Pie had to ride all the way back to Ponyville in a handcar!”

The two of us burst out laughing, though none of the other ponies pay us any mind. They’re mostly too involved in carnival games and food carts. Every now and then somepony points at me with whispers of ‘Spitfire!’, and once or twice an intrepid soul has approached me for an autograph—sort of iffy from a legal standpoint, though it’s not a problem as long as they don’t turn around and sell it. Otherwise, Rainbow and I have been left in peace.

“I can’t believe you just left them out in the desert,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye.

“Neither could they. Boy, I felt like a heel!”

I give one last giggle, then say, “You’re pretty funny, Rainbow Dash. Why haven’t you asked me out before now?”

Her smile dampens, but doesn’t disappear completely. “I dunno. I guess the timing was never right.”

“The timing?! We’ve seen each other tons of times!”

“Yeah, I know! But think about it. The first time we met was at the Best Young Flyer’s competition, and I acted like such a spaz.”

“And you saved my life,” I point out.

“And I saved your life,” she concedes. “But I wasn’t even thinking when I did that. It was mostly just reflex. Then you regained consciousness, and I started acting like this starstruck little filly. I mean, you’re Spitfire! You’d been my hero for years, and I… sorta, mighta had a liiiittle crush on you.”

I give her a nudge with my shoulder as we walk, and she gives me a rosy grin in return.

“When I went to the Gala, I thought I had a plan,” she continues. “I was gonna play it cool, impress you, the whole nine yards. Needless to say, that didn’t work out. Then at the Academy, there was all that drama with Lightning Dust, and then the thing with Soarin at Rainbow Falls. It just got harder and harder each time I saw you. Which sucks, because the more I get to know you, the more I want to know you better—not ‘Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts’, but… just Spitfire, you know?”

“’Just Spitfire’, huh?” I give her a playful quirk of my eyebrow.

“Well… yeah! I’ve always looked up to you as a flyer, but the more I see you, the more I respect you as a pony. You’re always so strong and in-control. And even when you screw up, like at Rainbow Falls, you own up to it and make things right.”

In unspoken agreement, we approach a bench and sit down, staring up at the rollercoaster across the way.

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

“I dunno,” she says, idly kicking a hindleg. “I don’t think I’d even be saying it now if you weren’t… I mean, if Spitfire were actually… uggghhhh!” She watches as a rollercoaster car filled with screaming ponies darts past. “Look, I’m just… not good with this touchy-feely stuff, alright? It’s not easy for me to talk about my emotions and whatnot. Especially with… Spitfire,” she finishes, indicating my body.

“Why not?”

“Well, I… it’s just… look, I’m Rainbow Dash! I’m the coolest, most awesome pegasus in Ponyville! I can’t just go around acting like some lovestruck filly. I have an image to maintain!”

I give her a skeptical look. “I think you and I both know there’s more to you than just an ‘image’.”

“I guess,” she admits. “And with some ponies, like my friends, I don’t mind letting my guard down from time to time. But with the Wonderbolts? With you?”

A silence drapes itself over us for a moment or two. Another car filled with ponies races past on the rollercoaster. I catch a glimpse of their smiling faces as they whip past.

“You know,” I say, breaking the silence. “There’s a lot more to being cool than just being tough and in-control. Being a Wonderbolt takes heart. It takes passion. Not just for flying, but for… for life, I guess. It’s a mentality you have to have—to dream things, chase them, seize them out of the air. You have to find that one thing that puts the wind under your wings. If you want to get to know someone, then attack it head-on! Because it’s a lot less cool to just let things pass you by.”

She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes. “That was pretty cheesy, you know?” Nevertheless, she’s smiling.

“Maybe so,” I say with a giggle. Truth be told, I’d thought the same thing when I first heard that speech—or something like it—from a former client. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.”

She appears to consider my words for a bit, another comfortable silence surrounding us. The rollercoaster car shoots past again, and Rainbow follows it with her eyes. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. Again, it strikes me how familiar she looks—it's on the tip of my tongue!

Finally, she looks at me and motions to the rollercoaster with her head. “Wanna go for a spin?” she asks.

I give her a smirk. “By ‘go for a spin’, do you mean the rollercoaster, or are you just feeling really confident?”

She visibly fights off a blush, then nudges my shoulder with her own. “Oh, shush. C’mon!”

She hops off the bench and leads the way to the queue. I chuckle as I follow in her wake.

A rollercoaster in a resort mostly catering to pegasi may seem a little redundant, especially when stunt flyers like Rainbow Dash or Spitfire are involved. They do things beyond the capacity of any rollercoaster on a fairly regular basis. But somehow it works. Maybe it’s the lack of control—an instinctual response to having your wings pinned to your sides as you’re hurtled through the air. Adding to the thrill is the fact that this particular rollercoaster frequently ventures beyond the edge of Stratopolis’ cloud base, leaving nothing between you and the Las Pegasus strip below except a thousand-foot drop and the sound of your own screaming.

As we bank through one such excursion into the open air, Rainbow and I throw our hooves up and shout for joy. Coming out of the turn, the car dips down before shooting upwards into a loop.

Mostly out of reflex, I reach over and grab Rainbow’s hoof, feeling her muscles tense under the instinct to pull the limb away. But she resists that instinct. When we come out of the loop, our hooves are still grasping one another. Our eyes meet, and she bites her lip for a brief moment before smiling. I take another pull of her emotions, more to gauge them than to feed, and there’s something softer there than before, like a trusting animal exposing its tender belly. We bank into another turn, and she leans against me freely.

Eventually, the cars pulls into the boarding station and the other passengers begin to disembark. Rainbow and I, however, remain seated, still holding hooves, looking at each other in silence. A final wave of conflicted feelings passes over Rainbow’s face before she closes her eyes and slowly, slowly leans in.

Our lips meet, and I feel a surge of emotion rolling off of her, growing in intensity. I wrap a foreleg around her neck, pulling her in as our kiss deepens. I feel the lightest brush of her tongue against my lips, and I part them to—

“Ahem.”

We jerk apart, blushing under the scrutiny of the ride operator, glaring at us with a raised eyebrow. Thankfully, doesn’t seem to recognize me; I could only imagine the look on Spitfire’s face if she opened the morning paper and found a story about her and another mare kissing in Las Pegasus. That doesn’t make the current situation any less awkward, though.

“Do you mind?” he asks. “I need to get the next group on, and there’s a whole city for the two of you to make out in.”

With mumbled apologies, we scramble off the ride and away from the rollercoaster.

We walk side by side under the weight of an awkward silence. It’s starting to get late, and around us the crowds are starting to thin. A calm—or, as close to a calm as ever comes to this city—descends over the Stratopolis resort. I cut my eyes in Rainbow’s direction, but she seems lost in thought, tonguing the inside of her cheek. Her emotions are again dampened, and my ears droop at the revelation.

Finally, she speaks up. “Sorry...”

I blink at her. “For what?”

“For what happened on the rollercoaster. I don’t know what came over me.”

I hold out a foreleg to stop her, then place a hoof on her shoulder. “Don’t you dare apologize, Rainbow. I liked it.”

She studies my face. “Really? You didn’t think it was lame?”

“Not at all! If anything, I’m bummed that that dude interrupted us.”

She appears to consider this, ambling her way to the edge of the cloud. I follow her and come to a stop at her side, looking down at the city below. If I squint, I can just make out my apartment building from here. But Rainbow’s not looking at the ground—she’s looking at the sky, the stars. I imagine she does that a lot.

She finally turns towards me and gives me a grin that’s clearly meant to be confident, though the cracks in it aren’t hard to see. “Wanna go for a fly?” she asks.

“Sure…” I reply with some reluctance, looking into the open air.

She spreads her blue wings—powerful, sleek—and launches into the air, and I follow her lead, swallowing deeply.

It’s not that I’m a bad flyer, per se. But my right wing never fully recovered from an injury I’d received during my… escape. I can fly well enough, but anything too strenuous makes my wing ache, even in altered form. If Rainbow starts doing any stunt flying, it might be a problem.

Thankfully, she doesn’t fly too quickly, seemingly content to glide over the flashing city below, enough so that I’m able to keep pace with her. We fly for some time in comfortable silence until Rainbow spots a small tuft of unused cloud and banks toward it, leading me.

We set down on the cloud and sit on our haunches, our flanks just barely touching. The view is incredible, the mountains to the west casting a dark scar against the starscape. We’d flown far enough that most of the city’s lights are behind us and away, and the air traffic here is low. It’s quiet—truly quiet, the kind you rarely get in Las Pegasus.

I almost give a start when Rainbow drapes her wing around my back.

I smile to myself. Good girl.

We look at each other, and I see something in her eyes, a shuddering of some internal war between excitement and hesitation.

“Should we…?” she whispers, and there’s no question about what she means.

“That’s up to you," I reply simply.

She averts her eyes for a brief moment, and I can practically see the last of her resistance melt away.

“Aw, heck,” she mutters, and in one daring move, she lunges forward and plants her lips on my own. She manages to catch me slightly off guard, but soon enough I wrap my arms around her neck and lean back, pulling the both of us down onto the cloudbank with her on top of me. I feel her body shivering, and I know it’s not from the chill of a desert night.

Her tongue pushes against my lips, and I let it in, meeting it with my own, wrestling it for dominance. Her wings lower to my sides in an embrace of feathers, and I feel a hoof slowly wander its way down my body, between us, until it arrives between my legs and, after a final pause, makes contact with my folds. I let out a tiny moan as she begins to rub in awkward, circular motions.

She breaks the kiss, instead resting her forehead against mine and watching my face as she works, her eyes glimmering with a desire for approval.

And boy, does she have it. Contrary to what one might think, changelings are, in fact, capable of sexual pleasure. Granted, sex tends to be a business-like affair for us, a means of survival, but that doesn’t mean it’s not enjoyable, much as one might enjoy food for the taste, and not merely the sustenance. And, I have to admit, it’s even better as a pony—warmer, softer. More passionate. I allow myself a moment to simply melt into the sensations.

But a good actor remains attentive.

I notice the look on Rainbow’s face. It’s almost apprehensive, even afraid—afraid that she’s doing it wrong, or that I won’t like it. Making the first move was a big step for her, but she’s still trying to impress me. It simply won’t do.

Just be yourself, I reprimand her in my mind. Just let it go.

I raise a hind leg and press it against her own slit, pressing my yellow thigh into her. She gasps, and her hoof slows its motions. While her guard is down, I roll her over and mount her, leaning my face close to hers to kiss and nip at her neck as I grind my leg into her. I feel her back arching under me, her wings stiff against the cloud. I feel moisture seeping through the fur on my thigh.

Her eyes peek open and fill with resolve. She sits up as much as I’ll let her, wrapping a foreleg around my shoulders for leverage while her other hoof darts back between my legs and continues its ministrations against my vagina.

I give a small snort of frustration. Can’t she just enjoy this?

I pull away from her, and before she has a chance to protest I place a hoof on her lips, silencing her. “Shhhh. I have an idea.”

I raise her hips off the cloud, holding onto one of her hindlegs for support and maneuvering our vaginas together. I begin to grind against her, her eyes fluttering closed as pleasure courses through her. Lacking leverage in her position, she’s unable to do much thrusting of her own, and I hope the fact that I’m getting some enjoyment out of it too will ease her mind. I lightly stroke the inside of her thigh as I rub, rub, rub our marehood’s together.

She looks up at me, blushing, surrendered, tongue lolling out as I thrust against her. I continue to soak up the emotions she’s giving off, and I drink deeply, feeling warmth inside as her attraction, her admiration, fills me, satisfying a hunger that hayburgers are helpless against.

A slight change of angle, and our clits brush against one another. Rainbow’s body jolts with a yelp. I’ve done this enough times to know when a pony is close, and I’ll be darned if I’m not right there with her. My own pleasure, set afire by her emotions whirling through me, drive me close to a release of my own. And sure enough:

Rainbow screams into the skies. As the orgasm rips through her body, her wings give involuntary flaps and the hindleg in my grasp kicks and twitches. It’s enough to send me over the edge as well, though I’m far quieter than she is as my weight slumps down on her and I shudder.

When Rainbow goes limp, I almost follow suit, instead falling to my knees and continuing to hold onto her leg. Rainbow lies there in a puddle, panting, watching my face. Even through the afterglow, I can feel something new welling up inside her, and it feels sour and wrong.

It’s like she’s afraid I’ll be mad at her, or disappointed.

I do the first thing that comes to mind: “You’re so beautiful,” I say.

That feeling evaporates, replaced with relief as she blushes, then smiles.

“Really?” Her voice is so small it breaks my heart.

“Totally.” I smile before giving her hind hoof a light kiss.

She gasps. I can tell—feel—that she wants more. And maybe now, she’s ready to let herself be vulnerable for a while.

I begin to kiss my way down her leg and across her inner thigh until I finally arrive at my destination. I wrap my arms around her thighs and press my hooves into her cutie marks, looking at her face and asking a question with my eyes.

Her lips twitch upward, and she nods.

I immediately plant a gentle kiss on her lower lips, and I feel the muscles in her legs twitching against my cheeks. These tiny responses turn to gasps and spasms when I stick my tongue out and drag a long, deep lick across the length of her slit. I feel her forehooves grab my head, holding me against her and running through my fiery mane as I continue to lick. The taste, like rainwater, fills my mouth as I eat her out, the wet sound of my licks and slurps punctuated by long moans from deep in her throat.

I decide to up the ante. I straighten my tongue and plunge it as deep inside her pussy as it can reach. Then, I cheat. Using my changeling magic, I lengthen my tongue, the green light hidden inside of her body. The slick muscle grows, slithering inward inch by quivering inch, until it reaches her cervix, piercing as deeply as any phallus could, and far more dexterous. I look up to Rainbow’s face, watching as her eyes roll back at the sensation. I proceed to wriggle and roll my tongue around, lathering every inch of her insides. Rainbow’s back arches off the cloud, tremors belting through her body as her moans reach a desperate pitch, as if the sheer amount of pleasure she’s experiencing might overwhelm her and dash her against the rocks.

I feel my tongue brush against the spongy surface of her g-spot, and Rainbow jolts with a shout. I can tell she’s teetering on the edge, so I go in for the kill. Throwing myself open to her emotions, I find her clit with my upper lip, giving it a suck as I send one last ripple of my tongue through the entire depth of her pussy.

For an instant, it’s like she’s been struck by lightning, her entire body seizing, until finally it explodes into spasms and she shrieks into the air. Her wings give a flap strong enough to lift her off the cloud altogether, but I don’t let up, continuing to writhe my tongue around and drinking the flow of her release.

Finally, Rainbow goes slack. I pull my tongue out of her still-twitching pussy and withdraw from between her legs. I sit up on my haunches, looking down at her and wiping my muzzle clean, then freeze. Rainbow’s not moving, and her eyes are closed.

Oh sweet Celestia, I’ve killed her.

I rush forward, placing an ear to her chest. A few seconds, and I sigh with relief, finding her merely passed out.

It’s hard not to feel a little cocky as I lay down beside her and wrap my forelegs around her barrel. I close my eyes, simply basking in the warmth and fullness inside of me. I’d certainly dined sufficiently. And Rainbow…

I open my eyes and look at her face. She really is beautiful, especially when she lets her guard down. Maybe, after tonight, she’ll be more willing to do so. She deserves to shine, and the world deserves to see her shine.

I give her a peck on the cheek, then snuggle against her, waiting for her to wake up.

It doesn’t take her long to regain consciousness, and the two of us spend some time just lying on the cloud, chatting and looking at the faint stars overhead. Soon enough, however, we start to stir, eventually taking wing and gliding back down to earth. Finally, we set down at Rainbow’s hotel. I walk her to her room, and we come to a stop outside the door.

“Thanks for everything,” she says. “This’s been an awesome night.” She fidgets for a moment. “You wanna come in?”

“I can if you’d like, but you do have an early train to catch.”

“Yeah, I guess…” She scuffs the floor with a hoof.

“Hey.” I put a hoof on her chin and raise her eyes to meet my own. “Promise me something?”

“Of course!”

“Drop by sometime. At the Academy, or in Canterlot—wherever you can track me down. Ask me out for a cup of coffee or something. Alright?" And please, for the love of Celestia, don't mention this night to Spitfire, I add with my eyes.

She gives me a smile, and then winks. “I promise.”

I tussle her mane. “You’re an awesome pony, Rainbow. Just don’t be afraid to show it sometimes."

“I’ll try,” she says with a chuckle.

I give her a quick hug and say, “I’d better be seeing you around, kid.”

With that, I take off into the night. I give one last glance over my shoulder, watching as Rainbow waves, turns, and disappears into her hotel room. With a contented sigh, I face forward and head towards home.

The door to my apartment opens, and I step through, still wearing Spitfire’s form. I turn on a few lamps, toss the hoodie and sunglasses onto the coffee table, and look at myself in the mirror.

I congratulate myself on another good assignment. The kind of strong crush that Rainbow has for Spitfire might not be as filling as full-blown love, but I feel satisfied nonetheless. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had fun.

With a flash of green, Spitfire’s gone, and all that’s left in my apartment is a small changeling refugee. I make my way over to the couch and collapse on it, spotting my pistachios still sitting on the coffee table. I reach over and pop a few into my mouth. My apartment is silent except for my crunching. Then I swallow, and only the silence remains.

I idly look around my apartment, eyeing the small number of possessions I’d accumulated since defecting to Equestria. Having possessions is, itself, a new experience for me. I remember when I first moved into this place—it had been so bare, so empty. Since then, I've kept searching for little things to fill it, but it barely makes a dent. I give a quiet sigh for my quiet home. If I’m going to fill all this space, I might need something a little more substantial.

Maybe a dining table.

To be continued...

Vanity

The skywagon gave a sudden lurch, and I stumbled to the side, only barely managing to stay on my hooves despite the best efforts of the shackles I wore. After regaining my balance, I shuffled my way to the front window, peering past the iron bars at the two pegasus guards pulling the vehicle through the air.

“Everything alright?” I asked over the sound of wind.

“Nothing to worry about,” the guard on the right said over his shoulder, his wings beating with some strain. “Just a bit of turbulence. Not uncommon in mountainous regions.”

“Mountains, huh?” I craned by neck to see, and sure enough, high, snow-capped peaks flanked us on either side. Last time I’d looked, we’d been over woods and fields. “I guess we’re getting close, then?”

“Yes,” the other guard said, much more brusquely than his colleague. “Now, for the last time, stay away from the windows and remain seated! You’re a prisoner, not a tourist.”

The guard on the right gave him a reproachful look. “With all due respect, captain, isn’t she technically a refugee?”

“And you’re technically a staff sergeant, so keep your eyes on the skies, soldier.”

“Yessir…”

I backed away from the window, but that was the extent of my obedience. I made my way to one of the side windows to get a better look.

Equestria. With any luck, my new home. The very name seemed to release a flood of endorphins in my brain, a fluttering sensation of newness and possibility where once there had only been the icy-hook’d pull of the hive mind.

Then the skywagon banked around a summit, and I saw it. Canterlot, its towers of gold and white marble glistening in the sunlight, like a lighthouse for the whole world to navigate storms by. I looked at it, and perhaps for the first time the reality and the enormity of my defection crashed over me. I hugged myself with my forehooves, my eyes filling with tears as I stared at the Equestrian capital, and the hope it represented.

It was even more beautiful than the first time I’d seen it.

The bell over the door jingles, and I step into Mare Green’s coffee shop, wearing my usual off-the-clock earth pony disguise.

The place greets me like an old friend. Mare Green’s is my home away from home, if I might be so cliché. The smell of coffee and baked sweets and newspapers fill the air; the sound of chatter and cappuccino machines and spoons tinking the inside of cups. It’s a somewhat small place, but in a way that feels cozy rather than cramped. Most of its clientele, it must be admitted, are young, hipsterish types who flock to it because it’s an alternative to the big chains and their rivers of burnt coffee bean spillage.

I, on the other hoof, flock to it because it’s right across the street from my apartment building. That was the original reason, anyway. Now?

“Good afternoon, Naamari!” says Arabica, my favorite barista and the patron saint of caffeine. “You want the usual?”

“Please,” I manage through a yawn.

“Wuh-oh!” She giggles. “Another late night, huh?”

“You could say that…”

Another mare behind the counter, one I don’t recognize, catches my eye, giving me a small smile as she sprinkles powdered sugar over a tray of donuts. “What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?” Her voice soft, somehow weathered.

I open my mouth to reply, but something about the mare—something only a changeling might detect, if not necessarily identify—makes my voice catch in my throat. A deep, carefully hidden emotional undertow. I work my mouth stupidly. Thankfully, Arabica comes to my rescue.

“She’s an actress!” she says.

The other mare blinks. “Oh... I didn’t realize that was an all-night sort of job.”

I give a sheepish smile, finally finding my voice. “W-well, I guess I’m just… paying my dues, as they say.”

“Naamari here is one of our regulars,” Arabica informs the mare before turning to me. “And Naamari? This is Aletheia. She just started a couple days ago.”

I meet her eyes again. “Pleased to meet you, Aletheia.”

“Likewise. You have a really interesting name.”

I feel myself blush. “Thanks. I guess you could say it’s… an old family name.”

“Well, it’s very pretty.”

I grin like an idiot. “Yours, too.”

I can sense Arabica watching us from the side with some confusion. “Ooooo-kay! Well, here you go, Naamari,” she says, sliding a cup of coffee and a slice of pie across the counter.

“Oh!” I say, snapping out of my trance. “Thanks, Arabica. And nice to meet you… A-Aletheia.”

“Come again,” the new mare replies needlessly with a shy smile.

I pry my eyes away from hers, take my coffee and pie, and shuffle away from the counter, making my way to my usual table by the front window. I practically collapse in the seat, then sneak a glance over my shoulder, seeing that both mares have returned to their work. I can still taste the feeling I’d gotten off the new mare, like an old wound.

I face forward and try to shrug it off. It’s none of my business anyway. I turn my attention to the scene in front of me.

This table has a great view of the street outside, giving me an excellent vantage point from which to pony-watch and soak up the early afternoon sunlight. I take a nibble of my pie and wash it down with a sip of coffee—lots of cream, lots of sugar. Then, I hum in contentment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a newspaper on the next table. A quick glance to see if it’s called for, and I get up and snatch it. I’m not a terribly worldly changeling. I don’t go in much for politics or gossip. But it’s still nice to keep up with current events and the general goings-on of the kingdom. This is my home now, after all. Maybe I just want to be a ‘good citizen’, whatever that means. Or… maybe I just want to feel like I belong.

I give a happy sigh and tuck into the paper.

Yadda yadda… Some kind of scandal among the nobility… Yadda yadda… An ‘incident’ in a town near the Everfree Forest (the sixth time this month). Et cetera, et cetera.

I turn the page, and something draws my eye immediately: a headline including the words “The Element Bearers”. Now, any changeling worth their green, gooey insides knows about the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. At one time, there was even a whole battalion of the changeling army who were specifically trained to mimic them. But me, personally? I’ve never taken a whole lot of interest in them. But my particular job has acquainted me with a few of them.

I look at the photograph included with the article, taken at some event or another where they were present. I instantly notice Rarity (whose form I’ve taken several times, mostly for one particular customer). Then there’s Twilight Sparkle (quite a popular role ever since her coronation). Oh, and look, there’s Rainbow Da—

There, in Mare Green’s café, I perform my first ever spit-take.

Rainbow Dash?!

“You alright over there?” calls Arabica, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

Still sputtering: “Y-yeah, everything’s fine. Just got something up my nose and… sneezed, apparently.”

With a polite smile, she returns to taking a customer’s order. I turn twitching eyes back to the newspaper.

Rainbow Dash is a freaking Element bearer?! I knew she looked familiar! How could I have not recognized her? How could I have not connected the dots? Is this what I’ve become? Has living in the warm company of ponies dulled by old training and instincts that much? Has living here made me into an… airhead?!

Then, a new thought pushes to the head of the pack:

Oh Celestia… I’ve boinked an Element bearer!

Sure, I’ve taken a few of their forms before, but I’ve never bedded one personally. It didn’t mean anything, did it? Had the Element bearers gotten wind of Persona and sent one of their own to investigate us for themselves?

No, that didn’t seem right. Rainbow Dash hadn’t seemed suspicious. Quite the opposite, really, and I would’ve known if she was faking it. Besides, surely they knew that Persona had the blessing of Princess Celestia herself. Heck, I—personally—had Celestia’s blessing!

So, maybe it was just an innocent coinci—

“A bit for your thoughts?” a deep voice says behind me.

I very nearly leave a Naamari-shaped hole in the café’s ceiling. Instead, I spin around and glare at the deadpan visage of Middleman. “Could you not sneak up on me? Please?!”

“Jeez,” he says, taking the seat across the table. “What’s gotten you so worked up?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe this!” I say, holding the newspaper out for him to read.

“A corgi won the Las Pegasus canine fashion show? Oh, the horror.”

I facehoof. “No! See this pony here?” I point out Rainbow in the photograph.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, that was my client last night!” I yell and whisper all at once.

“And… you’re mad because she’s so attractive?”

“No, nnngh! She’s an Element Bearer, you doof!”

“Oh. Why, it is a small world, ain’t it.”

I stare at him blankly. “That’s it? My life was in danger, and all you can say is, ‘It’s a small world’?”

“How was your life in danger, exactly? You afraid she might have farted out a rainbow and friendship’d you to death?”

“Look, just…” I rub my forehead with a hoof. “Could you pass a message along to management? If one of the freakin’ Elements of Harmony comes to Persona, could we maybe get a heads-up or something?”

“I’ll bring it up at the next board meeting,” he drones with a roll of his eyes. “Now, are we done with the dramatics?”

I sigh, slumping in my seat and casting a baleful glare to my pie, having suddenly lost my sweet tooth. “Sure. What is it, exactly, that brings you to befoul my sanctuary?”

“This.” He pulls out a manila envelope.

“An assignment? Really? You couldn’t just slip it under my door?”

“Not this one. High priority, you see. I’m to deliver it directly to your hooves.”

I take the envelope from him. “There. It’s in my hooves. Anything else?”

He stares at me. I roll my eyes, opening the envelope and discreetly looking over its contents. Then, the bottom falls out of my stomach.

“Aw crap…” I groan. “Him?! What is this, ‘National Suck Day’?”

“Well, ‘Him’ is one of our most loyal clients.”

“He’s a turd!” I growl. “He’s annoying, and I could probably get more emotional substance from a family of possums. He just comes to us because he’s horny, and you know the saying: Changeling can’t live off lust alone.”

“Yeah, well, he pays top rate. Which means, incidentally, that your cut will be rather significant. And he asked for you, specifically. So just stallion up and do your job.”

I look at him flatly. “I’m a girl.”

“That’s the spirit!” He gets up, gives my shoulder a firm slap, and exits the coffee shop.

I watch him leave, muttering bitter nothings under my breath. I down my now-lukewarm coffee like a shot of whiskey and begin poking through the packet. Usual time and usual place, in the form of one of his usual favorites. So predictable.

Get it together, Naamari, I tell myself. You’re a professional, and it’s just one job. Try to be positive.

Over at the counter, Arabica and the new mare are interrupted from their tasks by the muffled sound of me groaning into my forelegs.

The lobby to Caesar’s Hotel & Casino is a sight to behold. The massive, marble columns, set up in a ring around the room. The great fountain in the center, spraying water in a halo around the statue of some historical leader of the zebra tribes. The enormous stained glass ceiling, shot through with moonlight. The air, filled with exotic music and smells, as well as chatting ponies and the distant cling, boop, shuffle, pow! of the casino itself.

So it’s quite flattering that, amid all this spectacle, every eye in the room is drawn to me. Not that I can blame them, really. This is a particularly stunning body. I stride across the room on long legs, my tall, lithe figure more like an alicorn’s than a mortal pony’s. A pink mane hangs about my neck in soft, silken waves, broken only by the spire of my horn. My white coat glistens in the light, only highlighting the Prench emblems on my flank, after which my character is named.

“Look,” I overhear one mare to the side whisper. “It’s Fleur-de-Lis!”

“The fashion model?”

“I wonder what she’s doing here.”

“And alone, too. Isn’t she dating that rich fellow from Canterlot?”

I ignore their whispers, in precisely the way that implies I did, in fact, overhear them, but am above caring, choosing instead to canter on towards the elevators.

The client insists I arrive at the hotel in this form, so that everyone can see me as I enter. I’ve never really understood it. Does he get some weird thrill from knowing that ponies saw such a beautiful mare coming here to see him, even if they don’t know it’s to see him, specifically? Or, does he simply hope that word will get back to Fancy Pants, causing a rift in his relationship with the real Fleur? It’s no secret that he despises Fancy Pants, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

One elevator ride later, and I’m on the topmost floor of the hotel—a floor occupied by only one room: the Royal Suite. I approach the door, taking a moment to make sure my mane is in order, then give a dainty knock with my hoof.

“One moment,” replies a haughty voice from within the suite. The muffled sound of manicured hooves on plush carpeting, and the door opens, revealing the cockily-grinning form of Prince Blueblood. “Why, hello there.”

While his personality very nearly causes me to vomit through my nostrils, I have to give credit where it’s due. There are some positive aspects to him. Item number one: He’s an admittedly handsome stallion.

“Hello yourself,” I say in Fleur’s warmly elegant, faintly accented voice.

“I was expecting you.”

No shit? I think. Instead, I bat my eyes at him with a demure smile.

“Won’t you come in?” He steps aside, and I trot through the door. I can practically feel his eyes groping my figure, but again, I can’t really blame him. I know I certainly wouldn’t kick Fleur-de-Lis out of my bed for eating cookies. “So, how was your voyage?”

Item number two: He really gets into the role-playing. It’s sort of the name of my game, but even so his commitment is admirable. Granted, it sometimes gets into… awkward territory. But it makes my job easier, and it helps me keep my mind off the fact that—yes—this creature, whom I normally wouldn’t cross the street to spit upon, is touching me.

“Tiring, as usual,” I respond airily. “Looking out the windows of the train, seeing only desert for miles and miles on end, is so terribly dull.”

“You really ought to come by zeppelin sometime. It’s faster and far more pleasant.” He walks over to the bar and begins pouring us drinks. When next he speaks, his tone is clipped and tight. “And how’s Fancy Pants?”

Now there’s a trap if I ever heard one. He occasional drops those kinds of sensitive questions on me—intentionally or not, I’ll likely never know. “He’s well,” I say simply.

He turns around and levitates a glass of sherry towards me, and I take it with my own telekinesis, the brief interlacing of our magics sending animal shivers of pleasure down my spine. If he’s ever noticed the green color of my magic—and one would be surprised how often unicorns, in particular, miss it—he’s enough of a sport not to mention it. Unfortunately, it’s one of the few things changeling magic can’t altar.

“I still can’t fathom what you see in that charlatan,” he sniffs. “He’s so new money.”

I suppose, ‘Because he doesn’t make me want to throw myself into a wood chipper, so that helps,’ might kill the mood, huh? Fine... I’ll be good.

“Oh, behave now, Blueblood,” I say, giving his shoulder a light swat as I sip my sherry. “He’s a decent pony, and certainly wealthy enough, new money or not.” And now, to feed his ego. Because, y’know, it isn’t bloated enough. “Though, he’s certainly nothing compared to you, my prince.”

He meets my eyes with a confident grin, then drains the remainder of his sherry and sets the glass to the side. He takes a step toward me, lifts a hoof to my cheek, and kisses me with hoof-curling intensity.

Item number three: He’s a solid kisser. I suppose I should thank Princess Celestia’s rear end for giving him plenty of practice. And, surprisingly enough, he’s pretty decent in bed, too. Not the best I’ve ever had—though, admittedly, I’ve been with a lot of ponies; there was this one mare named Cloud Kicker, about whose tongue I could write epic poetry. But Blueblood knows his way around a mattress, nonetheless.

Our kiss continues for some moments, his tongue snaking its way into my mouth, meeting my own and running along my teeth. His hoof moves from my cheek, runs through my mane, then settles at the back of my head, pulling me in deeper. I can’t help but melt into the sensation.

Finally, we come up for air, our eyes locked.

“Does Fancy Pants ever kiss you like that?” he asks.

“No,” I reply with complete honesty.

With a glow of his horn, he gives my tail a gentle tug to the side. The hint is clear, and I take it, turning around and presenting myself to him.

Item number four: He always put effort into pleasing me. I suspect it’s not so much because my pleasure is important to him as much as it makes him feel potent, but maybe I’m being too hard on the guy.

He lowers his head and gives me a kiss on my left flank, then the right, causing the muscles to twitch under my coat. Then, after a teasing lick across my folds, he mounts me. His forelegs wrap around my torso and he leans against my back, my legs straining slightly under his weight. A little bit of maneuvering, and his stiff member prods at my entrance. But he lingers.

I suddenly feel his breath against my ear, and he whispers, “Let’s see if we can knock Fancy Pants right out of your head.”

With a thrust of his lips, he slides into me. I gasp slightly from the force of it, my inner walls clenching around him half in startlement, but a quick flood of my own lubricant eases his entry, and soon he’s hilted in me. The feeling of fullness, and of his penis twitching inside me, causes my eyes to flutter closed. He simply stays there for a moment, then finally begins to pull out, so slowly it’s almost agonizing, my pussy trying to hold him in. When only the head of his member remains inside me, he thrusts all over again. He repeats the process, picking up speed until he finds his rhythm, hammering away into me and filling the suite with the sound of fur-muted smack of flesh.

I give a throaty moan, my voice hitching with each slam of his hips into my rump. He leans forward and gently nibbles at my ear, and I have to fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in their sockets. I open up to his emotions, and as I expect, it’s mostly physical attraction, though tinted with a vague bitterness I’ve come to expect from his feelings. Not a terribly nutritious brew, perhaps, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m close now, too, and I can tell he’s not far away either. I decide to take matters into my own hooves and move things along.

“Oooooh…” I groan, pushing my hips back into his. “You’re so much better at this than Fancy Pants. Fuck me hard, Blueblood!”

It works like a charm. His pace picks up until he’s pumping with abandon. Finally, he grunts, tightening his grip around my torso and pressing his face against my shoulder as he unloads inside me. The feeling of being flooded with warmth and wetness sends me over the edge. I clench my eyes shut and grit my teeth, weathering the orgasm as it crashes over me. My legs threaten to give out beneath us, but they hold.

As we come down from our orgasms, we remain in our position, both of us panting. Eventually Blueblood climbs off me, withdrawing his softening shaft. A trickle of his seed spills from my opening, and I find myself grateful that ponies and changelings can’t reproduce.

In the ensuing silence, I sense an unasked question from my client—a verdict, perhaps.

“Oh, Blueblood, that was amazing!” I say. I don’t even have to lie. Perhaps exaggerate slightly, but not lie. Like I said before, he’s a perfectly competent bedmate.

I make my way to a sofa and slump down onto it, giving my legs a rest.

Blueblood, for his part, heads over to the kitchenette. “Would you like some water?” he asks. The implication is clear: We’re not done yet.

Item number five: He has rather impressive stamina. Give him a breather after a round of sex, and he’ll be ready to go again in no time. These sessions of ours tend to last well into the wee hours of the morning, with as many as five or six rounds.

“Yes, please.”

Maybe half an hour later, and the two of us are out on the suite’s balcony, overlooking the Las Pegasus strip, at once the tackiest and the most oddly sincere place in Equestria. I brush a lock of pink mane away from my eyes and sip from the glass held in my magic.

“It really hurt when you left, you know.” The voice was soft, but it still startles me. I slowly turn to face him, my eyes wide. In all the times we’ve met like this, I’ve never known him to speak so quietly, so weakly. He simply sits there, looking out to where the lights of the city thin and finally submit to the dark wilderness.

“W-what do you mean?” I ask.

“I know we didn’t date for very long. But still, it did hurt. It’s like… you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. And then, next thing I know, I hear you’ve shacked up with Fancy Pants. It was like a slap to the face.”

Given the tone of our conversation, I decide to take a small gamble. “Maybe if you’d been nicer to me, if you hadn’t treated me like some prize to display on your mantle, things would’ve worked out between us.” I keep my tone gentle, but it was all true. I’d done my research the first time he came to Persona, and I’d learned all about the brief relationship between the unicorn prince and the model with connections to the Prench nobility. ‘The Most Attractive Couple in Equestria’, the tabloids had called them.

“I could’ve given you anything you asked for,” he says. “Money, a nice home, luxury beyond your wildest imagining…”

“Those are just things, Blueblood,” I respond. “You never gave me your love. You kept all of that for yourself.” A little bit of method acting, there.

He finally turns and meets my eyes, looking into them for a small moment before saying, “Perhaps you’re right.” He looks out over the city again. “For what it’s worth, I’m…” He seems to chew the word around in his mouth for a while, as if tasting it. “I’m… s-sorry.”

When I don’t say anything, he looks back at me, only to find me gaping at him.

“What?” he asks, slightly defensive.

“N-nothing!”

He looks down at the street below, then slowly stands up and trots back into the suite. “I need another drink,” he mutters as he disappears through the doorway.

“What was that all about?” I whisper into the empty balcony. Never, in all our meetings, had he behaved this way. Was here something in the air?

I’d probably been contemplating the matter for some minutes when Blueblood pokes his head out the balcony door and says, “Alright, I’m ready. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

“Do you want me to join you?” I ask, the emphasized word making my meaning clear.

“No, that’s alright.” He walks back inside. “Send the earth pony in.”

I know whom he’s talking about, of course. There’s only one earth pony he’s ever shown any interest in. A cellist from Canterlot, and another former lover of his.

I stay on the balcony to transform, knowing that Blueblood prefers not to see it. Maybe it’s to preserve the illusion of his mares, or maybe he just doesn’t want to be reminded that he’s banging a changeling. Either way, one flash of green later and the only one left on the balcony is a small, gray earth pony mare with purple eyes and a dark mane and tail. I take a deep breath, adjust the bowtie around my neck, and step into the suite.

I find him in the bedroom as promised. “You asked for me?” I ask in the mare’s smooth voice and posh dialect.

“Ah, Octavia! Good to see you,” he says from his position on the bed. “Come join me, won’t you?”

I give him a sultry look—I swear her face is designed for sultry looks—and climb onto the bed, onto him, and give him a kiss. He reaches around my back and pulls my body against his, then moves his hooves down to my rump, kneading into the soft flesh.

We break the kiss, a strand of saliva linking out mouths just like in those cheesy romance novels, and for a moment he stares into my purple eyes.

“You really are one of the most beautiful mares I’ve ever known,” he says contemplatively. “Especially for an earth pony.”

Okay, wow! I’m not even a real pony and I find that offensive.

He must notice my glare, because he backtracks, albeit with all the grace of a politician after a faux pas. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with earth ponies, mind. Some of my best friends are earth ponies. Well… ‘friends’ might be a strong term, but…” He wisely snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply and regroup. “I really did mean to complement you, you know? You are beautiful.” He opens his eyes again and meets my own, resuming his massage to my cutie marks. “I remember the first time I saw you, playing lead in Horseshoemann’s Cello Concerto. I was instantly smitten.”

“We did have some good times,” I say, still slightly irritated by his boorish behavior even as I trail a hoof across his chest.

“Yes, we did.” His expression becomes a little darker. “And then you went and turned fillyfooler on me.”

I try not to snap at him. I really do. “Well, Blueblood, if time spent with you was all it took to turn a mare into a ‘fillyfooler’,”—I even make air-quotes with my hooves—“then every mare with half a brain would have run to the nearest female and saved themselves the trouble.”

He gapes at me, and I can’t help but blush slightly at my rather unprofessional outburst. But really! ‘Fillyfooler’? What is this, the 8th century?

He finally snaps out of his shock, his eyes becoming determined. “Well then,” he says, suddenly rolling me onto my back and giving me a look that’s lost somewhere between aroused and vindictive, “I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing.”

He begins kissing his way down my chest and belly, finally positioning himself between my legs. After a lingering kiss to each inner thigh, he tucks in, planting his lips over my vagina and working his tongue into my folds.

Item number six: He knows how to use his tongue. I suppose this is related to item number three, but all things considered, I have better things to do than nitpick.

A moan escapes my throat as he works, and I grasp ahold of the bedspread with my hooves to keep them occupied. I suppose his greatest asset is the length of his tongue, and even now I can feel it working inches into me with ease. He hits a particularly good spot, and I can’t keep from bucking into his face a little. I already feel another orgasm approaching, and Blueblood apparently senses it, too. He withdraws his tongue and suckles on my clit, sending me over the edge. My thighs clench around his head as I ride out the fireworks.

Once I come down, he raises his head and looks at me, the fur around his mouth wet and matted. “So?” he asks, his expression cocky but concealing something deeper. “Can that vulgar DJ of yours please you like that?”

“Apples and oranges,” I reply noncommittally. And it’s true: Vinyl Scratch had been a client of mine a ways back, when I was still relatively new to this business. Before she got together with Octavia, I hope and assume. She was every bit as skilled as Blueblood, though with an entirely different style.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t seem entirely pleased by my answer. “Is that so?” He gives a contemptuous snort. “Well, we’ll just see about that. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be shown up by a mare.”

He begins to lick me again, and in spite of a low, pleasured moan, I can’t keep from giving a small frown. I’m getting real tired of just being passive in all this. But if I’m going to be more active, I’ll need to get his attention.

I think back to the combat training I’d received back at the hive. I take a moment to calculate my leverage and his weight distribution, then lock my legs around his head again. Careful to direct the force down into his frame, I twist my hips, taking his head with them and forcefully guiding him onto his back in one fluid motion. I now tower above him, looking down at his wide eyes as they peer up from between my thighs.

“Now Blueblood,” I say with a cocky grin of my own. “Don’t let me have all the fun.”

I release his head and turn around, returning my nethers to his face as I lower my head to his erect member. I take it in my hooves, then give it a long lick from the base all the way to the head, leaving a trail of saliva up his shaft. Opening wide, I take the head of his penis into my mouth and begin sucking at it gently, sensually, gliding my tongue along its length.

I feel Blueblood trying to get back in the game, wrapping his forelegs around my hips and redirecting his attention to my pussy. Implicit in the room’s very air pressure is a note of competition. He and I are waging an unspoken war for dominance, and whoever makes the other cum first shall be the victor.

Blueblood doesn’t even stand a chance.

I lurch my head forward, taking inch after inch into my mouth until I feel it poking at the entrance to my throat. And that’s when I start using my changeling magic. I altar the shape of my throat, widening it to allow his member entry, then tightening it exactly to the contours of his shaft. But I don’t stop there. With a hidden, internal flicker of green, my throat begins to shift, to caress his penis, even to vibrate. The movements of his tongue become sluggish, no doubt lost in the strange and never-before-imagined sensations, and in no time at all his penis is swelling in my mouth, ready to release. He tries to fight it off, bless his heart. So, I just helix my tongue around his member and give it a good squeeze.

With a jerk and a spasm, he unloads down my throat. His grip around my flank tightens, and he actually cries out into my vagina. I continue to work him with my mouth until he goes limp, then finally release him, returning my throat to its proper configuration.

Without speaking a word, we both crawl our way up to the pillows and lay down.

“That… was impressive,” he says, covering his flushed face with a hoof.

“Not bad for a ‘fillyfooler’, huh?”

He actually gives a chuckle. I hadn’t expected that. He holds a foreleg out, and I take the invitation, cuddling against his side.

In moments, he drifts off, and I glance over his chest at the alarm clock. With a sigh, I wait.

After a brief cat nap, Blueblood wakes up, and the two of us spend some minutes exchanging the kind of small talk that fills most of these little breaks between sex sessions. Soon enough, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh.” I perk up, honestly surprised. “You done for the night?”

He stops and stands there, as if contemplating. I even see him reach a hoof back to prod at his genitals. Finally: “No. I think not.” More silence; more contemplation. “Are you familiar with Princess Cadance?”

The room in the air becomes heavy, spiked with something warm and distant, and several images flash through my mind. With a gulp, I mutter, “Y-you might say that…”

“I’ve always thought she was rather attractive,” he says thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “Of course, I never got a chance with her, because that oaf, Shining Armor, got to her first.”

“But…” I begin delicately. “Isn’t she… your cousin?” Not that I haven’t done incest with clients before, but still, it was rare enough to merit a raised eyebrow. Besides—c’mon!—it’s the royal family. That’s like… super-incest!

“Oh, please,” Blueblood replies dismissively. “Cadance isn’t part of the unicorn nobility.”

“But aren’t the two of you Celestia’s niece and nephew?”

Blueblood snorts. “Not technically. Celestia and Luna adopted my family long ago, as a gesture of goodwill after they took the throne, but there’s no blood relation. Our calling her ‘auntie’ is merely tradition. And I’m pretty sure Cadance’s situation is similar. You’re probably more closely related to me than Cadance is.”

Oh, wonderful! I haven’t had a good nightmare in a while…

“So, if you please, I’d like to see Cadance in the shower.”

With that, he steps into the bathroom, and the sound of running water issues from it.

Princess Cadance, huh? Believe it or not, I’d never played her before. Rather surprising because, as Blueblood said, she is very beautiful. I’m not sure how to feel now that I’m being asked to take her form. It feels wrong, somehow, considering the role she unwittingly played in my own life. Not to mention the fact that it seems ironic to play the princess of love for a pony like Blueblood.

But, alas, this is my job. Duty calls, and all that.

A minute or so later, and I step into the bathroom wearing Cadance’s form. I take a look in the mirror to check how it came out, give a pleased nod, and turn my attention to the shower.

When I poke my head past the shower curtain, I find Blueblood looking at me with a look of surprise on his face. “W-why, Cadance? What are you doing here?”

Like I said, he really gets into the role-playing. Well, two can play at this game.

“I was just feeling lonely,” I say with a pout. “Mind if I join you? Shining never wants to do anything romantic like this.”

“Why, sure,” he says, moving aside to give me room. I step into the shower, giving a delighted shiver as the warm water sprays onto my back and runs through my wings. In seconds, I’m soaked, my wet mane hanging about my shoulders as droplets of water collect on my pink coat. He raises a hoof and runs it through my mane, stroking my neck, then looks into my eyes.

Our lips collide in a passionate kiss, and I force my long alicorn tongue into his mouth, moaning as he wraps his lips around it and gives it a suck. I raise one foreleg to his shoulder, then the other, transfer the weight of my upper body into it as we continue to make out in the steamy air. Then he does me one better, raising up on his own hind legs and wrapping his arms around my barrel so that we’re leaning on each other’s chest.

I feel his once-again-stiff member poking at my belly, and I lift a hindleg so it can more easily rub against my moist entrance. Not satisfied, Blueblood gently pushes me against the shower wall, then grabs my thigh with a hoof and lifts. I take the hint, raising my last leg off the floor and wrapping both hindlegs around his hips. I feel him enter me, and I throw both forelegs around his neck and squint into his shoulder at the sensation of being filled once again. Once her hilts out inside me, he stays still, our wet bodies clinging to each other. Then, he begins to move.

Pinned against the wall as I am, there’s not much I can do except hang there and hold on for dear life as he pounds away at me. I close my eyes and simply let the pleasure wash over me, losing myself in my body and my senses. I allow myself to open up to Blueblood again, feeling the same muted drone of lust as usual.

I imagine the real Cadance doesn’t have to worry about receiving love from Shining Armor. My, doesn’t that thought get a ball rolling? It’s easy to imagine for a moment that I’m Cadance, and that this stallion rutting me is her rugged lover.

I tighten my legs’ embrace around him, then add my wings to the fray, all six of my limbs pulling him against me as I imagine Shining Armor hammer, hammer, hammering into me with his stallionhood. I bite my lip and moan through my nostrils, letting my head rest against the tiled wall. I sense yet another climax barreling toward me. My tongue lolls out of my mouth as I begin to gasp, whimper, mutter foggy-minded nonsense at the impending release.

Finally, I tip over the edge. “Oh, Shining!” I shout.

It’s not until the orgasm passes and the fog begins to clear that I realize the sudden stillness in the shower, silent but for the pattering showerfall. I open my eyes, finding not Shining Armor, but Prince Blueblood staring at me with wide, startled, almost wounded eyes. My ears droop against my head.

Oops…

He releases me, and I stumble to find my footing, my legs still weak in the wake of my orgasm. Without uttering a word, he steps out of the shower, magics the moisture from his fur, and trots out of the bathroom. I sit down in the shower lamely and shut off the shower with a flick of my green magic. I sit there, dripping, wondering what I should do next.

How could I have lost my concentration like that? I’m a professional! And he’s my client, regardless of how I feel about him personally. Was it simply that he gives me so little to work with, emotionally? There’s no denying that thinking about Shining Armor eased the process along. But still, I'd clearly crossed a line.

I need to talk to him.

I dry myself with a towel, then timidly step out of the bathroom, finding Blueblood sitting on the bed, facing out the window. I make my way to his side and sit on the bed next to him. I search his face for a few seconds, but he refuses to meet my eyes. I finally settle for looking out the window too.

Silence haunts us briefly, until: “Why?”

“Why what?” I reply.

“Why am I not good enough?” He doesn’t look away from the window. “Why am I never good enough?”

I open and close my mouth a few times before saying, “W-what do you mean?”

“I’m a prince,” he says simply. “I have everything most ponies only dream of. And yet… I’m never good enough.”

I stare at him, then look out the window again.

Honestly… I’ve never thought of it like that before. Blueblood has a title. He has wealth. He’s well-connected. He is, it must be admitted, handsome and competent in bed. He’d likely grown up hearing of his greatness, of his destiny, of the centuries-long legacy woven through his veins. And yet, when push comes to shove, he’s relatively average. Not average in a bad way. Just… average. He isn’t exceptionally intelligent, or exceptionally talented, or exceptionally charismatic. He is, in a word, common. And the mares in his life have constantly left him for ponies greater than he.

Fleur left to be with Fancy Pants, a common-born stallion who nonetheless won wealth and riches through vision and hard work. Octavia left him to be with Vinyl, a mare of great talent and artistic influence. And Cadance had chosen Shining Armor, a natural-born leader with great magical ability. How many others have there been that I simply don’t know about?

And now, he travels across the kingdom just to spend some time with an escort, just so he can live out his old fantasies.

But of course, it’s not as simple as that.

While he’s looking out the window, I let a wave of green wash over me. He notices, of course, and turns to look, finding a white unicorn with a purple mane and a three-diamond cutie mark on her flank. His eyes widen, but I put a hoof over his mouth before he can speak.

“Shhh…” I say, and he complies. “Just listen. I admit, I’d never considered your side of it. But… I think it must be said, you aren’t a mere victim in all this, Blueblood. I think I should be proof of that,” I add, indicating the body of Rarity, whose form I’ve taken several times on Blueblood’s request. “Your whole life, I imagine, you’ve expected greatness to be handed to you on a platter. You seem to think the world owes it to you, as if mares, by right, ought to be fawning all over you.

“But you don’t earn it, Blueblood. You push ponies away, and your conceit and self-entitlement poisons the relationships in your life.”

I lower my hoof, but he remains silent, his eyes glistening in the neon lights outside.

“That night we met, at the Grand Galloping Gala,” I continue, “your behavior was positively atrocious. I don’t know if that’s just your nature, or if you’d learned to act that way as a sort of… warped defense mechanism. But if you ever want to find someone who loves you, then you need to let them love you, and give them your love in return. You! Not the prince, not your birthright, not all your riches, and not this wall of conceit you’ve built around yourself. Just Blueblood, the pony.”

He opens his mouth, lets it linger there for a while, then says, “H-how…?”

I lay my hoof over his. “I can’t answer that for you, I’m afraid. It might mean you have to make some changes in your life.” In my mind’s eye, I see a gleaming city through a barred window. “Sometimes we have to take chances to get what we want out of life—step outside our comfort zone, challenge ourselves to change.”

“You… really think I can?” His voice is like a small colt’s. I look into his eyes, and open myself to him. Wafting from him, I sense pain and insecurity. I sense remorse and loneliness. And, buried deep, deep down, I sense something like hope. And I know.

“Yes. Yes, I think you can. But only if you will.”

He looks at me for a long moment, then nods and turns back to the window.

I don’t know what brought all this on. I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s all my doing. He’s been acting a little strange all night, after all. But so long as it helps him move past this obstacle on his road, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Item number seven: When you least expect it, Blueblood has a way of surprising you.

Eventually, the two of us get under the sheets and drift off to a brief sleep.

The door to the suite opens, and I step out into the hallway, still wearing Rarity’s form. I turn around, and the two of us look at each other with some awkwardness.

“Rarity?”

“Yes?”

“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry… for how I behaved at the Gala.”

I give him a small, sincere smile. “I know.”

“And also… you? Not Rarity?” he says, and I know he’s speaking to me, Naamari the changeling. I can almost feel the weight of all the role-playing and characters lifting off our shoulders. He looks deep, deep into my eyes, and says, “Thank you.”

I continue to smile, then throw in a nod for good measure.

He looks at me for the last time, and closes the door. I stand there for a moment in the silent hallway, almost numb from the night’s events.

I don’t know what will happen to Blueblood—whether he’ll change after all and find the happiness he deserves. And he does deserve it, because, underneath it all, he’s not a bad pony. Not really.

Some minutes later, I step out of the hotel, back in my usual pony disguise. By now, the sun is just starting to rise in the east. Not really in the mood to sprout a pair of wings and fly, I trot my way over to the bus stop.

I arrive at my apartment building maybe a half-hour later, coming to a stop just outside the front door. For some reason, I’m reluctant to go inside.

I catch a smell of roasting coffee and cast a glance across the street to where Mare Green’s sits, welcoming any weary souls that should come across it. If I don’t qualify, I don’t know who does. With a tired smile, I cross the street and enter.

Arabica spots me right away. “Good morning, Naamari! You’re here early.”

“Another long night,” I say, trotting to the counter. I look, but see no sign of Aletheia. I give a little sigh.

“What’ll you have this morning?”

I don’t answer right away, instead pondering the hunger inside me.

I give her a hollow smile. “The usual.”

To be continued...

Sacrifice

As I approached the door, a pair of unicorn guards stationed on either side lit their horns, opening it with their magic. I had to squint as sunlight came pouring through from the room beyond and into the dim hallway where I was standing. And then, as my eyes adjusted, I saw her.

She was seated at a small table on the far side of the room, tall and serene. What stood out to me the most was her mane, stricken through with sunlight from the window behind her, looking like a morningtime aurora as it billowed through the still air. I knew her coat was white, but with the lighting behind her like that she appeared almost dark.

As if sensing my discomfort, she said, “Oh, I apologize.” With a golden glow of her horn, she pulled a sheer curtain across the entire length of the windows, muffling the light enough to see more clearly. However, the sight of her was no less intimidating to me. “Please, come in,” Princess Celestia said, her voice gentle and warm.

I glanced nervously at the guards on either side of me, but they stared straight ahead, unblinking. With a gulp, I stepped forward and into the room, giving a tiny start as the doors shut behind me and locked with almost alarming finality.

“Please, have a seat,” Celestia said, indicating the chair across the table from her. My chitinous legs trembled as I obeyed, climbing into the chair. “Would you like some tea?”

I blinked at her briefly. “O-okay.” Then, as an afterthought: “Thank you, ma’am.”

She set about pouring two cups. “What is your name, little one?” she asked.

“N-Naamari, ma’am.”

“A very pretty name.” She levitated one of the cups to me and set it down gently. Picking it up in my hooves, I took a small sip, then froze as I realized she was staring at me. I met her eyes like a squirrel caught in the path of a stampede. She squinted at me oddly, and then started craning her neck, turning her head until she was looking at me nearly upside-down. The cup began rattling in my hooves. Finally, she turned her head upright again and asked, “Have we met before, Naamari?”

Once I was sure my insides we’re going to leap from my body, I set the cup down, took a few deep breaths, met her eyes with all the courage I could muster, and replied, “Y-yes, ma’am…”

She gave me the tiniest of smiles. “I thought as much.” She took a sip of her own tea, and something in the gesture dispelled much of the tension in the room. “So,” she continued, her tone congenial, almost conversational. “The report the border guards sent to me says you wish to seek asylum in Equestria. Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And why is that, if I might ask?”

“W-well, I… I heard that Equestria would take in any changeling who genuinely repented of their ways. Who w-wanted to make a new and better life for themselves.”

“And what was it that dissatisfied you about your old life?”

I gave it some thought, chewing possible answers for the one that tasted the truest. “I guess… the fact that it wasn’t a life at all. Changelings aren’t individuals. We aren’t allowed to be. We’re just… cogs in the machine. I wanted to be free. To live. To make my own happiness, and not…” I sighed. “Not just take happiness from others…”

Perhaps sensing that I wasn’t done, Celestia remained silent, giving me time to put thoughts to words. I reached deep, found an image—a memory, something out of this very city, light and warmth and the world spinning around me—and held onto it.

“I suppose,” I continued finally, “I want to learn what love actually is, if I can.”

She looked deep, deep into my eyes, long enough that I began to fidget. Then, seemingly satisfied, she smiled. “Very well,” she said simply, draining the last of the tea from her cup. “You heard right. We will offer you asylum.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“However, there is one problem…”

The sigh cut off halfway, and my eyes widened. “Wh-what’s that?”

She started pouring herself a new cup. “Equestria is built on many ideals, one of which is that our citizens have basic rights which must be protected. My legal advisors have counselled me on the matter. They said—and I quite agree—that we simply cannot allow changelings, even reformed ones, to feed off our citizens without their knowledge and consent.”

I felt all my insides twist into a knot. “N-not even if I met someone on my own and got into a relationship with them?”

She merely shook her head. “Only if you told them you were a changeling.”

“B-but… but… Who would actually want to have a relationship with a changeling?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “But fortunately, you do have other options. There is one, in particular, that has met with quite a lot of success.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. There’s a business, in Las Pegasus—do you know where Las Pegasus is?”

“I think so…”

“Well, there’s a business there that has agreed to take in reformed changelings. If you agree to work for them, they’ll give you a steady supply of emotional sustenance from willing ponies, as well as a place to stay and a cut of the earnings.”

The twisting sensation turned into something like relief. Even so, I sensed it was too easy. “What would I be doing for them?”

Celestia visibly fought off a wince. “They are an escort service. Do you know what an escort service is?”

“Sort of. Escorts are like prostitutes, right?”

She really did wince now. “Not necessarily. Sometimes, you might simply accompany your client to some event or another; be a date for them. But yes, sometimes—most of the time, perhaps—you might be expected to perform sexual services.”

I lowered my eyes to my tea, turning this concept around in my head.

“I realize it’s not ideal,” Celestia went on. “But the changelings who have gone to work for them so far have been very satisfied with the arrangement. It’s a win-win for everyone involved. The changelings get nourishment, the escort service gets business, and the clients get exactly what they paid for. And…” she said with a smile and a roll of her eyes, “Las Pegasus laws being what they are, it’s all perfectly legal.”

I raised my eyes and looked at her. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

She seemed slightly taken aback by my question. “Well, of course you do, little one! As I said before, Equestria looks out for its own, and if you seek asylum here, that includes you, too. You aren’t being sold into slavery. If you are uncomfortable with such an arrangement, we’ll find something else. It’s merely a suggestion.”

It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable with the idea. Morality, especially sexual morality, isn’t really a part of changeling culture. And compared to some of the things I’d done, selling myself for sex seemed like a trivial thing.

But was it what I wanted to do? Was this the Big Change I’d undertaken such a dangerous journey to find? Was this my road to happiness?

Did I deserve better?

“I’ll do it,” I said quietly, without looking up.

I could feel her looking at me closely. “Are you absolutely sure, Naamari?”

I met her eyes, and smiled. “Yes. And thank you. Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity.”

She met my smile with one of her own, radiant as the sun behind her. “You’re quite welcome, little one.” She set down her cup and stood. “That should be all. Head back to your room, and one of my aids will meet you shortly to make the necessary arrangements.”

I got up, gave an awkward bow, and turned to leave. Before I got to the doors, I faced her again and said, “And thank you for seeing me, too. I didn’t expect to meet you in person.”

“Well, I’ve made it a point to meet with all the changelings that have come to Equestria for a new life. I’ll admit, it’s mostly for security reasons. Officially speaking, changelings are considered enemies of state. But I have to say, Naamari: I think you’ll make an excellent addition to Equestria.” She gave me a knowing smile. “More than you realize, I think.”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”

“Goodbye little one. I wish you all the happiness you can find for yourself.”

I bowed again, and then turned, the doors opening for me as I departed.

I have my radio turned up as loud as I dare, just below the point where it might bother my neighbors. Issuing from the speakers is one of the choruses from La Trotiata. The fact that I don’t speak a word of Bitalian does nothing to dissuade me from singing along at the top of my lungs, a smile on my face as I flit around my apartment on buzzing wings with a feather duster in the crook of my porous hoof.

All the windows are thrown wide open, letting sunlight and fresh air into my normally sealed-off home. Thankfully, the buildings across the street are low enough that I don’t have to worry about ponies seeing me. I usually try to keep the fact that I’m a changeling on a need-to-know basis, but ponies getting an eyeful of a changeling singing her heart out while doing a little bit of housework just wouldn’t do at all. We have an image to maintain, after all. We changelings are a fierce and proud race.

A little dust gets up my nose, and I give a tiny, high pitched sneeze. A sniffle, a giggle, and off I go, dusting the top of a book shelf as I sing my nonsense words.

As the chorus builds to its grand finale, I dust the last surface, perform a pirouette in the air, and descend to the floor on one hind hoof. The music ends, and the recorded sound of applause pours out of my radio. I bow and bow to the empty apartment, catching an invisible rose in my hoof with demure grace.

The sound of a hoof rapping on my apartment door cuts into my make-believe. With a snort, I flick off the radio and go to answer it, putting up my personal pony disguise as I do.

I open the door to reveal Middleman, and instantly I sense that something outside the usual is going on. His face, usually the model of stoicism, is… well, still mostly stoic, but laced with something like tension. The same goes for his posture, like that of a pony trying not to let on that he has hemorrhoids.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asks with even more stiffness than usual.

I forego a sarcastic quip and simply shake my head, standing aside to let him in. After closing the door, we make our way to my sofa.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as we sit. “You seem… I dunno, weird.”

“Awfully perceptive of you,” he grunts.

I roll my eyes. “So… what? You have a job for me?”

“You could say that. It’s not exactly a normal situation, though.”

“Oh? Another special client? Like Blueblood?”

“Not quite.” He finally reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out the manila envelope, spitting it into his hooves so he can continue speaking. “The client opted to stay confidential. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wing it as far as that’s concerned.”

Oh, wonderful. One of those kinds of jobs. The client has that right, of course—some prefer not to leave the paper trail—but still, it complicates things.

“And there’s more,” he said. “You’ll have to go to Canterlot for this one.”

“Oh, maaaaaan… really?” I whine, folding my forelegs across my chest.

Out-of-town jobs aren’t unheard of, but they aren’t very common. Most clients prefer to come here—part of the concept of ‘what happens in Las Pegasus…’ I presume. As I understand it, Persona charges an additional fee for jobs like this. I suppose I could look at it as a sort of vacation, but it’s too heavily burdened under the weight of Work to be much more than a chore.

“Yes, really,” Middleman replies. “Whoever this pony is, they paid a small fortune to arrange this. They even sent train tickets—a private compartment, for the record—by way of a special pegasus delivery. And they booked a room at one of Canterlot’s nicer hotels. And finally…”

He reach into his saddlebag again and withdrew a package, passing it to me. With a curious frown, I open the parcel carefully. Inside, I find a sleek, black evening dress.

“Huh,” I say. “This either means a fancy dinner or some potentially kinky fetish stuff. Or, knowing my luck, both.”

I sense Middleman shifting almost imperceptibly next to me. “That’s not all,” he says.

I look at him slowly, raising an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

“I’m afraid so. And this part’s the bad news.”

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hoof. “You mean, travelling half-way across the kingdom to meet with an anonymous client wearing the world’s sexiest gift-wrap…” I point at the dress, “…isn’t the ‘bad news’?”

“Nope.”

“Then what, pray tell, is the bad news?”

He actually grimaces, avoiding my eyes. “The train leaves in two hours.”

It’s really too bad that all my windows are open. I can only hope there aren’t any impressionable young foals on the streets outside, or else they might be waddling back to their parents with some colorful new vocabulary.

“… And you waited until now to let me know?!” I say at the tail end of my tirade.

“Hey, the tickets literally got here this morning! It was either this, or send the tickets back with a refusal and an apology. And considering the sum they paid us, the latter wasn’t exactly a feasible option.”

“Yeah? Well, feasibility can bite my shiny black haunches, Middleman! Am I really supposed to drop everything I’m doing, pack my things, and get the train station with only two hours’ notice? Can’t one of the others do it? What about Tanssi? Or Vittu?! She’s always up for a little adventure.”

Middleman lets out a sigh, standing up with a shrug and heading for the door. “I guess I can do that. I’d just heard that whoever gets this job would be getting a massive bonus, and I thought you’d be interested. Plus, I knew you could pull it off. You’re pretty much the best agent we have, after all. But you’re right. I guess one of the others can do it.”

I groan, rubbing my forehead with a hoof. “Wait,” I say.

He turns and regards me with infuriating insouciance.

“What kind of ‘massive bonus’ are we talking here?”

“Oh, not that much, really.” He examines his hoof casually for a few seconds. “Just three-thousand bits.”

My tongue promptly makes an attempt on my life, and I sputter for a good moment or two. “Wh-what?!” I finally cry. “For one job!”

He nods with the beginnings of a smirk.

“But… that’s like ten times my usual cut.”

“Maybe that’ll give you some idea just how much this client is paying.” He takes another step out the door, pointing outside with a hoof. “So, should I go talk to Vittu, or…?”

I take a deep, deep breath. “No. I’ll do it.”

“I knew you’d come around,” he says with a smug grin.

Using my changeling magic, I produce a series of digits on the end of one hoof and give him a gesture I’d learned from a griffin. He merely snorts, doffs an invisible hat, and steps out of my apartment, closing the door behind him.

With a frustrated grunt, I collapse on my sofa, staring at my ceiling. I turn the radio back on, though I lower the volume a good deal, some aria or another playing at little more than a hum. With a heavy hoof, I reach over and pick up the packet again, taking my first good look at my role for the assignment. And then, my eyes widen in dawning recognition.

“No way…”

I’m back on my hooves in an instant, and I gallop into my bedroom, rummaging around in a drawer until I found a clipping of that article about the Elements of Harmony. I find it, unfold it, and stare. Sure enough, there she is, standing off to the side.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” I plop down on my haunches right on my bedroom floor. “Another element bearer?”

Granted, I’m playing one this time, and not escorting her. But still. For all I know, my client is an element bearer, too. Twilight Sparkle surely has some money to throw around, now that she’s a princess. Wouldn’t that be just my luck?

“I don’t think this assignment can get any more complicated…”

About an hour later, I walk out of my apartment building with two bulging saddlebags strapped across my back. A thirty yard trot, and I’m at the bus stop. Unfortunately, it’s just a single uncovered bench, so, rather than roast alive in the Las Pegasus heat, I walk over to a nearby tree and hunker down in the shade.

A few uneventful minutes pass, spent pony-watching, kicking at blades of grass, and humming one of the arias I’d heard while packing.

I crane my neck and look down the street to the left, searching for any sign of my bus. “Any minute now…” I mumble.

“Good morning, Naamari.”

I give a small start and turn to the right, finding that new mare from the coffee shop, Aletheia, standing on the sidewalk, giving me a reserved smile.

“Oh, hello,” I reply, getting to my hooves and fidgeting. “H-how are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” She eyes my saddlebags. “Looks like you’re all set.”

“Heh, yeah… I’m heading to Canterlot for a day or two.”

“Oh? What for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Eh, nothing major. Just work stuff.”

“Really?” she asks, perking slightly. “You’re an actress, right?”

“Uh, y-yeah…” I half-lie, groping for my words. “I, uh… There’s this… production there. And one of the supporting actors has come down with the flu. My agent managed to get me a job filling in for her. Just for one or two shows, though…”

“Well, that sounds neat! Maybe this’ll be your big break. And getting your name ‘out there’ in Canterlot can’t hurt, right? I can’t imagine Las Pegasus opens many doors for you.”

“W-well, we all… have to start somewhere, am I right?”

“I suppose so,” she replies with a subdued chuckle.

I shift awkwardly, rubbing one foreleg with the other. “So, uh… you heading to work?”

“Yep. As a matter of fact, I’d better get a move on. Arabica’s probably waiting for me. You enjoy your trip, okay? And break a leg!”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll make sure to stop by Mare Green’s when I get back and let you know how it went.”

She smiles and gives me a wave, then turns and crosses the street in the direction of the coffee shop.

I watch her go, studying the aftertaste of our conversation. Now, just like the first time I met her, I just can’t get a good read on her. Outwardly, she’s warm and friendly. But inside, she’s a choppy sea of indiscernible depth, and something about the emotions she gives off leaves me at once haunted and curious. Part of me wants to get to know her better, and the other part thinks it best to keep my distance, lest I run aground on some hidden shoal.

Thankfully, I am rescued from my contemplations by the arrival of my bus. With one final glance at Mare Green’s, watching as Aletheia’s tail disappears through its door, I shoulder my saddlebags and climb onto the bus.

The train ride will take the better part of one whole afternoon, so I decide to spend my time looking through my assignment packet. Although the client gave me virtually no information about themselves, I’m surprised to find that they left extensive and rather detailed information on my role for the evening. As someone who tries to do as much research as she can, I appreciate all the little details—everything down to tiny mannerisms and speech patterns—and I commit as much as I can to memory.

Besides that, there really isn’t all that much to do on the train except look out at the passing landscape, watching as it shifts from desert to plains to rolling woodland hills. In the distance, I can already see the towering peaks of central Equestria.

Feeling my eyelids beginning to droop, I finally settle on taking a quick nap. For all I know, I’ll be up all night seeing to the kinks of whoever-the-hay this wealthy patron of ours is, and I’ll be thankful then that I had to the foresight to get some preemptive shut-eye.

I curl up on the cushioned bench in my private compartment and let the sounds of the train on the tracks be my lullaby.

I don’t know how long I’ve been running, but my legs are beginning to ache. I wish desperately I could simply fly away, but one of my wings hangs uselessly from my side. Fortunately, all this exertion serves to ward the cold away, even if numbness makes a poor substitute for warmth.

I finally chance a look over my shoulder. Even from here, I can see the flames. I shuffle to a stop, turning around fully to witness the fruits of my own actions. I tremble, but it has nothing to do with the cold.

With a lone, pitiful sob, I turn and hobble into a nearby alleyway, seating myself between a couple of trash cans to catch my breath.

But alas, sitting still allows the cold to catch up to me, and my teeth begin to chatter. With a flash of green, I take on a pony’s form, hoping the fur will ward off the night’s wintery fingertips. I feel a cold pinprick on my nose, and look up. Out of the sky, little flakes of snow begin to fall, and as they collect on the ground the air becomes muffled and still.

I give a start as the quietness is interrupted. Across the alley, a doorway opens, and golden light pours out, reaching to within inches of my hooves. There, a pony stands—a mare, it seems to me—setting a plate of leftovers down for the alley cats to eat.

Even though her features are obscured by the light behind her, I sense her noticing me.

“Oh,” her voice says. “Hello, there. Are you alright?”

I whimper, “No…”

“Would you like to come in?” she asks, stepping to the side. “We can give you food, a warm fire. A place to stay for the night.”

I look past her, into the light. It’s so warm, so inviting. It frightens me.

“No, thank you.” I reply, squeezing my eyes shut.

She stares at me for a long moment. “Are you certain?”

I merely nod.

“Well… alright,” she says. She steps back inside for a moment, then tosses me a blanket. “If you change your mind, just knock. Alright?”

I nod again, more slowly now.

With a final glance in my direction, she disappears from view and closes the door. The alley is once again dark; once again cold.

With a sniffle, I grab the blanket and wrap it around myself. And though my vision becomes obscured by my own tears, I don’t look away from the door.

I’m jolted awake by the lurch of the train activating its brakes. I take a moment to get my bearings, and I look out the window, watching as we pull into Canterlot Central Station. I give my head a shake, wondering how long I’ve been asleep. A few hours, at least, judging by the fact that the sun is dipping its way into the horizon.

Even now, the lingering remnants of my dream haunt me. It felt so familiar—like a memory, even though it never actually happened. It’s like I can still feel the cold.

With a final jerk, the train comes to a stop. I stand, donning my saddlebags and shaking the distractions out of my mind. I have a job to do.

As I step off the train and onto the crowded platform, I think back to the instructions left to me by my client. Namely, the address of my hotel, in front of which I’m to be picked up at seven o’clock sharp. According to the train station clock, that leaves me almost an hour.

With a deep breath, I begin to walk, navigating my way through the swarms of busy ponies, into this city that’s so familiar, and such a towering presence in my psyche.

I stand there in my hotel room with my mouth hanging open, letting my saddlebags drop to the floor.

“Just who the hay is this pony?” I ask the empty room.

This place makes the Royal Suite back at Caesar’s hotel in Las Pegasus look like a hovel. Well, perhaps not a hovel, but still. I’m almost afraid to touch anything.

Almost.

I step forward, running my hoof over the footboard of the bed—mahogany, by the looks of it, covered by gilded vines and leaves. I look at the small crystal chandelier overhead, the deep red velvet curtains over the windows, the comfy looking seats made from some material obviously imported from the griffin kingdoms, and I actually whistle in amazement. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen such luxury. I almost feel guilty.

“Oh well,” I say, shrugging the feeling off. “Who am I to turn down a perk?”

With a giggle, I throw myself onto the bed. I expect to bounce, but instead the mattress embraces me like a lover, and I moan out loud.

“Oh. My. Gawdesses.”

I could easily lay there all night, if it weren’t for that… ‘work’ nonsense. I glance over at the clock on the bedside table, just to see how much time I have.

Ten minutes. With a groan, I fight my way off the sinful mattress and start to get ready. With a flash of green, I change into the likeness of my role. I examine myself in a nearby mirror, scrutinizing the yellow coat and pink mane. With a satisfied nod, I move to the next step. I carefully remove a package from my saddlebag, and from it I withdraw the fancy black dress I’d been sent. I’m almost surprised to find that it fits like a glove, but then, considering my client’s obvious attention to detail, I suppose I shouldn’t be. Just a touch of makeup, and I’m ready to go.

I make my way downstairs and to the front of the hotel just in the nick of time. I look up at a clock hanging from the front of the hotel, reading 6:59. With a sigh of relief, I look down the street to the left, then the right, searching for some sign of my client.

I look back at the clock, watching as it strikes 7:00.

Instantly, I hear the sound of a carriage rounding the corner and moving in my direction. I turn to look, and my eyes widen at the sight before me.

It’s only slightly larger than the average carriage, but what strikes me most is the fact that it’s completely black. Not to mention that it’s being pulled by two ponies draped in black cloaks with the hoods pulled up. With a raised eyebrow and a small amount of trepidation, I watch as the carriage pulls to a stop at the curb and the side door opens in clear invitation.

I stare into the dark opening, then give another look at my surroundings, as if searching for a lifeline. With a gulp, I move forward and climb into the carriage, giving a small start as the door closes behind me.

It’s a little hard to see in here, but I can make out a dark figure sitting on the far side.

“Hello?” I ask in a quiet, timid voice, and not even because of my role.

“I apologize,” another voice replies—feminine, yet rich and sonorous. There’s a click, and a few dim lamps glow to life within the carriage, revealing the pony I presume to be my client.

Except, as I see with widening eyes, she’s not a pony at all. Or, not in the traditional sense, at least. Her eyes, a piercing amber, look me over with slitted pupils. A silky, dark blue mane seems to absorb the light of the lamps, rather than reflect it. Beneath her cloak, I catch a glimpse of a leathery wing. And, last but by no stretch of the imagination least, as she opens her mouth to speak, I notice fangs.

“Please, Fluttershy. Sit,” she says, indicating the seat beside her.

I hesitate briefly, but ultimately comply, taking my seat beside the bat pony. Is that the proper term these days? Thestral? Sarosian? I can never keep track. Whatever one calls them, this particular revelation does nothing to dispel the mystery from my client.

She gives a few bat-like clicks of her tongue, and the carriage starts to move. She turns back to me, looking me over with those unnatural-looking eyes.

“That dress suits you,” she says. “I suspected it would.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “It was a lovely gift. It must have been very expensive.”

She waves it off with a hoof. “It was nothing. That it pleases you is more than enough to justify the meager expenditure.”

A more-or-less comfortable silence consumes the two of us, and I spend that time considering my client out of the corner of my eye. Something about her seems… off, somehow. I can’t put my hoof on it, though. Maybe it’s just a bat pony thing—like, some ultrasonic note she’s producing that’s setting my changeling senses on edge.

And speaking of changeling senses, there’s a distinct lack of anything coming from her, emotion-wise. Whether it’s because she simply has no emotions, or because she’s somehow shielding them from me—no mean feat, that—I can’t tell.

With nothing left to go on, I ponder over what relationship she might have with my role. Just how did she know Fluttershy? Or did she know her? Considering how mysterious this bat pony seems to be, and the fact she arranged this evening with me, I wouldn’t be surprised if Fluttershy has never even heard of her. Naturally, the information I’d been sent said nothing at all about the matter.

I decide to take a small gamble.

“Sorry, but… have we met?” I ask in Fluttershy’s gentle voice. “Not that I’m ungrateful for being asked out tonight, but…”

But the shadowy mare merely looks at me with a tiny smile. “Yes, and also no.”

Oh, c’mon!

“My name is Selardi,” she says, extending a hoof.

I tentatively reach out to shake it, only for Selardi to grab my hoof and give it a chaste kiss, like something out of a costume drama. Once she releases my limb, I look down at it, then up at her. But she merely faces forward again, her expression unreadable.

“So…” I say after a moment. “What do you have planned for the evening?”

“It will be a most wondrous night,” she declares. “First, we shall go and eat at a fine restaurant, and then we shall go to the opera. Do you enjoy opera?”

I feel the corners of my mouth tugging upward. “Oh, very much!” I have to remember to rein in the volume. “I’ve never actually been to see one live, though. Which one are we seeing?”

“I’ll let it be a surprise. I believe it’s an appropriate choice, all things considered.”

Yes, because if there’s one thing today needs, it’s more surprises. Oh well. I’ll get to see my first opera, so that’s something. I struggle to contain a squee and turn to look out the window, watching the streets of Canterlot passing by. Confusion, excitement, and vague intimidation all fight for dominance at the forefront of my mind, so instead, I push them to the side and simply enjoy the moment, mysterious companion and all.

Dinner ends up being largely uneventful. Make no mistake: The food is delicious, the atmosphere impeccable, and the other ponies… well, a little snooty, but still giving off enough of a fancy vibe to add to the whole experience.

Selardi is mostly content to ask me questions about my supposed life in Ponyville, listening as I half-recall, half-wing it. I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m being tested—as if all the information she’d sent me was homework. There’s no maliciousness or duplicity in it, though, and her manner is warming slightly, if still a tad distant and more-than-a-tad enigmatic.

Even now, she’s an emotional brick wall. It’s getting a little unsettling, to be honest. Are bat ponies simply impervious to changeling magic? If so, it’s news to me. She doesn’t have a horn, so I don’t see how it can be some kind of blocking spell. There are only so many options. Unless she’s a changeling or someth—

No…

It can’t be…

I squint at her a little as she sits across from me, taking a dainty, elegant bite of her meal. She meets my eyes, and gives a tiny smile.

Well, it doesn’t feel like she’s a changeling, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything: A large chunk of our magic is designed to fool and conceal. And admittedly, considering our ability to block our own emotions—an evolutionary ploy to keep changelings from leeching off each other—it seems like the most reasonable explanation for the emotional vacuum that is this mare. But then, why would a changeling arrange to meet with a changeling escort?

Unless…

Stifling a gasp, I excuse myself and head to the little filly’s room, where I seek refuge in a stall and try to fight off the beginnings of a panic attack.

Is it possible she’s been sent to find me and… eliminate me? I am a fugitive, after all, as far as my kind goes. The queen may very well smile on the changeling who brings a ‘traitor’ like me to her just desserts.

But… no! No, that couldn’t be it, could it? All the time? All the expense? Why not just track me down and kill me outright? Or, if nothing else, why not off me when she had a chance in the carriage?

No, I’m being silly. Clearly, Selardi is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, but I can’t let myself get paranoid. It’s just hard not to, with her being so cryptic!

And yes, I see the irony of my situation.

Once I compose myself, I return to our table, and though I keep an eye on this mysterious bat pony, searching for any clues, the rest of the meal passes without incident.

I’m pretty sure I get an honest-to-Celestia wingboner when I see the sign in front of the opera house, advertising the evening’s production.

“The Magic Flute?!” I nearly squeal. “I love, love, love Marezart! He’s probably my second favorite, after Puccineigh.”

Selardi gives me a tiny smile as she leads me into the lobby. The sight of the room, lit with chandeliers, smelling of champagne, and filled with ponies in suits and evening gowns, really drives it home: I’m actually here, in Canterlot, going to the opera. With a bat pony. How is this my life?

Selardi presses against my side to lead me, and the two of us begin to weave our way through the clusters of ponies. And, even though bat ponies are something of a rarity, I can’t help but feel that most of the eyes are on me. I get the impression they’ve seen Selardi before—a regular, perhaps? She doesn’t exactly strike me as the social type, but that doesn’t stop some of the ponies from greeting her and giving her cordial nods.

“I am surprised you are such an opera fan,” my date says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Are you kidding? It’s so passionate. Like… pure, unbridled emotion.”

Hmm… maybe a bit too much ‘Naamari’ there. Gotta stay in character.

“Besides, the… music’s pretty,” I add quietly.

“Hmmm. I agree.” She leads me up a flight of stairs, which, if I didn’t know any better, lead to one of the balconies. The mystery thickens. “I will admit, opera was a… relatively recent discovery of mine, but I have come to admire the artistry and theater of it.”

We finally arrive at our destination, and it’s just as I expected. From this vantage point, the stage is below us and just to the right. We’ll have a first-rate view of the show. Selardi leads me to one of the seats, then takes the one beside mine. We’ve barely even gotten settled before the call goes out that the show’s about to begin, and patrons begin funneling into the auditorium.

I shift excitedly in my seat as the lights lower. My heart rate picks up as the curtains open. And, as the opening chords of the overture burst into the air, I find myself leaning into my date’s side without even meaning to.

“Oh, that was so perfect!” I say over the sound of the carriage rattling down the street. The words are mine, but I manage to stay in character, masking my enthusiasm behind gentle tones and demure gestures. “The stallion who played Palomeno was amazing! And the Queen of the Night’s aria was even better live than it is on recording. It gave me the chills!”

For a moment, and odd expression passes over Selardi’s face, but she composes herself almost instantly. “I am glad you enjoyed it, Fluttershy,” she says.

Feeling a little more comfortable with the odd mare, I lean against her side and hug her right foreleg. She stiffens, but only briefly.

“This night has been so nice,” I say. I look out the window, noticing the lights of the city fading. It takes me a moment to realize that we’re heading uphill. “Um, where are we going?”

“That is another surprise. Suffice to say, it’s one of my favorite places in the city. I often go there to recollect.”

Well, here it comes, I think with an internal eye-roll. Time for the nookie.

Not that I’m complaining, mind. I’ve never been with a bat pony before, and I’m kind of curious. I’ve heard rumors they suck blood, but that smells like an old mare’s tale. I’ve also heard some… intriguing rumors about their tongues. Now that could be interesting!

In no time at all, the carriage comes to a stop. Selardi takes my hoof, leading me out and into the cool mountain air. I’m a little surprised to find that the two ponies pulling our carriage have vanished, but that thought is effectively routed by the view I’m confronted with. We’re on a high ridge of rock, only about twice as wide as our carriage. To one side, the lights of Canterlot lay strewn across its mountainside perch. To the other, the dark expanse of Equestria, lit by a stunning tapestry of stars overhead. The moon, nearly full, nears is apex overhead.

Without speaking a word, the two of us move towards one edge and take a seat, looking out across the dark landscape.

It strikes me, rather suddenly, how at ease I am. Here I am, alone in a remote location with a pony who could very well want to hurt me, and yet all of my earlier worry and paranoia are gone. I don’t pretend to have this mare figured out, but I can sense, somehow, that she means me no harm.

And yet, she remains so… distant. Though she’s prompted me to speak and listened with great earnestness, she’s said almost nothing about herself. If I refrain from speaking, she follows suit. And for all the joy she’s shown, it’s honestly hard to imagine she’s even enjoyed herself this evening. To top it all off, there’s still a great big wall where emotions should be. Why does she have to shut me out like this? Why can’t she just tell me what she wants? What she expects? Oh, what I wouldn’t give to get a glimpse into that mind of hers.

Finally, I decide on the direct route: “A bit for your thoughts?”

She blinks, as if startled, and looks at me. “My thoughts?”

“Mm-hmm. What are you thinking?”

She considers me a moment longer, then returns her gaze to the void before us. A moment of silence passes, until finally: “I am thinking what a nice night it has been.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. For months now, I have dreamed of a night like this. Taking you out to the city, on a real date, and finally, to this exact spot.”

While I still can’t feel any emotions off of her, her eyes betray her, revealing the first glimpse into this pony’s soul I’ve seen all night. Hopes and fears and regrets dance across them like flurries of snow.

“Was it what you hoped it would be?” I breathe.

She hums, considering her words. “Yes and no. ‘Twas but a pale facsimile of what a night with Fluttershy might be. But then, I expected no more.”

“Oh…”

“No offense intended, of course,” she adds with a tiny smile. “You performed your part more-than-admirably. And, in the end, this evening served its purpose.”

“And what’s that?”

She hesitated for a still, fragile moment. “To give me a taste of something I can never have.”

For the first time, a whisper of emotion seeps through, and it nearly sends me reeling, like falling into a dark, uncharted ocean.

“Wh-why… can’t you have it?”

“There are many reasons, I suppose,” she says, flexing her leathery wings. “First among them: That dear Fluttershy, I suspect, would find me intimidating, and would either turn tail and run if I invited her out, or that she would agree out of fear and obligation. I cannot decide which would be worse.”

I inch closer to her. “What if… what if I wanted to go out with you? You’ll never know if you don’t ask me.”

But Selardi merely snorts. “If that were the only obstacle, that would be sage advice indeed. But as it is, things are not that simple. I have a great many responsibilities. It would not be fair to Fluttershy to give her but half of my time. And half, I assure you, would be a generous allotment. Even planning this one evening and clearing my schedule took weeks of preparation. Not to mention the fact… of what I am…

“No,” she continued after a moment. “It is better for her—and likely better for me, in the long run—if things simply remain as they are, and to let this night remain what it was always meant to be: a living daydream.”

I struggle to form my words. “B-but don’t you… deserve more? Don’t we all deserve some happiness?”

“Sometimes, Fluttershy,” she says, meeting my eyes, “We can’t afford what we deserve.” She turns her eyes back to the sky, moonlight reflecting in her eyes. Her voice becomes little more than a whisper. “The nature of the universe is to expand, and loneliness is as natural as light and time. And the heavens know, I have had my share of practice.”

I consider her words for a long moment. Finally, I snort. “Alright, I call bull—” I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to be Fluttershy. “… poop.” I shake my head and power through. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that sounds like an excuse.”

“I beg your pardon?” she says, blinking at me.

“Look, it may very well be that I would find you a little intimidating. But if anypony can fight through that and see the pony you are underneath, it’s me. You have to know that I always try to see the good in everypony. And you say that it wouldn’t be fair to me, because of all your ‘responsibilities’? Well, shouldn’t I get a say in that? If I really grow to care about you, I’d understand you having to devote some of your time to your responsibilities, and I’d love you all the more for it. We all have to divide our time with each other, in the end.”

She continues to stare at me, her eyes wide.

“And maybe it’s the universe’s nature to expand,” I continue. “But it’s the nature of things in the universe to come together. To exert gravity. Isn’t that the only thing we can do, really?” I look at her, my gaze penetrating but gentle. “I think you’re afraid. You want love and companionship, but you’re afraid to take the chance. But sometimes, the only way for us to find what we want out of life is to take those chances—step outside our comfort zone, and do the difficult thing. Believe me. I know from personal experience.

“You said you have a lot of practice with loneliness. Well, maybe it’s just that loneliness is safer. You’re comfortable with it, even if it’s not what you really want.” I reach out with a hoof and place it on one of hers. “No matter what excuses you make, you deserve to be happy. Maybe you just need a pony who’s kind enough to teach you how. You could at least take the gamble. Can’t you ‘afford’ that much?”

She meets my eyes, looking deep into them, uncertainty passing across them. Finally, she says, “A gamble, you say?”

I give her a tiny nod, and smile.

“I think I can do that.”

Before I can even register the movement, she leans forward, like a gust of wind in the night, and plants her lips against my own. It starts off gently, almost timid, but gradually builds in intensity. The emotional dam within her weakens further, and I feel some hunger radiating off her—a desperate hunger. And yet, that hunger is strangled, as if she’s afraid I might tear apart under her passion. Nevertheless, a leathery wing extends across my back, brushing against my own feathery ones, and I meet her embrace in kind, wrapping my forelegs softly around her barrel and pulling our bodies together.

Sensing that she’s still holding back, I brush my tongue across her lips. To my joy, she parts them, and I slide the muscle into her mouth. She meets it with her own, and I find the rumors of bat pony tongues weren’t an exaggeration; I practically melt as her long tongue helixes around mine and gives it a squeeze.

But alas, all good things must end. We slowly pull apart, eyes opening to look at each other. A tender silence infuses the thin mountain air.

Hoping to keep the ball rolling, I raise my hoof, slowly moving it between her thighs. But, to my surprise, she grabs ahold of my hoof and stops me.

“No, wait,” she says, as if wrestling something within her.

“What is it?” I ask.

She takes a few deep breaths. “I am not certain that I am comfortable with us having relations.”

Huh. Hadn’t been expecting that.

“Roleplaying is all well and good, but let us be honest,” she continues. “You are not Fluttershy. I suppose a part of me feels like… like I’d be taking advantage of her, or that I would be betraying her trust somehow. No. This night was not meant for sex.”

Well, that’s fine, in and of itself, but I can tell she’s holding back. I can taste it in the tiny gasps of emotion still wafting off of her.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “It seems like you want to.”

“It does not matter what I want,” she replies simply.

I can’t help but frown. Reaching deep into her emotions—those which I can access, anyway—I feel around, searching. Longing, such as I have never encountered before, lurks just beneath the placid surface. So much that it borders on pain.

I slowly reach out with my hoof again and lay it on her thigh. She tenses, looking down at the hoof, as if unsure what to do with it.

“Selardi,” I say. “If you’d rather not touch me, that’s fine. But you want this. You want it so badly it hurts. And yes, that does matter. I can’t imagine that I—Fluttershy—would want you to feel this way. Please…” I whisper, “for your sake if not for mine: Let me show you this kindness.”

With a small start, she meets my eyes. And, looking into hers, I slowly, carefully move my hoof back between her thighs. This time, she makes no move to stop me, even as I contact her folds and she gives a tiny twitch. Watching her face for any sign that she doesn’t want this to happen, I begin to rub, moving my hoof in small, circular motions against her sex.

Her body shudders beside me, and her eyes flutter closed. I can hear her breathing speed up as I rub, followed by little grunts and subdued whimpers.

I slowly ease her onto her back on the grass, climbing a little on top of her as my hoof continues its ministrations. As I work, I pepper little kisses and licks and nibbles across her exotic body, which only serves to add to her twitches and stifled moans. I increase my hoof’s speed, rubbing more deeply into her, and her back arches slightly beneath me.

Finally, she opens her eyes, the slitted, amber orbs catching the moonlight and reflecting them as if they were glowing. I meet them without blinking.

“Just let it go, Selardi,” I say. “Let yourself enjoy this. Let it all out.”

As I say this, I use my changeling magic to alter my hoof, making it smaller, more slender. And then, I thrust the entire thing inside of her.

With a gasp, her eyes squeeze closed again and a cry issues from her mouth. And, for the first time all night, the wall comes down.

The force of the emotions almost knocks me right off of her like a physical blow. I’d known she was hiding her feelings somehow, but the sheer depth of it is beyond my wildest anticipations. Love, desire, fear, loneliness, stress, strains, jealousy, a hunger for approval, the burdens of expectation, and countless other, smaller, darker wisps of feelings crammed in every available crack wash across me like water bursting through a broken levee. All of these things—felt for so very long, buttoned down and repressed, and finally, in this rare instance, unleashed.

It’s overwhelming. I open myself I try to sip from it, and it sends me reeling. A few tiny pulls, and I’ll likely be set for nutrition for weeks. Even through the tempest, I continue to thrust my hoof into her. Her moans are growing louder; the spasms in her body more pronounced. It likely won’t be long now.

I begin to thrust harder, then start kissing my way down her body until finally my head is between her legs. Without stopping my hoof’s movements, I lean forward and flick my tongue across her clit.

And with that, her body is hurled into an orgasm. Selardi shrieks like a wild animal, her body jolting, all her composure and restraint burning away in the force of her climax. And I continue to pump my hoof into her, slowing my pace slightly, easing her back to the earth until finally she goes slack.

Her hoof touches my shoulder, urging me towards her face. I comply, withdrawing my hoof with a wet pop before crawling my way up her body. Once I’m close enough, she pulls me in for a gentle but passionate kiss. And even though I’ve had my fill, I open myself to her slightly, feeling that her emotions, while not as violent as before, are nonetheless flowing from her freely. That makes me smile.

She looks at me with moist eyes. “Th-thank you…” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” I say, running my non-wet hoof across her mane.

She gives a tiny snort. “I beg to differ.”

I giggle briefly, then lay my head on her shoulder, and the two of us snuggle for a while, the stars above us and Canterlot below.

The ride back to the hotel starts off uneventfully, with neither of us speaking. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though. Not at all. If anything, Selardi seems more relaxed and content than I’ve seen her all night. Nonetheless, my curiosity is about to eat me alive. As much as she’s opened up to me and let her guard down, I still know so little about her. Perhaps it’s none of my business, but I can’t help myself.

“Um… Selardi?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“Who are you, really?”

That certainly gets her attention. She looks at me carefully. “How do you mean?”

“I mean… what are you?” I tongue the inside of my cheek, hesitating to ask my next question. “It’s been bugging me all night. I can tell you aren't what you seem. It’s almost like you’re… a changeling, but…”

She smiles, then looks out the window. “Nothing quite so impressive, I’m afraid. But it is very perceptive of you, nonetheless. I should have known better than to try and fool a fooler.” She takes a deep breath. “Unlike you, I cannot physically alter myself. I merely deal in illusions.”

“So you’re… not really a bat pony then?”

“No. I’m not. This is a form I take when I wish to fly under the radar. When I want to go to the opera, for example.”

I gape at her. “Who the heck are you, that a bat pony is considered low-key?”

“Would you mind terribly if I declined to say?” she asked with a coy smile. “No offense to you or your profession, but the fewer ponies—and that includes changelings—that can attach my true identity to what happened tonight, the better. Granted, you seem an intelligent sort. I’m sure you could connect the dots if you were so inclined. But, plausible deniability, and all that.”

I give a slow huff out my nostrils. “Sure. I guess I can live with that.”

I look out the window in time to see us pull to a stop by the front of my hotel.

With a sigh, I stand, giving my date a smile. “Well, thank you for a wonderful evening.” I look down at myself. “Um… would you like this dress back?”

But ‘Selardi’ merely smiles. “No, keep it. Consider it a tip. It is I who should be thanking you, after all. You not only lived up to expectations—you exceeded them. I will forever be grateful for the memory of this night.

“And…” she continues after a brief pause. “I will consider your advice. I suspect you were right, that I have been making excuses for not telling Fluttershy how I feel.”

“So, you’ll tell her?” I ask with the beginnings of a smile.

She avoids my gaze for a moment, then says, “I will think about it. That is all I can promise at this point.”

“Fair enough,” I say. With a nod, I open the door and step down onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, and one more thing?” she says before I can close the carriage door.

I look back into the dim carriage, and I can see her smile from within.

“You might consider taking your own advice to heart, little changeling. I may not be as emotionally attuned as you, but I sense that you, too, have a habit of denying yourself chances for happiness.”

I open my mouth, but cannot find the words to respond.

“Perhaps you should consider it some thought as well.” Her smile turns knowing and mysterious. “You might consider knocking on that door at some point.”

It takes a second or two, but my eyes widen, images of cold alleys and a mare bathed in warm light flashing through my mind.

Before I can utter a syllable, Selardi closes the door with a wink, and the carriage begins to move down the street. Trembling slightly, I watch the carriage until it disappears around a corner. Then, my wide eyes move upwards to the royal palace, looming above the city, backlit by the full moon.

Still somewhat in a daze, I turn and stumble into the hotel.

The train ride back to Las Pegasus is mostly uneventful. I’m able to enjoy the peace and quiet a little bit more without having to worry about preparing for an assignment, and I could use some peace and quiet right about now. My mind has been a tempest of activity ever since I woke up this morning. Luckily that amazing mattress in my hotel room put me out like a light, or else I would’ve tossed and turned all night, replaying the evening’s events in my head.

I can scarcely believe it all. That is, if my assumptions are correct.

Finally, I get back to Las Pegasus, donning my usual pony disguise. I’ve been gone for one day, and already the heat smacks me in the face as I step off the train. But even so, it’s… comforting, in a way.

One taxi ride later, and I’m in front of my own apartment building. I look up, picking out the windows to my apartment, and I smile.

Home.

I raise a hoof to step forward and into the building, but stop suddenly. I stay there, frozen in mid-stride, before finally looking over my shoulder. There, Mare Green’s coffee shop sits. I half-turn, looking back and forth between my apartment and the café, indecisive.

I can almost hear my apartment calling to me, like a siren’s song. I love my little apartment. I really do. It’s so comfortable. So familiar. So safe.

A brief pause, and I turn, stepping in the direction of Mare Green’s.

To be continued...

Author's Note

Delusion

Author's Note

Disclaimer: This chapter has a brief sequence containing futanari.

Delusion

I watched as the desert landscape blurred by outside. It wasn’t that the scenery was especially interesting—you see one cactus or butte and you’ve pretty much seen them all—but it was certainly more entertaining than the alternative.

With an exaggerated sigh out my nostrils, I turned away from the window and looked at my travel companion. That was perhaps a generous word for him, but it had a better ring to it than ‘custody transfer officer’, or whatever the heck they’d called him back in Canterlot. He sat there, quiet and distant as ever, reading a Faulkneigh novel and barely even batting an eye in my direction. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his armor—a final kindness from the Princess, I assumed, so as not to attract too much attention to me upon my arrival. I was looking to start in Las Pegasus with a clean slate, after all.

I idly glanced down at my own body. I’d been asked by the Princess’ aides to create a pony form for myself—preferably an original one—in order to blend in with a still changeling-wary populace. While the beige-and-brown earth pony mare I’d decided on wasn’t terribly imaginative, I was actually quite pleased with it. Again, the less attention I brought to myself, the better. I’ll admit I was proud of the cutie mark, though: a pair of theatrical masks, one smiling and one frowning. I doubted any of the ponies would catch the irony, but still, it made me chuckle.

The hours of silence, punctuated only by the clackity-clack of the train, nearly suffocated me. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ugggghhh!” I whined, flailing in my seat before going limp. “I’m so bored!”

“I told you to get a book at the train station,” the guard droned without looking up.

“Meh.” I looked out the window again, propping my cheek on a hoof. “What I wouldn’t give for some music right about now. Why haven’t you ponies invented… I dunno, a portable record player or something?”

“I’m sure we have a crack team of engineers working on that.”

I snorted at the sarcasm in his voice, then turned and looked as deep into the desert as I could, searching for any sign of my new home. “You ever been to Las Pegasus?” I asked when I found none.

A brief pause. “Once.”

“What’s it like?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Big. Flashy. I wasn’t there for very long, and it wasn’t exactly for sight-seeing.”

I hummed in understanding, then fiddled with my hooves for what must have been a good five minutes, my tail flicked behind me in my seat. Partly borne of curiosity, and partly for want of something to talk about, a thought flickered through my mind, one that had been niggling me for the better part of the day.

“You’ve never told me your name,” I stated, cutting my eyes in his direction. “We’ve been traveling together since yesterday, but you’ve never said. Any reason?”

He still didn’t look up from his book. “Maybe I don’t feel like telling you.”

I shifted in my seat. “Because I’m… a changeling, right?”

He took a deep, deep breath, then released it in a mighty stream of air through his nose. “You know what? Yeah. It is.”

“But… why?”

“Why?” Finally, he looked up, setting the book aside as he turned to face me with a frown. “You really want to know?”

I merely looked at him, my ears folding back.

He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. Then: “You were there, right?”

“Wh-where?”

“In Canterlot. During the wedding?”

My body went rigid. With a gulp, I nodded.

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he said, “So was I.” His gaze shifted a few inches to the left, past me and out the window. “I was almost killed.”

I made an awkward attempt at a smile. Hoping to lighten the mood, I said, “W-well… horseshoes and hoof-grenades, right?” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. I hadn’t meant anything by it, but… really, Naamari? Insensitive much?

His frown turned into something like a snarl, and I could practically see a whole slew of angry retorts passing through his mind. Instead, he composed himself and said, “The only reason I didn’t get killed is because a fellow guard—a friend of mine—saved my life.” His eyes met mine once again. “At the cost of his own.”

My mouth opened… and then just sorta stayed like that. All I managed to get out in the awkward, oppressive silence that followed was: “Oh…”

He snorted. “Yeah. ‘Oh’.” He turned forward in his seat again, picking up his book and opening it. “Now, I’m not saying that you, personally, are responsible. And if Her Majesty vouches for your character, then that’s good enough for me. I’m willing to accept that you’re a decent sort, and that you deserve a chance at a new life. But you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not eager to be your friend, or if I’m not thrilled to be given this assignment.”

He resumed reading, and I simply sat there, suddenly feeling filthy. In something of a daze, I turned and gazed out the window again, my mind abuzz.

I’d come to Equestria because I’d been wounded. And I don’t mean my wing; that had just been a dislocated socket. The wound in question was somewhere deeper; someplace a little more tangible to a changeling than words like “soul” or “heart” can do justice to.

After my meeting with the Princess, that wound had started to heal and scab over. I had convinced myself that here, in Equestria, I could be whole again. Undamaged. How could I have been so stupid? This poor stallion had just ripped that scab right off, and frankly, I deserved it. I only had myself to blame for the wound, and I’d been foolish to think my sins could be cleansed so easily.

I cut my eyes in his direction. After a moment spent biting my lip and hesitating, I opened myself to him, letting his emotions seep into me. It was like drinking water from a tree stump. Just as dark, just as filled with debris and other unsavory things. And all because of my kind; because of what we were. What I was. No amount of running would change that.

I wracked my brain for something I could do, but my mind came up blank. I raised my hoof and reached toward him, as if to place it on his shoulder—a pony gesture of comfort, as I understood it. But about half-way there, I thought better of it, the hoof freezing in the air before returning to my lap. I gave a quiet sigh.

“I’m sorry…” I said simply, my voice a tiny, wretched thing. “For everything.”

When he didn’t reply, I turned and looked out the window again. And just in time, too. We passed a ridge of rock, and instantly I found a metropolis spread out across the desert, gleaming towers and cloud structures above and endless expanses of homes; a veritable island of civilization carved out of the desert sands. My eyes widened at the sight, and a feeling—anticipation? nervousness?—welled up inside me.

This was it. My new home.

The sound of his voice startled me. “My name is Silver Thorn.”

I turned my head in his direction, eyes even wider than before. He didn’t look up from the book, but that was alright. It was still enough to make me smile.

Silver Thorn turned a page and continued the story.

I’ve never been a very sociable creature. Even back at the Hive, I was always something of a loner, and not much has changed since coming to Equestria. It’s not that I’m shy, really. I can function just fine in social situations, whether it’s entertaining my clients or just shooting the breeze with some random pony. But I don’t exactly have much in the way of friends. Oh sure, there are a hoofful of ponies who come close. I get along well with the girls at Mare Green’s, and Middleman and I have a friendly-bickering sort of thing going on. But there’s always this… wall there. I suppose it’s no great mystery. I’m a changeling in a land full of ponies. An outsider.

No. When it comes to friends, only one really fits the bill.

And so, as I step off the bus, I smile at the familiar sight before me: an unassuming little Mexicoltan restaurant. The sidewalk outside features several tables for outdoor dining, shielded from the sun by Aztequine-themed awnings. And there, at one of the tables, sits a little pegasus mare with a bronze coat and a light green mane and tail. She spots me right away and waves. I feel my smile widen, and step in her direction.

“There you are,” she says in that quiet voice of hers as I approach.

“Sorry, Tanssi,” I say, taking a seat across from her. I don’t even bother looking at the menu—I practically have it memorized by now. “I missed my usual bus. You haven’t been waiting too long, have you?”

“Not really,” she replies. For a changeling, she’s not a very good liar. I know her well enough to know not to dwell on it, so I push on with the conversation.

“So, how’ve you been?” I ask.

“Oh, same old, same old. You know how it is.”

I snort, reaching for a chip. “You kidding? I could write the book on ‘how it is’.”

Tanssi’s one of my fellow agents at Persona. She and I actually knew each other back at the Hive, though we were little more than acquaintances in those days. I was a scout, whereas Tanssi worked in the nurseries, taking care of the younglings. Imagine my surprise when, about a year ago, she suddenly shipped in from Canterlot, having defected just like I did. I took her under my wing right away, and the two of us became fast friends.

The waiter shows up and takes our order. I order my usual chili relleno, and Tanssi gets some kind of hay chimichanga. One of the first things I did after Tanssi came to Las Pegasus was introduce her to pony food. Having spent time among ponies in the old days, I was familiar with their food, but it was foreign territory for my quiet peer. In no time at all we made a tradition of getting together every week to chow down and chat away.

“So,” she says once the waiter’s gone, idly stirred her iced tea with a hoof, “What’ve you been up to lately?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Really? Because rumor has it you got that big assignment in Canterlot last week.”

I pop another salsa-laden chip into my mouth, speaking as I crunch away. “Yep. Not much to tell, really. Aside from going to Canterlot and having a really mysterious client, it was fairly routine.” I take a sip of soda, then add, “More or less.”

“I bet it was fun, though,” she says a little dreamily. “I’ve only been to Canterlot the once. It’s such a beautiful city.”

I hum in agreement.

“Rumor also has it you got quite the bonus for that job,” she continues with a grin.

I raise my eyebrow. “There seem to be quite a few rumors flying around lately. Is there anything else being whispered about me around the water cooler?”

She sees my eyebrow and raises me one of her own. “Well, it’s your own fault for being so reclusive, Naamari. It makes the others curious.”

“Fair enough.” I give a long-suffering sigh, then grab another chip. “And to answer your question: Yes, I got a pretty handsome bonus, if you must know. And I fed so well I’ve been able to take the past week off.”

An odd expression passes over her face. I’m no mind-reader, especially since both of us have been severed from the Hive Mind, but I can guess what she’s thinking.

Before I can say anything, though, she forces a smile and says, “So, what’re you going to spend it on?”

I watch her for another moment, then decide to let it drop. “I dunno,” I say through a sigh. “I bought a little bit of furniture, but…”

“Oh, I’ll have to come by and see it sometime. I don’t think I’ve been to your place since… gosh, it must’ve been right after I came to Las Pegasus.”

“Sounds about right. But really, Tanssi, it’s just a little bit of furniture. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Well, I know, but… This sort of thing just fascinates me, for some reason.”

“What does?”

“You know! Homes. Decorating. Ponies are just so creative at that sort of thing. I’d love to get my place all fixed up just like a pony home.”

I scrunch my nose at her. “Yeah, but… that’s ponies, Tanssi. I don’t think a knack for color schemes and spatial flow are really in the changeling gene pool.”

Tanssi’s ears fold back against her head.

I silently kick myself. “Or maybe it’s just me,” I backpedal, averting my eyes. “No matter what I do, my apartment always seems so… boring. Like, no matter how many things I put in it, it still feels empty.”

Her expression warms into a small, sympathizing smile. “Maybe you’re just lonely. I know I am, sometimes.” She gives a tiny sniffle. “Maybe if we just had someone to share our homes with. Maybe that’s what makes ponies different.”

“Tanssi…” I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose with a hoof. “We’ve been over this. You know we can’t do that.”

“But why not? Are we really supposed to be escorts for the rest of our lives?”

“Well, what choice do we have?” I reply, my voice rising to a growl.

She looks at me for a moment, then whispers, “We could meet somepony. We could… fall in love?”

“We’re not ponies, Tanssi!” I whisper in turn. “We’re changelings! I don’t even think we can fall in love.”

She recoils as if I’d struck her.

Our waiter chooses that moment to bring our food. If only to occupy the following moments with something other than awkward silence, I take a bite of my chili relleno, but even the cheesy, greasy food does little to make me feel better. I chance a look at Tanssi, finding her staring down at her plate, unmoving.

I swallow, then mutter, “I’m sorry, Tanssi.”

“Do you really think that?” Her voice a tiny, tiny thing. “Do you really think we’re incapable of love?”

“I don’t know… Maybe? Would… would we need to steal it if we had it inside ourselves all along? You remember how it was back the Hive. Love was a commodity. Like currency.”

Tanssi sits there, staring silently at her still untouched food.

“I’m not saying we can’t, necessarily,” I add hurriedly. “I could be wrong. It’s just… How can we know?” I fidget in my seat, poking my food with a fork. “Wh-what do you think?”

She finally takes a bite of her own meal, chewing slowly as she considers my question. “I think we can love,” she says after swallowing. “Or… maybe I just need to think that. I have to believe there’s more waiting for me than just being an escort for the rest of my life. I’m grateful that Persona took me in, but I just… can’t do this forever. I need more. I want more.”

I reach across the table and touch her hoof with my own.

Otherwise, I hold my tongue. I don’t tell her how small her chances are of being accepted by ponies, or of finding love with one of them. Because what pony in their right mind would willingly love one of us? We’re parasites. We steal love—betray it and corrupt it. Do we even deserve to have it given to us? If nature had intended that, we wouldn’t have evolved into what we are: liars and deceivers.

That’s why Persona’s arrangement is so ideal. Sometimes ponies want to be lied to. Sometimes a fantasy is easier to take than reality. It’s the same thing with Tanssi. If the hope of finding love with a pony is the lie she needs to tell herself, then who am I, as a professional liar, to take that away from her?

In the end, we all lie to ourselves from time to time. It’s how we make peace with the inevitable mistakes and disappointments of our lives.

So I say, “I’m sorry, Tanssi. Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s a pony out there for you.”

She sniffles. “And what about you?”

“Me?” I wave my hoof nonchalantly. “Heck, I’m happy as I can be at Persona. It’s fun, it keeps me well fed. And… and I like to think that I can give my clients something a little more meaningful, too. That I can help them in some tiny way.”

“Well, if the customer feedback you get is any indication, I’d say you do.” She chuckles. “You’re something of a legend around HQ.”

I snort, then take another bite. “It’s the least I can do, considering… everything.”

I can feel her eyes lingering on me. Finally: “You’re a good changeling, Naamari. You deserve to find somepony, too. You… you know that, don’t you?”

I pause in mid-chew, looking up at her.

She gives me a warm, kind smile. “Everyone deserves to be loved, Naamari. Or they at least deserve the chance. Even you and me. We all deserve a chance to be happy.”

I return her smile, but don’t say anything. I know she means well.

The door to my apartment swings open, and I stand in the doorway for a moment, gazing into the lengths of my apartment with drooping, lethargic eyes. I have to struggle against the urge to turn around and find some other place to while away the afternoon. The thought of spending yet another day lying around my apartment with nothing to do but ponder the solitude makes my stomach turn.

With a heavy sigh, I take a step, only to hear the crinkling sound of paper under my hoof. I look down, and find myself standing on a manila envelope.

And finally, I smile. Middleman must’ve slipped it under my door while I was out.

I reach down and grab the envelope in my teeth, then trot over to the sofa and plop down on it with a giggle, like a filly with a Hearthswarming present. The funny thing is, after that night with Selardi, I’m still not very hungry. But if all this assignment gets me is some killed time, then it’s time well spent in my book.

I open the envelope and begin sifting through its contents. For the second time in a row, only information on my role for the evening is included. No biggie. Knowing something about the client is convenient, but not necessary for me to do my thing. Changelings are born improvisers.

I read over the client’s description of my role, giving a low whistle as I finish. “Man, whoever wrote this has it bad.” It’s so hyperbolic, in fact, that it seems almost comical. Something about it—the wording; the subtext—strikes me as odd, actually.

With a shrug, I get up and trot over to the mirror. A final, careful study of the photograph included, and green flame washes over me. Once the transformation is complete, I look myself over in the mirror, searching for any necessary adjustments. Purple eyes meet their reflected counterparts, set in a blue, feminine face. A horn, framed by a silvery mane, protrudes from my forehead, and on my flank: A wand casting a crescent-shaped swath of stars.

With a satisfied nod, I look back to the paperwork.

“Huh. I’ve never seen adjectives in the name space before.”

I set the packet down, then look at the clock. I still have a few hours before I’m supposed to meet up with my client, giving me plenty of time to get into character. I take a deep breath, then smile.

“I think getting my mind off my troubles will do just the trick.”

In the two years that I’ve lived in Las Pegasus, on all the hundreds of assignments I’ve been on, I’ve never been to Hayrrah’s casino. Not that it’s all that different from the others, décor notwithstanding. I suppose the whole casino scene isn’t really my cup of tea. I’d rather curl up with a good book or a nice record than fritter my bits away at a craps table.

Nonetheless, as I step into the lobby, I give my mane a haughty flip, turning my nose upward as I make my way to the casino bar. Nopony else seems to be paying much attention to me, but that’s not important. Details are the mortar that hold the bricks of an assignment together.

I trot into the bar, as instructed, and take a seat on one of the stools. I cast a glance back and forth, as if my client might already be there waiting for me. No such luck.

“Good evening, miss,” says the bartender, startling me from my lookout. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Just water, please.” I usually find it’s wise to stay as sober as possible when I’m on duty. Kind of a bummer, I suppose, considering how cheap drinks are in places like this.

With a gracious nod, the bartender fetches my water and heads off to help another customer. I take a sip as I resume my search for my client. At this hour, there aren’t too many ponies here, which I’m silently thankful for; crowds tend to complicate things. In one corner of the room, a stallion sits at a piano playing some jazzy number, and I let myself drift away with the music, the minutes slipping through my hooves like water.

Finally, after some unmeasured amount of time, I sense movement to my right, followed by the sound of a barstool creaking under sudden added weight. Idly, I glance in that direction, then promptly freeze.

My first thought is that somepony placed a mirror next to me. Except, my reflection appears to be wearing a hat and cape. That’s odd. I quickly realize it’s no reflection, but a pony. A pony who shares my assumed appearance down to the smallest detail.

Then, another realization dawns: This is my client.

I try not to panic. Had Persona made a mistake? Somehow gotten the client/role information mixed up? They’re usually pretty organized, but the proof is in the pudding, as they say. At a million miles a minute, I mentally rifle through an entire list of questions and courses of action and measures of damage control; anyway at all to salvage this situation and make up for the agency’s mistake. I’ll offer her a full refund if I have to! My honor as a professional will stand for nothing less.

But my frantic train of thought is instantly derailed when the mare turns toward me and gives me a sultry smile. “Why hello,” she says. “Trixie was wondering if she’d already be here.”

I raise an eyebrow, meeting her eyes and searching them for any clue as to what’s going on. Is this all some kind of practical joke? Or did I misunderstand something in the paperwork? Then, it clicks.

Oh.

Oh dear…

She wants an evening with herself. That’s… a little awkward, actually. Though, it does explain a thing or two. Believe it or not, I’ve never had this come up before. I suppose that even now, after all the fetishes and fantasies I’ve seen to, this job can still surprise me.

Yay?

I give her a shaky smile. “I… uh, couldn’t wait, I guess.”

“Mmm, Trixie knows what she means,” she purrs, reaching over and rubbing my cutie mark with a hoof. Or should I say ‘her’ cutie mark? “She’s been looking forward to this for quite some time. And, suffice to say, she isn’t disappointed.”

The weirdness of the situation very nearly makes me shiver at her touch, but I shake it off.

Focus, Naamari! I think to myself. Yes, this is one of the… odder situations you’ve been in, but you’re a professional. Pull yourself together and stay. In. Character!

Turning my attention to my date, I smile with as much heat as I can, reaching down to press her hoof more firmly against my flank.

“Well, who could blame y—… uh, that is, who could blame… her?” My face scrunches up in confusion. Blame ‘us’? Blame ‘them’? I shake my head and power through. “You know what, uh… Trixie means.”

I see something like an approving glint in her eye. “Too true.”

I very nearly sigh with relief when the bartender returns to take Trixie’s order.

“Trixie will have a scotch, please,” my date says primly. “Neat.”

The bartender gives her a nod, fetching her drink even as he turns in my direction. “And for your sister?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about me. I suppose there are more embarrassing assumptions he could have made. The truth, for one. “Or, are you fine with just water?”

I cut my eyes toward my ‘sister’, then point at her scotch and say, “Make mine a double.”

We spend a good half hour in the bar, just chatting. It’s awkward going at first, but I adapt to the situation quickly enough. I suppose the buzz of the alcohol doesn’t hurt, though I’m careful to keep it in moderation—just enough to take the edge off the weirdness, but not so much as to throw off my mad changeling skillz.

…okay, maybe I need to rein it in a teensy bit.

Ahem!

Anyway, I have to say that Trixie doesn’t make the best first impression. She comes across as boisterous and conceited, and her habit of talking in the third person is more than a little obnoxious. But as we talk, I find myself warming up to her more than I expected. I begin to sense something else to her—a kind of vulnerability, perhaps. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she actually has a sweet heart underneath all the glitter and firework shine. During an anecdote about her exploits in Hoofington, I get curious and take a pull of her emotions, hoping to get a better read on what, exactly, she hopes to get from this evening. Immediately, I’m hit with a swell of powerful energy. At first, I think it’s simply love, of a degree that would put any narcissist to shame. But the more I turn the ‘taste’ of the feelings over, the less sure I am. There’s something far more complicated going on with those emotions—shades and hues, the nature of which I can only guess in my alcohol-fondled state.

Soon enough, Trixie settles our bill and leads me out of the bar. The next part of our evening, she explains to me, is a show. And not just any show.

I squint at the poster outside the Hayrrah’s auditorium as we pass it, bearing the likeness of a mauve unicorn in a dark cloak. “The Marvelous Mirage…” I read.

“Oh, yes,” Trixie replies, levitating a pair of tickets out of her cape. She sighs dreamily. “Our idol. When she heard that he would be doing a show in Las Pegasus at the same time she would be in town, she couldn’t help herself.”

Once inside the auditorium, we make our way to our seats, down close to the stage.

“Have we ever been to one of his shows?” I ask once we’re seated.

It takes her a moment to respond. “When we were a filly.”

I study her face for a moment. Sensing there’s something being left unsaid, I try to decide whether I should press the matter, but apparently we’d gotten there just in the nick of time, because before I have a chance to say anything, the lights dim, and the chatting of the other ponies in the audience dies down to a white noise of excited whispering and hums of anticipation.

Suddenly, a single firework launches into the air, whirling to and fro over our heads, coiling and spinning in a luminous arc. The entire audience, myself included, gape at the dancing point of light, then watch as it turns back toward the stage, splits into three, and each one explodes above it. And there, outlined by the burst of light, stands an equine figure that hadn’t been there before.

We see the figure for but a moment, and then the stage goes dark again. The audience instantly breaks into a round of applause. As the noise dies down, a stallion’s voice, likely amplified by a spell, sounds out in the dark auditorium.

“Welcome, fillies and gentlecolts,” the voice says, mysterious, commanding our attention to the precipice of his every word. “Tonight, you shall bear witness to a display, the likes of which have rarely be seen before. For many years, I have traveled the world, studying magic in all its vast diversity—from the veldts of the Zebrahara to the sands of Saddle Arabia; from the mountain monasteries of the rams to the stampeding grounds of the buffalo.

“Learning these mysteries was no mean feat, but no feat is too mean for…” A whole arsenal of fireworks and sparks burst into the air, filling the auditorium with light. “…the Miraculous Mirage!”

The audience bursts into wild applause, and even from here I can see a smile coiling across his face.

“Let the show begin!” he cries.

And begin it does. For the next hour, he proceeds to perform the most impressive magic show I’ve ever seen, and considering that I live and work in Las Pegasus, I’ve certainly seen my share. From complex acts of telekinesis to invisibility spells, from acts of time travel (his future self assuring him that his show would be a hit) to come-to-life spells (including a dance number involving articles of clothing donated by the audience)—we watch it all in amazement.

It’s particularly impressive to me, though I’ve always been fascinated by unicorn magic in general. It’s far more diverse than changeling magic is. Aside from shape-shifting, all we can manage is elementary telekinesis and, for scouts like me, a couple of offensive spells. But even the average unicorn could magic circles around most changelings in terms of range and power.

But I’m not the only one who’s impressed. I look over at Trixie and take a moment to enjoy the look on her face. Her eyes are wide, unblinking as they reflect light from the stage, and the corners of her open mouth are tugging upwards into a smile. That expression, so filled with almost foal-like wonder, really suits her.

Finally, Mirage takes a moment to address the audience.

“So, how is everypony enjoying themselves so far?”

The crowd cheers and stomps in enthusiastic reply.

The magician hums in approval. “Good, good. Now, for my next feat, I’ll need somepony from the audience.”

Dozens of volunteering hooves dart into the air.

“Oh, dear,” Mirage says in mock surprise. “Perhaps we’d best leave it up to fate.”

His horn launches a single spark of magic into the air, and it whirls around in a spiral before descending towards the audience, until finally it stops… right above Trixie’s head.

“There we are,” Mirage sing-songs as a spotlight comes to rest on the mare to my right, the beacon above her fizzling out. “Come on up, my dear.”

The crowd, despite a few scattered hums of disappointment at not being picked, begins to stomp in applause.

But me? I can only watch Trixie as she sits there, suddenly petrified, her pupils shrunken to pin-pricks. Her hooves are curled around the ends of her chair’s armrest so tightly that I fear she might break them. And radiating off of her: pure, unbridled fear.

“Now, don’t be shy,” Mirage encourages, prompting the audience to cheer louder than ever.

I lean towards her. “Trixie, are you okay?” I say just loud enough for her to hear me.

But she merely continues to sit, unmoving, staring at the stage as if it might swallow her if she walked onto it. I glance up to the stage, just barely able to make out Mirage raising an eyebrow.

What am I supposed to do? My job is to make sure that Trixie has a good night, and that obviously doesn’t include her being put into a situation she isn’t comfortable with.

I have to do something to help her.

“I’ll do it!” I call, standing and raising my hoof. I sense Trixie jolt beside me, as if struck.

“Mmmm,” Mirage hums in a vaguely annoyed tone. “And who are you, miss?”

“I’m, uh…” I cut my eyes in Trixie’s direction. She stares back at me, mouth agape. “I’m her sister.”

“Very well,” Mirage says with a shrug. “Come on up.”

The crowd begins to applaud again. With one final look at Trixie, meeting her wide, conflicted eyes, I turn and begin making my way to the stage. It feels like it takes half an hour to walk up there, everything passing by me in slow motion. Truth is, I’m no more eager to be up there than Trixie was, but I don’t for a second think that my decision was the wrong one. I can still picture the look of terror on Trixie’s face.

Though, I can’t imagine the look on my own face is much different as I step onto the stage and approach Mirage. I try to distract myself with observation. Now that I see him up close, Mirage looks older than he did from the audience—or, for that matter, on the posters outside. He appears to have aged gracefully, however, attaining that look of sophistication peculiar to older stallions. I can practically tell, just from the weathering on his face, that his accounts of his travels were no exaggeration. I’m not sure whether that makes me feel any better being up here.

Finally, I come to a stop, sitting awkwardly on my haunches before the magician.

“So, my dear,” he says. “What is your name?”

I glance into the audience. I can just pick out Trixie among all the other ponies, though I can’t make out her expression from here.

Alright, I think, taking a deep breath. Just stay in character.

“T-Trixie, sir,” I reply.

“And what do you do for a living, Trixie?”

Well crap. Hoping it doesn’t come back to bite me in the flank too much, I say, “I’m, uh… a magician, actually.”

He gives me a smile, as if accepting a challenge. “Is that right? Then I guess you’re familiar with a wide variety of magic?”

I gulp, then nod with as much of Trixie’s usual confidence as I can.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to cast something particularly exotic.”

Okay, I really don’t like the sound of that.

Before I can even react, he reaches forward, grasping my face with his hooves, squishing my cheeks in the process. I can see his horn pulsing with magic above me, but my eyes remain locked with his, more surprised than anything.

“Just remain calm, my dear,” he says.

I can feel something strange happening to my body as his magic dances across it, but I try to do as he instructs, trusting that he won’t try anything untoward with a room full of witnesses.

“Are you calm?” he asks.

I nod, even as the odd sensation continues. Finally breaking eye contact, I try to look back at what’s happening to me, but I can’t turn my head with him holding it.

“That’s good,” he says, his smile turning mischievous. “I’d hate for you to… go to pieces.”

I hear an almost comical pop behind me, followed by the sound of the audience gasping, and I feel a shift in the weight of my body—or rather, I feel a sudden lack of the weight of my body.

“What?” I ask, still trying to turn my head. “What did you do to me?”

“Here, let me show you.”

Then, he turns my head for me, with unsettling ease. In no time at all, I see why.

It takes me a moment to register the sight before me. Namely, the sight of my now headless body standing unsteadily a few feet away, the end of its neck a smooth, rounded stump. In my shock, I subconsciously try to take a step back, which only causes my body to trip and fall onto its back like a turtle.

“Oh my,” Mirage says to the audience. “Looks like she’s getting… ahead of herself.”

The crowd starts laughing and cheering.

“You… you decapitated me?!” I growl.

“Oh, relax,” he says quietly into my ear. “It’s just a trick. They always eat this one up.”

“Yeah, well, a little head’s up would’ve been nice.”

“Really? I thought that’s what I did give you.”

“Yeah, real funny. Now could you put me back together?”

“Hmmm, I have a better idea.”

Before I can say anything else, he turns my head back in his direction, holding it in one hoof like a prop from a Flankspeare play. With his free hoof, he silences the audience.

“Let’s just give her a moment to pull herself together, shall we?” he says. As the audience breaks into another round of cheers, he takes a few steps away from my body and sets my head down on the stage. Addressing my body, he says, “If you want your head back, you’ll have to come and get it.”

Oh. So that’s how it is. Bastard.

Trying to drown out the sounds of the crowd, I focus all my attention on my body, willing myself back onto my hooves. It isn’t easy. Being in two places at once, not to mention facing in two different directions, is really hard on one’s coordination, it turns out. Like trying to direct a giraffe with inner-ear problems through an obstacle course by remote control. Finally, though, I manage to get my body’s legs back under itself and push it up into a standing position…

… only to stagger to one side and fall off the stage. Some combination of instincts works in my favor, though, as my body manages to catch the edge of the stage with its forelegs and hang on for dear life. As the audience bursts into a fit of laughter, I manage to get my body to climb back onto the stage and onto its hooves.

Slowly, carefully, I turn my body, inch by inch, until it’s facing towards my head. Then, I take a cautious step. And then another. It’s slow going, my body continuing to sway like a drunk pony, but soon enough I make it. I know I’ve done it because I end up kicking my own head a little, which only makes the audience laugh harder.

Again: bastard.

I guide my body down onto its haunches and grab my head in my hooves. Trying to ignore the bizarre feeling of holding my own severed head, I slowly turn myself so that I’m facing toward the smug magician.

“Okay,” I say. “Now fix me.”

“Just put your head back where it belongs, and the spell will cancel itself.”

I roll my eyes, but do as he says, raising my head toward the end of my neck. I nearly drop my head a couple of times, and I somehow end up smacking my chin against my shoulder, but finally I find my mark.

Just as Mirage said, as soon as the two ends of my neck meet, there’s a flash of light and I’m whole once more. That doesn’t stop me from inspecting myself, however, just to be sure.

“Well done,” he says, patting my shoulder. He turns to the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Miss Trixie. She’s been a good sport.”

The crowd starts stomping their hooves in applause. With one finally glare at the magician, I step off the stage and in the direction of my seat. I’m about half-way there when I notice that there, beside my empty seat, is another empty seat.

Trixie—the real Trixie—is gone.

Panic swelling within me, I pan my vision across the auditorium, searching for some sign of my client among the row after row of heads that have forgotten about me by now, their attention drawn to the stage behind me. Finally, my eyes settle on the exit.

“Aw crap…” I mutter.

I break into a gallop, barely noticed by the other ponies. Bursting out the doors and into the hallway outside, I search for Trixie as the doors close behind me. Then, I spot her. She sitting down the hall a ways, leaning against a wall and facing away from me.

I approach her slowly. “Trixie? Are you alright?”

She looks over her shoulder at me but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Her expression more distant and lifeless than I’d have thought possible just an hour ago.

“Yeah…” she says. Call me crazy, but I don’t believe her. She stands up and begins walking away. “Let’s go.”

I watch her for a moment, tonguing the inside of my cheek, then jog to catch up with her. I fall in step beside her, and the two of us walk out of Hayrrah’s and into the cool desert night.

We’ve been walking for a while now. I don’t know where we’re going, but our wandering doesn’t seem altogether aimless. I don’t question it, though, simply sticking by Trixie’s side, the sound of our hoof-falls filling the quiet sidewalks and alleyways some blocks away from the hustle of the Las Pegasus Stirrup. My client, for her part, hasn’t spoken a word, but it’s a silence that suggests deep thought rather than discomfort, so I let it be.

I try to give her a little space, to respect her apparent desire to be left to her thoughts, but my efforts only serve to bring my own thoughts to the fore. What’s eating her? Is it something I did? And most importantly: What can I do to make her feel better?

I don’t have the answer to these questions. There is only one thing I can think to say.

“I’m sorry.”

Trixie flinches from the sound of my voice, her thoughts seemingly derailed. She looks at me inquisitively. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

She raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For tonight. I was supposed to show you a good time, and I blew it.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” she assures me. “If anything, Trixie drug you into her mess. Her… issues… are her problem, not yours.”

I study her face as we continue to trot down the sidewalk. Finally, I say, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugs. “Trixie wouldn’t want to unload it all on you.”

“Hey, I’m you,” I say through a grin. “If you can’t talk to me, then who can you talk to?”

She scoffs bitterly. “You have no idea.”

I quirk an eyebrow in her direction, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

She sighs, then says, “Trixie told you she’s been to one of Mirage’s shows before? Well, that’s not all. He used to hold these magic seminars for foals—show them some tricks, inspire them, and so forth. Naturally, after seeing his show first-hoof, Trixie wanted to go more than anything. He was her hero.” Her ears fold back against her head. “Needless to say, it didn’t go as she’d hoped.”

“What happened?” I ask after some moments of silence.

“Trixie embarrassed herself,” she says with a snort. “Maybe it was just nerves, but she couldn’t do anything right. Can you imagine what it’s like? To be told by your idol that you’d never amount to anything, magically? That you’d be better off finding some other dream?”

I gape at her. “How old were you?”

“Just a foal. Trixie didn’t even have her cutie mark yet. Naturally, she was devastated.” Her gaze drifts upwards to those few stars intrepid enough to fight their way through the light pollution overhead. “But she just couldn’t stop thinking about magic. And one day, she did get her cutie mark. That’s when everything changed. She thought Mirage must have made some kind of mistake, and she decided that she was going to become a great magician. To prove Mirage wrong.”

Outwardly, I merely hum in understanding. But inwardly, I’m not sure what to think. Building one’s entire life off a vendetta doesn’t seem very healthy.

As if sensing my thoughts, Trixie continues, “She eventually outgrew her resentment towards Mirage. If anything, she came to be thankful to him, for being the catalyst that set her on her life’s purpose. And through it all, he remained her idol, the magician she virtually modeled herself after. But the energy she used being angry with him became something else. An obsession—a need to be the best magician in Equestria. She thought if she just believed in herself hard enough, she could do it. She told herself—over and over and over again—that she was a great magician. That she was powerful. Eventually, she started to believe it, and that belief became her rock.

“Trixie was so single-minded about it all that everything else in her life… just stopped being important to her. She dropped out of school. She left home, and broke her parents’ hearts. She lost touch with all her old friends. She started travelling from town to town—doing her shows, honing her craft, all on her lonesome. But she told myself it was okay, that as long as she was the best magician in Equestria, it was alright to be alone. She thought that was the price one has to pay for greatness.

“And she went about her life, content, until…” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. A few deep breaths, then: “Never mind. That’s not important. Suffice to say, she took a blow or two to her confidence. And what happened tonight… was just another straw on the camel’s back, as it were. Mirage’s beacon picked Trixie, and… she just froze. She finally had a chance to prove herself to him after all these years, and she couldn’t do it. She was almost relieved when you volunteered in her place, but then…”

I wince, remembering what I’d gone through on that stage. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. Like Trixie said, it wasn’t your fault. It’s just… It was like watching Trixie’s own nightmare. All those laughing ponies. That smug look on Mirage’s face. She just had to get away.”

“I can understand that,” I say with a nod.

Suddenly, Trixie comes to a stop, and I follow suit.

“Well, here we are,” she says, motioning with her head at a slightly run-down hotel to our left. My eyebrows furrow as I take the place in. I’ve been in far seedier places than this, to be sure, but I still find myself surprised that Trixie would settle for a place like this.

“Thanks for walking Trixie here,” she says, her ears laying back. “And thanks for a mostly enjoyable evening. Sorry Trixie ruined it.” With one final glance in my direction, she steps toward the hotel.

For a second, I merely watch her, chewing the inside of my cheek.

Then: “Trixie, wait.”

She stops, turning to look at me over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Our eyes meet, and I come to a decision.

I step toward her and throw my forelegs around her neck, hugging her with all the warmth and acceptance that I can muster. I feel her tense against me, but I hold tight.

I move my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Please don’t be so hard on yourself, Trixie. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be great. It’s something we should all aspire to. Don’t let past failures convince you to stop trying. We all deserve to have dreams.”

I feel her own forelegs wrap around me, returning the embrace, her body trembling slightly.

“Trixie’s made so many mistakes…” she whispers back to me.

“So have I. Believe me.” I give a mirthless chuckle. “We all make mistakes, but…” I stop, remembering a sun-kissed Mexicoltan restaurant and a smiling friend. “W-we… we all deserve… a chance to be happy.” Moisture obscures my vision. “We just have to b-believe it.”

Her grip around me tightens, her voice barely audible now. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

Her use of the first person nearly startles me. Smiling, I raise a hoof and stroke her mane. “You just have to let other ponies in. You have to let them see who you really are—the good and the bad. But before you can do that, you have to be honest with yourself.”

Gently, she pulls away from me, our eyes meeting again. I see something pass across her eyes, like clouds across the surface of a lake. Then, in an instant, she leans forward and presses her lips against my own. The motion catches me off guard, but I close my eyes and return the kiss all the same, pushing away the nagging thought of what others might think if they saw too identical mares kissing. The slow, cautious dance of our tongues helps drown out the thoughts, and by the time we pull apart, I’m nearly breathless.

As she looks at me again, I can just make out a blush in the dim light.

“Would… would you like to come to my room?” she asks, avoiding my eyes.

I simply nod, still reeling from the kiss.

With a smile, she grabs my hoof with her own and leads me toward the hotel.

I collapse on the hotel bed, biting my lip as Trixie crawls on top of me. She lays down atop me, her blue belly pressing against my own, and kisses me again with gusto.

It would be easy to lose myself in the passion, but I’m a professional. And in this sort of situation, it pays to keep your wits about you. What, exactly, was Trixie hoping to get from all this? I doubt it’s just about animal sex. It rarely is. And who is she making love to, exactly? Herself? The stranger who had offered her words of kindness? Both?

Hoping to find answers, I take a pull of her emotions, feeling the same conflicted, ambiguous mess as before—notes of bitterness and self-loathing moving to the fore. But these feelings do little to calm the storm of her lips and tongue and roving hooves. They might even be driven by the feelings, for all I know. Ponies are complicated creatures.

She finally breaks away from the kiss, moving up to my ear to nibble on it. Needless to say, it doesn’t exactly aid my concentration. After a delightful moment, she removes her teeth and whispers, “Take me.”

“Hmm?” I grunt, fighting off a daze.

“Please, take me.”

I move so that I can see her eyes. There’s hunger in them. Yearning.

I know what I have to do.

I grab her with my hooves and, in one fluid motion, roll her onto her back, with me on top now. It’s my turn to kiss, pouring all my practice and experience into it. She moans in delight, a tone that only rises as my hoof finds her lower lips and begins stroking in circular, teasing motions. A few more seconds, and I end the kiss, occupying my mouth instead with little licks and kisses to her neck, relishing in the feeling of Trixie squirming underneath me. Inch by inch, my mouth moves down her body and between her legs, until finally I’m rewarded with the inviting sight of her dripping, winking vagina.

Just as I’m about to tuck in and go to town, I stop. Glancing up along her torso, I meet her eyes, noting the sheer desperation in them. I can sense, even through the fog of our shared list, that Trixie needs more than a good tongue lashing. What she needs is a good fucking.

Pardon my Prench.

She lets out a whimper as I extract myself from between her legs, but I silence her with another kiss, gentler this time. She reluctantly melts into it, her impatience practically tangible.

And as we kiss, I get to work.

What I’m about to do is a little risky. If nothing else, it could very well break the illusion. But in this line of work, I’ve learned that risks sometimes pay off. And in this particular situation, I think it might be worth it.

So, I concentrate my changeling magic between my legs, continuing to kiss as a new appendage suddenly appears there, growing inch by inch. I’ve assumed the role of a stallion enough times that I don’t have to give it much thought, and soon enough it prods against Trixie’s thigh.

With a gasp, she pulls away from my lips, casting a glance down at my new endowment. Some nebulous mix of excitement and confusion passes over her face.

“H-how…?”

“Shhh,” I say, placing a hoof against her lips. “We’re magicians, aren’t we?”

I feel a smile against my hoof, and she nods.

“And you’re alright with this?” I ask.

Another nod.

“Alright.” I glance down, lining everything up. “Here we go…”

“Wait!” Trixie says, causing me to jump a little. “Hold on a sec.”

Pushing me away gently, she stands up and turns around, looking over her shoulder as she flicks her tail to the side, presenting herself to me.

Ah. So she wants a good, old fashioned rutting? Well, I can certainly oblige.

I mount her carefully, leaning against her back and wrapping my forelegs around her barrel. I position myself so that I feel her opening against the tip of my member, and then, I slide in.

I feel her body quiver beneath me, shot through with pleasure as I sink myself into her slowly. I stop when I’m about halfway in, and then slam myself in to the hilt, drawing a gasp from her lungs. Holding myself inside her, I lean forward and lick her ear.

“Ready?” I ask.

“G-goddess, yes.”

With a grin, I pull out and slam back inside, then repeat the process, building a rhythm and enjoying the sound of the contact of flesh. I nuzzle my face into her silvery mane as I continue to thrust, fighting to keep in control of the pleasure as her insides ripple and squeeze around me. It’s always interesting experiencing sex from a male’s point of view. It’s not necessarily better or worse than the pleasure a female experiences, but just different enough to make these occasional forays into gender-bending something to look forward to.

But I’m not doing this for me. Not directly, as least.

And so, I redouble my efforts, my muscles starting to burn under the unfamiliar mechanics of thrusting my hips like I am. It’s worth it, though. Trixie’s moans form a carnal crescendo, and I can feel her legs trembling under the effort to keep her upright.

As is often the case when I don male genitalia, I feel myself drawing to the edge far too quickly for my liking. But I can tell Trixie isn’t far off herself, so I go for it.

Gritting my teeth, I press my face into her shoulder and hold on tight as an orgasm erupts through me. A flood of cum—or cum-like substance, rather; even changeling magic can’t produce functioning sperm—gushes into Trixie. I continue rutting her even as I cum, and the combination of the movement and the warmth filling her promptly sends Trixie over the edge. Her legs finally give out on her, and she collapses beneath me. Without her body to support me, I fall right down with her, the two of us reduced to a pile of spent mare.

Sliding my penis out of her, I roll off of her. Trixie, for her part, still in the throes of her orgasm, covers her face with a foreleg, little whimpers cutting through her panting. I take the opportunity to get rid of my member in a flash of green.

I shimmy over to Trixie’s side and cuddle up against her. Instantly, she wraps her arms around me and rests her head on my chest.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I kiss her forehead and say, “Hey, we deserve it.”

She gives a faint chuckle, but otherwise remains silent. Within minutes, I hear the faint sound of her snoring. With her hugging me like this, I’m effectively stuck. I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I decide to make myself comfortable.

Curious, I open myself to her emotions.

I smile at what I find.

The complicated feelings aren’t entirely gone, but they’re covered by a warm blanket of contentment. There’s love there, too. Not romantic or sexual love, but something else. Something like acceptance.

I wake up to a faceful of sunlight. Blinking, I shield my eyes with a hoof and take in my surroundings. The hotel room doesn’t look any better in the morning. I don’t have any time to dwell on it, though, as I spot Trixie sitting by the window. She turns and looks at me with a smile.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Morning,” I grunt in reply.

She turns and looks back out the window.

I sit up in the bed and rub the sleep from my eyes. “You been up long?” I ask.

“Not too long. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?”

The visibly tongues the inside of her cheek. “My life,” she says finally. “Last night you said I needed to be honest with myself. I think… I think you hit the nail on the head with that one.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. You and I are a lot alike, you know.” She turns and smiles at me again, this time a little sadly. “We’re both illusionists. And… I think I’ve used a lot of my smoke and mirrors on myself for a long… long time. Even last night, in a way, was an extension of the lies I tell myself.”

I feel my ears folding back against my head. “I’m sorry…”

She gets up and walks close enough to place a hoof on my shoulder. “Don’t be. Last night was… really nice. I think I needed it. So thank you.” She turns away, using her magic to levitate some of her belongings into a suitcase. “ But… but I think I’m ready for something else. I think I’m ready to face the cold, hard light of reality.”

I watch her as she continues to pack, then climb out of bed, taking my turn to touch her shoulder. When she turns to face me, I pull her into one last hug.

“Reality isn’t always cold and hard, Trixie. It can be really, really warm, so long as we have someone to share it with.”

As we pull apart, Trixie avoids my eyes. “Yeah. I just have to learn how, is all. All I know is the illusion.”

Something icy crawls through my veins.

“I understand,” I say with complete and cutting honesty.

I step into my apartment, still wearing Trixie’s form, and walk lethargically across the living room.

The whole bus ride back, my mind had been a tempest of activity. Everything I’d said to her—all my advice, all my ‘wisdom’, half of it remembered in Tanssi’s voice—had bounced around in my brain like a spiked pinball.

Did I really, actually believe any of what I’d said?

Maybe I didn’t. I am an actress, after all. I’d just been trying to help. To do my job.

I approach my trusty mirror and look into it, Trixie’s visage looking right back.

A ghostly voice echoes through my memory:

We all deserve a chance to be happy.

With a flash of green, my reflection changes. A wretched creature with a black, chitinous shell and blue eyes looks back at me like a scolded dog. Ever so slowly, I raise a porous hoof and touch it to the mirror.

I guess, when I get down to it, I don’t even know what I believe anymore.

With a sigh, I turn away from the mirror and put up my usual disguise.

To be continued...

Propriety

Author's Note

Disclaimer: This chapter contains an incestuous pairing.

Propriety

I’d known that Las Pegasus was in the desert, or course, but I was still surprised by just how hot it was. Granted, changelings tended to prefer heat over cold, but this was just miserable. Maybe it was all the fur. Say what you want about changelings, but chitin had its advantages.

I glanced across the sun-beaten train platform, watching as my guard escort, Silver Thorn, conversed with some stocky, humorless-looking stallion from the escort service. The two were looking over a bundle of paperwork, Silver Thorn indicating places for the other stallion to sign.

Figuring they might be a while, I made my way over to a nearby newsstand and took shelter in its shade. After wiping the sweat from my brow—another thing changelings didn’t have to deal with, thank you very much—I glanced at one of the newspapers, knowing from my old infiltrations that they usually included a weekly weather schedule. Today’s high? One-hundred and one. Tomorrow? One-hundred and three.

I blinked at the hateful numbers, a growl rumbling deep in my throat. A very faint part of my mind began to wonder if maybe I’d made a mistake in coming here, but a simple glance in Silver Thorn’s direction silenced it pretty handily.

No, a little bit of heat is a fair trade for what I hoped to find here.

Suddenly, a unicorn stallion in a suit stepped up beside me, reaching for a newspaper. Seeing a chance to reach out to one of my ‘fellow’ Equestrians, I gave him my toothiest grin. “Can you believe those temperatures?” I asked, nudging his side with my elbow. “Pegasi, amirite?”

He gave me an awkward glance. “Uh… I guess?”

He passed a bit over to the owner of the newsstand and shuffled off without looking back.

I shrugged. “Guess he was in a hurry.”

I turned back to the newspapers, deciding to check out the headlines. This was my new country, after all. Far be it from me to be out of the loop.

As soon as I saw the headline, I had second thoughts. Perhaps Out-of-the-Loop might be just the place for me after all. Because right there, staring back at me from the newspaper, was a terribly familiar face—a pink face, with a long horn, lavender eyes, and a tri-colored mane. It wore a smile more sweet than Chrysalis could ever hope to imitate, and it was like all of my mistakes joining forces to slap me in the face. Images of wedding bells and white dresses and screaming ponies flitted through my mind.

With a trembling hoof, I reached out and lifted the paper, reading it over. Truth be told, I found it hard to concentrate on the story, such was the panic attack I seemed to be suffering, but there was something about a lost kingdom in the north and ponies made out of crystal and an evil unicorn king, as well as something about the bearers of the Elements of Harmony.

As I skimmed the story, a feeling of dread settled into my stomach like nausea. Was this how the rest of my life was going to be? My past constantly looking over my shoulder, poisoning my attempts to move on and do better? Was there no escape? Was there n—?

“This isn’t a library, you know,” the gruff voice of the stand’s owner said, cutting through the tempest of thoughts rampaging through my mind. With a start, I returned the newspaper to its place on the shelf, muttered an apology, and hurried away, barely noticing the heat now in my rattled state.

So distracted was I by what I’d just seen that I ran face-first into a stallion’s chest.

“Oomf!” I fell back on my haunches, reaching up to rub my nose. “S-sorry…” I muttered nasally. “I should’ve been looking where I was…” I finally looked up to the stallion’s face, recognizing him as the escort service’s representative. My words died on my tongue as he looked at me with a faint sort of indifference.

“Naamari, right?” he droned.

I bit my lip. “Um… y-yes?”

“Good. The name’s Middleman, and I’m with Persona Escort Services. Welcome to Las Pegasus.”

He extended a hoof towards me, causing me to flinch a little. He raised an eyebrow at me, and it took me a moment to realize he wasn’t trying to hit me. Remembering that this was a pony method of greeting, I reached out with my own hoof and awkwardly bumped it against his.

“Right,” he said, turning away. “Follow me.”

He began to trot off, and I did as I was told, slinking along in his wake.

As we crossed the train platform, I looked over my shoulder, watching as Silver Thorn moved back toward the train for the ride back to Canterlot. He must have noticed me in the corner of his eyes or something, because he turned in my direction, our eyes meeting across the platform. For a second, we just stared at each other. Finally, I gave him a timid wave, which he met with a nod, and what might have been a tiny smile. And then, we turned away and out of each other’s lives. I silently bid him farewell and good luck. He deserved to find his happiness.

Not two minutes of trotting later, Middleman and I stepped out of the train station and into the bustling streets of downtown Las Pegasus. Right away the noise and the bustle and the sheer number of ponies hit me like a wave, but I weathered it, tilting my chin up as best I could.

I might have been nervous. I might have been intimidated. I might have been plagued by guilt over my past. But, for better or worse, I was home.

All in all, I was feeling pretty good.

In the two years following my arrival in Las Pegasus, I’ve come to take weather schedules for granted. So much so, in fact, that I rarely take the time to look at them at all. The weather in this city isn’t very diverse, after all, and a rainy day is a rare thing.

Therefore, today’s downpour catches me entirely off guard. And naturally, it starts right in the middle of my quick dinner at a nearby Hayburger.

The journey home is a… soggy one, to put it mildly. By the time I get back to my block, I’m soaked to the bone and shivering. In the corner of my eye, I spot Mare Green’s, and I instantly veer in that direction, figuring that a cappuccino would be just the thing to warm me up. I duck under the awning in front of the café, shaking myself like a dog to dry my coat and taking a moment to wring my mane and tail out with my hooves. Once I looked less like an otter and more like a pony, I step into the enveloping warmth of my little urban oasis.

Arabica spots me right away. “Hey there, Naamari,” she says, her normally vivacious voice a little more subdued than usual. “What are you doing out and about in this weather?”

I dry my hooves on the mat before approaching the counter, taking a moment to look over the otherwise empty coffee shop. “Oh, I’m just on my way home from supper. Thought I’d grab something warm on the way back.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. What can I get for you?”

“Just a cappuccino, please.”

With a tiny smile and a nod, she gets to it.

Shifting a little on my hooves, I glance back towards the restrooms. “Just leave it on the counter, okay? I gotta use the little filly’s room.”

“Wait!” she says suddenly.

I freeze mid-turn, looking back at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh…” She cuts her eyes toward the restroom. “Can’t you just wait a little? I’ll have this cappuccino ready in a jiff.”

I blink at her. “I kinda have to pee, Arabica. Rather badly, in fact. I mean, I could just go on the floor if you’d prefer, but I figured it would easier to use a toilet like a civilized creature.”

She bites her lip, blushing slightly. “Well, of course. Sorry. Go ahead. Just… never mind.”

I stare at her for another couple of seconds, then continue to the restroom, shrugging off her odd behavior. Maybe the slow work day is getting to her. Boredom can mess with your head.

Once in the mares’ restroom, I step into one of the stalls and close the door. As I do my business, I begin to notice little noises in the stall beside mine. No, not those kinds of noises. More like… tiny sniffles and sobs.

Is somepony crying in there? Is that why Arabica wanted me to wait?

Naturally, I try not to dwell on it. This isn’t one of my clients. She’s a stranger. It’s neither my business, nor my place to meddle. But—call me a softy—I can’t help but feel a little twinge of sympathy. It’s hard to imagine a worse way to spend an evening than crying in a coffee shop bathroom with rain pattering against the window panes. Of course, who am I to talk? My exciting evening consisted of a meal of greasy fast food.

Nevertheless, I just can’t help myself. As I step out of the stall and begin to wash my hooves, I take a sip of the emotions coming out of the other stall.

Right away, sadness hits me like a sack filled with bricks. Except… it’s something more than sadness. This is sorrow. Despair. A feeling of emptiness, like a sucking hole. The strength of it catches me off guard, and I literally stagger to the side. But more than anything else, my attention is stolen by something else in those emotions. Something familiar.

Something I only recall sensing in one other pony.

Eyes wide, I slowly step toward the door of the stall. The pitiful sounds fall silent, as if the pony inside can sense me standing here. More likely, she can merely see my hooves under the door. Thunder roars through the sky outside, but it barely cuts through the sound of blood rushing through my ears, and the beating of a changeling’s version of a heart.

Every so often, you come to a crossroads, and you know that your decision in that moment will echo through your life like the thunder outside, for better or for worse. This, I can tell, for reasons that aren’t clear even to me, is one of those moments. I stare at the door as if it were a gate in some massive, fortified wall. I’ll admit that I’m more than a little afraid of that wall, but what I can sense on the other side pulls too strongly for my fear to stand a shadow of a chance.

I raise my hoof, and I knock on the door.

A tiny, heartbreaking voice issues from the other side. “Occupied...”

The voice confirms what I already knew.

I swallow a lump down my throat, then say, “Aletheia?”

A moment of teetering silence passes, followed by the sound of the door unlocking. It opens, and there she is. Her mane is a mess, likely from the rain. Her eyes are red and puffy, and the fur on her cheeks is wet and matted from tears. She looks like some kind of pitiful, wounded animal, and yet, I can’t take my eyes off of her.

“Naamari?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I was just stopping by. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, watching as her ears fold back in embarrassment. I put a hoof on her shoulder. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

With a sigh, she steps out of the stall and past me, my hoof sliding off her shoulder as she moves away.

“I had a date tonight,” she says finally. She looks at herself in the mirror, instantly grimacing. “Oh, for the love of Celestia…” She turns on the water and begins to wash her face.

“A date?” I feel something unpleasant churn within me. I recognize it as anger, but that does nothing to assuage it. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?!”

Her eyes in the mirror turn in my direction, widening as if in surprise at my reaction. She appears to search my face for a second before she resumes her freshening up. “No, it’s nothing like that. He was a perfect gentlecolt.”

Anger gives way to relief, then to confusion. “Then… what’s wrong?” I watch with fascination as her efforts gradually replace the distraught mess I’d found in the stall with the lovely mare I’d met a few weeks ago.

Seemingly satisfied with her appearance, she sighs. “It’s me. I’m what’s wrong.”

“You?” I say incredulously, sitting down on my haunches. “What do you mean?”

Following my lead, she takes a seat, closing her eyes and massaging the base of her horn as she responds.

“I thought I was ready.” Her voice is so very, very small. “I thought I was ready to get out there and meet somepony. He asked me out a few days ago while I was working, and I just couldn’t believe it. Part of me was terrified, but I forced myself to say yes. I thought it would be good for me.” She gives a mirthless chuckle. “I was so nervous leading up to the date that I was almost nauseous. But part of me was looking forward to it, too. You know?”

I give her a sympathetic nod.

She sighs, staring off into the distance, as if through the walls themselves. “Then, during our date, I… I just couldn’t stop thinking about…” She trails off, her eyes moistening. “That poor stallion. I can only imagine what he thinks of me now. I just hope he doesn’t take it personally.” She turns back towards me. “I was distant, distracted. We had only just gotten our appetizers when I got up and bolted. I couldn’t bear going back to my empty apartment, so I just… ended up here. I offered to help Arabica, just to take my mind off of it, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

She wipes her eyes before giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry for unloading all of this on you, Naamari. I already vented to Arabica, but I guess I didn’t get it all out.”

I act without thinking. I stand, walk over to her, and wrap my forelegs around her, pouring all the support and comfort my black little heart can muster into a ferocious hug. Her body goes rigid in my embrace, but she doesn’t push me away.

I move my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Don’t apologize. You’re hurting, and I’m… I’m here for you. That’s what fr-friends do, right?”

Her body relaxes, and ever so slowly, she returns the hug.

“I’m just so tired of being alone,” she whispers back. “I’m so tired of having to pretend to be happy all the time, like nothing ever bothers me.” I feel droplets of moisture land on my shoulder. “But when I finally have a chance to change things, to not be so alone… Why can’t I just let myself be happy?”

I don’t say anything at first, simply tightening my hug a little, offering her whatever I could. And bless her heart, she accepts it. I don’t know the answer to her question. How a creature like this can be so lonely is beyond my comprehension. She deserves a life brimming with love. But I can sense that she isn’t telling me something, and if I had to guess, it’s something she rarely brings up to anyone. It’s buried deep, and swirling around it like water down a drain is the same strange emotional note I’ve always sensed in her. I don’t pretend to understand the depths of it, and if she prefers to keep it to herself, that’s her business.

I can’t force her to reveal her secrets. All I can do is give advice, from one wounded animal to another.

“I know what it’s like to be alone,” I say finally, idly giving her mane a stroke with my hoof. “And I know what it’s like to pretend. We all have masks we show to the world; that’s only natural. But I’ve come to believe that… that if we want to find love, we have to trust someone enough to see behind that mask. It’s not always easy, but it’s the only way, I think.”

Like a fog bank drifting over the cold earth, she pulls away from me slowly, looking into my eyes. Her lips move as if to form words, but no sound comes out. Then, before I can react, those lips move forward and capture my own.

It’s my turn to go rigid, sitting there like an idiot for several seconds, wide-eyed and mystified by this turn of events until, finally, my eyes flutter closed and I feebly begin to return the kiss. It’s a simple, innocent sort of kiss, and yet I find myself bombarded with Aletheia’s emotions. It’s not love. It’s not even lust. But more like hope. Like a crumbling kingdom’s first expedition into an undiscovered country.

I bask in those emotions. They’re not strong or nourishing enough to feed me for long, but they’re warm and sincere and somehow more satisfying than anything I’ve tasted in a long time.

As suddenly as it began, the kiss ends, and the two of us pull apart. Aletheia opens her eyes and looks at me. Then, as if her brain finally catches up with her, she gasps, covering her mouth with her hooves.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I… I-I didn’t mean to… I mean, it just sorta happ—”

“It’s alright,” I insist with a shaky smile, still trying to wrap my head around it all. “I’d be lying if I said you didn’t catch me off guard, but…”

‘But…’ what? What is this lingering thought in the back of my mind? And why does it frighten me so badly?

Aletheia bites her lip, watching my face with wide eyes. “So… we’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I touch a hoof to my lips. “Just fine.” I meet her eyes, and we spend a quiet moment regarding each other.

As a changeling, I’m left in an unusual position. I’m used to prodding the emotions of others, but at the moment, I can’t see past my own emotions. Confusion? Excitement? Panic? I’m not sure how to deal with all of these feelings, nor do I have any compass with which to navigate their meaning.

Might it really be possible that there could be something between me and this pony?

This pony…

With a jerk, I stand up, breaking our eye contact. “We ought to head back out before Arabica thinks we fell in,” I say, forcing a chuckle.

“Y-yeah, you’re right,” she replies with a quavering voice.

I give her a moment to get herself together, and the two of us make our way out of the restroom, Arabica audibly sighing with relief when she sees us.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, eyes darting back and forth between the two of us.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Aletheia says. “We just got to talking.” I can feel her eyes lingering in my direction. “Naamari here gave me some advice.”

“Oh?”

I avoid their eyes, reaching for my cappuccino and taking a sip, finding it already tepid. How long had we been in there? I swallow as much as I can stand, then set the cup down and make my way for the exit, fighting the urge to hurry.

“I’d better head on home,” I say without stopping. “You two have a good night.”

“Um, Naamari?”

With a wince, I stop and look over my shoulder.

Aletheia stands there, fidgeting on her hooves. It’s hard to tell in the café’s low, warm light, but I could almost swear she’s blushing.

“I, uh…” she begins. “I w-was just wondering if you’d like to…”

I’ve heard that just before a lightning strike, one can feel a tingly, staticky sensation in the air. That’s the best approximation of what I feel when I realize what she’s trying to say.

“I mean, if you wouldn’t mind, of course…” she stammers on, oblivious to my shrunken pupils. “Do you think you might want to go sometime and—”

The bell above the door jingles, causing all three of us to jump. I turn and look, finding the familiar form of Middleman standing in the doorway. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see the big lug.

“Hey, you!” I say with an awkward, exaggerated grin. “What’s up?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at me, then at the two mares, then back to me. “Uh… I was just on my way to your place, and… I happened to notice you in here.”

I take a step toward him. “Work thing?”

“Work thing.”

“Oh, darn,” I say without even a smidgen of sincerity. I give one last glance to Aletheia and Arabica, talking even as I start to follow Middleman out the door. “Well, I’d better see what this is about. Goodnight, girls.”

Arabica waves, but Aletheia…

Aletheia just lowers her head, ears folding back against her head. So quietly I can barely hear it: “Goodnight, Naamari.”

In that instant, I remember everything she’d told me in the restroom—her loneliness, and her desire to fill it. She’d bared her heart to me, and how had I reacted when she tried following the advice I myself had given her? I’d latched onto the first excuse that came along and hurried away. What kind of a friend did that make me?

I could still do something about it. I could still turn around, run over to her, and accept her invitation. A part of me even wants to, more than I’m prepared to deal with.

Instead, I walk right out the door and into the rain.

Rain drums against the roof of the taxi as it rolls down the street, drawn by a hopefully well-paid stallion in a black poncho. With the uncharacteristic rain, and the night wearing away one hour at a time, most sensible ponies are shut away safe and dry in their homes. So it is that the flash of green light in the taxi’s windows goes unobserved.

I take a moment to examine my new form, light from the passing streetlights washing over the white coat and the toned musculature beneath it.

“I don’t—” I begin before cutting myself off. I clear my throat, then try again, my voice much deeper this time. “I don’t like this.”

“Yeah,” Middleman says, gazing out the carriage window with his cheek resting on his hoof. “It must be bizarre, turning into a dude.”

“No, not that.” I pause, giving it some thought. “Well, okay, not only that.” I shift in my seat to adjust… things, before continuing. “But really. All these anonymous clients are starting to freak me out. Especially when I play somepony like Shining freaking Armor.” I indicate my current visage with a frown, even though Middleman isn’t looking. “It’s only a matter of time before I wind up with somepony who wants to hurt me.”

“Weren’t you, like, some elite agent of the changeling army?”

“Well… it was nothing so official-sounding, but more or less. What’s your point?”

“My point,” he replies, finally facing me, “Is that if anypony tried to pick a fight with you, something tells me they would be in more trouble than you would.”

“Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But still. It just makes me nervous, you know?” I take my turn to look out the window, trying to ignore my reflection, both foreign and distressingly familiar. “I already feel weird enough when I imitate his wife. All things considered, it just… doesn’t feel right. It cuts a little too close to the bone for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you changelings really screwed the two of them over, didn’t you?”

I snort, my breath fogging the glass. “Not really. But we did our damndest. And it’s the thought that counts, as they say.”

A pregnant pause fills the cab. Then:

“Don’t worry, Naamari.” His voice is uncharacteristically warm, almost gentle. “It’s probably just some horny mare with fantasies of bedding the Captain of the Royal Guard. There’s no way it’d get back to Shining Armor, or his wife, or anypony involved in that whole mess.”

I sigh, but nonetheless fling a tiny smile into the passing night. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess I’m just… on edge tonight.”

Another pause, briefer this time.

“Does it have anything to do with that mare in the coffee shop?”

I flinch, cutting my eyes towards Middleman. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know,” he says with a small smirk. “I could tell there was something there. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything too important.”

I meet his smirk with a deadpan expression. “No, you didn’t,” I lie.

“So, there’s nothing between you, then?”

I turn away again. “There can’t be.”

Yet another pause, though I can sense that Middleman’s eager to fill it. Just as he draws in a breath to speak, the carriage pulls to a stop, the view out the window settling on a small, empty park. I hear him release the breath, and the moment thankfully passes.

“This is it, huh?” I say, eager to shepherd in a new topic.

“Yep.”

“Well,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “It certainly sets my mind at ease to meet with my mysterious client in a dark, unoccupied park in an out-of-the-way neighborhood at night.”

“Look, Naamari. If you’re really that uncomfortable with it, you don’t have t—”

“No, it’s alright. I just feel like kvetching.”

“And how, exactly, is that different from any other day?”

“Mmm, touché.” I take a moment to look myself over before giving Middleman a sultry gaze. “So, how do I look, lover boy?”

I must be going crazy, because I swear that Middleman blushes. “Like the impetus of many confusing dreams to come,” he grunts. “So thank you for that.”

“Anytime,” I say, blowing him a kiss.

With that, I step out of the taxi with a chuckle, taking a moment to watch as it rolls away before stepping toward the modest fountain in the park’s center. The park is abandoned, so far as I can tell in the faint light of a few nearby gas lamps. All I can hear is the gentle patter of the rain, punctuated by my louder-than-usual hoof-falls.

It always takes me a while to get used to wearing a stallion’s body—its size and its weight and its apparent difficulty in moving with any semblance of grace. Not to mention the—ahem!—extra luggage stowed in the undercarriage. The rain doesn’t help, either. My waterlogged coat only seems to accentuate the flexing of all my muscles as I walk. I don’t know whether to feel awkward, or like some kind of walking testament to unbridled masculinity.

Finally, I arrive at the fountain, only to find that nopony is there. I look back and forth, then call, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Only silence answers me.

I snort, then shake my head to get the soaked strands of my mane out of my eyes. It would’ve been nice if Middleman had given me an umbrella or something.

“Alright,” I say out loud, as if in warning to my client. “I’ll give you ten minutes, and then I’m out of here.”

As it turns out, I only have to wait three.

A flash of light and an accompanying pop behind me causes me to jump nearly a foot in the air, and I whip around to find a cloaked figure facing me. For a brief moment, we regard each other, until the figure gives a tiny nod, reaches a purple foreleg out of its cloak, and grabs my hoof.

“Hey, wait!” I have a bad feeling about this. “What are you—?”

POP!

The next thing I know, my legs give out on me, and I collapse to a hard, stone floor. I fight a swell of bile back down my throat and try to stand, my knees wobbling under my weight as I clamber back onto my hooves. On the upside, it’s not raining anymore.

“Okay, that was unpleasant!” I sputter, fortunately having the wherewithal to do so in Shining Armor’s voice.

I open my eyes, then widen them as an entirely new setting presents itself to me: A large, elegant chamber with high ceilings and vaguely crystalline walls. A chandelier above provides warm illumination, as well as the unmistakable impression that this isn’t a common pony’s house. In fact, it looks more like a palace than a home.

“Sorry,” a voice, that of a mare, pipes up behind me. With a start, I turn toward her. “I guess I could’ve given you some warning.”

She lowers her hood, and when I see her face, I literally do a double-take. My body freezes on the spot, hooves seemingly fused to the floor. I stare at her for several awkward seconds as my brain struggles to process the information it’s being given, refusing to accept the reality it’s being confronted with: That there, mere feet away from me, is the last pony I’d ever expected to see; the pony whose own hooves had wrought the undoing of all my people’s schemes, and altered, if only indirectly, the very course of my entire life.

“Twilight Sparkle,” I say dumbly.

She gives me a slightly awkward smile. “Guilty as charged,” she chuckles.

With a thought, she removes her wet cloak and hangs it on a nearby hook. She then proceeds to walk around me in a circle, and I can practically feel her eyes examining me top to bottom, like some kind of lab specimen. I would feel a little uncomfortable, or perhaps even vaguely offended, if it weren’t for the mild case of shock I seem to be experiencing.

“Wow, you look just like him,” she muses.

It only just occurs to me that Shining Armor is her brother, which raises a whole different set of questions. Namely, why did she arrange this meeting?

Naturally, there’s the obvious answer. Most ponies who seek out our services do so for one simple reason. And you know what? I wouldn’t judge her. I’ve been doing this job for a while now, and this would hardly have been the first time that I’ve catered to an incest fantasy. Like I’ve said before, we changelings are pretty open-minded in the sex department.

But this is Twilight Sparkle, for crying out loud! Princess Twilight Sparkle! Considering who she is and the history she has with my people, it’s hard not to be a little paranoid. Let’s face it, she has more reason than most to hold a grudge against my kind.

I begin to tremble slightly, feeling very much like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

She notices, but thankfully, she misunderstands.

“Oh, I’m sorry! You must be freezing. Here, I’ll get you a towel, and I can make us some tea. Does that sound good?”

I manage a nod, and she does just that.

Not long afterwards, Twilight Sparkle and I are sitting in her kitchen, which, if I must say, seems far larger and more well-equipped than a home as seemingly empty as this one should require. The way our every tiny noise seems to echo only accentuates the awkward silence that hangs over our heads like a heavy cloud.

I stir my tea with my magic, if only to give myself something to do. I can’t help but notice Twilight watching the green glow around my horn as I do. No surprise, I suppose. Many unicorns may overlook the flaw, but this is no ordinary unicorn. Heck, she isn’t a unicorn at all anymore, technically.

As if for verification, I cast as discreet a glance as I can manage at her wings, which are twitching restlessly against her sides. My pegasine body language is a little rusty. Is she nervous? Aroused? Or perhaps I’m reading too much into things.

If nothing else to distract myself from my staring, I take a sip of the tea. It’s delicious, of course, and as per usual, the drink puts me in a reflective sort of mood. My mind is a virtual tempest of activity, but one thought in particular demands to be given voice.

“So, where are we, exactly?”

The sound of my voice—well, Shining Armor’s voice, I suppose—startles her. “Oh! Sorry. We’re at my castle.”

“Your… castle?”

“Mm-hmm. In Ponyville.”

“Ponyville?” I muttered. As in, Ponyville Ponyville? As in, several-hundred-miles-away-from-Las-Pegasus Ponyville?

Twilight’s eyes widen in realization. “Oh, that’s right. He’s… I mean, you’ve never seen my castle, have you?”

It’s always nice when fate conspires to cover for your breaks in character. I extend a hoof-bump to the universe and power through.

“Can’t say that I have.”

She gives a subdued chuckle. “Yep, home sweet home.” She runs her eyes over the lengths of the room, her ears laying back against her head. “Though it’s taken some getting used to. I guess it… doesn’t really feel like home yet.”

I’m not exactly privy to the details of her private life or the circumstances of her moving into this place, so rather than make a mule out of myself, I opt to take another sip of tea.

With a slump of her posture, Twilight gives an exasperated groan and starts massaging her temple with a hoof.

“Look, I’m sorry for being so awkward,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “I understand that role-play is a big part of… what you do, and I know that I should be playing along. But I just can’t get past the fact that you aren’t really my brother. I just can’t seem to… suspend my disbelief, or something. No matter what I do, I feel weird and embarrassed.”

I reach over a lay a tentative hoof atop her own. I can’t say this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered this problem. Most ponies who come to Persona know what they’re getting into and just let the fantasy carry them away, but every so often we have a client that just has to back out. We’ll even give them a partial refund. And considering who this particular pony is, I can’t say I’d be disappointed if she called the whole thing off.

“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

She appears to give it some thought, her wings giving another agitated twitch. “No,” she says finally, not noticing the slight sag of my shoulders as she does. “No, I wouldn’t have done this at all unless I wanted to. I’ve had it on my mind ever since I first found out about Persona.”

Well, there’s nothing for it, then. While I and my coworkers reserve the right to call an assignment off at any time (with a full refund, in this case), my professional pride won’t let me. This job is pretty much the only thing I’m good for in this world, and where would I be if I backed out at the sight of a challenge?

So, pushing my thoughts of ditching Twilight out of my mind, another thought takes its place, and I run with it before the sensible part of my brain can object.

“How did you first hear of Persona, anyway?”

“Hmm? Oh. A while back I took it upon myself to go through the royal ledgers, trying to find some way of making the castle finances more efficient, thereby saving tax money. You know, just for fun. Along the way, I noticed a discrepancy. The ledgers mentioned something about ‘Refugee Care’. I asked Celestia about it, and she and her sister let me know about their project to give asylum to reformed changelings. They explained the program to me, and Luna mentioned something about ‘Persona’. So, I did some digging, found out what Persona did, and… here we are!”

“Oh.” I said simply, silently wondering what kind of pony does accounting for fun. Maybe I was in more danger than I thought.

“And I thought I had everything all worked out,” she continued, oblivious. “But now that you’re here, I just can’t wrap my head around it.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I am having second thoughts.”

Well, here’s an avenue for escape if ever I saw one. I bet I could talk her into calling it off fairly easily. Except… something about her words and behavior gives me pause. In my experience, my assignments are rarely about animal lust. Not exclusively, at least. Ponies usually come to me because something in their lives is holding them back from the real thing. Even if that thing, in the case of those clients who request somepony like Daring Do, is reality itself.

It’s not all that hard to guess what’s holding Twilight back. If she called me here for the reason most ponies do, then the fact that I’m playing the part of her brother certainly narrows it down. Ponies generally don’t look kindly on incest.

But me? All I can see is that Twilight Sparkle seems unhappy, and if I can do even a tiny bit to help her, then how could I not?

“Maybe it would help to just take your mind off of it,” I say, continuing to straddle the line separating me from my character. “Just something to help us relax and be natural.”

She gives it some thought, tapping her chin with a hoof as she considers my words.

“We could watch a movie,” she says eventually. “I just had a projector and some old film reels brought in last week.”

“Sounds good to me,” I reply with small, sincere smile.

We watch our movie in a massive, sparsely furnished chamber that I suppose is meant to pass as a living room. The two of us are sitting side by side on a couch, watching as the projector behind us casts its images on a white bed sheet that Twilight hung on one of the walls in lieu of a proper screen. Her choice of film is a good one, considering the situation: Charlie Trotlin’s The Colt. A good comedy could probably do us both some good, and in no time at all the two of us are laughing up a storm. Fortunately, this copy of the film comes with a soundtrack, which keeps the potential for awkward silences to a minimum.

Then, around the part where Charlie’s character stands up to an oafish bully, something happens. Somehow, I don’t even notice it when it does. One minute, I’m watching the movie, having almost forgotten that Twilight was there. The next, I feel a weight leaning against my side. I look down at her, snuggled up against me and still watching the movie. I sit there for an awkward moment, not sure how to react.

Thankfully, she’s sure enough for the both of us, grabbing my foreleg and wrapping it around her shoulders. Following her lead, I pull her tighter into a one-armed hug, startled to find her nuzzling into the embrace with a happy sigh that ruffles the coat on my chest.

Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe she just wants to spend some quality time with her brother, and couldn’t for whatever reason. Last I heard, he lived way the heck up in the Crystal Empire, so it’s very possible they don’t get to see each other very often. It’s a little weird for her to use a changeling escort as a proxy, but I’ve seen stranger things. Like that time an elderly mare hired me to play the son that rarely visited her; I literally spent two hours eating cookies and listening to her complain about aphids.

Sliding into the role of a loving elder sibling, I lean my head down and give her a chaste kiss on the top of her head, then return my attention to the movie.

However, the innocent peck seems to snap Twilight’s attention away from the film. I see her tilting her head back in my periphery, and I glance down again to find her looking at me with wide eyes. The film suddenly forgotten, the two of us merely stare at each other for a quiet, surprisingly un-awkward moment. Then, more quickly and more forcefully than I’d ever have expected of her, she throws her forelegs around my neck, pulls my head down, and presses my lips against her own in a kiss that’s anything but chaste.

Okay, first: What is it with ponies just kissing me tonight?

And second: Never mind what I said earlier. Unless I’m a lot more clueless about pony etiquette than I thought, sisters don’t normally put their tongues in their brothers’ mouths.

After the initial shock passes, I slip into character, close my eyes, and return the kiss. My world becomes our lips and the dance of our tongues and the way our coats brush together and the emotions that bombard my mind like waves crashing against a cliff. It’s love, of course, but a very complicated vintage. Love for a brother, love for a friend, and something much more fiery and hungry.

When the kiss finally ends, and the two of us pull apart and open our eyes, we simply stare at each other for a dazed, blissful, confused moment, panting for breath.

The spell is eventually broken by a strobing light to one side of us. I break our eye contact to locate its source, and find that the projector has reached the end of the reel, leaving nothing but light from the bulb inside to flicker against the makeshift screen.

“I’m sorry,” says a tiny voice beside me.

I look back at Twilight. She avoids my eyes.

“It just sort of came over me, there,” she continues, fiddling with her hooves. “You just look so much like him, and I…” She trails off, clearly struggling for words.

Okay, enough is enough. I’ve been very passive so far tonight, skirting around the edge of my character and letting Twilight hem and haw, and where has it gotten us? She clearly has something she wants to say or do, and something tells me I’ll have to take matters into my own hooves if anything is to move forward.

I reach deep into my memories, recalling one of several little tidbits about Shining Armor that I picked up back when we were planning the invasion.

“What’s wrong, Twily?” I say in my masculine voice. The nickname has the desired effect, snapping Twilight’s eyes in my direction, her pupils dilated in the dim light. I give her my warmest, most brotherly smile. “Come on, sis, you can tell me.”

She stares at me a moment, then begins to speak. “There’s… something I need to confess, Shining,” she says, utterly lacking the self-awareness she’s displayed all night. For this one moment, at least, I’m her brother.

Atta girl, I think. Outwardly, I merely wait for her to continue.

She continues to stare, and then, with a flicker of her horn, she shuts the projector off, pitching the room into darkness.

Then, in the abyss, I hear her voice.

“I… sort of… maybe have feelings for you. I have for years.” I hear, and feel, a slouching movement against the couch. “When I was a little filly, you were my… my model of stallionhood. Even more than our father, you were the bar that I measured every stallion and colt against. It was innocent enough, back then, but as I got older, I began to catch myself looking at you in a different way. On more than one occasion, I even… touched myself while thinking about you.

“I knew it was wrong. And I knew I could never act on it, because we were siblings, and siblings just didn’t do things like that.” A brief pause, then, more quietly: “I also didn’t want to ruin the bond that we had. Even though I had these feelings for you, that didn’t change the fact that you were my B. B. B. F. F., and the thought that those stupid feelings could change the way you saw me terrified me more than society’s judgment ever could. So I bottled it up.

“Eventually, between your work at the Guard and my studies with Celestia, we saw each other less and less, and… over time, the feelings dwindled. I came to write the whole thing off as a phase. Adolescent hormones, or something. I put it behind me and barely thought about it for years. In time, I got over it.

“Or so I thought.” She sighs. “When I found out you were getting married, it just… brought those feelings back out of nowhere. My friends were right when they said I was being possessive. I mean, yes, the false Cadance was acting strangely, but… what sticks out to me now is that I wanted to be right about her. For crying out loud, when I confronted her during the wedding rehearsal, I was smiling! I was thrilled for the excuse. No way, I thought, was this mare good enough for my brother. She didn’t deserve him. Not like I did.”

She falls silent, and I spend a moment fidgeting in the dark, waiting for her to say something else.

Just as I open my mouth to speak, she resumes, her voice even tinier. “Then, in the caverns, I came across the Cadance. I listened to her—heard the way she spoke of you, and the love in her voice, and her worry for your safety—and I knew. I knew I’d been wrong. I knew that her love for you was real, and that you were meant for each other.

“I still think that, you know?” she says, her voice catching. “I am so, so happy for the two of you. And I love Cadance like my own sister. I would never come between you. What kind of monster would I have to be? I’d be no better than Chrysalis.

“Most of the time, I’m okay. It’s not like I cry myself to sleep at night, or anything. Like I said, I’ve known for a long time that nothing could ever happen between us. But sometimes… when I’m alone at night… I think about you. It’s not even sexual, really. Not usually, at least. Mostly, it’s just… wondering what could have been, had things been different.

“When I heard about Persona, it got me thinking. Which, as you know, is always a dangerous thing,” she adds with a small chuckle. “I thought maybe it would be a good way to… I don’t know, find some catharsis. Closure, maybe. Then, perhaps, I could put these feelings behind me and close that chapter in my life.”

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And to that end, let me just say—hiding nothing in the ambiguities of the term—that I love you, Shining Armor. In more ways than I should. And I probably always will.”

Taking that as my queue, I send a stream of magic into my horn, casting a light spell—one that specifically generates white light, so as not to ruin the moment with my green magic. In the illumination, our faces are suddenly inches from each other. Neither of us are startled by our abrupt closeness.

I look into her moist eyes and whisper, “And I love you, too, sis. I hope you know that.”

Under the glow of my horn, like a lighthouse in the dark ocean of this big, empty palace, we kiss again. This kiss is much more tender than our first, and through it, Twilight pours her feelings into me, warm and sad and wistful and accepting of their futility. When we part, we touch our foreheads together, our horns crossing.

“What now?” I ask, unsure how far she wanted to take this fantasy.

She hesitates, as if considering the same thing. Then, with a release of air through her nostrils, she leans into me and whispers, “How about we just cuddle for a while?”

I smile into her mane. “Sounds great.”

As one, we lay on the couch, her back against my belly, and I hug her against me with my powerful forelegs. Neither of us need to say anything, simply basking—her in the safety and warmth of her brother’s embrace, and me in the sheer happiness rolling off of her in waves.

I release the light spell, and the room returns to darkness.

With a purple flash, I find myself back in the park in Las Pegasus. It’s morning now, and although the rain has stopped, the sky remains heavy and overcast. The cobblestones and grass and benches around us are dripping with the night’s downpour.

“Will you be alright getting home?” Twilight asks, standing behind me.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I reply, facing her with a smile.

“Okay, then I guess I’ll just head back to Ponyville.”

Instead of teleporting, however, she merely stands there, rubbing one foreleg with another as her wings give tiny little twitches. I wait patiently, sensing that she has something to say.

Sure enough: “I just wanted to say… thank you.” She meets my eyes, smiling sheepishly. “Part of me was nervous, considering that you’re a… well, a changeling. I guess I was afraid there might be some hard feelings.”

It’s my turn to be a little sheepish. Normally, I wouldn’t break character, even on the tail end of an assignment, but in this case, I’ll break protocol.

“Yeah, well…” I say. “I won’t deny I was a little caught off guard by the situation. But really, I wouldn’t be in Equestria if I weren’t, ultimately, on your side.”

“Mmm, I guess so.” Her smile turns sweet. “Still, though: Thank you. You were wonderful. I think I actually believed you were Shining for a while there.”

“Hey, that’s what I do,” I say through a smirk. “Do you feel better?”

She visibly thinks it over. “Maybe. It’s too soon, I guess. But… there’s seems to be a little less weight on my shoulders this morning. I think it helped just to have somepony to talk to. Or… some-changeling? Oh, you know what I mean.”

I chuckle. “I do. And I understand. Hiding our feelings has a nasty way of poisoning us. I see it a lot in my line of work.”

“True. Unfortunately, though,” she adds with a sad breath and down-turned eyes, “Sometimes suppressing our feelings is the only thing we can do, because letting them out would do more harm than good. Sometimes, we either poison ourselves, or we poison everyone around us.”

I stare at her for a moment, my mouth suddenly dry. I swallow, then say, “Well, if I was able to lessen the load, I’m glad.” I take my own turn to hesitate before adding, “And for what it’s worth, I want to take this chance to thank you, Twilight Sparkle. For everything. I can’t even imagine what my life would be right now if it weren’t for you. Believe me when I say that you don’t have to worry about poisoning anything.”

Twilight bites her lip, then gives me a grateful nod.

We say our farewells, and Twilight departs in a flash, leaving me alone in that quiet, abandoned park. After a quick glance to make sure that nopony is around to see, I revert to my own pony disguise with a flash of green and make my way to the nearest bus stop.

The ride back to my neighborhood is largely uneventful, and I spend it looking out the window, not actually seeing the passing scenery, instead consumed by my own thoughts. It had certainly been a surreal, taxing night. It hadn’t even involved sex, which, though not terribly uncommon, was certainly the exception to the rule.

I could really use a coffee right about now.

Right away, memories from earlier in the night crash into me; a beautiful mare in a coffee shop bathroom pouring her heart out and meekly offering it to me. Even now, it tempts me—fills me with an alien warmth.

Why, then, does it terrify me so?

Unbidden, Twilight’s words echo in my mind.

“Suppressing our feelings is the only thing we can do, sometimes, because letting them out would do more harm than good. Sometimes, we either poison ourselves, or we poison everyone around us.”

I close my eyes and lean my head against the window.

Yes, it’s for the best. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

I sigh, my breath fogging the glass.

Still, I could really use a coffee right about now.

“Next!”

The customer in front of me steps away with a cup held in his magic, and I drag my hooves to the head of the line.

“Welcome to Java Junction,” the cashier says with a chirp. “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee and a slice of cherry pie, please,” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel. “Henceforth known as ‘the usual’.”

To be continued...

Ambition

Author's Note

Disclaimer: This chapter includes content from the Equestria Girls franchise.

Ambition

”Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did. But if you have another one, go for it.”

I rolled my eyes, but otherwise ignored his snarkery. I practically had to jog to keep up with the stallion as we traversed yet another crosswalk, and I didn’t want to waste my breath.

“What kind of name is ‘Middleman’?” I asked as we stepped onto the far sidewalk.

“It’s a nickname, if you must know.”

“Oh? So what’s your real name, then?”

He hesitated, and for a second I thought he wouldn’t tell me. Then, he muttered something.

I swiveled an ear in his direction. “Pardon?”

“Eustace,” he repeated, loud enough that I could hear.

I stared at him for a few seconds as we walked, and he met my gaze with one of his own, as if challenging me to laugh. It’s a testament to my acting skills that I managed to keep a straight face.

“Eustace?” I parroted, my voice slightly strangled.

“Yes. Eustace.” He looked forward again.

I risked a tiny smirk. “That’s even more unusual than ‘Middleman’, to be honest.”

He snorted. “It was my grandfather’s name. He was a mule.”

Once again, I chose not to say the first thing that came to mind—something about apples and trees. A little racist, perhaps, though something told me a mule wouldn’t take offense.

An awkward silence hung over us as we continued to walk, and on the next block we finally arrived at our destination.

We stood side by side in front of the headquarters of Persona Escort Services. Except, you’d never know it from looking at it. The building itself gave no indication at all of what those ‘services’ may be, and the only markings the building had were the numbers of the address over the door and a modest decal of the company seal on the front window.

“Kinda… plain, isn’t it?” I asked.

“That’s the point,” Middleman grunted in reply. “Considering the nature of our business, and especially our employees, we prefer not to draw too much attention to ourselves. We rely mostly on word-of-mouth, and most of our interaction with clients is done through the mail.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

With no further ado, Middleman led me through the front door and into the sparsely furnished office beyond. He gave a simple nod to the mare behind the desk, then made his way into a hall in the rear. At the end of the hall, he held up a hoof to stop me. There was a flight of stairs to the right, heading up to the second floor, and a closed door to the left, labeled ‘Lounge’.

“Alright, I’ll go on up and let the boss know you’re here. He’ll want to meet with you—let you know how things work, have you sign some papers, and so forth. Afterwards, I’ll take you to the apartment that we’ve set up for you.” He pointed to the closed door. “While I go up, why don’t you head into the lounge and say hello to the others?”

I gave the door a wary glance. “The others?”

“Yeah. You know?” He swept a hoof up and down my figure. “The others.”

I continued staring at the door. “Oh…”

If he noticed my apprehension, he made no mention of it. Instead, he turned and made his way up the stairs. I watched him go, then slowly faced the door to the lounge and raised my hoof to the knob. And then… I just sort of stood there. Even through the door, I could sense a familiar presence, one that made the hairs of my pony coat stand on end. The unmistakable vibe of other changelings.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, and to assure myself that everything would be fine. After all, these changelings were ultimately in the same boat I was. They had made the same decision—the same journey. If anyone in this kingdom could relate to me, it would be them.

Steeling myself, I turned the knob and stepped inside.

Right away, the room’s five occupants stopped and stared at me—two of them in pony form, and the other three with all their changeling glory on display. I stood motionless in the doorway, frozen in place by their collective gaze. With this many of us in one place, I could feel a vague tugging on my mind, like our brains were trying to link us into an impromptu hive mind. That’s the way the changeling brain is wired, unfortunately. Always looking for a network to connect with. But I resisted the pull. I’d gone through too much for my independence, and if I had to guess, the others felt the same way.

Finally, I manage to speak. “H-hi. I’m Naamari.”

It wasn’t much, but it seemed to break the ice. A few of the other changelings give me tiny smiles, and a feeling of camaraderie passed through the air—not because of what we were, but because of the choice each of us had made to bring us here.

That almost pleasant feeling was promptly pulled up by the root by a voice to my left.

“My stars, it really is you, isn’t it? Well, isn’t that just rich?”

I knew who it was without even having to look. I’d know that voice, and that mental signature, anywhere. I closed my eyes and sighed through my nose. “Hello, Vittu.”

The leftmost changeling approached me on porous hooves, leering at my face with the most insincere smile I’d ever seen.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she purred. “Last I heard, you’d been selected to be one of the Queen’s own sentinels. You must’ve been by her side during the invasion. I can practically smell her stink on you, even now.”

“Come on, Vittu,” one of the other changelings said. “Lay off her. We’re all in this tog—”

“Shut up!” Vittu hissed, then turned to me as if nothing had happened. “How does one as high and mighty as you end up here?”

I frowned at her, fighting to control my breathing. “Changelings change.”

She burst out laughing. “Really? You expect me to believe that you, of all changelings—after all those years of currying favor and climbing rank—had a ‘change of heart’?”

“Yes, I do.” I quirked an eyebrow at her. “And what about you? What made you leave?”

That wiped the smile from her face. “Me?” Her expression became something like a scowl. “I left because there was nothing in it for me if I stayed. If that fiasco in Canterlot proved anything, it’s that the Queen is incompetent. I had no more use for her, or the Hive. I was tired of following orders, and watching changelings like you get ahead.”

She stepped closer to me, and I had to force myself not to step back. “Everyone’s always liked you,” she continued, her voice almost a whisper. “Even the Queen fell for your charms. But I’ve never had that luxury. I’ve had to fight my entire life, and I got tired of it. Of just being a cog in a machine. In the pony lands, you get a fresh start, and a chance to prove yourself by your works.” She poked my chest with a hoof. “I wonder how you will fare here.”

Seemingly finished with me, Vittu returned to the sofa where she’d been sitting before. I averted my eyes, chewing over her words.

Finally: “You’re right.” Everyone in the room, including Vittu, looked at me. I soldiered on. “I’m not proud of the life I used to live. But after what I saw in Canterlot, I…” I closed my eyes and composed myself. “I really have changed, Vittu, whether you believe it or not. I want a fresh start, and a chance to prove myself. Or… perhaps prove to myself that I can be more than what I was.”

She scoffed. “More than what you were? Look around you Naamari. We’re changelings! We’ll never be anything more, or less. To ponies, we’re nothing more than bugs. Parasites. We’re the kind of monsters that keep pony hatchlings awake at night. If you’re hoping for some kind of redemption, then you’ll be sorely disappointed, I’m afraid. The most we can do is carve out a little corner for ourselves to seek shelter from the storm outside, and earn our own keep.”

I turned her words over in my mind. “But… these ponies… they’ll accept us. They’ll accept that we’ve turned over a new leaf. This company is proof that they don’t just fear us.”

“Oh, they might forgive us,” Vittu replied, suddenly looking very tired. “But we’ll always be outsiders to them. If you want my advice, don’t expect acceptance. We don’t deserve it anyway. The only thing we deserve is a chance to be free of Chrysalis.”

Vittu reclined on the couch and closed her eyes, and the other four glumly returned to whatever they’d been doing, leaving me to my thoughts.

Was Vittu right? When I’d left the Hive, I’d hoped that I could make up for my mistakes, and perhaps find for myself what I’d glimpsed in Canterlot. Had I just been deluding myself? What could I offer these ponies, other than lies?

Before, I’d been a cog in the machine, like Vittu said. Now, I was a puzzle piece that would never quite fit. Was that really the better situation?

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts, and Middleman poked his head into the lounge.

“The boss is ready to see you,” he said.

Sighing heavily out my nostrils, I nodded and followed him out of the room. As the door closed behind us, I heard Vittu’s voice:

“Good luck, Naamari,” she said with poisonous sarcasm. “And welcome to purgatory.”

In the two years that I’ve worked for Persona, I’ve never spent much time at headquarters. The lounge serves as a kind of de facto social club for the changelings that work there, but I tend to avoid it, which, in turn, has apparently given me a reputation for being a recluse. The other changelings are nice enough—Vittu notwithstanding—but I just feel… out of place there, ironic as that might sound. It feels a little too much like the Hive for my comfort.

The exception to that rule, of course, is Tanssi. I’m not sure what makes her different. Maybe it’s her kind, gentle nature, or the fact that the vibe she gives off is closer to a pony than a changeling. Whatever it is, she’s the closest thing to a friend that I have. And a friend is just what I need right now. With my self-imposed exile from Mare Green’s, I’ve been feeling more cut-off than ever.

And so it is that I find myself on another of my regular get-togethers with Tanssi, this time at a shopping mall not far from downtown.

“Ooh, look at this one!” Tanssi gasps, peering in through a shop’s front windows at a ponyquin in an ornate outfit. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

I stifle a yawn. “It’s lovely.”

“Oh my gosh! It’s a Coco Pommel!”

“A cocoa what now?”

“Coco Pommel,” she gushes, leaning forward until her face is nearly pressed against the glass. “I read about her just the other day! She’s apparently been causing a stir in the Manehattan fashion scene recently, but I didn’t think they’d have any of her stuff out here already.”

“So buy it,” I say simply, glancing idly at some of the other ponies milling about the mall.

She makes a little whining noise in her throat. “I don’t have enough bits…”

“Jee, I wonder why,” I quip, staring at the bags and boxes already balanced on her back. I sigh. “Look, I’ll help you out. How much is it?”

I squint at the price tag hanging from the article, then recoil as if from a flame.

“Sheesh! Never mind. C’mon, Tanssi.” I grab her by the tail and drag her away from the shop.

“But it’s soooo-ho-ho-ho pretty!”

“You’re a very weird changeling,” I grumble around her tail hairs.

I drag her down a few shops and around a corner, into one of the corridors leading out of the mall. Figuring it’s safe, I spit out her tail.

“Okay,” I grumble. “We grabbed a snack at the food court, we did some shopping, and we had a good time. I suggest we quit while we’re ahead and go home. Sound good?”

I hear Tanssi give an excited squeal behind me, and I groan. “What now?”

I turn around, expecting to find her gawking at another dress.

I was wrong. It’s something much, much worse.

Behind a pane of glass, a whole litter of puppies looks up at Tanssi with wagging tails and vacant little canine smiles. And there stands Tanssi, a member of an ancient, fierce race, cooing at them with a smiling, rosy-cheeked face.

“Holy crap,” I breathe. “Tanssi, no! Resist the cute!”

“Oh, lighten up, Naamari. Come on, let’s go look around.”

Without waiting for a reply, Tanssi prances into the pet shop. I stare after her until she disappears from view, then nervously glance to the right and left. Finally, with a roll of my eyes, I accept the inevitable and follow her inside.

I immediately regret it. The air in the place is thick with assorted animal odors and a cacophony of barks, meows, chirps, squeak toys, and gasping, giggling ponies. Fighting off the beginnings of a headache, I spot Tanssi to one side of the shop and trot to her side, where she and a few ponies are staring down into a pen filled with even more puppies. She’s holding one of them in her hooves, letting it lick her on the nose.

“Mother of Celestia,” I mutter. “Isn’t that just disgustingly adorable?”

“You sure have been in a mood today, Naamari.” Tanssi scritches the puppy’s ear with a hoof-tip. “How could you possibly stay grumpy in such a happy place?”

I sigh, rubbing the space between my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, Tanssi. I don’t mean to be a stick in the mud. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately, and being around this much weaponized cuteness makes my butt tired.” I grimace as the puppy drenches Tanssi’s face in dog saliva. “Besides, don’t you already have a pet?”

“You mean Mister Whiskers?”

I look at her flatly. “Are you being sarcastic, or is that really its name?”

“Of course that’s his name,” she says with a squee. “But still, it’s fun to come in here and see all the animals. They’re so trusting, you know? They give their love so freely.” She gave the puppy one last nuzzle before returning it to the pen.

I watch as the ponies gathered around the pen move on to other parts of the store. “Are you telling me you feed off your cat’s love?” I ask quietly.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘feed’. An animal’s love might be sincere, but it’s not really as nourishing as a pony’s. You can’t exactly live off of it. But it’s still nice to receive, and to have some company—to have something that I can love in return. And it’s so… unconditional, in a way. Even when I’m in my true form, Mister Whiskers loves me the same as ever.”

I look down at the puppies thoughtfully. “That a fact?” I reach down with a hoof and awkwardly pet one of them, then recoil as it licks my hoof. I wipe the soiled appendage on the carpet.

“Maybe you ought to get a pet, Naamari.”

I freeze. “M-me?”

“Well… yeah! You’re always saying how lonely you feel in your apartment. And I think it would do you good to have something that depends on you.”

Considering her words, I pan my vision across the shop. I have to admit, pets are sort of a foreign concept to me. Changelings don’t generally keep pets. The closest thing we have back at the Hive are the little glow worms that burrow into the walls, and even then, we only let them stay because of their light. It’s more of a symbiotic relationship than one of affection.

“I dunno,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I’m not against the idea, I guess. Though… I don’t think my building allows cats or dogs.”

“Well, you could always get a fish,” she said, trotting off across the shop. “Or a bird.”

“Ugh! Anything but a bird!”

As if on cue, a cockatoo or some similar abomination gives an unholy shriek.

“My point is,” Tanssi continues patiently, “there are other options. It’s just a suggestion. Now, give me a second to get some cat food, and we can go.”

I nod, and Tanssi goes off to do her thing. As she approaches the shelf where they keep the food, I turn toward a nearby wall where several fish tanks have been arranged, side by side and on top of each other. I step forward and squint at one of the fish, which returns my gaze with vacant little eyes. I sniff, then move to the next tank, looking at a whole herd of snails lining the bottom. Nope. The next tank catches me by surprise with its lack of water, instead being filled with a variety of little plants. It takes me a while to spot the animal inside, but finally I notice a snake draped across a few of the tiny branches. I give a tiny smile, but move on.

I pause at the next tank. It has one lone inhabitant: Some kind of tarantula hunkering in the far corner. I lean my head down to see it better, looking into its numerous little eyes.

A tiny voice by my side startles me. “Ooh, what’s in this one?!” asks a little colt.

He and a small filly look into the tank, seemingly unable to spot the spider.

“What’s in it?” the filly asks the colt. “I don’t see anything.”

Smiling, I point with a hoof. “See, in the back there?”

When they see it, the whole store knows. “Ew, it’s a spider!” the filly cries.

“Gross!” agrees the colt, and the two of them scamper off, giggling madly.

I snort after them, then turn to the spider. “Sorry about that, little friend,” I say softly. “I guess some ponies don’t have a very open mind. I guess they see all your legs and those eyes and your fuzz and…” The smile slips from my face. “They get scared.” The tarantula and I regard each for some moments. “It’s not your fault,” I say after a while. “You can’t help what you are. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a good home.”

The spider wiggles its front legs at me, as if in agreement.

“Okay, I’m all set,” Tanssi says, stepping to my side with a small sack slung over the shoulder of her right wing. “You ready to go?”

I look at her, then back to the tarantula.

I give a tiny smile. “Almost.”

I must look a sight, walking the blazing Las Pegasus streets with a bulky shopping bag held in my teeth and small plastic tank balanced on my back, but frankly, I’m too happy to care. Every now and then I cast a glance over my shoulder at the little eight-legged passenger sitting in the tank and imagine that those beady eyes of his are looking at the city streets in wonder.

It’s midafternoon when I finally arrive at my building. Getting up the stairs without the tank sliding off my back is no easy feat, but I eventually get to my floor and head down the hall toward my apartment. Imagine my surprise when I round the corner and catch Middleman in the act of sliding a manila envelope under my door. I smirk.

His task finished, Middleman stands and turns to leave… only to be met with the face of a tarantula on the other side of a pane of clear plastic.

“Ah, jeez!” he gasps, hopping back a step.

It takes everything I have not to roll onto my back and laugh out loud.

“Naamari, what the hay?!”

“Oh relax.” I stick my tongue out at him. “It’s not every day I get to see past your tight-flank façade.”

“What are you even doing with that thing?”

“Oh, him? He’s my pet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Your pet.” It’s not a question. “Why does it not surprise me that that’s the kind of pet you would have? Celestia forbid you do anything normal.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t they say that weirdness is the spice of life?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s ‘variety’.”

“Yes, but what has more variety than weirdness?”

“No—no!—I’m not getting into another semantical debate with you, Naamari!” He again reins in his beflusterment. With a snort, he says, “So, does the bug have a name?”

I look into his face for several seconds. Then, with perfect deadpan, I say, “Eustace.”

His right cheek twitches before his expression returns to its stoic default. “Funny. Real funny.”

“Do you want to hold him?” I ask sweetly.

He glares at me. “I would sooner floss my buttcrack with barbed wire.” Giving us a wide berth, he walks past me and down the hall. “I slid an assignment under your door,” he says over his shoulder. “Ought to be an easy one.”

With a chuckle under my breath, I secure Eustace’s tank under a foreleg, open my apartment door, and step inside, grabbing the envelope waiting on the floor in my teeth. After setting everything down, I open the envelope and take a quick peak at the time of the assignment. It won’t be until this evening, so I set it aside for now, revert back to my changeling form, and spend the next half hour setting up Eustace’s tank.

Now I sit on my haunches with my new roommate perched on my chitinous hoof. He sits motionless, looking at me as if in rapt fascination. Perhaps he senses a kindred spirit.

“I’m sorry about Middleman,” I say to him. “And I’m sorry that he called you a bug. That’s a word that’s been thrown at my kind as well. Which is ridiculous, because changelings are no more insects than spiders are.” I lean forward and give his fuzzy body a nuzzle. “I guess us ‘bugs’ will just have to look out for each other. What do you say?”

He stares at me with all his little eyes, and with a grin, I gently set him inside his tank—not the plastic thing I brought him here in, but a larger glass tank, filled with various items both practical and decorative, as well as a single cricket for his supper.

I spend another moment watching Eustace getting used to his new home, then I move towards the sofa to finally look through my assignment in earnest.

Middleman was right, this ought to be a simple one. Considering some of my recent assignments, I can’t say I mind. Apparently some pegasus stallion wants me to impersonate an old flame of his, one ‘Sunset Shimmer’. Details on my character are scant, but a photograph of the mare is included. It’s not much, but it’s enough for a start. You can learn a lot about a pony just by looking at them, if you know what to look for.

I study the photograph, taking in the mare’s features—her sandy coat, red and yellow mane, and aquamarine eyes. She wears a confident smirk on her face, and her posture is solid and determined. But there’s something in her eyes that belies her body’s cues. A hunger. Desperation, perhaps. This is a mare who wants something very badly. She just doesn’t know what she wants, and it tears her up inside. Such frustrations are easy to weaponize, and the set of that smile on her lips suggests a certain propensity for ruthlessness. But in my experience, ruthlessness almost always conceals vulnerability. Whatever this mare might be capable of, she has a good heart deep down. She just needs some help finding it.

Wow, that sounds pretty presumptuous of me, doesn’t it? I dunno, I could be wrong. I don’t even know this mare. But I like to think of myself as an actor, and that involves some creative license. If my guess is wrong… well, it’s on my client for not giving me more to work with.

A curtain of green flame washes across my body, and when it clears the changeling is gone, replaced by the fiery unicorn.

“Well, Eustace,” I say, glancing toward the tarantula’s tank. “Wish me luck.”

Our rendezvous point is a modest eatery not far from Neighllis, a base for the pegasus branch of the Royal Guard. I assume it’s not a coincidence, therefore, that my client instantly strikes me as the military sort. Even aside from his overall demeanor, the cutie mark is a big clue; you don’t see that many shield motifs among the civilian population.

I step inside, allowing myself to slip into character—or rather, my seat-of-my-pants interpretation of my character. I’ll have to tread lightly here. If my assumptions about Miss Shimmer are incorrect, I’ll need to read this stallion’s cues and adapt quickly.

He spots me as I approach his table, and his eyes widen. I smile in satisfaction, taking that as a sign that I’ve done my job well, at least as far as appearances go.

“Hello, Flash,” I say in my best guess at the mare’s voice.

“H-hi.” Flash Sentry swallows thickly, eyes running up and down my frame. “Wow. You look just like her.”

I smile. “Mind if I have a seat?”

“Oh! Yes, by all means.” He rises to his hooves until I’m seated, then follows suit.

A slightly awkward silence passes between us, occupied mostly with Flash pretending that he isn’t gawking at me and me pretending not to notice. Such reactions aren’t so uncommon. Ponies tend to come to Persona because they have some kind of fantasy they want to live out, and actually seeing that fantasy in the flesh can sometimes throw them for a loop. The best course of action is usually to be patient and give them time to wrap their heads around it.

In the meantime, the waitress comes and takes our orders: a black coffee for him, and a caffe mocha for me.

“Well, you’re probably wondering what I have in mind,” he finally says after the waitress has gone. At my nod, he continues. “I admit, I’ve never done anything like this before. Hire… somepony like you, I mean. I don’t know what your work usually entails. Sex, I presume?”

“A percentage of the time,” I say, careful not to say what percentage.

“Yeah, I figured. But that’s not really what I have in mind. My situation’s… Well, let’s just say it’s a pretty strange one.”

I feel a small twitch in my eyebrow. Why do I get the feeling this assignment just got a lot more complicated?

“It’s sort of a long story, but I’ll try to condense it as much as possible.” He pauses as the waitress returns with our drinks, and I can tell he’s taking the opportunity to sort his story out in his mind.

Once the waitress is gone, he dives right in.

“Okay, so… Back in high school, Sunset and I dated. She went to Celestia’s school for unicorns, and I went to his prep school for pegasi just down the street. We got along well, and I liked her a lot. She was beautiful, intelligent, charismatic—not much of a sense of humor, I guess, but otherwise she was the whole package. But we were young, and we were starting to think about our futures. She started studying under the Princess directly, and I had my sights set on West Hoof. I figured it was better for both of us if we went our separate ways, so… I broke up with her.

“Sunset acted like she didn’t care, but I could tell she was hurt. I think she felt abandoned, and in hindsight, I think that was one of her greatest fears. But… I stuck to my guns, sure that it was the best thing for both of us.”

He falls silent for a moment, sipping idly at his coffee.

Finally: “I thought about her a lot while I was at West Hoof. And the more I thought about her, the more I regretted ending it the way I had. I came to realize how much I’d actually cared about her, and how stupid I had been. I mean—sure!—I wanted to become a Guard. But we didn’t have to break up, did we? We could’ve exchanged letters, or something!”

He sighs. “When I finally got my commission and got stationed back in Canterlot, I had every intention of contacting her again and… I dunno, seeing if we could give it another go. If she’d have me back, of course. But when I tried to track her down, she was just… gone.”

The expression on his face suddenly tightens, and I raise an eyebrow.

“I asked around,” he says quietly, “but not many ponies knew what happened to her. But after some digging, I finally found out the truth. I found out that she and the Princess had had a falling out at some point, and Sunset had gone through some kind of portal.” His expression briefly teeters on the brink of a wince. “I-into another dimension,” he adds quietly.

My eyebrow raises further, accompanied by the sound of alarms going off in my mind. I know Equestria has more than its share of weirdness, but really? A portal to another dimension? If he just messing with me? Is this whole assignment an elaborate prank? Or is he just insane and delusional? I mean, it’s always possible that he’s telling the truth, but I think it’s understandable for me to be incredulous, right? The whole thing sounds so goofy.

I conceal all my thoughts behind a well-practiced poker face and listen as he continues.

“I was devastated, of course. And the worst part was how… unfinished the whole thing felt. It was almost like she’d never existed at all. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help but wonder if things would’ve gone differently for her if I hadn’t turned my back on her.

“I eventually… moved on, I guess. What else could I do? But it’s always bugged me, you know? It’s been this big regret sitting at the back of my mind—like a burr in the bottom of my hoof. Years passed, and I assumed that whole chapter of my life was closed. Boy, was I wrong.”

He downs the last of his coffee as if it were a shot of whiskey, and I wait with rapidly depleting reserves of patience for him to continue.

“A while back, Princess Celestia sent a strange mirror to the Crystal Empire, where I’d been stationed from pretty much as soon as the city reappeared, at Captain Armor’s recommendation. I didn’t learn it until later, but it turns out this mirror was, in fact, the very same portal that Sunset went through. Why the Princess sent it to the Crystal Empire, I’ve never discovered, but I suppose it’s not important. Being a Guard, you learn that the Princesses always have their reasons.

“Well, at some point—more than a year ago, as I understand it—the portal in the mirror opened again, and Sunset returned to our world, stealing something from Princess Twilight.”

My ears perk up at that name, recent memories filling my mind. I continue to listen with revitalized interest.

“Princess Twilight apparently pursued Sunset into this other dimension,” Flash explains. “I don’t know the details, but when everything was said and done, the Princess returned to our world with her stolen possession, and Sunset, who had been led back to the straight and narrow, decided to stay in the other world. The whole thing was kept pretty quiet—not even the Guard was informed. But you know how rumors are. I eventually began hearing things through the grapevine. It wasn’t until later, when I was asked to oversee the relocation of the mirror to Princess Twilight’s new castle in Ponyville, that I learned the whole story.

“Naturally, I was ecstatic. Not only that Sunset was okay, but that she had apparently found a place where she belonged, and friends who cared about her. I think that’s all she really wanted all along.

“I wanted to go and see her again more than anything, if nothing else to apologize. But I couldn’t do that. Even if I got permission to go into this other world—which is doubtful at best—I’d feel like I was intruding on her new life. It’s probably better for her to put the past behind her. But even so, I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

He falls silent, and I furrow my brow at him. “Okay, look,” I say, leaning forward in my seat. “As much as I appreciate all this exposition, I assume there’s a point to it. So spit it out.”

He gave a tiny chuckle. “Boy, you really have her character down, don’t you?”

I snort, but don’t say anything.

He fidgets with his empty mug for a moment. “You really do look just like her, you know? And you were able to do it with just a photograph.”

“Yeah? What’s your po—” I stop suddenly, my eyes widening. “It was a test.”

He nods. “Not long after the mirror was relocated, Princess Twilight found a way to open the portal whenever she wanted. And she eventually allowed a team of researchers into this other world, just to observe and gather data. Purely academic. And… well, I managed to pull some strings; call in a few favors. And…” He ducks his head under the table, rummaging into a saddlebag he’d stowed there, and withdraws a folder, which he sets on the table. “I got copies of some of their material.”

I stare at the folder, then up at him. “So, you got copies of sensitive research through means that are questionable at best, and are giving what I can only assume to be classified information to not only a civilian, but a member of a race that has historically been antagonistic towards Equestria? Couldn’t you… I dunno, lose your job? Or worse?”

He ponders this for a moment, then says, “Nah, I don’t think so. More like chewed out. I’ve been chewed out before.”

I can’t help but smirk.

“So,” he says, “if you were to see a picture of Sunset as she is now, could you imitate her?”

“As she is now?”

“Yes ma’am. Something about the portal transformed her into one of the native creatures.”

I give the folder another, more cautious look. “Well… it’s hard to say until I’ve seen these creatures, but I don’t see why not. Can I ask why, though? I mean… I can understand you not wanting to drag her baggage back into her life, but what are you hoping to get from all this?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for days,” he replies with a humorless chuckle. “I don’t honestly know. Maybe closure? Or maybe to understand her decision to stay there. All I know is that ever since I came up with the idea of contacting Persona, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. So… are you game?”

I meet his eyes and hold them for a moment. Then, I nod. “Yes. You’re the client, and it is your bit. As long as I’m able to hold up my end of the arrangement, I will.”

He smiles in obvious relief. “Great. I’ve reserved a hotel room for us.” He reaches back into his saddlebag and retrieves a key, setting it on the folder. “It’s in that motel just down the street on the right, room thirty-three. You head on over first and take some time to… well, get everything ready.” He gestures at my body. “I’ll be watching the window. Give me some kind of signal when you’re ready.”

“A hotel room, huh?” I give him a smirk. “I thought you weren’t planning on sex.”

He gives the tiniest of blushes. “I’m not, for the most part. But I think it’s better if we don’t have an unknown alien species parading around in public.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“And… to be honest, I haven’t ruled out sex, necessarily. Just between you and me, Sunset was a firecracker in the sack. It’s just… hard to imagine doing that with such an unusual creature.”

Okay, really. Just what the heck am I going to be turning into? I reach over and grab the folder, but resist the urge to look inside until I’m in the hotel.

“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.”

At his nod, I get up from the table and step out of the eatery.

I stare into the hotel room mirror, and at the strange creature reflected therein.

True to my word, I waited until I was in the hotel room before I looked in the folder. Once I did, I was flabbergasted. I’d never seen creatures like these ‘humans’. They’re obviously mammalian—perhaps simian, though it’s hard to tell for sure. They’re also bipedal, with long, gangly limbs, and instead of hooves, they have something more like the hands of a minotaur. They’re almost entirely hairless, except for on their heads, which feature flat, round faces. Thankfully, the folder included information on their anatomy, which, combined with the photo of the transformed Sunset, allowed me to take my current form.

Overall, I think I did a pretty good job. Now I just have to get used to this form. But if I can master transforming into a dragon or a griffon, this shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. The hardest part is standing on two limbs; I pace a few awkward circles around the room, trying to find my balance.

That only leaves one thing: the clothes, which humans apparently wear most of the time. I feel like the illusion is somehow incomplete without them. Fortunately, changeling magic can replicate clothing. The only down side is that the clothes are, within the functionality of the magic, part of my body, and the only way to remove them is to magic them away, which kinda breaks the illusion.

There’s nothing for it. With a flash of green, Sunset’s alien body is obscured by boots, a skirt and shirt, and a jacket made out of some fabric similar to the leather that griffons use.

And with that, I’m ready.

I wobble my way over to the light switch, flicking the lights on and off and hoping that it suffices as a signal. I spend the next minute or so fiddling with my frail-looking little digits. Just when I begin to worry that Flash didn’t get the signal, there’s a knock on the door. I have to squat to see through the peephole, and once I confirm that it’s my client, I open the door, careful to remain out-of-view of anypony outside as Flash steps into the room.

I close the door, then turn to find him gawking at me. Even though I’ve been ogled too many times to count, being in a strange new form makes me feel oddly self-conscious.

“So?” I prompt.

“You’re bigger than I expected,” he states.

It’s true. Standing on all four hooves, his head is more or less level with my hip. Even if he raised up onto his hind legs, I’d probably still be taller than him.

“I followed the specifications from the study,” I reply with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m not doubting you,” he says hurriedly. “It’s just… surprising. I mean, I’ve seen the photos of Sunset looking… like this. But seeing it first-hoof is a different thing entirely.”

“How do I look?” I twirl in place, almost losing my balance and falling on my face in the process.

“P-pretty good.” He swallows. “They’re not as freaky-looking in the flesh. Still unusual, mind. But… a little easier to wrap my head around.”

The hotel room descends into a prolonged silence. I awkwardly cross my foreleg/arm things and wait with as much patience as I can muster for him to say or do something.

He seems to sense my unasked question, and replies with one of his own. “So, what now?”

“That’s really up to you, chief.” I lower myself to my rump on the edge of the bed—wow, these critters are made for sitting, aren’t they?—and ask, “You said sex wasn’t high on the agenda. So what did you have in mind to begin with? Is there anything you wanted to tell me?” I gesture at my face as I finish that question, making it clear I was speaking as Sunset now.

“Oh, I don’t know…” He scuffs a hoof against the carpet. “I’d feel kinda awkward. I’m not sure I’m up to the whole ‘role-play’ thing.”

He says to the changeling he asked to imitate his ex-girlfriend. Sheesh.

“Hey, it’s just the two of us, alright?” I say. “You never know when you’ll get another opportunity to see me, so now’s your chance to get things off your chest. Surely you wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble if you didn’t have something you wanted to tell me. So just go for it.”

He gazes at the floor for a moment before plopping down on his haunches, and I wait patiently for him to speak.

Finally: “It’s just… hard for me. I’m not used to opening up. I’ve always put my career ahead of everything, even personal relationships. Other ponies were just… fetters tying me down; distractions from being the best guard I could be. So I always just… smile, act pleasant, and be professional. Nothing to draw too much attention to myself outside of doing my job as well as I can. I think the last pony I actually had a real, genuine relationship with was… you, Sunset.”

I try to suppress a smile, happy that he’s finally starting to get into it.

“In fact, that’s why I broke up with you,” he continues quietly. “I thought you’d hold me back, so I cut you loose. I told myself it was necessary, but… but it’s just eaten away at me for years. And now, with everything that’s happened with the mirror, it’s made me question everything. How many good relationships did I let slip through my hooves?” His raises his eyes and meets mine. “Aside from ours, that is.”

We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the air heavy with feelings. He slowly gets back to his hooves and steps toward me, placing a hoof on my hairless leg.

“I’m so sorry, Sunset.” His gaze bores into me. “Letting you go was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I don’t regret joining the Guard, but… but I didn’t need to cast you aside to do it. That was just an excuse, and you didn’t deserve that. At least I can finally take solace in the fact that you’ve made a new life for yourself. It’s probably a better life than I could’ve given you anyway, now that everything is said and done.” He gives a small, humorless chuckle. “And if the rumors are correct, you even hooked up with that world’s counterpoint of myself for a while. I guess that’s a flattering thought—like, maybe at some level it reminded you of home.”

His hoof begins ever so gently rubbing against my thigh, but the way he continues speaking leads me to think the motion is almost subconscious.

“I guess the important thing is: You’ve moved on, and you’re apparently happy where you are. Enough so that you’re content to stay there. And now… I just need to move on, too.”

“I hope you can,” I say with utter sincerity. “You were young, and you made a mistake. You can’t keep beating yourself up over it. I don’t want that for you.”

He closes his eyes, his hoof continuing its movement on my leg. “I was just so stupid…”

“You let your ambition run away with you. Nothing more. There are worse faults to have.”

“Yeah, well, my ambition cost me an awful lot.”

“And so did mine,” I say, pointing at my chest.

Flash’s eyes open suddenly, gazing at me in realization.

“I lost my entire world thanks to it,” I say, remembering what he’d told me about Sunset. “I lost everypony I cared about. And now? I have a new life. I got a second chance. And you, Flash, deserve no less.”

His eyes turn downward. “I… Maybe you’re right.”

A silence descends upon the room. Flash seems lost in thought, still idly stroking my thigh, and I simply give him time to work it out. At last, he gives a sigh through his nose.

“You okay?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond.

“Flash?”

“Your skin sure is smooth.”

Well, that was random. I reach down and run a hand along my leg.

My eyebrows rise in agreement. “Huh.”

“It’s kind of nice, actually. Soft.”

He’s not wrong, especially on the ‘soft’ part. Being a changeling, I’m pretty used to hairlessness, but the difference between chitin and the skin on these humans is pretty vast.

Flash continues stroking my leg, though it isn’t so idle anymore. If anything, it’s more of a ‘caress’ now than a ‘stroke’. Ever so slowly, his face drifts forward, and I can feel his warm breath against my skin. Next thing I know, he’s nuzzling my leg, brushing his fuzzy cheek across my knee and up my thigh. I place a hand on the back of his head and smile down at him.

“Having fun?” I ask.

He grunts in affirmation.

“How’s that ‘no sex’ thing sounding right about now?” I give him a playful quirk of my eyebrow.

“If you recall,”—he moves over and begins nuzzling my other leg—“I never said ‘no sex’. Just that it wasn’t a high priority. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be attracted to you in this form, but now?” He plants a kiss on my knee. “I’m warming up to the idea a little. Besides—” I feel his lips curve into a smile against my thigh, “—you were right. I’m getting a second, and final, chance with you tonight. And I’m gonna take it.”

He punctuates that by dragging his tongue across my thigh, and I gasp in surprise at the wet feeling of his tongue, grasping his head a little more tightly.

“How about you?” he asks, giving me an expression caught somewhere between a blush and a smirk. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Not really,” I say honestly.

And the smirk carries the day. He begins kissing and nibbling his way up my inner thigh with agonizing slowness, making his destination clear. If he notices the flash of green under my skirt as I magic away my undergarments, he gives no sign of it. His head moves underneath my skirt, and I feel his hot breath against my bare skin. And then, he hesitates, as if seeing my private bits and all the ways in which they’re different from a pony’s vagina have given him second thoughts.

I very nearly resign myself to him chickening out, only to gasp as he moves in and digs his tongue into my folds, dragging it up the length of my slit and finally against my clit.

Even sitting upright, my back arches, and I place my hands on the back of his head, my fingers weaving through the strands of his mane. I close my eyes as he continues to lap at me, moaning as the sensation of his probing tongue and the silken hairs between my fingers and his fuzzy cheeks against my trembling thighs bombards my mind.

I slowly, almost unconsciously, lean toward, until my fiery mane is falling against my knees. My hands slowly move away from his head, down his neck and on to his body, running against a figure honed from years of training and conditioning. I’ve touched more stallions than I can count over the years, but not until now, with these wonderful hands, have I been able to appreciate the power of the male form as it deserved. Every twitch of his muscles against my fingertips fuels the fire between my legs, and I silently wonder if hooves will ever be enough for me again.

As if possessing a mind of its own, my hand moves beneath him and between his legs, finding the erect shaft that waits there. My fingers curl around it and tighten, and I hear a gasp from beneath my skirt. His licking slows as I begin to jerk him off, but soon enough he redoubles his efforts, as if unwilling to let himself finish before me.

By unspoken declaration, we begin a hurdling race towards a rapidly approaching finish line. I had a considerable head start, but with my second hand joining the first and slowly fondling his balls, he catches up in no time. Sensing this, he decides to play dirty. He shoves his tongue as far into my pussy as he can, and at the same time extends his wing, ever so gently brushing his feather tips against my exposed clit.

With a scream, I hunch forward until my head is pressed against his shoulder blades, my hands releasing his dick and instead holding onto his hips for leverage as the orgasm rips through me. He continues his oral-pteric assault until the edges of my vision darken.

Finally, the wave recedes, and I fall back on the bed, panting for breath and covering my face with a twitching hand.

“H-holy shit,” I gasp. “You’re pretty damn good at that.”

“It’s not my first rodeo,” he replies, licking his lips clean. “I may not be good at relationships, but that doesn’t mean I spend all my nights on base, twiddling my hooves.”

“Fair enough. Though, it looks like I kinda left you hanging.”

He actually blushes, the goof. “Heh. Literally. You want to keep using your hand… things? That felt pretty awesome.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty nice. But I’m not very experienced with them.” I give him a challenging quirk of my eyebrow. “How’s about you and me do this right?” For clarification, I thrust my hips against his chest.

Still blushing, he says, “W-well, I didn’t really bring any protection…”

I look at him flatly. “I’m a changeling. You couldn’t get me pregnant if you tried, chief.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yeah. Because I said so.”

He snorts. “Goddess, you really are just like Sunset.”

He nevertheless complies. I climb all the way onto the bed, lying on my back with my legs spread. Then I work my magic. I imagine he can see the green light even through his eyelids, but he keeps them closed like a good boy.

“Alright, you can open them.”

And so he does, right before his mouth falls open at the sight before him—the unusual, oddly alluring creature baring absolutely everything to him. He wastes no time in climbing up onto the bed and toward me until he’s standing directly over me. A moment spent staring into my eyes, and he moves forward, capturing my lips with his own. Our kiss deepens quickly, his longer, broader pony tongue easily overpowering my own.

So caught up am I in the kiss that I actually gasp when his member prods against my lower lips, gently rubbing his tip against my folds without actually slipping past them.

We break out kiss, and he asks, “You ready?”

I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck. With no further ado, he moves his hips forward, sliding his dick into my sopping wet depths. I give a satisfied moan, closing my eyes to better relish all the ways in which this body feels different from any other I’ve ever taken. Despite being taller than him, our torsos are about the same length, allowing him to rest his head beside my own as he thrusts into me, and I wrap my legs around him, holding on for dear life as he pounds into me. I moan and whimper like a mare being rutted for the first time—which is actually sort of what it feels like. The feeling of his fur against my mostly hairless skin only heightens the sensation, and I find myself digging the claws on the ends of my fingers into his back.

The unusual sensations apparently get to Flash, too, because in no time at all his thrusting increasing into frantic, jackhammer-like motions, until, with a primal grunt from deep in his throat, he buries himself to the hilt, holds himself there, and releases inside me. The feeling of his warm essence filling my deepest recesses is enough to send me over the edge again, my back arching and my limbs spasming in their embrace of his body.

Finally, the two of us spent, we collapse into a panting, sweating pile. After catching his breath, Flash rolls off of me and onto his back.

“That… was the weirdest sex I’ve ever had,” he said. “And I’ve been with a griffon.”

I snort. “You seemed to enjoy it well enough.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. It was amazing. Just… weird. I dunno, maybe that’s part of what made it so good.” He looks over at me—or, more specifically, my unusual body. “If the Princess ever decides to station some Guards in their world, for whatever reason, I’ll be the first to volunteer. I can almost understand what Sunset sees in them.”

“Well, I’m glad this was a worthwhile experience for you,” I say, closing my eyes.

“Yeah, me too. I needed this.”

“For the closure, or the release?”

“A little of both, I guess.” He smiles, but it doesn’t last very long. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop regretting it, though. Ending things with Sunset, I mean. I was too stupid to realize it until later, but… I really did care about her. But that’s in the past now, I guess. She’s moved on, and I’ll have to do the same.” He lays silently beside me for a while, and I very nearly fall asleep before he adds, “I guess, at the very least, I can say I learned something from the whole thing.”

I looking over in his direction. “Hmm? What’s that?”

“That if we’ve ever got something good, we shouldn’t let it get away from us. No matter what excuses we might come up with. We should fight for it, and hold onto it. We shouldn’t deny ourselves opportunities to be happy.” He looks over in my direction. “Don’t you think?”

I stare at him, then turn unseeing eyes to the ceiling above us.

“Maybe.”

The next day, Aletheia stands in front of Mare Green’s, clutching a broom in the pale blue glow of her telekinesis and sweeping the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. She stops for a moment, taking in the neighborhood, filled with ponies going hither and yon.

I watch her briefly from one of the windows in my apartment, Eustace perched obliviously on my shoulder. I can just barely make out a tiny smile on her face.

I would sure hate for anything to take that smile away.

I raise a hoof, and lower the blinds.

To be continued...