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