Love Mine

Chapters

"Hello?..."
“How… did you know?…”
“I was held prisoner…”
“… I’m sure you’re a good Changeling.”
“… You are not one of my children.”
“… I’m Princess Celestia’s foal!”
"... a-... a monster!"
"Stupid ponies..."
"I'm not brave..."
"... for a Changeling to trick a Changeling..."

"Hello?..."

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 1:

“Hello?…”

The very first thing I recall upon awaking is a pain in my head, followed quickly by a dullness through the rest of my body, like a thick sheet over my senses. I can at least tell wherever I had fallen asleep—Why can’t I remember?…—is exceedingly lumpy and hard. And why does it feel like my brain was run over by an 18-wheeler? I moan to myself as I shift and turn over, trying to find some little comfort in whatever—… The ground?—I’m laying on.

One final shift and a knife-twisting pain arcs through the numbness and headache. Flinching, I immediately pull my back off of what I assume to be a sharp rock, and in the next instant I open my eyes and freeze. The first thing I see are the trees all around me; their number and sunlight-defying canopy create a terribly claustrophobic, still air.

Physically shaking my head to free myself from the questions of how and why I’m in a forest, I only renew my headache. After a moment of scrunching my eyes against the pain until it begins to recede, I take a more careful look around. The first thing I take note of are the trees' strangely twisted trunks and branches—so very different from the tall, straight trees I know. Then, I would have tilted my head at their color—That can’t be normal. Or at least healthy…—if I had not thought I might have renewed my headache with such a motion. Finally, as I turn my head to take in a panorama, I find I’m on a path—How fortunate—and that every tree has the same sickly hue.

“Hello?…” A male voice, distinctly monotone, apparently not ruffled in the slightest to find someone laying on a path through a twisted forest, asks from what seems to be behind me. I flinch at hearing any voice at first, then, ignoring a strange sensation in my ears, I whip my head around, and my vision blurs with the pain of my slowly diminishing headache for a moment before sharpening to find… nothing? I try to spot anything out of place, such as might indicate someone hiding behind a tree, but after a few moments of careful searching, I see nothing out of place, at least as far as I can tell in this unfamiliar environment. I jolt again when the voice returns, and it takes a moment for me to process what “he” says. “One… two… three…”

My mind would have exploded with questions if I had any clue where to start. Instead, as my mind goes blank, I let myself flop back onto the ground, and I stare up at the star-like spots of the noonday sunlight sparkling through the leaves. I’m more prepared when it speaks again, and again sounds like it is speaking from somewhere behind me… Which would be under the ground!

“Hello?… … … Three… two… one…”

I lay there, considering this: The only explanation is that the voice is in my head, but… How? Who?… Why?… Nothing. I can think of no way to gather clues for these question, never mind even compiling a list of possibilities. The voice continues repeating its call—“Hello?” Countdown… “Hello?” Countdown…—and I find myself absentmindedly “speaking” along with it in my mind as I grow more and more apathetic towards even considering trying to find the answer.

Maybe I’m going crazy? I finally consider as some fly begins to buzz around my head, and I flick my right ear, then left, to try to tell the bug it’s not welcome. I open my eyes slowly as I consider that—Wait…—until it finally cuts through, making my eyes shoot open, and I jump and land on all fours. I-! People can’t flick their ears! yet even as I deny it, the fly returns and my ears—my now alien ears—flick on their own.

I stand and try to reach up with my hands to feel my ears, to find what has become of them, but I lose my balance and fall onto my chest, arms splayed out before me. Instantly, I forget about my ears, as I now see that my arms are no longer arms, but black—as if burnt, but I feel no pain—stumps, my hands missing—but again there is no pain—with holes drilled right through them—and still no pain, the absence of which is now disturbing me more than the agony such injuries should have inflicted upon me.

I lie still, staring at the holes and the dirt evident through them, until again that male voice calls out its unconcerned hello, and my whirling mind grasps onto it in desperation. “WHAT’S GOING ON!” I scream at the top of my voice, but instantly feel sheepish at the outburst. I let out a long, calming breath, close my eyes, and wait. As time stretches on and I know it must be far past the point for the voice to count down, then call hello again, then countdown again, I snap one of my eyes open in shock, then open the other more slowly and in confusion.

“Hello?…” I call back, but nothing answers; the only things I hear now are the sounds of the forest. I look back down at the remains of my arms, and with my panic receded I now realize they are not injured at all. What I first had taken for blackened skin is instead black… fur? I question, but unless it is my eyesight and not my arms that is altered, there is little way to deny it.

Bringing the ends of my arms, where the holes cluster, up to my face, I find their insides are covered with similar fur, and I can find no trace of the slightest scar. Finally, though my arms end abruptly, their sudden terminations into flat ends look as if they have been made by a cleaver chopping straight through them, at least from certain angles. Turning one arm around to inspect where I before would have suspected to find a cauterized cross-section of my arm—though I now have no theory, with my "burns" turning out to be black fur—I instead find healthy-looking black flesh and—I blink a few times before accepting it—a hoof.

I turn back to the holes with new eyes—eyes with recognition in them. There is little to doubt, except my own memory, for there is only one creature I know of with this combination of features: hoof, black fur, and holes that go right through what I now recognize as my new forelegs. I turn to look down at my body, and find nothing out of place—nothing different from the average Changeling.

My first reaction is to cry. The tears quickly build, but I fight off the urge to blink them away for as long as I can—I don’t know why—until finally they become too much, and I shiver as I close my eyes. The tears’ trails flow strangely down my face, confirming—if I had lingering doubt—that my entire body has been changed. At first, my tears confuse me—Are they of happiness? Or sadness? Or fear? Something I haven’t considered?—but my alien ears, splayed back, cut through the possibilities, and I shiver again before shouting in vain. “Changlings… aren’t… real!” but I might as well have shouted that Equestria or anything else in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic isn’t real; my voice, cracking and devoid of conviction, reflects my thoughts.

I feel some things on my back—My wings… No use denying—come alive and, by some instinct, lift me slightly off the ground and back onto four hooves. In futile efforts to ignore my plight, I examine again the forest, and recognize the forest, if not the path, for what it is. “The Everfree Forest… What else?” I say to myself with attempted snark, but all I manage is something like a lack of emotion.

I hang my head—one small corner of my mind noting how very exaggerated this gesture is with my elongated neck and horizontal body—and blink rapidly against the incoming tears. As the puddle beneath me builds, so does something yet named build inside me. It roars out of me with a sudden straightening of my neck and a stomp from my hindhooves. “This is always how it goes! A wish always has to be granted in the worse possible way! Why?!” Half way through, my shout turns into a wail, then dissolves into sobbing so that “why” is barely recognizable even to myself.

I don’t know how long I stand there, pitifully bemoaning my state, but a low… sound from something else in the forest makes me quickly shut up. Things—Ursas, hydras, cockatrices, dragons—flash through my mind and without thought I start running down the path, my wings beating hard to propel me ever faster along the ground. My one sane thought keeps me on the ground: anything too tall wouldn’t be able to see me through the canopy.

Vaguely, as I continue running, I wonder where exactly I am in the Everfree Forest, and where this path will take me. My first conclusion is that I strongly hope I’m not running towards Zecora’s. I almost trip when I shiver at the thought of what she might do to a Changeling, for surely Twilight Sparkle, ever vigilant, would have warned her—that, or Zecora’s own knowledge and wisdom would have her already informed.

My second thought is to hope I’m also not heading towards Fluttershy’s—I don’t even want to begin imagining how I would frighten her in this body, but my mind betrays me, and I stupidly shut my eyes against the slideshow of Fluttershy’s terrified realization and subsequent running away from me—Could anyone stand doing such a thing to Fluttershy!?

Naturally, though I seem to have adjusted, at least physically, to this drastically different body without much trouble, running with my eyes closed leads to a predictable stumble, which degenerates into a full trip that sends me tumbling head over heels—or hooves?—into a sliding stop. I lie there for a moment, mentally going over the various stings from the scrapes I’d just given myself, until I realize how red the back of my eyelids are—red from strong, unbroken sunlight.

Jumping back to my hooves without regard to my protesting injuries, I smile—finally smile—at the exit. Satisfied with the idea nothing (too) terrible lives this close to the edge of the forest, I trot much more slowly, almost with carelessness, to the opening in the trees. The glare of the sunlight recedes to reveal a field of grass, spotted with flowers, among which bugs and birds flitter about.

Finally! I’ll be out of this forest, and-! I stop dead. –and what? I have no idea where I am (who knows how large the Everfree Forest is?), I have no idea who I may meet out there (though whoever it may be is almost certainly better than what I may meet in here), and, most importantly, I have no idea what may happen to me if I do meet any…pony.

I shake these worries off, or at least shove them into the back of my mind so I can focus on getting out of this—to stress—dangerous forest first. I don’t take five steps before a most peculiar sensation makes me stop. Something, most easily likened to hunger, scraps against my insides like sandpaper. I gulp and look back down at the ground. Right. Hunger… Changelings feed on… love. Right…

I sigh and raise my head back up, trying to steel myself. Who knows how long I had been unconscious? It doesn’t matter, as either way, it seems now I need to learn—quickly—how to eat like a Changeling. I start forward again, now hoping that I would find ponies there, but all the same trepidatious about not only meeting them, but what I would have to do to them…

How easy it had been, from the other side, to think of the Changelings as evil as Twilight had said. To feed on love—certainly, something nobody, and nopony, would give willingly… not true love—with no chance or hope to… to change… I snort, thinking that surely the irony must be no mistake, as long as… I stop at the idea. The idea for the potential for change. Certainly something I have recently, deeply, and quickly become very acquainted with… but only on the physical level—like a Changeling.

Do the Changelings have the potential for change?-emotional change? Better question: Why wouldn’t they? I ponder this for a long while, though of course I have no way to answer. There is simply too little to go on… that, and it quickly becomes hard to concentrate as my hunger makes itself known with another rough scrape against my insides. Can’t think on an empty stomach… or whatever I have now.

I never have been good with thinking while hungry, which I hoped wouldn’t work too terribly against me in getting my first meal as a Changeling, for cunning in the deception would surely be better rewarded… and make it less likely that I would be caught. Already, however, my stomach (or whatever—how exactly does a Changeling feed on love?) is working against me, for as I think on this, in my always-futile attempt to ignore my hunger, I step thoughtlessly out of the forest and into the sunlight of a mostly cloudless day.

I blink, clueless, at the what-I-think-at-the-time convenient cottage right at the edge of the forest for too many seconds before my brain finally catches up with my body and, with a buzz from wings, I launch myself back into the forest. Sliding to a stop behind the closest tree, I rise myself onto my hindlegs and place my forehooves against the tree to stand roughly vertical with it—a position which surprisingly doesn’t feel awkward.

As I stand still, panting and trying to slow my heart, a realization hits me: I’m a fan of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, and not even two hours after waking up in Equestria (not counting the unknown amount of time spent unconscious) I’m already stalking ponies! Now, it may be for a good cause—not starving to death—but still, the idea of it hits me hard, effectively stopping my heart for a second.

Regaining myself after who knows how long, I nearly peak around the tree when again a realization hits me, this time from my fan knowledge. Cottage. At the edge of the Everfree Forest. Surrounded by grassy hills with flowers and bugs and birds and- There is only one conclusion I can draw—only one pony I can think of who would live so—some might say suicidally—close to the Everfree Forest: The very pony—besides the zebra—that I had hoped not to run into!

I groan, and my hunger groans with me… Dare I attempt to head into Ponyville itself? Certainly not like this. But as who?… Better question: How does a Changeling transform? I pause, considering this, for, though I have been handed along with this body such things as being able to walk and run—or trotting and galloping—on four hooves and, at least, hovering with my wings, searching my body and mind for how to transform draws an utter blank.

Perhaps there is some kind of limitation? I can only change under certain circumstances… I hope that’s it… and I hope that I figure it out, quick, otherwise… I shiver at the thought of a slow death of starvation, making my forehooves clatter against the bark of the tree I’m still standing against. This, in turn, knocks loose only a sliver of bark, but that is, apparently, enough to make my loose my footing—or “hoofing”?—and I fall to my right side, shutting my eyes in shock.

My yelp of pain from more dirt getting into my still open and sensitive cuts isn’t enough to cover up the tiny yelp of fear, as quiet as it is. Consciously, I already know who it is—who it can only be—but my subconscious forces my eyes open, and is still shocked to see Fluttershy standing over me.

I wonder for a few milliseconds why she’s suddenly standing here of all places: Had she seen me before and come to investigate? Fluttershy? Perhaps she had thought me only an animal?… certainly (though I hope otherwise) a Changeling is not a type of pony, so technically she would have been correct, I suppose. Does that mean I can be… “Stared”? a mental shiver, and the moment is gone.

Instincts kick in again with a flash of green over my vision, and even before it clears, even without having to look at myself, I simply know that I must have transformed into Fluttershy. Though I think there are certainly people—humans on Earth, that is—who would have gone to great lengths to have such a thing to happen to them, all I can focus on, as I look up at Fluttershy, is keeping myself from crying again as it happens just as I had envisioned.

First, the look of shock that quickly melts into confusion. Then, in perhaps the most horrible moment of my life, or at least a very strong contender, fearful realization that overtakes her entire face, morphing it into something that would never appear on the show, and from there, it flows over her body, making her shiver in the most terrible way.

It’s some small, strange mercy when she finally comes back to herself and starts galloping away from me as what I both hope is, and hope is not as fast as she can. After she rounds her cottage, I sigh and flop to the ground, only then realizing I’m much more hungry than a minute ago and feel exhausted. I guess transforming takes a lot of energy… I sigh again, this time at the finding of the useless information, for surely I have blown my chance, with Fluttershy no doubt going to get one of her friends, and I'm hurt and hungry almost beyond the point of rational thought.

I consider waiting, just letting myself be found out by everypony as the lame Changeling I am. What would happen then? I have little doubt Celestia would at least be informed of me, but as to what would happen after?… Would she merely instruct Twilight on what to do with me, or come down herself? Not even that is certain…

Though it is difficult for me to imagine what might be done about me, I am absolutely certain of one thing: it would not be kind. Maybe merciful, but not kind. If she banishes me, would I have a better chance wherever she deems to send me? But there’s no certainty that’s what she would do… and that’s when I get up.

Better a chance with myself than betting on anyone, or anypony else. Even Celestia. Especially Celestia, at least as I am. I nod to myself, and faintly I think about how the straight-lipped, steadfast, and stern expression I have now must look strange on Fluttershy’s face… Fluttershy’s face… no need to waste this transformation… I need love, and fast!

“How… did you know?…”

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 2:

“How… did you know?…”

By the time I follow Fluttershy around her cottage, I am surprised and worried to find that Ponyville is much closer than I had expected, and that Fluttershy has already disappeared amongst those buildings… But where? Or, more importantly, to whom is she going to? For certainly, if I am to go about disguised as Fluttershy, it would be most helpful to avoid not only her, but anypony she has already run across.

Not only that… but to whom should I go? I consider as I begin down the dirt path, trying not to notice how the range of animals around Fluttershy’s cottage stare—not at all kindly, but thankfully mostly with confusion—at me. The safest choice, obviously, would be somepony with a major role in the show—not that the show is necessarily indicative of this reality… but for now I decide to ignore such impossible questions.

Back to the question at… hoof: Who? As much as Big McIntosh would appear to provide the most love, it’s still only a fanon—even as popular as it is—interpretation. So, one of the other main six… I instantly rule out Twilight and Applejack; they seem to be the two who would most likely be able to see through a Changeling—Especially Twilight I think with a shiver. Pinkie Pie is quickly discarded along with them, as her randomness presents too much of a danger for me to disregard—at the same time, I try to ignore how she may very well appear anywhere at any moment no matter where I go.

Similarly, I have no idea how I might track Rainbow Dash down, considering her ability to be practically anywhere and her apparent habit of not keeping a schedule, which leaves the dependably generous Rarity. Yes… though I have come to her by a process of elimination, she is truly the obvious choice, with just the right mixture of caring for me to feed off of and carelessness that would make her most likely to overlook any “changes” in “Fluttershy” that are not too glaring.

I turn off the path to make a beeline for where my fan-knowledge-turned-helpful points. With that, it isn’t long before the elaborate and unmistakable building of Carousel Boutique comes into my view. I almost skip in happiness and thanks for those brony cartographers, but now with the Boutique in view, and therefore with myself potentially within view of Rarity, I stop myself from taking even one hop. How odd, to have to be “in character” of some-… -pony that should be fictional, in their very own world, which also shouldn’t be real… I think, reminding myself that I would have to use every single bit of fan knowledge I possess, as certainly it would be invaluable in whatever may come, while at the same time I have no idea what would be needed and what I can discard as useless.

At the door, I remember to knock at my quietest, as Fluttershy might; only a second afterwards I almost smack myself across the face with a hoof—This is a boutique! A business! I can’t be screwing up already! I sigh in relief when I hear Rarity’s voice from inside, all singsong and pleasant, though I miss the words over the distraught buzzing in my mind. All the same, I push the door open slowly, more due to my being unsure about if Rarity had actually called me in, or had instead tried to politely send me away.

It turns out I have nothing to worry about, for just as I am pushing my head through the now barely cracked open door Rarity comes into view through another door with a greeting in a high, cheerful tone. “Fluttershy, dear, hello! Come in, come in! I wasn’t expecting to see you until our appointment tomorrow…” She finishes with an obvious drop in tone, though I have no idea why, and I figure if it’s important it will make itself known before too long. This “appointment” I wonder briefly upon—Is it a dress-fitting, or the spa? Or something else?—but I quickly dismiss it as unimportant; I won’t be here that long.

As I step inside and push the door closed with a hindhoof—the act coming to me with surprising naturalness—carefully and without making a sound, Rarity’s eyes grow wide. With a shiver I look back at myself—Are one of my Changeling wings showing or something?—and when I look back, Rarity has stampeded toward me with such speed her muzzle is now not an inch from mine, and I can now easily see the worry in her eyes. “Oh, Fluttershy, what happened?! Where did all these cuts and bruises come from?!”

Ah, right. I mentally calm myself as I look back at myself again, now taking in the fact my transformation has not “covered up” my injuries; no doubt I have a couple scrapes on my face, as well, which is what I suspect is the reason for her falling tone from her welcome. “Oh… well… I…” I’m thankful that my uncertainty can be misinterpreted as Fluttershy’s timidity as I look away through a window and rapidly discard useless excuses until my eyes fall upon a tree and the shadow almost directly under it. “I fell behind on feeding my animals lunch, so I was trying to hurry, and I tripped.”

As soon as I finish I’m ready to dismiss this story as ridiculously unbelievable, so I have to stop myself from sighing in relief when Rarity latches onto it. “Oh, my dear! So you came to me because you need help cleaning and dressing those nasty scrapes?” At first I’m confused—Need help?—but I quickly remember, as if I could forget: Hooves. Of course the ponies had never been shown in situations like this, but it is all the same obvious that ponies—or at least pegasi and earth ponies—can’t take care of their own wounds, especially any on the face.

I nod slowly and affect a wince when the movement pulls a cut on my shoulder. In truth, it barely even registers a light pinch to me, as I had grown up as an average rowdy sports-playing boy who had managed to get himself cut or bruised one way or another every other day, and it had given me a thick skin that has lasted not only into my adulthood, but apparently has remained even after my body had been completely changed. Still, I think it helps, as Rarity gives me an honestly empathetic look before motioning with a hoof for me to follow her.

She looks back at me after only a few steps, or more specifically, she looks at the cut on my shoulder, which I can feel bleeding again from having been pulled open by my nodding. “Fluttershy…” she begins hesitantly after turning around and starting to trot into a hallway, “I know how you care for your animal friends, but the next time this happens, I want you to have somepony take care of your wounds as soon as possible!… Even if that means leaving a few hungry squirrels and birds waiting. Why, letting a cut like that scab over with dirt still in it… You could get an infection!”

I almost freeze as I try to sort out how to respond; thankfully, my legs seem, as before, capable of moving without me. Would Fluttershy agree? Or argue that her animals’ meals are more important as long as a wound gets treated eventually?… However, my thoughts easily derail as I feel again that sandpaper-hunger stronger than ever against my insides. An animal’s meal being more important… What’s to keep me from not doing this? I can still get out and leave Rarity, and everypony else, with their love intact… What’s more important? The answer is easy, shockingly easy: Love is recoverable; Life is not.

Coming back to myself from that short moment of trying to convince myself to go through with this, I manage to stop from bumping into Rarity’s rear, only then realizing she has led me to her bathroom and that she, apparently, isn’t surprised or worried by my silence. I stand there in my best Fluttershy imitation as Rarity uses her magic to pull out various things from drawers and cabinets: cotton balls, gauze, medical tape, and… a brown bottle. I almost snicker at that—It seems there are some unexplainable multi-universal constants.

Silent, yet wondering if Rarity expects conversation, I stand still as I let the unicorn get to work on cleaning my cuts, starting with the shoulder. She surprises me with how gently she lifts away the scab and dirt with deft swipes of a peroxide-damp cotton ball; it reminds me of how my mother had bandaged me in my youth, the last time being something close to twenty years ago, now. The sting of the hydrogen peroxide is not unexpected, yet the… something underneath it is—something barely discernable, but present enough for me to tell it is an entirely new sensation; new in the way my swiveling ears had been, and somewhat still are.

Focusing on it, I become confused as I find it swells even as Rarity moves on to dressing the cut. My eyes go wide at exactly the same time Rarity finishes wrapping medical tape around my shoulder and the unicorn herself pulls her legs slightly closer together as she shivers—Recognizing that the sandpaper-hunger feeling has lessened considerably serves to confirm it. “Fluttershy…” Rarity begins uncertainly, but she doesn’t stop working, now turning her attention to some cut or abrasion on my face. “Do you feel cold at all?

Fighting with my tears and screaming apologies at myself I know I can’t speak aloud—I’m so sorry, Rarity! How did I talk myself into doing this to you!?— lest I reveal myself, I almost neglect to answer. “Um… no?” I venture, after quickly determining that either answer should be safe, so I go with the truth; Still, I have a little shiver of my own from anticipating Rarity’s revelation of what I am.

“Are you sure?” Rarity seems to have noticed my own shaking and takes a step back to look over me. I fight hard to not shiver again, though now that it seems Rarity doesn’t know whatever chill has just run through her means, I feel safer. Still, I wait for her to look me back in the eyes, just to be sure there’s still no hint of even suspicion on her face, before I answer.

“Y-y-yes…” I stutter purposefully, trying to buy a few seconds to think of some explanation. “I-I shivered because… I-”—Think! What would Fluttershy say?—“I’m scared of having peroxide so close to my eyes.” Finishing with a sheepish smile, I barely manage to keep a questioning tone out of the last few words.

Instantly, Rarity looks relieved, and therefore I am relieved. “Oh, Fluttershy, you needn’t worry about such things with me! Why, I don’t make the dresses I do by throwing needles at cloth without care, after all.” She smiles in a way that I suppose is designed to comfort Fluttershy, so I widen my own smile into something a bit more confident, at which Rarity gives the slightest nod.

Her smile doesn’t hold, however, for she looks contemplatively to the floor, and I’m sure she’s thinking again about her shivers, which resume as soon as she nods, along with that newest sensation inside of me, which is now strong enough for me to at least liken—it feels somewhat like standing under running water, yet it flows inside of me and seems to come from no particular direction. Rarity finally looks back at the cut on my face with a thoughtful hum and soft, “I hope I’m not coming down with something…” and begins to wipe away some congealed blood from a cut on my left cheek, letting more blood to trickle out as she cleans out the dirt.

Just as Rarity is lifting up a pad of gauze to protect the cut on my cheek, there’s the sound of a door banging against a wall, followed immediately by Twilight Sparkle’s urgent voice. “Rarity!” Vaguely, I hope my gulp and widened eyes can be mistaken for a less than usual response of Fluttershy’s fear of loud noises. Whether it’s the distraction of Twilight or real misunderstanding, Rarity doesn’t seem to take notice.

“Here, in the bathroom, Twilight! And do be careful with my front door, dear; customers have to come through there!” She calls back with patience and elegance, but sighs with exasperation as she tapes the gauze over the cut. I try to smile in a way to tell Rarity that Twilight only ever means well—something I believe even as I have no doubt she’s here to unmask me—but it doesn’t quite make it onto my face before the sound of Twilight’s galloping stops at the still-open bathroom door.

I keep my back to the door as I watch Rarity lean slightly to the side to look around me. I don’t need to turn around to see what causes Rarity’s eyes to widen slightly and shift swiftly back and forth between my face and the door behind me, for the tiniest gasp of surprise from behind me is unmistakable. I surprise myself by managing to not go into a panic—not being so hungry is probably helping with that—and without having to think over what to do next, something clicks into place—Sorry, Fluttershy…—“Hello, Twiligh-.”

I turn around and fake an astonished gasp of my own that honestly shocks me with how it sounds almost perfectly duplicated to the one Fluttershy has just made. Though I make a great effort to stare at Fluttershy with a look of fear on my face—something that comes to me with a strange naturalness that reminds me of how that first Changeling had copied Rainbow Dash’s movements and expressions—I can’t help but glance at Twilight occasionally, even as Fluttershy doesn’t look away from me.

At first, Twilight's head is pulled back from surprise, from what I hope is my friendly greeting, before copying Rarity in looking between Fluttershy and myself. Even as I hope Twilight, in her infinite capacity for logic, is considering the possibility that the real Fluttershy is the Changeling, I still think to myself more mental apologies. I’m so, so, so sorry, Fluttershy. I wish there was another way, but I need this! I daren’t give her the slightest hint of a pitiful or remorseful look, even as much I wish I could.

Eventually, Twilight is, naturally, the first to recover, settling her look of contempt on me. Before she can say anything, I swiftly stand, turn to face her, and take a step back. “Twilight, wa-wait…” Just like that I renew her pause, and she looks back towards Fluttershy, still beside her, with reluctant suspicion. Yet again, I wish I could speak my apologies aloud, now for making Twilight question her friends—And she knows one has to be real, but even she can’t tell which… What must be going through her mind right now… doubting the strength and depth of her friendship with Fluttershy…

Stepping back further to stand next to Rarity, I can see she has instead settled her eyes on Fluttershy, and behind the confusion is a hint of mistrust towards her. I hope that this suspicion is merely due to the fact Rarity doesn’t want to think that she has just been cleaning and patching the wounds of a Changeling, or at least, if not, that she can move past her misplaced wariness once the truth comes into light, as it almost certainly will—that “almost” being the only thing sustaining me now.

Twilight finally stops looking between Fluttershy and myself to turn to Rarity, and I think she also takes note of Rarity’s cautious stare before speaking. “Rarity… Fluttershy came to me to warn me that she had just seen a Changeling take on her appearance.” Just like that, she turns Rarity’s eyes on me. While she doesn’t give me quite the same look of suspicion, she nevertheless takes a single sidestep away from me.

I whip my head towards her, and while the tears in my eyes are real enough, I hope and wonder if Rarity will misinterpret them as feeling hurt by betrayal instead of the tears of a reluctant betrayer. “Rarity!” I begin a bit too loud, and wince. “Rarity, I-… I don’t know anything about this.” I almost wince again at such a clichéd opening, but push on. “I never saw any Changelings, but…” Truly unable to find the words through my empathetic pain for Fluttershy, I only look towards her, and Twilight and Rarity take it as an accusation.

Fluttershy finally looks away from me upon realizing what’s happening, and begins to tear up herself and her lips quiver as she looks from Twilight’s uncertain expression to Rarity’s. “But-… but-…” Whether she can’t think of what to say either or is merely chocking on her tears, I can’t tell, but the whimper she finishes with as she lifts a forehoof uncertainly nearly makes me reveal myself right there, but I know I need to get out of this bathroom, at least, to have some way of escape before even seriously considering such a thing.

Rarity seems to almost read my mind. “Twilight, why don’t we take this somewhere less… cramped while we think this over?” Twilight only nods, by the second looking less and less sure and more and more confused. Rarity gives Twilight a sympathetic look, but it only lasts a second before she remembers she's in exactly the same position. Stepping past Twilight and Fluttershy, Rarity leads us silently to the front of the shop, taking a short moment to put up a closed sign on one of the front windows and to close the curtains—quick thinking, making sure nopony sees me and starts a panic about Changelings…

We settle into a kind of circle in the middle of the floor, with me being careful to sit closest to the window in case of a need to escape; Fluttershy sits opposite me, but her eyes wander over everything that isn’t me. Why I simply don’t run now is hard for me to even say to myself. While I would like to think it mostly my Changeling instinct to remain in hopes of feeding off more of Rarity’s love, or some insane notion that I could apologize after being revealed—while I certainly could, I know they would never believe me—I all the same can tell that such thoughts aren’t right, or at least that they aren’t the entire explanation.

A moment of awkward silence with Twilight, Rarity, and myself looking between each other, before Twilight clears her throat, clearly casting her thoughts for some way to begin. “Now, even if-” Twilight lifts a forehoof and points at Fluttershy, who’s eyes dart onto Twilight to stare pleadingly. “-this Fluttershy lied to me, the only explanation is that one of you is an imposter, Changeling or otherwise.” Fluttershy drops her head to turn her crestfallen eyes upon the floor. While, as always, I feel sorry for her plight, my urge to defend myself has not faltered, so I focus on Twilight, readying to answer whatever she may ask.

I’m sure Twilight knows every single one of those other possibilities, but I suppose she spares explaining them in favor of starting to determine which is the real Fluttershy. “I think the simplest and quickest way to verify the real Fluttershy’s identity would be with some trivia that an imposter wouldn’t know, or at least have trouble finding out.”—That’s Twilight, considering every possibility.

“Oh!” Rarity almost lights up with her “I-de-a!” face, but the seriousness of the situation must stop her part way there. Still, she announces with some pride and pleasure, “Like how Fluttershy got her Cutie Mark?” Fluttershy turns to Rarity with a hint of a smile behind her still flowing tears; no doubt, being such a quiet pony, Fluttershy has probably told very few others, if any, besides her friends about how she had earned her Cutie Mark.

Twilight seems to have come to the same conclusion, and nods, smiling. “Yes, Rarity. That should work.” She says before looking between Fluttershy and myself. Taking note of how ever-so-slowly Fluttershy is stopping crying and looking more confident, I follow her example. A moment later and Twilight bites her lip. “We’re going to have to do this in turns… and we can’t let who goes second hear the answer of who goes first…” This time, I let myself smile at Twilight’s intelligence and let it be misinterpreted as confidence.

Rarity taps her chin a few time before offering a solution. “Why don’t you take them into my workshop, one at a time?” Twilight frowns, her eyes wandering thoughtfully before her gaze settles on me. When she nods slowly and seriously, I know she’s going to want to talk to me first—the one she thinks is most likely to be the imposter—to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Yes.” Twilight finishes with a more decisive, almost jerking, nod before standing and pointing a forehoof—Surprise, surprise…—at me. “You come with me.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had snorted with all that aggression in her voice, but she only spins around, turning her head back to keep an eye on me as she leads me into the workshop.

I wonder upon her antagonism as we trot, but my musings don’t last even as long as it takes us to go that short distance to the workshop door in the hallway just opposite the bathroom. Well… Of course Twilight hates Changelings! Not only was she calling Queen Chrysalis evil before she knew completely what she was, but it was her brother that had been nearly sucked dry of love! My smile falters a bit at that late realization—Will I even be able to get away fast enough once she finds out?…—but already we’re out of sight of any windows, and trying to run now would most likely not end well.

Once we’re inside the workshop, Twilight uses her magic to close and lock the door. She doesn’t sit, only tenses her back, obviously readying herself to attack as soon as I answer incorrectly. “Well? You heard Rarity. How did the real Fluttershy get her Cutie Mark?” Even as I have just rationalized her anger, the force of it makes me back up a bit and widen my eyes. Twilight instantly labels this act of mine suspect, if the way she further narrows her eyes is any indication.

With a tiny step back forward, I recall as much as I can of that episode, now thankful that it had been popular, high-rated, and, most of all, memorable. “It happened at Flight Camp-” I start—Or had it been Summer Flight Camp?…—though I can’t quite remember that detail, Twilight all the same looks instantly shocked, eyes shooting from terribly narrowed to unnaturally wide.

Before continuing, I close my eyes, not wanting to see if I can bare the look on Twilight’s face as she shifts her suspicion from me to Fluttershy. “Rainbow Dash had challenged some ponies who had been bullying me to a race. I was standing on a cloud in front of the starting line and holding the starting flag. When I…” and I went on to describe, in as best detail as I could, Fluttershy’s part of that episode as I watched it again on the back of my eyelids, glossing over some things I suspect might have been exaggerated for the show, such as the “I Love Everything” song.

When I stop speaking and open my eyes, I see that Twilight has gone from surprised to regretful with a kind of sad smile. She sighs and pats my shoulder that isn’t bandaged. “I’m sorry, Fluttershy.” Those three words send an arc of electricity through my brain—She can’t be doing this! She hasn’t questioned Fluttershy yet! No, no, no!… What am I still doing here?—but Twilight brings me out of my shock quickly. “I should have remembered Changelings are more clever than I give them credit for”—Oh, Twilight… You have no idea…

Only then, after being brought out of my shock, does the answer to my question of “why” hit me: As Twilight rubs her hoof against my shoulder, I reluctantly remain still instead of brushing it away or stepping to the side, and that running-water feeling of love nourishing me comes again as I watch Twilight’s shiver and frown slightly. This time, almost subconsciously expecting it, I focus on that feeling for only a second, but what I find makes my decision harder: It is, without contest, the greatest thing I have ever “tasted,” and though that may not be the most accurate word, I don’t think humans have ever experienced anything close to feeding on love—though I think perhaps its “taste” can be most likened to “power.” I also find, with only vaguely felt horror, that it would be almost impossible for me to give up that feeling willingly, or even difficult to force me to give up unwillingly, bar the most extreme circumstance.

Even as I know this is another instinct of my Changeling body, my resolve not only weakens, but shatters. Twilight unlocks the door and leads me back to Rarity and Fluttershy, and when we enter the store floor, her narrowed eyes land on Fluttershy, shocking her and making her cry after a short moment. Even when she sobs out, “How… did you know?…” I am still unmoved, thinking, Maybe… maybe I can do this after all…

Though her face leaves no question, Twilight still answers without shifting her still unusually angry eyes from Fluttershy. “She managed to hit every detail I remember Fluttershy telling us before. So, unless-” My eyes widen—She’s not going to say what I think she’s about to say! She can’t!—yet even as I think such a thing, I don’t even consider stopping her.

“Wait!” Rarity, in rare a moment of discourtesy, does this for me, and stands abruptly as she cuts over Twilight. I have no idea what, if anything, she and Fluttershy may have just spoken about, but simply the fact she’s now defending the real Fluttershy warms my heart, even as it freezes my stomach. “I know what you’re going to say, but as unlikely as it seems, I think, at least you, Twilight, would not leave that possibility unchecked.”

Twilight opens her mouth, but doesn’t speak, instead only closing it as she looks up at the ceiling before eventually nodding. Fluttershy has to wipe her eyes before following Twilight, and I watch them leave, only turning to Rarity, who seems to be carefully not looking at me, once all of Fluttershy’s tail is out of sight. Worried it may blow my cover, but far too curious, I ask, “R-Rarity… why-…?”

She, however, remains turned away from me, staring at the floor behind herself. “I… spoke with Fluttershy for a little bit, and reconsidered things.” A moment after she finishes, she turns back to me with a grim look, making me unsure—What did they speak about? What is she reconsidering?—so that it takes me a moment to process the rest of her sentence; specifically, where she had said “Fluttershy” so assuredly.

For a moment, I battle with myself, scared to ask, yet scared to not ask. Before I can decide, Rarity answers anyway. “I don’t know whether you know this, because she never leaves her cottage without them, but Fluttershy wears-”—it hits me, in those milliseconds between her words, what she’s about to say, and while my mind becomes too cluttered with, OH NO! to recognize such things, I know it must show on my face—“-tail extensions, and I convinced her to take them off for me.” With that, she levitates the key to my identity from behind herself.

Obviously, my Changeling ability has merely copied Fluttershy’s appearance; it can’t conjure up detachable tail hair, or can it? Twisting in on myself with a shaky breath, I grasp my tail and pull desperately, then bite down on another spot and pull again, then the same for yet another clump of tail. I’ve grasped my fourth mouthful of hair when Rarity sighs and says, “Stop…” with the oddest tone, sounding somewhere between exasperated and exhausted, but, at least, she doesn’t sound angry.

With that, she breaks the “thirst” spell—and I hope at least part of it had been some magic that had driven me to such thoughts—and I do as she says and release my tail, but I don’t look back at her; I feel, then, like I never want to look at her again. Still, I turn around after ten deep breaths, and find she doesn’t look angry, either—not in the slightest—I also notice she’d hidden the tail extensions again. “I don’t pretend to know what you or your queen were thinking, trying to replace one of the Elements of Harmony, but-.”

My flailing mind grasps onto something in her sentence, and I blurt out, “I don’t work for Queen Chrysalis!” That I can tell, by her widening eyes and still-open mouth, is something she hadn’t considered. “I’ve never worked for her; I never will. And I didn’t want to replace Fluttershy. I-… I just-… I’m all by myself.” I hang my head as I realize this is the truest thing I’ve said since having “arrived” in Equestria. “I’m… sorry…” I apologize with such a low voice and in something so close to a whimper that I worry it has been rendered unintelligible, but when I look back up, Rarity is biting her lip. I consider simply running—What’s the point in staying now?—but I only ask, “What… happens now?”

Yet again, Rarity is shocked into hanging her mouth open for a few moments—during this time I wonder about what Rarity thinks she’s doing, having not revealed my identity when Twilight and I had returned from the workshop—before she regains herself and answers. “I know how Twilight is with Changelings; that’s the other thing Fluttershy and I spoke about. As scared as she is of you, Fluttershy still cares about you. That’s just how she is… though I’m sure you already know about that?”

Of course I know, but never before have I considered such being extended towards Changelings, especially considering everypony’s “experience” with them. Still, I nod and even manage a tiny smile. “Yes, but-.” Rarity cuts me off with a swiftly raised forehoof, her eyes focusing on something behind me; turning around, I watch a frazzled Twilight and apologetic Fluttershy emerge from the hall. Fluttershy actually gives me a small smile, completely throwing me off—Just what are these mares up to!

Twilight shakes her head at the floor as she sits where she had before. “I… don’t get it. They both told… almost exactly the same story!” She jerks her head back up with a strange look in her eyes. “I thought for sure that nearly nopony besides us knew Fluttershy’s Cutie Mark story! She’s too-…” Twilight drops off, shaking her head again.

Rarity looks like she’s about to say something before Twilight jerks her head up again. “I’m tired of this! I’m tired of Changelings!” She looks between Fluttershy and myself, pausing long enough for me to consider what she’d just said—“Tired” of Changelings?…—before continuing. “Whichever one of you is the real Fluttershy, I’m sorry, but the quickest way to deal with this is the most direct: when a Changeling is hit hard enough, it’ll revert it’s shape!”

Twilight brings her forehooves up and smacks them together with a sound that makes Fluttershy wince. I only blink at her for a moment, before turning to Fluttershy, who is, strangely, not looking at Twilight, but me, then turning to Rarity, who is also staring at me. A little shiver goes through me; despite Rarity’s assurances that Fluttershy cares about me, she hasn’t answered my question, and that unknown bothers me.

“You!” Twilight points at Fluttershy, who lets out a squeak. “Just stand still…” she instructs as she stands, then crouches and points her horn forward, towards Fluttershy, as it begins to glow. Fluttershy stands in shock and lifts a hoof uncertainly, but doesn’t move as she looks between all three of us frantically.

When she finally simply turns her head to the side and scrunches her eyes shut in anticipation, I shout out, “Wait! Twilight!” I bound forward, using my copy of Fluttershy’s wings to help propel me. For some reason, Rarity bounds after me, trying to trip me and leaving the tail extensions out in the open in their obvious pink. That doesn’t matter at the moment, however, as Twilight doesn’t look up or even stop her spell—Can she even stop? I wonder, but can’t recall any point in the show where Twilight had consciously stopped casting a spell half way through.

“What are you all doing?!” Twilight yells at us without lifting her head, but I can still make out her eyes through the growing light of her horn looking “up” at us. I pay no mind to her, wasting no time in shoving Fluttershy—Sorry!—out of the line of fire, back towards where I have just been standing.

Rarity, for her part, persists in pursuing me, yelling, “Stop!” and with another bound makes to shove me out of the way in turn. I twirl around at her yell, however, which gives me time enough to prepare to shove her back. I rear, meeting my forehooves with hers, creating a great clack. Fortunately, with my hind hooves still on the ground compared to Rarity’s bodily leaping, I easily gain the upper hoof, shoving her back just as I see out of the corner of my vision a streak of violet-pink… magic fire out of Twilight’s horn. Within surprisingly slow milliseconds it fills my vision, then my head feels suddenly light, and I black out after one final thought: Rarity is crazy!

“I was held prisoner…”

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 3:

“I was held prisoner…”

Unconsciousness, like many things, can be comfortable or uncomfortable. I have, as a human, experienced both sides of these: the utter unawareness and unfeeling that is anesthesia, and a restrictive, “tight” sense that comes after a terrible (drunken) beatdown. I had never before considered if or how that uncomfortable side can stretch into excruciating pain until I had been knocked out by a blast of unadulterated unicorn magic—at least what I hope is unadulterated, or I fear what else Twilight’s magic may be capable of, yet at the same time, I don’t like to think of Twilight unleashing her full power just to test which of us had been the real Fluttershy.

Still, through the pain, I know unconsciousness is otherwise senseless, rendering one incapable of thought; that is its definition. So, when I hear a voice call out to me, “Don’t forget,” I dismiss it at first, only to reel at the fact I can dismiss it, only to arrive at that master of handwaves: magic. Perhaps Twilight’s spell didn’t actually knock me out? Not into technical, “real” unconsciousness, and to me, that makes sense, given her goal.

It takes until that voice speaks again, saying, “Don’t forget the mission,” until I recognize it as the monotone male from before. O, disembodied voice, will I meet you every time I’m knocked unconscious or go to sleep? Of course, it doesn’t answer—not, at least, the question I thought to it, instead answering the question of What mission? with, “… Their love is… our pow-.” As it says what I’m sure is the word “power” I open my eyes and the voice is cut off instantly.

The first thing I notice, after getting over cursing myself for interrupting the no doubt important message, is that I have been left on the floor, lying against the wall where I had presumably been thrown by the spell. I also know, in the way that I had simply known before when I had taken on Fluttershy’s appearance, that my disguise has been striped away exactly as Twilight had said. The next thing I think is that I couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, with everypony standing, or in the case of Rarity, lying where they had been before.

The only thing that hints that I had, in fact, been unconscious for at least some time is that the tail extensions have “disappeared” and Fluttershy currently has her muzzle buried in her tail, replacing them, I suspect. In the next instant it strikes me just how calm she must be now, to be able to turn away from a Changeling—… though saving her from being hit by Twilight’s spell might have something to do with that.

Turning away from Fluttershy, I see Rarity looking at me, shocked—about what?—with her eyes wide and her mouth open, but when Fluttershy pulls her face out of her tail, smiling, Rarity smiles as well and glances back at Fluttershy with a strange sparkle in her eyes. As indecipherable as that look is, I realize that Rarity hadn’t lied, and that she cares about me, even if only because Fluttershy cared first.

Unfortunately, it seems all of this sympathy is unshared by Twilight, who remains still, staring at me with her face utterly devoid of emotion. I can only imagine what must be going through her mind, what with me, a Changeling, sacrificing his disguise to save the very pony he has taken the form of from pain. However, as Twilight tends to do, she comes to the most logical—and for me, unfortunate—conclusion of trying to gather sympathy, and, as before, she narrows her eyes at me.

Rarity is the first to notice, and stands, looking ready to defend me, but Fluttershy steps between us first, surprising everypony with her silence and speed… and her readiness and almost eagerness to stand between a Changeling and Twilight’s anger. “Twilight, wait! Please, listen… please!” she begs, her voice only just barely above her usual volume, but stronger for it nonetheless—strong enough to give Twilight pause.

Finally pulling herself up out of her aggressive stance—most importantly turning her horn away from Fluttershy—Twilight shakes her head and says, with a voice that tries to be both commanding and kind, “Fluttershy, don’t-… No. You saw what happened to Canterlot—what almost happened to all of Equestria. Changelings are evil! They’re-!” Fluttershy, in a bold attempt to abandon her meekness, tries to cut over Twilight, but—too predictably—she lets herself be talked over with nothing but a little squeak. “They’re masters of deception! Even this one, Fluttershy, had me convinced for a minute that it was you!”

From where I’m lying, I can’t see Fluttershy’s expression, though the way she pulls her ears back serves as enough of a hint to make my muscles tense and ready to flee. I take a quick glance towards the window, trying to judge if I can make it and escape in time without hurting myself too badly. When my eyes dart back, Fluttershy is looking down at me, her eyebrows pulled together ever so slightly and her eyes look over me slowly, scrutinizing. In time, she focuses on my shoulder and cheek, eyes flitting between them for a short while until her eyes widen and her mouth forms a small “o” before her smile returns and she says quietly, “You were hurt before you fell outside of my cottage, weren’t you?”

If I had been standing, I’m sure I would have fallen over from the shock of that statement. How does she know?!… Wait, better question: Why does it matter? I ask myself as I tilt my head and finally close my mouth. Rarity seems to share my sentiment, as she raises a questioning eyebrow before stepping to the side to get a better look at me around Fluttershy. However, it’s Twilight who finally voices our questions, “How can you-?” she shakes her head rapidly, interrupting herself to instead ask, “Why does that matter?!”

Fluttershy is still smiling when she turns away from me to answer Twilight. “Neither of you would be able to tell because you weren’t there, but when he fell from behind the tree, he fell on his right side. This cut is on his left cheek…” she steps to the side so she’s no longer standing right between Twilight and me, “… on the wrong side,” she clarifies, finishing with a definitive point of her hoof.

My mouth drops open again—That’s… like something right out of a crime drama!—and while Rarity looks impressed, Twilight remains unconvinced and repeats with a strained, impatient voice, “And why does that matter?” Fluttershy actually looks surprised by this question—What now? These mares are impossible to understand!—before she jerks her head towards Twilight with her own questioning look.

Rarity, however, speaks first, starting slow and with some unsurety. “I think I see where Fluttershy is going with this… If this Changeling was hurt before, why didn’t… he?” Rarity looks down at me as she hesitates, but Fluttershy quickly catches her eyes when she smiles and nods, and Rarity continues with more certainty in her voice. “Why didn’t he go back to his own kind to get treated?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change at all, and if the way she looks between Fluttershy and Rarity a few times before answering is any indication, she expects something more. “And… what else? That doesn’t mean anything.” Here, Twilight lifts a hoof and moves it as if pointing at words on a blackboard for emphasis. “What if it-”—Fluttershy and I wince at this while Rarity bites her lip—“hurt itself on purpose to get at somepony’s love—like yours, Rarity!” She finishes by pointing her hoof at the other unicorn before stomping it definitively.

When Rarity looks back at me, I’m sure she’s reconsidering that shiver I gave her as I took her love, and I try to convey an apology by hanging my head. When she looks away from me, her face doesn’t show anything. “I’m sorry, Twilight, but you’re not making sense.” All three of us are blown away by this statement, simultaneously drawing our heads back in shock; Twilight recovers quickest, but Rarity continues before she can say anything. “Changelings have far less risky and much easier methods of getting love than hurting themselves—there’s simply no need for any Changeling to perform such a reckless act.”

As I watch the look of comprehension wash over Twilight’s face, I become aware of just how odd the situation is: It is a strange feeling, to hear others try to analyze my motives while I’m sitting right there, while knowing that anything I say will instantly be dismissed as a lie. “Alright…” Twilight eventually concedes with a sigh. “I’ll give you that, but even if these wounds were an accident, then why not get some use out of them? Healing, after all, takes energy, and Changelings use love as energy. I’m sure that the more love a wounded Changeling feeds on, the faster it’ll heal!” Twilight finishes with a confident and, to me, frightening grin.

I expect Rarity to be the one to speak up in my defense, to point out yet another illogicality in Twilight’s argument, so at first Fluttershy’s words don’t register in my mind. “But… Twilight, A Changeling letting a pony treat him as if he is a pony could be dangerous. Many animals require different treatment for similar injuries, and even the smallest difference could cause more damage instead of helping.” Fluttershy looks down at me with a look that’s hard for me to place exactly, but in the general range of sympathy. “It’s a good thing Rarity didn’t think you needed stitches… I don’t think transforming with stitches inside of you is a very good idea…” I blanch at the image of stitches stretching and tearing through skin and muscle, though I know that evoking such thoughts isn’t Fluttershy’s intention.

Twilight stares at Fluttershy for a moment, her mouth open with her jaw crooked and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance with her friends. Eventually, she lets out a huff and when she speaks, the strain of keeping herself from using too harsh a tone is obvious. “What are you two… thinking defending a Changeling? I can’t believe I’m actually having to talk you about this when you were both in Canterlot when I was proven right!”

Rarity nods before closing her eyes and responding with drawn-out patience. “Yes, Twilight, of course we remember, but as you just said yourself, this Changeling had managed to fool you into thinking he was Fluttershy for a moment.” When she finishes, she opens her eyes and smiles at Twilight in a way that seems she expects this to settle things.

Twilight, however, remains still, looking like she expects Rarity to continue, and when the other unicorn doesn’t after a few seconds, she draws her head back in complete bewilderment; a sentiment I share. “What does that matter? The fact now is that it’s been unmasked and we need to get rid of it!” and I can agree with that first part, as I have no idea where Rarity is attempting to go with this twisted line of logic.

Rarity sighs and steps towards Twilight, who looks for a moment like she wants to step back to keep a distance between herself and the other unicorn, but she doesn’t move, not even when Rarity steps right in front of her and puts a forehoof on her shoulder. “As that may be, think back a bit to when we were unsure which Fluttershy was which.” Rarity pauses for a short moment before nodding to impel Twilight on, continuing only after Twilight nods hesitantly back. “Now, remember, you told us you knew something was off about Cadance almost right away…” Only when Rarity lets this statement trail off do I see where she’s going, but I quickly remind myself I can’t say anything for fear of causing Twilight to instantly dismiss it.

Twilight looks down at the floor for quite a length of time, occasionally closing her eyes to focus while otherwise having her eyebrows pulled together more tightly than I had ever seen on anyone or anypony. Ultimately, she looks back up at us blankly, and I sense that either she had not managed to come up with anything, or she doesn’t like what she had come up with. Without preamble she goes straight for what I figure she thinks is the final piece of the puzzle. “Answer Fluttershy’s question.” She barely gives me half a second to look confused before clarifying. “How do you know Fluttershy’s Cutie Mark story?”

I grit my teeth as my mind goes into overdrive—I need to come up with some believable story, as I obviously can’t tell the truth, but I also can’t take too long. Wait… “anything I say will instantly be dismissed as a lie”… unless I can provide some objective evidence! I don’t have anything I can use besides my knowledge, but considering how I know what I know… so… perhaps a half-truth?… “I-… I overheard Fluttershy telling her story to the Cutie Mark Crusaders.”—which is at least partially technically kind-of true.

That gains an instant reaction out of all three of varying expressions of shock: Fluttershy stumbles away from me before she recalls herself and steps back next to me—nearly overcorrecting herself and stepping on my tail. Rarity’s pupils shrink and she lifts a hoof uncertainly until Fluttershy returns to my side, which is apparently enough to calm her. Twilight draws her head back and her eyes widen. Her expression doesn’t change when she finally asks first what I’m sure is on all of their minds: “Wait, you mean you’ve been here-… Just how long have you been in Ponyville?! How do you know about the Cutie Mark Crusaders?!”

I try to keep myself from flinching at how she makes those questions sound far too much like accusations, though I’m not sure how successful I am as I’m far too focused on trying to come up with an answer and not paying attention to the ponies around me. Of course I should have suspected that the show not providing an official timeline would come back to bite me in the plot sooner or later—better sooner, I suppose… but she didn’t specifically ask for a number! I eventually realize. “I’ve been here ever since the Summer Sun Celebration when Nightmare Moon returned… As for the Cutie Mark Crusaders, well, I think I know about them as much as any oth- as much as any Ponyville citizen.” I quickly correct, reminding myself I’m not a citizen, and wouldn’t be even if I had been turned into a pony instead of a Changeling.

All three look shocked and, more importantly, convinced by that, but I still add after a moment’s pause, “I was even there when the three formed their little ‘club’ at Diamond Tiara’s cuteceañara… Wait!” Only now considering that a Changeling confessing to attending a filly’s party might not go over so well, I bite my lip and instantly regret it when I feel my fangs easily create twin puncture wounds. Too late; just glide over it, I try to calm myself. “… Wait,” I repeat, “It might have been Silver Spoon’s, but-. No, I’m sure it was Tiara’s; she was the one who complained about the spotlight stealing and Silver tried to cheer her up.” Yes, small details… Those are my only weapon right now: details only someone who had been there would have noticed…

Unfortunately, it seems Twilight hadn’t paid attention, instead getting stuck on my very first statement, though she at least appears to take it as the truth by what she says next. “Y-You’ve-…” she stutters, more shocked by this than anything before, and even as her stutter disappears, she stands almost robotically still, nothing but her mouth moving. “Changelings have been here since before Nightmare Moon’s return a couple years ago?…”—finally, a point of reference, time-wise.

When nothing happens for a few minutes I start to feel that something needs to push this situation along. “Well… yes…” I try to urge the other three along with a little verbal push, but still nothing happens. “We Changelings are, after all, good at what we do. The only reason we were exposed is because Queen Chrysalis started to get a little greedy.” Of course I have no idea if any of this was true, but it has the intended effect… somewhat.

Twilight finally moves, shaking her head slowly. “Queen Chrysal-… You-… I-… This-… I can’t-… This is something that needs to go straight to Princess Celestia.” My jaw drops open and I want to protest—No! Anything but her!—but my throat shuts down, and I can only make little gasping noises as Twilight gives hard looks to Rarity and Fluttershy in turn. “I’m going to the library to send a letter now, and I don’t want to start any panic by dragging a Changeling through town, so I need you two to make sure it doesn’t get away. No matter how much you care about it, I’m sure you can both see this news is bigger than one Changeling.”

That makes all three of us bite our lips—me a bit more gently and carefully this time—and look between ourselves. Twilight finishes with a glare at me that says, “I don’t have time to convince them right now, so if you don’t stay put…” and while I have no idea what Twilight might possibly threaten, I instantly resolve to get out of Ponyville as soon as possible, by any means possible. With a final, aggressive shake of her head, she stiffly canters out, at least remembering to not slam the door open and shut with her magic.

When the door closes, the fear finally pulls back enough for me to move, and as I begin attempting to stand, Fluttershy puts a forehoof against my chest. While my first thought is that she’s actually listening to Twilight and is going to prevent me from so much as standing, I recognize quickly enough, and with relief, that she doesn’t exert any pressure against me and moves her hoof with me as I rise—the light touch is only there as a silent and compassionate warning to move slowly and be careful not hurt myself further.

As soon as I’m standing on hooves that are surprisingly not shaky, Rarity steps forward with what I interpret as an apologetic look. Instantly, I step back in turn, consequently and unintentionally putting Fluttershy in between us—still it has the effect of getting Rarity to stop advancing on me. “Rarity, I can’t-… I can’t just wait -.”

“I know,” She interrupts, prompting me to look around Fluttershy, and I only now recognize that her apologetic look is, in fact, sympath- no… empathy? Why? Just as I open my mouth to ask, Rarity continues. “I understand, really, and I think you know why.” I shake my head without really thinking about an explanation, and Rarity smiles. “I was held prisoner once.”—Oh! Right…—“I wish we could have gotten Twilight to see how she’s acting, but…” She finishes with nothing but a sigh.

Fluttershy turns around to face me directly, looking straight into my eyes with the most sincere kindness—not that that’s surprising…—before adding to what Rarity had just said. “And I- um… I can tell you don’t like having to fool everypony… I have lots of experience with needing to do things I don’t want to… or thinking I need to…” Her eyes start to go misty as she says this, and she slowly lowers her head down until she’s looking at the floor, to which she says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-… I should have thought things through and not gone to Twilight…” She can barely finish, her voice growing constrained and high with held-back sobs.

“It’s… all right…” I try to comfort, but my own voice betrays me and comes out uncertain—just as I am uncertain about my future—so I put a hoof under her chin to try and lift her head up. At first, when she presses back, I think she’s resisting, but when that flowing feeling washes over me I realize she’s nuzzling me—her tears wet my black fur and dribble through the holes in my legs.

I try to continue through my shock of such a revelation and sensation, “You… couldn’t have known... that she…” I shake my head, both reminding myself that if my own deductions and Rarity’s words can be trusted, then Fluttershy had to have known how Twilight would react, and telling myself that, very much like Twilight, Fluttershy had only acted as she thought best. “She’s only doing what she thinks is best… as always,” I try to smile, but I’m not sure how well it comes out, considering my mood and my fangs. “but I still don’t want to wait here for… for…” I gulp as I try to get the name out—never thought I would ever be so scared of Princess Celestia I wouldn’t be able to say her name…

Rarity catches on quickly without me having to finish, though, and nods in a slow, almost conspiratorial way, like a spy signaling to another spy. In that moment a most crazy thought enters my head. She isn’t- she- No, Rarity can’t be… No, she has a sister and-. It’s just impossible! Unless… but in the next instant I shove the thought away as Rarity says, “As I said, I understand. I’ll break the window with one of my mannequins to make it look like you had to escape.” She finishes with a nod towards the door, which she opens for me with her magic, which creates a light blue aura around her horn. Blue… as always, I almost sigh from relief.

Fluttershy turns her head away from my hoof and begins wiping at her eyes with the ankles of her forelegs. I look down at the wetness she’s left on my own leg, eventually coming to a decision that manages to give me a small, but honest, smile. Lowering my own head, I nuzzle Fluttershy’s ear and whisper, “It’ll be all right. I’ll be all right. I always have been.” She sniffles before looking up at me with a smile of her own. With thoughts of Fluttershy keeping the smile on my face, I leave, flying—without having to think about it—south, over Sweet Apple Acres and away from Canterlot.

“… I’m sure you’re a good Changeling.”

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 4:

“… I’m sure you’re a good Changeling.”

Flying. It takes me until I’m out of sight of most of Ponyville before I finally become aware that I’m flying. Flying: one of the oldest dreams of humanity that had taken untold centuries before finally being realized, and even then only with the aid of terribly complicated machinery, yet here I am flying under my own power, with my own wings. Still, I’m careful to keep an even head and fly low and quick, just barely out of sight of the path that leads to Sweet Apple Acres.

Only when I’m near the southern most reach of Sweet Apple Acres do I slow down and eventually stop. Lighting upon a lonely cloud about large enough for maybe five pegasi crowding themselves flank-to-flank, I turn to look back at Ponyville, which from here is far enough away I can only make out the buildings around the edge of town, including Carousel Boutique and Fluttershy’s cottage. With a sigh of relief and inward nod I decide it should be safe enough to rest here for a moment—I am, after all, no Rainbow Dash at flying and the “sprint” has left me more tired than I expected—considering the only ponies around here should be the Apple family and they’re all Earth ponies who couldn’t get at me on this cloud no matter how much they wanted… if they can even see me here on this cloud.

With another sigh, this one more of satisfying relaxation, I let myself flop onto the cloud, the softness, incomparable to any cloth or bedding, forms itself into the perfect shape with just the right firmness. However, even as I feel the stress of the confrontation with Twilight leave my muscles, it congeals in my brain. Truthfully, I couldn’t have expected her to react to a Changeling taking on the appearance of one of her best friends in any other way; after all, Queen Chrysalis’s attack had been more personal for her than most, and, at least in the show, Twilight isn’t known for dealing with stress in the best of ways.

Still, there is something about her behavior just now that bothers me, niggling me from within my subconscious… something besides the speed with which she had decided to attack Fluttershy, this being something easy to explain with the aforementioned stress. No… it isn’t something Twilight had done that’s bothering, but something she didn’t do, I realize. She had been so focused on me that she had ignored any deeper implications of the others’ actions. She had to have seen how Rarity had dived forward to try to protect me from the blast, yet she had completely ignored it.

Stress couldn’t account for that, not completely, and even then I suspect it should only make her more wary and skeptical. Thinking back now, Rarity hadn’t used her magic—which would have been a big tell—in front of Twilight. She had also seen me, as a Changeling, sacrifice his disguise to save the supposedly real Fluttershy. How can she ignore the possibility that two Changelings had merely, perhaps by accident, taken on the same pony’s appearance? And by extension, how can I? Would two Changelings in disguise be able to tell themselves apart from the real one and I simply didn’t have that sense considering I hadn’t been born a Changeling?

Then again, such a thing would probably be investigated by Celestia, for Twilight is sure to provide her with a painstakingly detailed account of the events, and it seems likely the multi-millennial-aged Princess would consider the same logic as myself. Even if Twilight hadn’t addressed such and confront the other two, this doesn’t necessarily indicate she hadn’t considered it, and instead had made a tactical retreat lest she find herself fighting up to three Changelings alone. So, even in account of her mental state, it seems Twilight had taken the most logical course of action—and that poking disturbance in the back of my mind hasn’t disappeared.

However, if she didn’t confront the others and acted like she didn’t suspect them, then there should be no reason to leave all of us alone, instead she could have teleport-. Of course! That’s it! Twilight tends to teleport when she’s stressed! From being frustrated with Applejack not accepting help to worrying about being “tardy” with a friendship report… But that leaves the question: Why didn’t Twilight teleport then? She should have, whether it was irrationally, yet in accordance to how she acts when stressed, or rationally, and meant to keep everypony in her sights.

The only logical answer—and when it comes to Twilight, I think examining her actions logically is a fair method—is that she is neither stressed nor suspicious, yet that doesn’t make sense. She had, at least, seemed stressed, unless that had been an act for… some reason, and she had merely forgotten her own nervous tendencies, and, as I’d already reasoned, Twilight seems like she would be the pony most suspicious of potential Changeling impersonators (“imponynators”?). No matter the case, something is off about Twilight, yet she can’t be a Changeling either, as her magic is still pink-purple, and unless Changelings can learn to alter the color of their magic—something Queen Chrysalis hadn’t done, yet whether she can or not…—then there has to be one other variable I haven’t encountered or considered yet… Too many unknowns…

Lost as I am in my thoughts, the physical world seems almost a manifestation of a barely remembered dream, at least until a sudden gust makes my ears flick involuntarily, jerking me awake more quickly and efficiently than falling off a cliff in an actual dream. Just going to have to get used to that, I guess… unless I transform into a pony whose ears have been chopped off. The thought actually makes me grin as I stand and stretch; without any idea of how long I’ve “been out,” I figure I should get going… somewhere… anywhere else, and like that, my mood is brought down instantly.

My melancholy manages to last perhaps a second or so until I’m truly brought fully out of my thoughts by a strange color in the sky that’s quite close. Make that multiple colors moving toward me… actually, a rainb-. No! Rainbow Dash! The way my heart jolts I feel like I’ve just been struck by lightning, and my partially involuntary jump thankfully sends me right over the speeding pegasus, who I now know had been aiming to knock my head off at who-knows-how-many miles an hour if the battle cry she lets out as she careens under me is anything to go by.

Rainbow Dash may not be my “best pony,” but even if she had, I suspect I still would have moved her down a few places for using her velocity as a likely lethal weapon against me. Whipping my head around to follow her, I can tell she hadn’t expected me to dodge her, and she almost flies through the branches of a few trees, barely managing to swerve and, unfortunately for me, not knock herself out with an apple to her speeding forehead. All the same, she quickly regains control and makes a tight turn back towards me—I know I couldn’t hope to out fly her, and even if I manage to continue dodging her, she’s likely to get frustrated quickly and move on to a new tactic, so in desperation I shout, “Wait! Rainbow Dash, stop!”

That’s all it takes to get her to land on the cloud next to me, though I think it has more to do with her being shocked than actually listening to me. For a split second, my mind goes all the way to the beginning when Rainbow Dash had accused Twilight, “Are you a spy?!” just for knowing that Nightmare Moon would return, and even though Twilight had managed to convince Rainbow with some very short explanations, I can’t imagine it will be so easy for me. She takes on an aggressive stance, ready to lunge at me as she asks, “‘Stop,’ huh? Why don’t you convince me I should?”

I blink a few times, wondering for a moment why Rainbow Dash seems to honestly—as I can’t come up with any reason she would fake this—be giving me a chance to explain and defend myself, during which Rainbow Dash doesn’t do anything but continue glaring at me. As it is, the Elements of Harmony I quickly reason to be the answer. After all, loyalty implies trust, and if Rainbow is loyal and therefore trusts Fluttershy, her fillyhood friend and Element of Kindness, then Rainbow might pick up some hint of Fluttershy’s forgiveness in spite of her obviously much stronger guarded nature—which itself seems like part of the Element of Loyalty. Stop—now isn’t the time to theorize on apparent contradictions in the Elements of Harmony! Just think… I need to say something I can back up with what little I have on my side… “Well, for one I’m-… I’m not doing anything to anypony, nor planning to. After all, I’m not in disguise.”

I almost smile in the most smug way at how such a simple statement makes Rainbow Dash pull completely out of her stance, going from hostile to hesitant in a second. Maybe I overestimated Rainbow Dash’s distrust? Just as I finish thinking that, Rainbow narrows her eyes, making my muscles stiffen in anticipation. She looks me up and down slowly, then flutters off the cloud and circles me slowly; whether she does this to make sure I’m one hundred percent Changeling and not in disguise on any part of my body or to give herself some excuse to take more time thinking my words over, I have no idea. Either way, when she lands in front of me again, now looking more cautious than antagonistic, she responds, “Maybe… but this is pretty far away from everypony. You wouldn’t need to hide way out here.”

I grimace as I consider not answering and simply fleeing, but I quickly mentally shake that thought off—I most likely wouldn’t be able to go five feet before Rainbow Dash tackles me to the ground. Why, why, do they have to make this so difficult… well, at least Rainbow Dash is actually giving me a chance, unlike Twilight… hmm… “unlike Twilight”… “Unless I wanted to hide from weather pegasi, like you, which wouldn’t be a very good idea, sitting on a cloud without a disguise.”

Rainbow tilts her head and knits her brow as she considers these facts, though I think that her relaxing around me might have as much to do with me speaking so civilly as the actual points I make. Her eyes eventually settle on my hooves, though the holes of which I suspect she can see the cloud. “Yeah…” is all she says, and when I raise an eyebrow at that, Rainbow quickly adds, “I didn’t know Changelings could stand on clouds…”

Now that she mentions it, neither did I; I had simply settled down on this cloud from my tiredness and I hadn’t simply fallen through. I hadn’t thought beyond “need to rest,” but that isn’t the point that needs to be focused on right now—wondering about the workings of magical pony and Changeling hooves can be saved for a less pressing time. I raise my eyebrow even further as I say, “That’s all? You find a Changeling that’s not in disguise, he explains he doesn’t need a disguise, and you’re convinced?” I shake my head, both at the fact this sounds far too easy and at how I’m the one pointing myself out.

However, Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes as if the answer is obvious. “Well, when you put it like that, there’s no way a Changeling spy, who can look like any pony it wants, would be this bad.” The chromatic pegasus closes her condescending conclusion with a chuckle. I roll my eyes, but it’s only when my wings buzz in some instinctual show of irritation that I realize my ears are also pulled back. Surprisingly, Rainbow seems to catch onto this and quiets down. Even more surprisingly, she apologizes, if only in her own way, “I mean, I’m sure you’re a good Changeling,” and most surprisingly yet, she looks honest.

As a million thoughts shoot through my head I’m sure my eyes get a suddenly far-off look, as Rainbow gains a smirk that threatens to turn into laughter; it disappears as soon as I shake my head—one thing at a time—and look straight into her eyes with my own narrowed with seriousness. “What do you mean, saying I’m a ‘good’ Changeling? How can you… er… tell?” If nothing else, maybe I can use Rainbow Dash’s reasoning to try to figure out Rarity’s actions.

Rainbow, however, completely disregards my serious stare and laughs before calming herself down enough to explain, “Because you ask ridiculous questions like that instead of attacking me or running away.” She pauses to smile in a good-natured way. “That, and what you said yourself about not looking like any pony else.” With that, she lays down, places her head on her forehooves, and closes her eyes with a sigh, leaving herself undefended, yet looking completely unconcerned and even content. “Plus, anypony who takes an early afternoon nap on a cloud over Sweet Apple Acres has the right idea and can’t be all bad.”

I shake my head slowly as she explains this, only noticing she’s looking at me out of the corner of her eye and smirking at me when I turn back to her to respond, but she cuts over me. “Are you really trying to convince me you’re evil?” She shakes her head in turn as she pulls herself back up into a sitting position. “Because if you were evil, that’d be pretty dumb.” She pauses for a second, during which I consider the fact I had been out-logic-ed by Rainbow Dash of all ponies—not that I had been trying to convince her I’m evil, only to be a little more careful. “Look, Twilight can be the one to ask a bunch of questions, but I see what I see.”

At that I can’t help but sigh, in part both to relief, thankfulness, and amusement at Rainbow’s stubbornness, and for a moment I’m unsure what I should focus on and what I should say. Eventually, I settle on, “Thank you. I don’t think everypony would be able to say that, not about a Changeling, anyway.” I smile back sincerely, and I can only suppose Rainbow decides to ignore my fangs in favor of taking the expression for its meaning, for not a single muscle twitches. “You are more unique than just with your mane, Rainbow Dash; you have something-…” I stop in my tracks, unable to find a word, and Rainbow Dash waits with surprising patience. “-something else,” I finally continue, “that ponies can’t just learn or get.”

Rainbow Dash moves closer—almost daring close, another pony might say, but then another would say simply attempting to converse with a Changeling is daring—and all of a sudden I can feel some emotion begin to flow off of her and into me—not “love” but something that feeds me all the same. “Not a problem! I’m not the best friend a pony could ask for for no reason!”—There’s that ego; I knew it was only a matter of time before we met—“… Or a Changeling?” Rainbow Dash shrugs, but I’m more sure than not that Changelings aren’t remotely related to ponies despite the similarities, like dogs and cats. “So, you know who I am… what’s your name? Do Changelings even have names?”

A small jolt of fear runs through me—I hadn’t thought of giving myself a name; I hadn’t thought I’d ever have to give a name besides the name of a stolen identity. Only then, immediately after I realize that, do I recognize how strange such it is: to not need a name for myself because I assumed I would only ever need to give stolen names. I quickly shake off that line of thought, however, in favor of coming up with a Changeling-sounding name—not that I know what kind of names Changelings have, but if Chrysalis is any indication…—and to buy myself time, I answer her other question without thinking. “Of course Changelings have names. ‘Queen Chrysalis’ isn’t all title, after all.”

Movement—specifically, Rainbow Dash tilting her head questioningly—and the slowing of Rainbow’s emotions flowing into me, cut off my thoughts on coming up with a Changeling name. I almost facehoof when I remember Queen Chrysalis’s name had only been revealed outside the show. Swiftly deciding that letting Rainbow Dash voice her question and bring up a discussion on how I know the name of the Changeling that had taken the place of Twilight’s brother’s wife-to-be and led a siege against Canterlot would be not only awkward, but likely harmful to myself, I blurt out the first word that comes to my mind. “Anyway, my name’s Alternate.” She’s not going to just let it go! The way her emotion stopped like that is evidence enough! Stupid, stupid, stupid… That should be my name: Stupid!

Rainbow Dash backs up, obviously uncertain, but just as obviously not yet hostile again, and opens her mouth to ask that question, but she doesn’t get that chance; instead, a voice from the ground, distinctly accented, interrupts. “Rainbow Dash, don’t think I can’t see ya up there! What’ve I told’ja about sleepin’ on clouds over mah farm! Ya know ponies blame me for lettin’ ya laze ‘round here! Or ‘ave ya conveniently forgotten that again?” Both Rainbow and I jump in surprise, but I’m sure I’m the only one of us that has to fight back the instinct to transform to hide myself from discovery—If just transforming out of being shocked is such a strong Changeling instinct… my philosophical part wants to examine the nature of Changelings again, but I quickly squash it. In between the fact I’m sure Applejack’s thoughts on Changelings would run parallel to Twilight’s, Rainbow’s current uncertainty, and both their speed with Applejack on the ground and Rainbow in the air, I know I have to concentrate on the situation lest something I don’t want to think about happen.

With a glance at me, Rainbow turns around and away from me to look over the edge of the cloud, presumably at Applejack, and anypony with her, though she’s probably alone, right? but my rhetorical question is near-instantly rebutted when the cheeriest voice I have ever heard asks, “Hey, Rainbow Dash, have you seen anypony around? I saw a pegasus I didn’t recognize flying this way. If she—or he—is new to Ponyville, I can’t let her or him get away!” When Pinkie Pie finishes, there’s a hollow sound like wood hitting wood, and I imagine she’s play-dastardly smacking her hooves together.

Rainbow Dash glances back at me, and both earth pony mares instantly catch on. I wince as they shout up at the same time, “Oh my gosh! Are you already friends with her? Or him?”

“Well, I’ll be, Rainbow! What are you doing way out here all alone with another pegasus?” Applejack teases. A range of emotions flash over Rainbow’s face: surprised, angry, embarrassed, uncertain, apologetic. Soon enough she settles on being unsure, her mouth working as she obviously struggles to find some way to explain. However, all I need to know is that she is, at least, pausing—not telling the truth immediately—so I quickly reason that if I can’t convince them all, I might at least regain some trust from the only one who can get me up here so I have some chance to escape.

Stepping up next to Rainbow Dash, who looks up at me with eyes wide in surprise, but she doesn’t move, I look over the edge of the cloud. “I’m a ‘he,’ and not a pegasus, Pinkie Pie. I’m not new, either,”—and as long as I’m lying—“, and you already threw me a ‘welcome to Ponyville’ party, even though you didn’t know it.” I smile nervously down at them, trying to ignore how the simple sight of me makes the two below gape in shock.

Applejack recovers first, and she narrows her eyes at me before turning to Rainbow Dash. “Rainbow, what-… what are you doin’, just standin’ there right next to it?!” As Rainbow simply stares down at Applejack with the cogs in her head practically audible, I ignore—most unwisely—Pinkie darting under a tree, and instead focus on the renewed and steadily increasing care coming from Rainbow Dash.

I finally look away from the ponies below and back at Rainbow Dash when the flow surpasses what it had been before, but she doesn’t look up at me in turn; instead, her face is suddenly overcome by confusion. Looking back down, I see Pinkie has returned, carrying an eye patch in her mouth and bouncing a ball on her head; even Applejack is distracted, her attention shifting from me to the oddity beside her. Unsurprisingly, it’s the other earth pony that asks first, “Pinkie, Sugarcube… what are those?”

“They’re from one of the emergency kits I have stashed all over Ponyville!” Pinkie answers while continuing the bounce the ball on her head, even though she has long since stopped walking and can drop the ball next to herself. “I have balls and eye patches stashed everywhere in case of a ball or eye patch emergency! Or…” she bites into the string of the eye patch, cutting it in half, “a slingshot emergency! Take the other end! Take the other end!” Pinkie turns to Applejack so the continuing bouncing of her head makes the string slap the other earth pony in the muzzle.

Catching on quicker than me, Rainbow rears up and shoves me with her forehooves, whispering into my ear, “You better go!” Despite her welcome efforts, however, I don’t move quiet fast enough. Applejack bites onto the elastic string of the eye patch, and Pinkie lets the ball roll down her face and into the “eye patch” of the eye patch, then, quicker than thinking, she pulls it down with her forehooves—Applejack rears in tandem—and lets it loose. I leap into the air, wings buzzing, but Pinkie must have somehow accounted for that, and the ball slams into the side of my face with unexpected force—force enough to knock me unconscious for the second time in one day.

“… You are not one of my children.”

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 5:

“… You are not one of my children.”

As it turns out, trying to fly away had been a bad idea, for I had been over the edge of the cloud when Pinkie Pie and Applejack released the physics-defying ball-turned-potentially-deadly-projectile. For all the pain, a part of my mind is surprised I’m not actually knocked out—only dazed—for my senses begin returning to me before I even hit the ground. I try to at least slow myself down, but with my whole body still numb, I can’t tell if I’m successful. Either way, as I tumble to the ground, I see Rainbow Dash dive for me, but we’re much to close too the ground, and she sensibly pulls up before we both plow into the earth.

Just as thankfully, being so close to the ground saves me from suffering from any major injury other than some no doubt amazing bruises. My relief doesn’t last, however, as within seconds of my landing there’s a terribly bright flash of light from next to Applejack and Pinkie Pie— a light far beyond the brightness needed to force my eyes close. I already know there is only one thing—specifically, one pony—that can make such light, but my mind, at the edge of panic, needs to be forced to recognize it. Sure enough, when I open my eyes, there is the living nightmare of Changelings: Princess Celestia glaring down at me with such an expression of anger I once thought reserved for beings like Discord and Queen Chrysalis. I can’t help but shiver.

Even through the shock and fright that always-calm part of me wonders how Princess Celestia had managed to find me. I don’t have to wonder for long, however, for as soon as the light of the spell fades completely there is a gasp of amazement that makes me flick my eyes towards the ponies standing beside Celestia before instantly returning to her. Twilight Sparkle is obviously the one who had gasped, and standing with her is Fluttershy and Rarity. “Of course! A tracking spell and teleportation spell!” As always, Twilight is excited by the prospect of a new spell—or combination of spells, apparently—no matter the circumstance.

Celestia ignores her student’s cry of astonishment and expression of admiration, not even glancing down at her as she focuses on me. For half of a second Twilight looks disappointed, but her mentor’s grim—and dare I say: malicious—expression reminds her of the situation, and she turns back to me with her face a mirror of the alicorn’s. Rarity tries to take a step toward me, but Twilight turns her glare to the other unicorn, and she puts her hoof back down. When my eyes are drawn to the motion I see the apologies in Rarity’s and Fluttershy’s eyes and know that they must have not only told Princess Celestia everything but also tried to convince her I’m not an enemy of Equestia… and that they had achieved nothing for their efforts.

Applejack and Pinkie Pie give a quick bow of respect, but, again, Princess Celestia seems not to notice, her eyes remaining on me, most likely suspecting that if she so much as lets me out of her sight for half a second I’ll cast some spell—I wish I knew what spell she thinks I could use…—that will allow me to flee… somehow—I really, really, wish I knew how she thinks I could escape. Rainbow Dash lands next to me, copying Applejack and Pinkie with an even quicker bow that’s only a step away from a head bang, but when she raises her head she’s not looking at Princess Celestia. “What the hay was that, Pinkie Pie! Applejack! Alternate wasn’t doing anything to you!” Everypony—and myself— even Celestia is shocked, and it isn’t difficult to figure out why. Imagine that… the Element of Loyalty berating her friends for attacking an enemy—a perceived enemy—of Equestria…

To my surprise, Pinkie Pie appears to recover first, looking uncertain; Applejack soon follows, looking angry and ready to rebuke the pegasus, but Princess Celestia, finally moving her eyes from me, catches her eye before turning to Rainbow Dash with a soft smile but hard eyes. “Rainbow Dash… Element of Loyalty… I am sorry I do not have the time to explain the situation completely, but you should know that barely an hour ago this Changeling took on the appearance of Fluttershy and tricked Rarity, feeding off of her love.” I wince at this accusation, as true as it is, Of course Princess Celestia would be a master of manipulation, more than a thousand years old… and who know how much more!?

Rainbow, for her part, doesn’t give this information the slightest moment of consideration; instead, she glances at Fluttershy and Rarity for confirmation before saying, “And they don’t look too upset about that. To me, they look sorry they couldn’t do more!” At this Rarity smiles in a strange way, as if thanking Rainbow Dash for her support, yet at the same time trying to warn her that going any further will be wasted breath. Fluttershy, however, takes her fellow pegasus’s words as an invitation to support her in turn, and without a hint of hesitation she steps forward to my other side and puts her muzzle under mine and her wing under my side to help me to my hooves.

I wobble as a headache from standing threatens to knock me out again, but Rainbow similarly doesn’t hesitate to lean against me. More quickly than I anticipate, my dizziness leaves me, and the answer comes almost instantly when my settling mind recognizes that strange flowing coming stronger than I have yet felt. After a moment of wide-eyed realization, I lean hard left then right to get Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash to sidestep away, breaking the physical contact, but the flowing doesn’t even slow, never mind stop—I lock my eyes onto Princess Celestia, not wanting to see either pegasus shiver and perhaps, judging by the strength of the emotions, suffer even worse than shivering only to feed me.

Princess Celestia looks between the three ponies who have vouched to defend me, then the three who are sure of my evil nature, before turning back to me. “Changeling, if you have been here for as long as you say, then you know that everything I do is for my little ponies—to preserve what features of a paradise I have managed to create for Equestria after much long and hard work. You, whether you intend it or not, threaten the base of this nation: trust. This fact would be enough for me to call you an enemy of Equestria.” As she speaks, my legs begin to shake with anticipation of “the strike,” whatever form it may take, I know I won’t be able to defend myself, until here, when my legs gives out, Fluttershy trying to catch me when I fall, but I retain enough control to fall towards Rainbow so my legs block her. “Before I decide what to do with you, I ask one question: do you regret what you have done today to Rarity and Fluttershy?”

My first thought is to say “Yes,” but immediately after, so soon that there isn’t even enough milliseconds for me to open my mouth, I wonder if this question might be some trick or trap. I wonder that, despite whatever answer I may give, Princess Celestia will try- no, she will be able to twist whatever I say to convince Fluttershy and Rarity and Rainbow Dash that I’m nothing but an evil Changeling who wants to eat all their love for each other. If she does, and if they believe her—and why wouldn’t they? She’s their Princess Celestia!—then they won’t care about me any more, and Celestia won’t have to feel bad about doing… anything to me! It’s not my answer that will “decide what she does with me,” but my defender’s reactions! So… I try to think of something, anything, I can say that can’t be twisted beyond further defense, but honestly, I can’t even imagine beating Celestia, a pony more than forty times my age, in even my wildest dreams.

Princess Celestia glares down at me as I continue to lay on my stomach, not daring to stand again; I try to give her the most pleading look I have never given before, but her expression doesn’t change. When I don’t answer, she turns to Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Fluttershy, giving each a long, stern look, though much softer than she had just given to me. “While I commend each of you for acting by your Elements’ principles, Rarity, for selflessly defending it, Fluttershy, for holding nothing but pity towards a creature that had taken your identity, and Rainbow Dash, for upholding the values your friends hold most dear…” Rainbow Dash gets an odd expression on her face at this, looking like she wants to say something; Celestia must have noticed, as she pauses, but Rainbow doesn’t say anything, so the princess soon continues, “I must impress upon you that acting this way towards an enemy of Equestria is unacceptable, and while I shall not punish you for this first transgression, know that I will if this happens again.”

Immediately, by the deep sigh and the sudden, just-as-quickly-erased sullen expression, I can tell that she doesn’t like at all so much the idea of needing to threaten “her little ponies,” never mind actually doing so. After another moment, she turns to Twilight and manages to regain that “royal smile”; I suppose it’s to reassure that unicorn mare now looking apologetic for bringing near-divine admonitions upon her friends. “Also know this: no matter how you may feel for a Changeling, it wants nothing but your love, and everything it does will be towards that goal. No matter how much you give, your love will never be reciprocated—Changelings are incapable of emotion, and any display they give is only designed to gather more love for themselves.”

That last statement finally breaks through my sense of hopelessness, and even though I know nothing of other, “real” Changelings, I yell, “That’s not true!” Everypony turns from Celestia to me, making me suddenly self-conscious—making me more acutely aware that I have no idea what I’ve just said is close to accurate, but I know what I say next is true. “I am sorry… Fluttershy…” I turn to her, but as soon as I see the pity still in her eyes, I quickly cast my own to her hooves. “I’m sorry I took on your appearance, and, Rarity-”—I don’t so much as glance at her; instead I turn my eyes to my own hooves—“-I’m sorry I tricked you and took some of your love for Fluttershy.”

I have no idea how anypony is reacting to this, as I keep my eyes down as I consider how to continue, but I anticipate the next question. “I wish I could say I ‘regret’ it, but I would have starved otherwise, weak and hurt as I was. When I went-,” I frantically grab at the first story to present itself to my mind, “When I was hurt, I decided to go Fluttershy’s, knowing she is the Element of Kindness, I decided to take advantage of that, and intended to take on the appearance of some random pony, but I accidentally let her see me before I transformed. When she surprised me, I took on her appearance by instinct. I was too weak to perform another transformation, so I decided to take advantage of the fact I know Rarity is the Element of Generosity. I never intended to take anypony’s place, like Queen Chrysalis with Cadance, only to get enough love to live another day.” They’re never going to buy that! Not after what Celestia just said! To them, it’s just another Changeling’s lie…

When I blink, I see Princess Celestia, glaring down at me as I stand between Discord and Queen Chrysalis—a fan reduced to the level of the greatest villains the show has—and my only comfort now, as I start to shiver at the vision, is that one had been turned to stone and the other banished to some place unknown. Still, that calm anger, framed by a long and flowing pastel-rainbow mane that somehow makes the expression more powerful, convinces a part of me otherwise, and I squeeze my eyes shut, though that only makes the visions of myself suffering the most horrible tortures at Princess Celestia’s hooves and horn more vivid—being locked up and starved to death… vivisection… I was fooling myself with that “maybe merciful” drivel! Whether it be minutes or seconds, I have no idea how long I lay there shivering in fear of retribution from a practical deity before I feel a hoof on my shoulder.

Even before I open my eyes, I simply know it can be no pony but Fluttershy—the only pony who might still hold pity for a creature even after Princess Celestia herself calls it, without the slightest hint of doubt in voice or posture, an enemy of the entirety of Equestria itself. Still, I look up at her face reluctantly to see those eyes… turned away from me and up towards Celestia, reflecting the alicorn’s glare—Celestia looks as honestly taken-aback as I would feel that anypony could ignore such a speech, if I hadn’t known Fluttershy. The pegasus must notice me looking at her out of the corner of her eye, as she turns to me with a sudden smile. “You have nothing to be sorry about… and nothing to be scared of.”

At this, Rarity steps away from Twilight and Celestia, nodding and looking as serious as when she had taken on the manticore. Within those seconds as she takes her time to step next to Fluttershy with elegant unhurriedness, I realize that Fluttershy’s words and Rarity’s support is doing wonders for my shivering, if not so much for my fear, for despite their offer, I’m sure that all will still be for naught. Twilight, mouth hanging open as Rarity trots away from her, finally is able to speak when the other unicorn turns around to face the four before us. “You two still-!” Twilight stops when Rainbow Dash sidesteps back towards and over me, her body with Fluttershy’s forming something like a roof. “Rainbow Dash?! Not you-?! Argh!” Twilight cries out in frustration, and her forehooves lift up, half way to rearing up.

Celestia, however, turns to smiling and places a calming wing on Twilight’s back. “Twilight Sparkle, this incident being what it is, you should remember the lesson you learned in Canterlot, and not be so quick to berate your friends for doing only what they think is right. Also, you should recall to never dismiss your friends concerns, no matter how trivial—or serious—they may be.” While Twilight gapes at Celestia, I manage to keep myself from doing so. She’s-… She’s pretending to agree with them so she can convince them to twist their own opinions! A strange flare of anger bursts inside of me at that realization, but I daren’t say anything.

Twilight begins to stutter something, but Celestia doesn’t look down at her, only calmly putting a gold-clad hoof to her mouth, silencing her. Next to them, I notice Pinkie Pie mouthing something—maybe “Dashie…”—and while I can’t see much of Rainbow’s face from my position, she shakes her head, just barely moving. Applejack has an eyebrow raised, looking up at Celestia with uncertainty, yet trusting. “Now, Fluttershy, would you please explain why you continue to defend this Changeling?”

Instantly, I want to yell out, “No! Don’t! You’re only going to make this worse for yourself!” but my throat locks up—I know this isn’t true, not as long as Fluttershy eventually comes around to Celestia’s line of understanding—so, I simply lay there, letting Fluttershy explain with surprisingly little fear evident in her voice. “I believe…” Fluttershy looks down at me, “Alternate?” I manage to nod. “because of how he came to my cottage. I first saw him trotting out of the Everfree Forest, but he quickly galloped back in. I went out to investigate, and surprised him, making him fall on his right side. Him falling from behind the tree surprised me, and I ran, so I didn’t notice at first, but this cut,” she pointed at my cheek,” is on his left cheek, so he had to have been hurt before that fall. The fact he came to Ponyville to be treated by ponies proves he had no other choice, because treatments that work for ponies might not work, or even be dangerous, for Changelings.”

Rainbow Dash takes a small step to the side so she not standing so directly over me and can look at my bandages with new understanding before looking up at Fluttershy with a smile. After a second it looks like the other pegasus is about to say something, but Celestia speaks first. “It is as you say; even the Changeling itself admitted it had no choice, but I pose this to you, Fluttershy: For what reason didn’t it have a choice?” The alicorn only pauses for a tiny moment, not even enough for Fluttershy to start forming an answer in her mind. “It has already provided us with the answer: it was starving. As something I’m sure you are familiar with, Fluttershy, the more hungry an animal is, the more dangerous it is.”

At this, Fluttershy shakes her head slowly; whatever she’s denying I can’t tell, and she doesn’t—or can’t—respond. Celestia nods to the pegasus once, almost like a bow, before turning her eyes to Rarity, who begins without having to be asked. “I believe him because I believe Fluttershy. The way she confronted Alternate at my boutique was… strangely calm for a pony being imponynated by a Changeling, and being one of my best, oldest friends, not to mention a fellow Element of Harmony, I would trust her with my life.” Fluttershy lets out a little gasp—I’m sure she doesn’t like the idea of ever needing to shoulder that kind of responsibility…—while Princess Celestia frowns—Wait… did Rarity just come up with an argument that nopony could attack without attacking Fluttershy at the same time, thereby paradoxically convincing Rarity of nothing?! Clever mare!—but then she continues. “So, when I found the real Fluttershy out while Twilight was questioning Alternate, I trusted her when she asked me not to inform Twilight, and instead confront him alone while Twilight questioned Fluttershy.”—Well, that explains that…—“As soon as he was aware I knew who he was, he didn’t attack or flee, instead only asking me ‘what will happen’ to him.” The way Celestia’s eyes bulge at this tells me she hadn’t explained this so thoroughly before, when the alicorn had, in all likelihood, questioned them quickly before teleporting here. “Also, when Twilight was about to attack Fluttershy to prove who was who, he threw her out of the way of the spell, and took the attack himself.”

As she says this, Celestia slowly looses her frown, no doubt spotting a point of attack. “Yes, Twilight told me about that incident at the library, before we went to your boutique. She told me how you chased the Changeling, trying, apparently, to catch him and throw him out of the way in turn?” Rarity only nods slowly, unsure, as I am, of what Celestia is trying to get at. “Then it was successful in its attempt to manipulate your feelings.” Rarity shakes her head in the same manner as Fluttershy, but Celestia has more to explain. “Whether Twilight Sparkle attacked Fluttershy or the Changeling is of no consequence; it would have been found out either way. It knew its only chance of survival and escape was to convince you that it is ‘good’ and, from its apparent knowledge of the Elements of Harmony, knew also that Twilight would use the least amount of force she estimated she would need to knock a Changeling out of its disguise and nothing more if she knew there was a fifty percent chance of her spell hitting her friend. Therefore, he determined that it would be safe to be hit by the spell to garner your pity, while knowing that it would be revealed in any case, as attacking or fleeing would not be wise with Twilight nearby and capable of easily incapacitating it with her magic.”

Rarity grimaces, but she doesn’t so much as glance down at me questioningly, and her eyes hold onto her determination. I expect Celestia to turn to Rainbow Dash now, wanting to remove the last doubt, while realizing her attack on Rarity’s argument would likely end out her weakest, so she should move on quickly, but Applejack burst out, “What are you meanin’ by shakin’ your heads like that, girls?! How can ya’ll possibly think of trustin’ a known liar?!” Applejack takes an aggressive stomp towards us, which is mirrored by Rainbow Dash jumping in front of me and spreading her wings. This, in turn, makes me stumble back in shock, scrambling back to my hooves to avoid being trampled by Rainbow’s known-to-be-strong hooves—or so my subconscious says to try to excuse itself.

“What do you mean, AJ?! Alternate’s not a liar! Everything he’s said to me makes sense!” Rainbow punctuates each sentence with a stomp of a hoof, and when she finishes, Applejack opens her mouth to retaliate, but Celestia gently puts a hoof to her chest and, with a little pressure, forces the earth pony to step back to her original place. With a small movement of her head, as if using her muzzle to urge a reluctant pony in front of her to continue trotting, Celestia silently offers Rainbow to finish stating her reasoning, which she does slowly, hesitantly. “Alternate- I mean, I tried to attack Alternate at first, but he called out for me to stop… I thought that was kinda strange… him just calling out to me like that, I mean, instead of attacking me or running away. So, I got kinda curious… I guess, even though I know that doesn’t really sound like me…” As she says this, Rainbow Dash glances back at me with a strange blush on her cheeks. I quickly file that away under “think about with later” as she jerks her head back to Celestia to continue, now more confident. “So I gave him a chance to give me a reason to stop, and he tried to convince me he was evil instead!” She finishes with a quiet, short chuckle, as she notices that none of the four look the slightest bit swayed from their original position.

Celestia doesn’t speak immediately, and whether she knows or at least strongly suspects what will happen next, I have no idea, but I’m all the same surprised when Pinkie Pie is the one to speak up, sounding apologetic, and I realize instantly I’ve hurt even Pinkie with my actions, forcing her to refute her friends opinion. “Um, Dashie… that’s reverse psychology: it wanted you to believe it’s not evil, so it tried to convince you otherwise.” Noting Twilight’s shocked look, perhaps out of the corner of her eye, Pinkie cheerily preemptively explains. “Oh, I know all sorts of ways to trick ponies, but I do it for fun, not to eat ponies’ love for each other!” She finishes with a surprisingly frightening growl—or not so surprisingly, given how unpredictable and capable-of-more-than-the-average-earth-pony she is.

Rainbow Dash, to even my surprise, shakes her head more vigorously than Fluttershy and Rarity, and I can tell she’s readying herself to continue defending me, and Celestia also opens her mouth, ready to interrupt her, but I manage to yell first. “Stop!” I cry before biting Rainbow’s tail and tugging on it, prompting her to step back from in front of me, which she does with nothing more than a questioning look, not even startled into bucking in shock by tugging on her tail, which tells me more that that flowing feeling inside me—collective, as it is, I can’t tell how much of it is coming from which pony. I shake the thought off and step forward to Rainbow’s place, but turn to the one’s who had been defending me. “You’re just making this worse for yourselves!” I blurt out what I had been thinking before, making Fluttershy “eep!” and crumple in on herself and Rarity to step back, but Rainbow Dash gives me… an encouraging smile? I scrunch my eyebrows confusedly together at her for a moment before turning to my accusers. “Princess… Celestia…” I try to force myself to remain calm, but my legs begin to shake and my voice falters, turning abnormally high—I have to swallow before continuing, and though it helps me regain my words, it does nothing for my nerves. “please don’t punish-… don’t punish these ponies too bad- too terribly… they don’t… completely understand. I-.”

“Don’t think, Changeling,” Princess Celestia narrows her eyes on my, beginning to dissolve what little resolve I had managed to gather to confront her like this, and my shivering grows worse, but I remain standing without too much trouble, “that you can fool me with such obviously devious tactics.” I hear Rainbow Dash stepping forward at this, probably ready to defend me again, but I preemptively throw a hoof out to block her, and she stops instantly.

“I don’t.” I manage to shake my head, but the movement is stiff, like I’m losing control of my muscles, which isn’t too far from the truth, as I feel like I have to now look down at the ground, away from Princess Celestia, lest I fall again. “I never did, which is why-… why I was getting ready to leave Ponyville before you arrived… but I was interrupted by Rainbow Dash, and I knew I couldn’t out fly her… I took too much time, and then Applejack and Pinkie Pie-…” I trail off shaking my head a bit more smoothly than before, thinking, Rambling… you’re just rambling, you idiot… “Anyway, I know you’re going to do whatever you want to me, no matter what the Elements of Harmony think—you only want them to not be hurt by your punishment intended only for me—but I’m sure you can at least agree with me when I say this is useless; that none of you are going to be able to convince each other. So-,” I shiver so hard here my legs nearly give out, “I don’t want to stand here as you all argue about whether I’m a liar or not. So… go ahead… just turn me to stone already… or banish me to the moon… or kill me.”

I try to retain some tatter of dignity—call it a remnant of my human “maleness”—but tears quickly over run my ability to hold them, and they begin to slide down my muzzle and drip off my face. I expect to hear that unmistakable “eep!” of fear behind me, yet instead there is a cry of “NO!” that makes me jump. Fluttershy’s scream is followed immediately by a whoosh of air as she launches herself to stand beside me. Kneeling, she pleads for mercy towards me, “Princess Celestia, you-… you can’t! May-maybe what Alternate has done deserves some punishment, but-… but…” Fluttershy seems unable to finish her concession—or, I suspect, simply unable to say the word “kill.” Throughout this, Celestia glares down at me, and it’s not difficult for me to guess her thoughts—Almost certainly accusing me of yet more emotional manipulation… even though I can’t say of myself that I’m completely innocent of that… I’m sorry… Princess Celestia… I’m only doing what I need to do to survive…

Fluttershy has dissolved into sobbing by now, and Rarity and Rainbow have stepped forward to comfort her with gentle hooves rubbing her side and soft nuzzling. Celestia, obviously coming to some conclusion, finally turns to the trio beside me. “Very well… Seeing how you have remained by this Changeling so resolutely, convinced of its innocence-,” Twilight and Applejack gasp at this statement, the earth pony quickly looking ready to say something about this, but Celestia is quicker in restating herself, “-convinced it was not acting maliciously, only in self-perseverence… I will not kill it. Nor banish or imprison it in any way that would likely result in death by starvation. In fact, I will even ‘punish’ it in such a way that even unintentional harm should be greatly reduced…” As she pauses here, she returns to looking at me with a new expression that all the same communicates most clearly, You’re going to prove them wrong… I’m not going to forget you, “Alternate”. “I will banish it to the far west, past the borders of Equestria and into the Changelings’ lands.”

The thoughts that run through my head from that ultimatum make me grimace, in spite of the fact I’m sure that I would have been killed otherwise. She probably expects Queen Chrysalis to “send me back to Equestria,” and when she does, she’s going to shove me into Fluttershy’s, Rarity’s, and Rainbow’s faces to convince them of Changeling nature… Changeling nature… What will happen to me there, in those “Changelings’ lands”? Will they be able to tell me apart? Or… I guess I’ll find out soon enough. I try to dispel my worries of instead being imprisoned by Queen Chrysalis and starved there with that thought, but it only makes the question more prominent. Still knowing there is no use in worrying, I turn to Fluttershy, who now is crying more silently and with her head down. “Fluttershy… Fluttershy…” She doesn’t respond so then I dare, though hesitating, to lean down and try to lift her head with my muzzle, realizing too late that I unintentionally nuzzle her as I do so—What does nuzzling mean in Equestria, anyway?—and she moves at the lightest pressure. Once she’s looking straight ahead, I pull back and she stays in place, looking into my eyes. “Fluttershy, it’s going to be all right. I’m going to be all right, thanks to you.” Seeing the pleading in her eyes, and how she tried to speak, but chokes and only coughs instead, I still get a good idea of what she wants. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” and with a little smile, add, “Cross my heart, hope to fly/ Stick a cupcake in my eye.” That, at least, manages to get a choked laugh and wobbly smile out of her—out of the corner of my eye, I can see Pinkie Pie shifting on her hooves, apparently unsure of what she should think about a Changeling using her Pinkie Promise, yet using it all the same to make a sad pony smile.

With a little trill of excitement, and then a trill of horror, I realize just what I’ve done: make Pinkie Pie unsure! Of course, Princess Celestia doesn’t fail to notice this, and with a glance at Pinkie and sudden fear on her face that disappears quickly; I know she’s going to want to get this done quickly, so I step away from Fluttershy. Returning her glare to me, she shoots a quick glance of something I imagine—and I’m more certain than not I do imagine it—is like praise one might give to a worthy opponent. I nod, and nothing else is said as Celestia horn begins to glow, or I can’t hear anything that is said, for I begin to glow in tandem and my ears ring. I worry, in those slow milliseconds as the spell is weaved, that Celestia is not going to keep her word about not killing me, and while I realize I have absolutely no control of that, I still let out a sigh of relief when the ringing is released with a pop and the trees of Sweet Apple Acres are replaced with the flat desert of what must be the Changelings’ land.

This is quickly enough confirmed by the appearance of a number of swiftly moving black dots on the horizon that soon come close enough to be distinguished as Changelings—six Changelings. Noting that they are heading directly in my direction, and with their speed suggesting special training, I reason, in very much the same way as Rainbow Dash, that trying to avoid them would be A Very Bad Idea. As they are still perhaps a couple minutes away—one thing about the desert: it messes with one’s sense of distance—I take in what I can of my surrounding. It is, unnotably, first and foremost, nearly bare of anything but patches of tough-looking grass and low, small bushes and shrubs, their branches and leaves looking equally hardy. One thing that does break the monotony, however, is a line of obviously artificial wooden posts some distance away—far enough that I can’t tell if they’re bare or if there are some wires or lines strung between them—that stretch beyond the horizon in both directions. The border of Equestia, no doubt… and now I’m on the “wrong” side…

Something about those posts—not the fact the Celestia is on the other side—scares me, making me grateful I had been “dropped off” so far away; that scare, paradoxically, in turn makes me want to investigate them, to find find out if it has something to do with my new Changeling senses that scares me. However, before I can decide whether or not to head towards them, the Changelings land around me in a circle—I had been so entranced by the “fence” that I hadn’t even heard their wings approaching; now, however, I can hear them as they keep them moving even as they remain standing on the ground—Remaining ready to take off? Or intimidation, perhaps?

The one standing straight before me steps forward and states, “Queen Chrysalis wishes to see you, intruder.” I jump at the sound of her voice, then her actual words sink in, one in particular almost making me panic: Intruder!… Before I can even respond, all six begin charging their horns, that notable neon green magic then arcs between their tips, until it final lights all of them, and me, in a similarly colored aura. Just before it happens, I realize I am going to be teleported yet again, probably to the Queen herself. With a burst of green light that covers my vision, like when when I had transformed into Fluttershy, the spell releases, and, indeed, I find myself in what has to be the throne room of… wherever I am now.

Queen Chrysalis has been waiting for me, judging by the way she is already staring straight at me with those unique eyes narrowed with… curiosity… and how she is laid out upon the “seat” of her throne, legs stretched out and looking completely relaxed. However, it is the back of the throne that draws my eyes. It is in the shape, of all things, a cross, making it look very much like a giant tombstone of black glass. A cross… in my mind is a sudden flash of that scene after Chrysalis had revealed herself at Canterlot: the way she had jumped into the air and formed a cross with her legs—a strange position for a pony, and probably a Changeling. Obviously, the cross symbol means something very different for Changelings… something I can think about later!

The rest of the room is entirely bare—Spartan—except for simply-shaped chandeliers also made completely of black glass, and whose bright flames light the black stone floor, walls, and ceiling well, as if to spite their bareness. Some Changeling likes black… I try to step forward, but it seems teleportation isn’t the only spell the Changelings had cast, for I can’t move my legs, and upon looking down I see my hooves encircled by green rings of light—magical hoof-cuffs, it seems—and I suddenly become aware of a light pressure on my legs from all sides.

A motion of a hoof from Queen Chrysalis to approach her, however, and the pressure disappears, the Changelings still in a circle around me begin to walk most stiffly—Respectfully?—towards Chrysalis, and, after a second, I decide my only option is to follow. About five meters from the throne the hoof-cuffs tighten again, stopping me in place, and the Changelings, minus one, turn around and quickly form a line behind me. The one remaining bows, and with a quick glance back I see the five others rising out of their own bows. “We have retrieved the Equestrian intruder for your questioning as you requested, my Queen.” Her voice, unless all Changelings sound the same, reveals her as the one who had spoken to me. Wait… “Equestrian”?!

Before my mouth can even begin its decent towards hanging open, Queen Chrysalis, by her next words, seems to anticipate my reaction. “Of course I can tell that you are not one of my children.” She pauses to chuckle and add a smirk to her muzzle. “Please don’t tell me that your Princess Celestia thinks so low of me. I am Chrysalis!” With a buzz of her wings, she jumps up and stomps on her throne. “Queen of the Changelings! I can smell a transformation spell from ten-thousand paces, useless pony spy! How dare your princess think so low of me! I have half a mind to send your eviscerated body back to her as a warning!” Stuck as I am, All I can do is widen my eyes and shiver in fear… so soon after I thought I had just left such fear. Chrysalis, however, lays back down, folding her legs under her. “… But only half a mind. My other has a much better idea of turning a useless spy into a useful messenger. After all, anything can deliver a message, so long as it can speak… you can speak, can’t you?”

She grins wickedly down at me as I stare up at her dumbly; I had expected some aggressiveness as soon as I had been called an intruder, but this… I have to take a few moments, of whose length I’m uncertain, and Chrysalis seems willing to give me that time, not moving. Wait… “can ‘smell’ a transformation spell”? If she’s not exaggerating, then!… “You- Can you really smell transformation spells?” I try to sound nonchalant, as if it doesn’t matter, only obeying her request for a display of my voice, but even I can hear both fear and eagerness in my words.

A laugh, much different from the “dastardly” laugh I know, echoes in the empty throne room as Queen Chrysalis’s head is thrown back by her mirth. Eventually, after I finally realize the lone Changeling once in front of me had joined her fellows behind me, she calms herself and levels her eyes back upon me. “Yes, indeed I can… truly… and you have a very strong stench of it coming from you. Why, it’s so strong I believe Princess Celestia at least had the foresight of altering your magic to that of a Changeling’s, even! Of course, I already know she’s not completely stupid… but then there’s still you!” As she speaks she descends from her throne, stopping less than a meter from me, and finishing with a point of a hoof and soft chuckle.

“Me?…” I half question, but my mind doesn’t linger on the fact she thinks I’m a pony turned Changeling, but instead on the fact she thinks I’m a pony period… “but… but… you can’t tell what something was transformed from. You call me a pony, but you don’t know what kind of pony… Do you?” I don’t know where such boldness comes from—perhaps from the fact she has already stated she’s going to send me back as a messenger, but then all of a sudden I fear she may still make good on her the threat from “the other half of her mind.”

Immediately, I can tell Chrysalis doesn’t like that question as she frowns and lowers her pointed hoof slowly—and my fear grows closer. “You’re a pony. That’s all I need to know, because all that matters is whether or not you are one of that princess’s loyal pets.” Ending with an extended hiss, she turns away and returns to her throne, sitting on it and turning back to me. “The message you are to give Celestia is to remind her of how close I came to ruling her Canterlot. Remind her how my children managed to disarm her guards, even as they were swelled in anticipation of attack and could see my children breaking down that barrier giving them plenty of time to prepare! Remind her how I captured her Elements of Harmony. Remind her of the only reason I am not sitting on her throne is because of something I did not believe possible. Then, tell her that I will not be so ignorant or unprepared next time… Do you have all of that?!” She “asks” when I don’t so much as move a muscle for a minute.

Of course I do, as those are two of the best episodes, I know them more than most others, and as she stated each… fact I see in my mind those events she’s referring to, yet in such a way I have never thought of before—I would have cringed if I haven’t already seen so much of the Changeling way of life, and can recognize what I know is barely a fraction. Eventually, Queen Chrysalis stomps her hoof, shaking me, and I manage to nod then. Immediately, the hoof-cuffs dissipate, and with a “farewell” of, “Oh, and tell Princess Celestia that if she’s thinking of sending another spy, that I might not have another message for her,” and malicious grin, she activates her horn.

With another flash of green light, I find myself near where Celestia had sent me, yet now closer to the line of wooden posts—I stiffen upon seeing what my instincts had before told me to fear. There is no rope or wire or anything connecting the posts to create anything resembling a fence; instead, nailed to each post, are Changeling wings, their number varying from post to post, and not always in even numbers. I gulp and try my hardest to turn away and ignore them, managing to succeed to some—but still surprising—degree. Guessing I had been teleported to the Changeling side and supposing that I have a much better chance of survival in Equestria, I slowly and silently as possible—almost reverently—walk between two posts as close to the half way point as I can estimate.

I pause for a moment on the other side, thinking about what had just happened. Great… threatened with death by both Princess Celestia and Queen Chysalis… just surviving isn’t going-. “Hey!” I jump, and my heart jumps with me at hearing the stage-whispered call. “What are you trying to do, commit suicide?!”

“… I’m Princess Celestia’s foal!”

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Chapter 6:

“… I’m Princess Celestia’s foal!”

Putting a hoof over my chest as if it can help slow my heart, I look around quickly—absentmindedly noting how my now longer neck helps me do that without having to turn my body around—I see… absolutely nothing different from before: desert grass, bushes, flat land, and… the posts. The grass isn’t tall enough to hide anything but animals as small as mice, and the bushes are maybe just large enough to hide a-… a foal?… No. That was a full-grown stallion’s voice, and even then what colt would say something like that?!… “Trying to commit suicide.”

Recalling the stallion’s—or whomever’s—words, ignoring for a moment the question of their very existence, my eyes are inexplicably drawn to the posts with the Changeling wings nailed to them. There is no doubt about it: staying here does mean suicide. Though the place is bare now, I imagine that to be nothing but luck, as Celestia would have to be a foal to be stupid enough to leave the Equestrian-“Changelings’ Lands” border unguarded—and that she isn’t. I need to find a town… village, settlement, anything! But… where?

The only thing I know for sure that is in the west of Equestria is Apploosa, but in what direction and how far I have to go to get there from here I haven’t the slightest idea—I am, in a word, lost… completely, utterly, absolutely, hopelessly lost… absolutely hopelessly lost! I grimace as I turn away from the line of posts, turning my back entirely on them, intending to take the most direct route to get as far away from them as swiftly as possible. I suppose, then, that any direction is as good as-.

“I said that, unless you want to be speared, you should really put on a disguise. Quickly!” Now the voice from before is no longer without a source, for as he speaks, a sunset-orange eyed earth pony colt, sounding much older than he looks, steps out from his hiding place in one of the foal-sized bushes. His “disguise” within the bushes is obviously helped along by his light green coat, light brown mane and tail, and the absence of any Cutie Mark that might have been too vivid and easy to see even through those thick bunch of leaves and twigs—some of said leaves and twigs have left the bush along with the colt, tangled in his mane and tail.

Almost hoping to hear more from that once-disembodied voice, I don’t jump this time, but turn eagerly at the first sound of something moving within one of the bushes. Many questions jump to mind at the colt’s words, but I dismiss many of them, including such useless queries as “Who are you?” and “Why are you helping me?” Eventually I settle on the warning he had given— something I can’t dismiss as easily. “‘S-speared,’ you say?”

Before answering the question I had asked, he answers one I hadn’t by levitating the twigs and leaves out of his hair. The plant litter, along with occasional strands of hair, is surrounded by a familiar green aura; a similar aura lights up over the colt’s forehead where a horn would be if he were a unicorn. As it is surrounding nothing, the light on his forehead looks like a strange fire, and its size is such that had it been surrounding a visible horn, that horn would be disproportionately large on the colt. While he works on his mane and tail quite quickly, even without the aid of a mirror of any kind or even looking back at his tail to work on it, he speaks, “Yes: speared—the Equestrian army’s favorite weapon for non-unicorns.” Having removed, to my surprise, every single leaf and twig, even the tiniest pieces I can see, the colt shakes his head to get his mane settled into a wild look that makes me think of Rainbow Dash’s… style. “I’m Twin, by the way! Twin Pterygota!”

I almost sigh in relief at his name. Twin… at least the name I’ve given myself shouldn’t be too strange, then. “I’m Alter-.” Twin suddenly looks fearful and puts a hoof to my mouth, and he doesn’t need to do anything else—I already know what he must fear. How he knows, I have no idea, but I need a disguise! This time, the transformation comes when I will it, though if that has anything to do with how I’m much stronger thanks to all the love I’d absorbed within the last few hours, or whether I am taking on an appearance I base off of Fluttershy—a pony I’d transformed into and seen before—I have no idea. With Fluttershy’s general appearance, minus the wings, daisy blossoms in place of butterflies, and reversing and darkening Twin’s coat and hair colors, I’m hit with a sudden realization of how—perhaps—Twin had removed the leaves and twigs without looking at himself: I can simply tell, without having to look back at myself, how I look… I can even… “feel” how each and every strand of hair falls and curls… like some kind of advanced proprioception.

I pull myself out of my thoughts, only now noticing that Twin has removed his hoof from my mouth and is looking over my shoulder at something in the sky behind me—I don’t have to look myself to know what it is, but I turn my head anyway as a little twinge of fear questions if I had managed to transform in time. Though the pair of guards are far enough away to be seen as nothing but pegasi when I look at them, quickly enough they grow distinct and land before us. Their armor is much less flashy than the armor of the guards in Canterlot, and their manes and coats aren’t… dyed or enchanted or whatever. Also, and most importantly, at the right side of their armor there is a spear clipped onto the plate armor there. That’s new from what I know… at least they don’t have them drawn and pointed at us… yet. Swallowing and trying to push my fear away at least enough to greet them, I feel as if my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth just as my eyes are glued to those spears; I don’t have time to unstick either before one of the soldiers asks, “Ma’am, what were you two doing so close to the border?”

After a second or so of me not answering, Twin hops forward excitedly and answers for me, now with the higher voice of a young colt. “I really, really rrrr-really wanted to see those posts with the Changeling wings on them ever since Wild Wing told me his papa took him to the border last month, and since we’re visiting my uncle in Apploosa, Mama finally agreed to take me!” He smiles up at the guards as widely as I have ever seen the Cutie Mark Crusaders smile, and the two pegasi at least don’t show any suspicion towards this story.

“Mama”?… Now there’s something I never thought I’d be called… My fault for not altering my Fluttershy-based disguise into a “Butterscotch” one, I suppose… I’m jolted out of these thoughts at realizing the guards are no looking at me, one with a small smile that kick-starts my creation of my new identity. “Oh, yes. He’s always been jealous of Wild Wing. You know how little colts and fillies always make little rivals out of each other!” The other pegasus smiles at that while the one that had been smiling before nods; I smile back as I drape a foreleg over Twin’s back, making him look up at me. Turning to him, I add, “and I said I would take you if you promised to help me tonight.”

The groan Twin affects at this makes the nodding guard chuckle, and he says, “I know how colts can be, Ma’am, but the next time you should ask for an escort.”—“Next time”? “Ask for an escort”!? He’s not saying they have an actual process for ponies who want to see… that! I hope not…—“There are Changelings on the other side of those posts, and nopony knows what they’d do to you if they got a hold of you! So, why don’t you let us escort you back to your brother’s place in Appleoosa?” He continues to smile, but I can see the “Changeling check” for what it is, and I have no doubt Twin does, too… I just hope he knows what he’s doing.

Of course, having been born a Changeling—most likely—he doesn’t fail me. “Oo! I know the way! Let me lead! Let me lead!” Twin bursts out, puffing up his chest and standing as tall as he can. “I have such an awesome sense of direction, I should have a compass Cutie Mark!” Twin’s apparent confidence feeds mine, and I actually chuckle as I pull my hoof off his back and wave it to indicate he can take the lead. He starts bounding ahead, the guards and I sharing smiles behind him, but Twin quickly seems to lose the energy for such a thing and settles into a marching-band-like trot.

“So, Ma’am, am I correct in assuming that what you’re doing in Apploosa is visiting family?” One of the guards—I’ve lost track of which one had nodded before as I glanced back and forth between their spears—asks after a few minutes and Apploosa, or what I assume to be Apploosa, has appeared on the horizon, as even it’s comparatively short clock tower is easily visible over this nothingness. “And would you mind giving us your names?”

I flinch inwardly, but I only have to recall my form—even its colors are clear in my mind without having to look at myself—to come up with a quick name. “Oh, not at all, of course! I’m Green Field.” I take a moment to pause in my trotting to point to myself, attempting to get Twin’s attention; he turns around almost as soon as I stop. “And this is my son-,” I start, turning my hoof from myself to Twin.

“Hopping Hills!” He interrupts, hopping back towards us with each syllable as if to demonstrate his name, he grins at the guards before suddenly turning to me with the most serious look. “Mama! If I’m going to help you pack tonight for leaving tomorrow, then I want to get back to Uncle’s already! Hurry up!” He then stares up at me with a face full of just the right mix of wishing and begging that I think I would have believed him to be an earth pony colt begging his mother for something had I not known otherwise.

All the same, his acting gives me… whatever I need to keep from panicking and giving both of us away—maybe something like not wanting to ruin his helping me?…—so my laugh sounds genuine as I continue our trot—Twin running to take his place ahead of me again—and say, “Foals: always so impatient.” At that, both guards chuckle, and, managing to tear my eyes off their spears for more than a few seconds, I think I see… trust there. Trust… Princess Celestia said something about “trust”… but for now, focused on maintaining my disguise, I push the thought away for later—if Twin is really leading me to some place safe, then I’d have time then.

The guards turn silent as we enter Apploosa, which doesn’t seem to have changed much since I’ve seen it. As we trot, still silent, down the dusty roads, my mind begins to feel more free to wander and it latches onto a couple somethings… interesting: how the ponies of the settlement (still too small to even be a “village”) stare at the guards and that the two escorting us appear to be the only ones here. Somehow… I expected this place to be more heavily guarded, considering its proximity to the border. That twinge of curiosity, along with the… bravery yet instilled in me by Twin, voices the question: “Um, Sirs, I’ve been wondering about something…” I teeter at the edge, and the guards soon tilt their heads curiously—inviting me to go on—and I realize how this question may yet pull any suspicion on us further away. “Why is Apploosa… left unguarded… since it’s so close to the border, I mean… I didn’t expect it to be this close…”

One of the guards smiles in a way I can tell is trying to be reassuring. “Apploosa is still a very, very small place, though it’s recently become more popular for tourism lately, where everypony knows everypony. That makes it extremely difficult—impossible, I’d say—for any Changeling to imponynate anypony without somepony else noticing something strange. So, everypony here feels safe, and even seems to take some pride in being able to take care of themselves.” He finishes his small speech with something I can’t identify with specificity in his voice and on his face, but I can at least tell he doesn’t approve of the townsponies attitude.

I hum thoughtfully for a moment before nodding and saying, “Thank you. That certainly helps put my mind at ease.” I smile in what I hope is a grateful way at the guard who had spoken, who in turn sheds his frown and nods in a way as if to say, “It’s no problem at all,” or something along those lines.

Only about a minute after this, Twin picks up speed and beelines for the door of a relatively smaller, but obviously well-cared for, house. Smacking his forehooves against it in a way that would have woken the entire street had it been night instead of heading into late afternoon, he cries out, “Uncle, Uncle, me an’ Mama are back from the border!” He finally puts all four hooves back on the ground when the three of us rejoin him at the doorstep. Clever… with one sentence he informed whoever is in there (another Changeling?) about all of our relations we have just now invented without whomever it is.

Some tense seconds later, during which I can practically see the suspicion growing in the guards—though perhaps I may be imagining it—a pegasus stallion with a yellow-brown-almost-orange coat, a lighter pine-wood yellow mane and tail made of long and stiff, almost bristly, hair, dark green eyes, and a ruler-and-compass Cutie Mark answers the door. “So, you’ve brought my sister back to me, safe and sound, have you?” He says with a dignified accent that surprises me almost to the point of revealing myself. “You sure about that? Made sure she’s not a Changeling, have you?” He chuckles lightly at his own joke, though whether it is a faked laugh at the “obvious” joke or an honest laugh at the “hidden” joke, I have no idea. Maybe a bit of both?…

Twin doesn’t answer in any way besides bounding forward and wrapping his forehooves around “his uncle’s” neck, who stumbles back with an exclamation. “Woah! Hey, there! You two weren’t gone for that long,” he says, but pats Twin’s back all the same before gently nudging him, at which he lets go and steps to the side; then he motions with the same hoof for me to come forward, and without hesitation I do so, and we share a one-hooved hug. “Sister…” He says in a way that sounds relieved I had come unscathed out of something dangerous.

Since being teleported away by Celestia, I feel my first flow of new energy; I glance backwards to the guards, who are now smiling gently at our “reunion,” and my suspicions are confirmed when they both give a small shiver. “Oh, Brother, please! We’re earth ponies and we can take care of ourselves just fine! It’s just, you know how Little Hillie is. After the excitement of the border wore off, he got impatient to get back.” At this, Twin rolls his eyes and my temporary brother chuckles again. Temporary brother… “I-never-thought-I-would ___.” is really the theme of the day…

After I step fully across the threshold and turn around to face the guards with Twin and “Brother” at either side of me—looking very much like a family—the pegasus stallion nods and smiles to the guards, but has something serious in his eyes. “Thank you both for seeing my sister and nephew back to me safe and sound, but I’d be selfish to keep you here when everything’s fine. It’s the rest of Equestria that needs protecting right now, so if you’d get back to patrolling, that would be repayment enough.” Without hesitation, the two nod back, suddenly losing their smiles, and fly away; the feeling of their care filling me doesn’t simply end, but trickles to a stop—slowed, I suppose, by distance.

I only subconsciously pay attention to that, however, as my thoughts go elsewhere as soon as the two pegasi turn away. It can’t really be that easy, can it? Princess Celestia has to have taken more serious measures in preventing Changelings from entering Equestria… hasn’t she? She doesn’t trust-. Of course… “trust”… She said, “You, whether you intend it or not, threaten the base of this nation: trust”… If Celestia is so resolute and determined about maintaining trust that she would actually risk allowing Changelings, a threat to trust itself, into Equestria, then!… This-… This could be worse than I thought, and she’s already threatened me with death! Yet there is still that message Queen Chrysalis gave me… If I can get it to Celestia and she enacts new screening-. No, the best I could hope for then is to be sent to Queen Chrysalis again, where I’d surely be killed! It looks like I’ll just have to forget-.

My thoughts are interrupted by a whoosh of air on my face and the front door barely scraping the tip of my nose as it’s slammed shut. I jump back with—having retained Fluttershy’s voice—an “eep” of shock and involuntary glance all around. One thing I take note of is that the living room—where the front door opens into and where we are—is simple to the point of bareness. Two couches and two chairs surround a coffee table—or the pony-equivalent of a coffee table—while a dresser is pushed into one corner with the only “decoration” in the room being a wood cross standing on the dresser. Another cross? I wonder if disguised Changelings use them to signal to other-. Again, I am not allowed to finish my thoughts as the pegasus stallion steps loudly—almost stomps—into my view and says, somewhat strained, “Why don’t we go into the basement, where we will be more comfortable and can speak more openly?” I can tell by the stiffness of his face that, for one reason or another, he—or she taking on the disguise of a he—doesn’t like me.

I bite my lip and look down at Twin, who only shrugs and gives me an apologetic look before turning to follow the other already heading into another room—a bedroom, I find when I follow. I follow, however, at best absentmindedly, for at that look I feel yet another tiny trickle of emotion—an emotion that I can tell means that Twin will help me get on the better side of this other most-likely-Changeling. But Changelings… can’t feed each other, right? Otherwise-. In the instant after I realize that I feel yet another new sensation that my instinct tells me is part of being a Changeling: a … “drying” sensation that feels like my stomach is drying in much the same way as a dry mouth, yet which is strangely not unpleasant. As the first fills me with yet more energy, the next drains it away at nearly an equal rate, though the draining is slightly more strong—So not feeding, but… exchanging?—and these thoughts seem to be confirmed when Twin smiles over his shoulder at me not a second after the drying feeling begins.

A thousand thoughts start vying for position at this revelation, but then, too soon for me to begin sorting them, the yet-to-be-confirmed-as-a-disguised pegasus leads us to the bedroom closet. There he (or she) opens a trapdoor with his (or her) magic where before the floor had just appeared seamless. The temporary flash of green light forming the outline of a curved Changeling’s horn, which makes the pegasus disguise look like an alicorn for a moment, finally proves the stallion’s nature. He or she then motions with his or her hoof to indicate I should descend down the revealed steps under the trapdoor first—with no worrying change in the emotions from Twin, I hesitate for less than a second. … Trust… Twin follows directly after me, and the pegasus-disguised Changeling follows after him with two more bursts of green magic—the first I have no idea about, but the second closes the trapdoor behind us.

Only when the light of the late afternoon Sun from above is extinguished do I see where we’re heading. The steps quickly level off into a hallway of sorts, which turns sharply after a couple pony-lengths, and a light, tinged very slightly green, glows from whatever place is beyond that turn. With Twin’s emotion still supporting me, and I returning in kind, I continue down the hallway. Does Princess Celestia know? Does she know Changelings can feel their emotions for each other so tangibly, building trust so quickly and easily? If she does know, is she… jealous? I try to imagine what each set of answers implies, but other, far too numerous variables present themselves, and I have to concede that, no matter the truth behind these questions, Princess Celestia still hates Changelings.

Even if I had not shook off these thoughts myself, I think they would have been forcibly shaken from me by the sight beyond the turn: It opens almost immediately into a fairly large space—about as large as the house over it, but it feels larger thanks to the fact it is one open room. The light is provided by a single chandelier—somewhat more elaborate than the ones in Chrysalis’s throne room and made of some metal rather than glass—hanging in the center of the room. To the right is the largest space, marked by an oval of mismatched chairs and couches and a pair of similarly style-clashing low tables; in the farthest chair—a small… leg(?)chair is a light blue sphere just slightly larger than a foal? Is that really-? Later… The left closest corner has its walls completely hidden behind a number of shelves absolutely overrun by books that, with their number, spill onto the blankets set out, I suppose, for stretching out while reading. In the farthest left corner is a pair of beds shoved together to form one large sleeping space—the blanket folded neatly upon one corner it reveals a slightly depressed space in the very middle, where the beds meet. Over all of this, the obvious “gem” of the room is another wood cross; this one is about as tall as a full-grown pony and leaning against the wall farthest from the entrance.

The space is already occupied by a single Changeling (undisguised) sitting on the floor at one of the tables and playing a card game that looks suspiciously like solitaire, but she—I can somehow, by instinct, I suspect, tell her gender at a glance—instantly abandons the likely dreadfully boring “game” when she sees me out of the corner of her eye. Now nervous, I step off to the left side rather than properly enter the room, only moving so that Twin and the other can enter without needing to scrape past me. When Twin enters the room, he instantly drops the disguise, the earth pony colt being replaced by a male, adult—Do they call themselves such things as “stallions”?—Changeling, and canters to join the “mare” Changeling, opting to sit on the couch behind her. When the pegasus-stallion-disguised Changeling also reveals herself upon entering the room, I decide to take a hint and drop my disguise as well, filing its design and name away, just in case…

The Changeling still beside me trots slowly around the oval of furniture, always keeping her head turned to watch me closely, until she slips onto the couch opposite Twin. Apparently noticing this behavior, Twin whispers something into the ear of the solitaire-playing Changeling, who flies over the table to sit beside the Changeling still almost glaring at me—the solitaire-playing one stares as well, but more with playful curiosity than suspicion. Twin turns around, putting his forehooves on the back of the couch, to smile at me and wave one of those forehooves in friendly invitation to join him on his couch—looking away but still feeling the glare from the one Changeling, I nearly gallop and throw myself onto the couch, making Twin bounce lightly, which in turn he laughs at good naturedly.

That makes me freeze for a moment as my eyes go wide; even though I know I shouldn’t be surprised, it is, all that same, a Changeling… laughing… and it sounds completely ordinary. With a shake of my head, I dispel the thought as quickly as I can before looking again between the three a few times. When I turn to Twin for the third time, he finally speaks up in that deeper stallion’s voice from before. “Well, then, seeing as how I brought you here… I suppose I should be the one to introduce everypony…” He finishes on a somewhat questioning tone—“Everypony”? Interesting…—but quickly moves on. “You already know I’m Twin.” He puts a hoof to his chest. “This is Reflection,” he points the hoof at the Changeling that had met us at the front door disguised as a pegasus stallion, “and Replicate, but she likes to be called Replie,” he turns the hoof to the solitaire-player—though she’s now wiping her game, picking up the cards in her magic and shuffling it all back into a deck—who giggles at the nickname. “Everypony, this is Alter,” he finishes with a point of the hoof towards me.

For far too many seconds I wait for him to finish before recalling how he had interrupted me giving my name to him by putting a hoof in my mouth when warning me about the patrolling guards. “No… No! It’s Alternate!” I quickly correct, though with a rush of meekness, concede, “but Alter is… okay, I suppose.”

Twin doesn’t seem to hear that last part, though, and murmurs more to himself than for any…pony here, “You prefer to be called by your full name? Alter… Nit? Your father’s name was Nit? What kind of a na-? Oh! Oh… never mind.” His smile turns sheepish as he pulls his ears back from embarrassment and blushes—the red most visible behind the black fur.

Replicate—or Replie—giggles again at Twin’s mistake, and when she stops, she says, “That’s a nice name… Alter, too, but I like Altie better.” She smiles in a way that makes me think, Pinkie, plus fangs, and I turn, bewildered, to Twin, who has managed to gather himself out of his embarrassment, and he shrugs as if to say, “She does this a lot.” So I shrug in turn to Replie—Alternate, Alter, Altie… I suppose, as a Changeling, I may as well get used to having multiple names…—who giggles again.

Strangely, I find that giggle endearing, where before I would find human female giggling annoying, and before her latest bout of giggles stops, I find there is a connection between us now, similar to the one I already share with Twin: that simultaneous filling and emptying of emotion… pointless in and of itself, but beyond “deep” in meaning. However, whereas the draining towards Twin is stronger than what I get in turn from him—reflec- that is, representing my stronger need in him?—what I’m now getting from Replie is stronger than what I feel for her.

From or for Reflection I yet feel nothing, though she seems to have noticed what is happening between me and the other two, if her words are any indication. “You two should be more careful,” she says without taking her eyes off of me. “Queen Chrysalis, if she’s smart,-”—and that she is…—“-then she’ll be worried about scavengers defecting completely to Celestia’s side-”—“Scavengers”? “Defecting completely”?…—“-and giving her valuable information Changelings have always hidden about themselves… She could be sending out some of her spies to seek out scavenging groups…” at that, the filling sensation lessens from both Twin and Replie, which makes me flinch more than her words. “So, why don’t you tell us how you came to abandon The Queen.” She finishes with a hiss that… doesn’t surprise me. Still, comparing how she’s looking at me to Celestia’s and Chrysalis’s death glares already gives me some confidence.

Confident enough to tell them something… resembling the truth. “I’m here because Chrysalis thinks I defected and returned to her as a spy for Celestia, so she sent me to Equestria with a message for the Princess.” That surprises all three of them, and I decide giving an explanation before being asked may buy myself a little more believability. “It started with a… mistake. Long story short, I was caught in a disguise by the very pony I had disguised myself as, and I ended up before Celestia herself…” Reflection shakes her head at this, and I feel the emotions flowing into me stop; I shiver, Stupid, stupid, stupid! Again! Too trusting… but, by some sense of commitment, I feel myself continue with a constrained voice, even as I tell myself it’s useless. “But the mare I… had inponynated insisted that there… was a mistake, even after I had been reveal-.”

“Stop… stop…” Reflection interrupts with laughter in her voice and a smile on her muzzle. “You’d have us believe that a pony cared about a Changeling out of the kindness of her own heart? And defended you from Princess Celestia?!” I try to nod, my ears pulled back expectantly, but as soon as she sees how I’m moving my head, she bursts out laughing, followed by the others. “Of course she did! And I’m Princess Celestia’s foal!” Then, a flash of green envelops her, and Reflection comes out of it looking like Celestia as a filly, which renews Twin’s and Replicate’s laughter. With a pang from being reminded that these Changelings don’t trust ponies any more that ponies trust Changelings, A very strong surge of pity for them leaves me suddenly drained. I’m sorry…

The three of them instantly stop laughing—Reflection transforming out of her filly Celestia imponynation—and the four of us gasp simultaneously. The three of them sit still as I glance between them and… I feel some trickles of energy flowing into me. Perking my ears, I look between the three of them less apprehensively until Reflection asks, “Wait… That pity wasn’t-… You’re telling the… truth?” I nod with a new rush of emotion leaving me: gratitude. Reflection instantly shakes her head. “Stop that. With what we-… I just did, I haven’t earned that yet… That was a pretty powerful burst of pity.” She lets out a strange, sad snort or huff of a laugh. “Let me try to pay it back.” She smiles at me as I feel the surge of apology wash into me… Trust. I never before realized how powerful trust is—never even thought about it—no wonder Celestia values it, but… it comes so easy to Changelings. If ponies could feel the emotions others feel for them, would Equestria be different? Would their relation with Changelings be different? As I ask myself these impossible and useless questions, the rush of returning energies that I had given them makes me involuntarily buzz my wings for a second, and a moment after that I begin to return their affects, creating a raging eddy of energy between the four of us that is, all the same, invisible to all but ourselves. To think… what kind of civilizations would emerge from creatures capable of sensing others’ emotions as well as anypony can see a tree… So few words are needed when the emotions can speak for themselves… I can’t help but marvel at this for a moment.

Then, eventually, the questions come busting out all at the same time: “What did it feel like?” from Replie, and I think I know what she means.

“What was the message?” Twin asks, and I’m thrown for a small, short loop by the seeming randomness of such a query.

“How did you do it?” I feel a small twinge of something telling me that I also know what Reflection means by her question, but I try to ignore it for now.

The three of them look between each other for a moment before beginning to laugh (or, in Replie’s case, giggle) and I soon enough join in. Feeling the warmth in this place growing, however, I also feel a want to answer their question, and quickly wave their laughter down with a hoof. “Since Twin’s is the easiest question…” I start with a meaningful look towards Reflection, who only raises an eyebrow questioningly, “basically, the message is to remind Celestia of what had happened in Canterlot during the siege, and how Chrysalis had nearly taken the city, and wouldn’t have been defeated if she had known ponies can use love to power magic as well.”

Reflection instantly lets out a snort at that and after a few seconds says, “It’s still hard to believe ponies can do that, but… undeniable,” as she shakes her head to with her incredulity. Then, shaking her head more rapidly, apparently to ride herself of some line of thought, she says with some hint of venom, “But Chrysalis is delusional is she thinks she can launch a another attack that would end up as well as the first. I know the three of us have some well-earned pride in being part of the force that captured Canterlot, but then-…” She pauses and shakes her head, dejectedly this time, and finishes her speech to the floor. “-Then… we lost too many from that barrier spell, and if that wasn’t enough, Chrysalis lost a lot of faith from her children… So many left the nest to become scavengers.” She looks back up at me with a small smile. “That’s when we left: when Chrysalis lost a fifth of her army to casualties and desertions, but remained set on taking over Canterlot. Any soldiers that have remained with her better be ready to twist the knife Chrysalis has stabbed in Hasharstan’s back… So… that’s our story of how we came to be here. Hardly as exciting as yours.” She lets out a few bursts of sad, ironic laughter.

So much information, and yet so little. Exciting? I don’t know about that, but interesting? Yes… “Hasharstan” I’ll assume for now is the name of the Changelings’ nation—it would be too dangerous to ask about… Scavengers are apparently what Changelings are called when they abandon the Queen and go out to live on their own… probably, but I can’t ask about that, either. That losing soldiers to the barrier spell, however… “What did you mean when you said you lost soldiers to the barrier spell? I could see the barrier from where I was in Ponyville, but I was already a scavenger before then, and I saw you being flung away… by the… expanding… barrier.” I begin to hesitate when all three of them shake their heads sadly.

Reflection—seeming more and more like the natural head of the small group—answers. “That barrier didn’t fling us so much as… push us… but I guess that’s not what matters, as it wouldn’t have been much better if it had been a throwing spell. Those of us who were flung away were only in some lucky spot when the spell was cast… standing on or flying above a road that looked directly out of the edge of the city. Anypony that was caught indoors or between the barrier and a building… at least didn’t suffer.” She shivers at what I’m sure is a replaying of those events in her mind’s eye, and the terrible implications make me flinch and send out another wave of pity, which is promptly returned with a speechless thanks as honest as Applejack.

Honesty- No! Don’t think about that… if I want to survive, it’s better to just forget about that and get used to being a scavenger. This time, however, I find the use of that word too irresistibly curious to leave unquestioned. “Any… ‘pony’?” I hesitate for a second, but—thankfully—the three of them seem to understand, letting out short laughs (or a giggle) in spite—or because of—the horribly depressing subject just visited before Twin shakes his head with amusement.

“Any Changeling,” Twin corrects for Reflection with another snort of a laugh and a smirk in Reflection’s direction, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Sorry. I suppose that’s just a habit you get into when you’re a scavenger and surrounded by ponies so often, or I’d supposed until now… You’re different, though, somehow, in someway… it’s obvious, but it hard to name exactly what it is. To get a pony to care for you so much that she would not only defend you before Celestia, but get her to convince the Pony Princess not to kill you…” He shakes his head with the same disbelief he had shown the idea of ponies being able to wield the power of love. “That’s a kind of manipulation even Queen Chrysalis can’t dream of performing, no matter what mind altering spells she uses.”

A shiver runs through me at the word “manipulation,” and I can’t move for a moment as I debate with myself about whether to correct him or not. Fluttershy… can I just stand by and let another misconstrue you and your absolutely unwavering kindness? Could I do such a thing to you, though you’re hardly likely to know and would understand why I did it if you ever do find out? No, I couldn’t… not if I knew I was going to have to see you again, but after Celestia… she is sure to be wary of you now, so going to you would be as dangerous as going to Canterlot Castle… Now, it’s best to only forget you, along with… everything else. Yet… “Um… I wouldn’t-,” still, I hesitate, “I wouldn’t call it ‘manipulation,’ precise-.”

Chuckling from Twin before, “You’re modest. Maybe too modest.” He grins in a ridiculously wide and toothy way that I think at first is what makes Replie giggle, but when I glance at her she seems to not have ever moved her eyes off of me, which makes me do a double-take from looking back at Twin. As Twin goes on to say, “I think that’s about as close to answer as you’re going to get,” to Reflection, Replie stares—continues to stare?—at me, and I stare right back; I raise an eyebrow questioningly, prompting her to giggle again. Under any other conditions I think I would have been unnerved, yet the emotions I feel coming off of her don’t change and are not all that different from Twin’s and Reflection’s, so instead I feel… comfortable. Again, so simple… so easy…

I mentally shake the thought off with, Simple and easy is good… I had just been stuck between a rock and a hard place with very few options, then Twin… and Reflection and Replie… saved my life! Returning to the present, I answer Replie's question, anticipating her to repeat it. “As for how love for me while I was undisguised from a pony felt-… I think you meant?” I interrupt myself to ask just in case I had misunderstood, but it was unneeded, as Replie nods. “It felt… different.” and even before I say it, I know it’s true, but how I know… “Somehow… in a way I can’t find the words for… Sorry?” I apologize somewhat lamely, yet Replie doesn’t look the slightest bit disappointed, but instead… wistful?… The other two only shrug dismissively, increasing Replie's likeness to Pinkie Pie in my mind; specifically, how others tend not to bother explaining her.

With that, the tension of the discussion is discarded, and the evening evolves into something of pure, simple entertainment. Replie quickly proposes a game of something suspiciously similar—in fact, practically identical—to poker, though playing with Changelings who can all feel each other’s emotions adds a new and interesting element. With that, I’m treated as though I had always lived here with them, and they share stories from when they had worked for Hasharstan and Queen Chrysalis, particularly, stories of when they had gotten into sticky predicaments while in disguise and how they narrowly avoided disaster. These stories are surprisingly numerous, and while they laugh at each other and don’t mind my relative silence in not relegating similar stories, I try hard not to let out another wave of pity. They’ve always lived like this… on the edge, needing to be careful of being discovered… yet they’re not laughing it off, they’re laughing at each other, ignoring the danger, because they don’t know anything else…

I don’t know how long we play before I begin a chain of yawning; a short falter in my magic when I yawn reveals the cards I hold instinctually in some telekinesis—Twilight would be jealous, using magic so accurately on my first day as a Changeling!—and Replie tries to giggle through her own yawn at my terrible… hoof? With her magic, Reflection pulls the cards out of all our own magic telekinesis, and Twin makes a mad jump to catch his cards between his forehooves with a cry of “No! Wait! Just this one last hoof!” That, along with his mock-pout, gets us all laughing as we simply fly over the furniture to begin making our way to the beds pushed together; I don’t even think about questioning this and heading instead towards the blankets in the other corner to sleep alone—the emotions flowing both into me and out of me had grown over the course of the card game.

Pausing when I realize I hear only Replie’s giggling and Twin’s deeper laughter, I look back and catch Reflection pulling her head back and stepping her forehooves from the seat of the chair the… egg—I’m now certain—is resting upon. Whether she had just been kissing it, or whispering to it, or something else altogether associated with Changeling culture, I haven’t the slightest idea, but I do know what ever it was was motherly, and for that I sense the outflow of energy from me to Reflection grows slightly, which is, as always, returned quickly. The four of us need no words, or even to look at each other, as we jump into the bed and huddle closely in the indent and the four of us together, thin green sparks forming a circle between our horns, open the folded blanket and place it over ourselves.

Still, as the others fall asleep quickly, I remain awake despite the fact I had been the first to yawn, and think over everything that has happened this day. This day… Has it really only been one day? Not even a full day, really… I hope this life I’ve fallen into so luckily isn’t as constantly “exciting”… Twin, Replie, Reflection, I wouldn’t have made it without you. Me, a stranger, and you trust me… because you know you can by sensing my emotions for you. If only ponies could do the same. If only… would this conflict still exist? Changelings, with their games, their laughter, their tightly knit community, and so much more that’s difficult to name but all the same make them so similar to the ponies of Equestria… Trust… I thought “trust” was the answer for a moment there, but now… there has to be something else… something more and deeper than sensing emotions… but what?… Even if I knew, could I do anything about it? Of course not, so just forget about it, “Alternate.” This is your life now… at least until something drastic changes.

"... a-... a monster!"

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Alteration One:

Ponies

Chapter 7:

“… a-… a monster!”

When I awake in the morning I am, somehow, not surprised to find myself a Changeling sandwiched between two other Changelings, specifically Twin, whom I’m facing but who is facing away from me, and Replie, who is to my back, with Reflection on the other side of Twin. No, not “somehow”… I can still… feel my appearance. That, and everything I’ve felt… those strange sensations no human has ever experienced before… Can ever experience, really… “Human”… I grimace at the thought as it brings forth a never ending swirl of those impossible questions: How had this happened to me? Why? I begin to stand, wanting to distract myself with my morning routine—whatever that means for Changelings…—but before I can even get one hoof under me, two forelegs wrap around my neck and pull me back down; of course, as I can clearly see that Twin is facing away from me, towards Reflection, I know there is only one who can have her legs wrapped around me—their holes are obvious as she squeezes me lightly and playfully.

To think I would have to confront such a thing so soon! I instantly berate myself for such a thought, however, for if Queen Chysalis had not been merely symbolic when referring to the Changelings as “her children”—which something, perhaps more of my Changeling mind, tells me she was indeed being literal—then Changelings are likely to have a very different view from humans of intimacy, sexuality, and everything both in between and beyond. Again, I mentally slap myself, reasoning that even if such things weren’t true, then it is likely that their views would still be different in much the same way that pony society, so similar to human culture, accepts public nudity and who knows what else yet!

Still, I can’t help but to try to keep myself from shivering, only to make myself freeze instead. Thankfully, Replie doesn’t seem to notice, or doesn’t care, as she places her head on top of mine and whispers into my ears with the cultured voice of the pegasus stallion Reflection had been disguised as last evening. “Relax, Altie. We don’t have to get up just yet, so why don’t you stay in bed with me… for me.” Despite the fact I know objectively that it can only be Replie imitating, as only a Changeling can, the voice of that yet-to-be-known stallion, whatever part of my brain that makes me a heterosexual panics at the voice. That part, however, is gently twisted by my new instincts, and instead of turning around to push her away, my hindlegs kick out against the bed in an attempt to buck her away instead.

Apparently having anticipated this, Replie spreads her hindlegs so that I slam myself against her belly. Before I can wiggle my lower half back away from her—for she continues to hold my neck loosely yet firmly with her forelegs—she then squeezes my flanks with her hindlegs and crosses them under my belly, and though they are far less fit for holding onto things between them compared to forelegs, I don’t bother to attempt an escape. Instead, as she giggles—whether at her own clever trap, or my reaction, I don’t know—and I can feel her chest bounce against my back with each laugh, I force myself through my initial panic with a few deep breaths and long sighs, at first only locking my joints until I’m calm enough to let myself fall limp in Replie’s embrace.

Replie’s embrace… Some part of my mind, some deeper part where my humanity remains firmly seated, squirms most uncomfortably at both our closeness and the difference between—that had once been between—our species. Humanity… I wonder only briefly about the life I had led before this, but push such potentially depressing thoughts away swiftly. Whatever brought me here and transformed me obviously did it without revealing itself… and without even that single clue… could I even hope to find a way back?… Perhaps there’s something in the Everf- No! Way too dangerous, too far… and too close to Canterlot—and Ponyville—for such a slim chance… I should just forget it, like… Ponyville and… everypony. I realize too late that my eyes are wet—how much of it is for my former human life, and how much is for what I did to the friendship between the Elements, even I can’t tell, and I’m not sure I even care for such useless percentages—and though I move quickly to try to wipe away my tears, enough escape me to trickle down my face and form a small pool of wetness on the fur of Replie’s foreleg. In an instant, she stops laughing.

It takes me a long time to notice that Twin has turned around to stare curiously and worriedly at me; Reflection has a similar wrinkle to her brow as she looks over Twin’s shoulder, having raised herself up on her forelegs into a kind of half-sitting position, roughly equivalent to a human raising herself up on her elbows. Replie loosens her grip and gently wiggles her legs out from underneath me, but she does this all while keeping her one foreleg draped over my neck, for which I silently thank her. I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut, inadvertently forcing out a couple more trickles of tears; I know I can’t leave the questions I can hear as if they are some echo from the future, but to give them the truth now… I can’t do that as much as I could yesterday…

After what happened last night, I know that waiting and hoping that they may leave me alone with my tears is the most naïve thought I’ve yet had in Equestria. Still, I wait until Replie asks, “Altie?” speaking in the softest way and with such worry and care that it hurts in a nearly physical way—so much so, in fact, that I gasp as if struck. I twist myself around to lay on my stomach with my head between my forelegs so that, as much as I can, I don’t have to look directly at any one of those who have so compassionately taken my in and yet to whom I now have to lie… again…

It’s only now that I realize the true consequences and actual point to the card game last night: As we had played, tiny nuances—barely discernable, but there all the same, if only detectable by careful examination—in the inflowing emotions could be felt; changes that operated like a sign in another’s emotional state. So, just as I am certain that they had turned to me worriedly upon feeling my depression, I realize I, even turned away from their faces, can all the same feel their concern for me.

“I-,” my voice comes out nasally, and I sniffle before trying to speak again, though it barely helps. “I-… Yesterday, I-… there was so much going on I barely had time to process it all… Being caught, brought before Celestia, then Chrysalis, and found and taken in by you three…” I raise my tone slightly as I mention the last event—like a scrap of wood in a turbulent sea… No. Better than that…—I sigh before continuing, “Now that I’m safe, and-… I’m finally able to think about what I did… to that pony who defended me.” Fluttershy, who, no matter how her friends support her or Celestia forgives her, will still worry about me, dampening her days for who knows how long… and there’s no way I can risk contacting her. “I-… I-…” I feel I need to say it, to tell some truth, even if it’s not the reason behind my tears… or the reason my tears had started, at least, but my throat constricts and spasms as a weightlifter’s muscles when trying to lift a weight just barely under his ability.

The words seem to threaten to choke me to death, yet all at once it stops when Replie pulls herself on top of me and hugs me from behind—her forelegs wrapping around my neck and squeezing me somehow stoppering my sobs and helping me breathe. Still, even as I quiet and my deep, slow breaths unsteadily return to a more normal rhythm with occasional shudders, I don’t manage to speak before Replie does. “You wish you had found some other way… some way you could have saved yourself without having to deceive her…” she says with a slow voice as strangely wistful as that look from last night. Replie… Did something happen to you?

With no desire to continue being pitied, nor to ask Replie about her all too accurate words—even with the apparently relatively high chance of her being willing to tell that tale—I take in a few deep breaths and chant silently, Let it go… Let it go… until I can breathe out without so much as a hint of a shudder. Wiggling and turning under Replie, I eventually manage to face her—all the while, she doesn’t lessen her grip on me, thought whether it’s for me, herself, or in part both of us, I cannot tell—and as I hug her in turn and feel our emotions crash against each other, I release my old self. Goodbye, humanity… you served me well, but now I must not only leave you, but forget… Though my eyes threaten to tear again, I manage to fight it down this time, so when Replie pulls back, the tears she wipes off my face are already drying.

In contrast, tears are silently leaking out of her own eyes to trickle down her muzzle and drip onto my (still strangely long) neck—only now do I realize that my mane and the top of my head is slightly wet. With another odd look in her eyes, this one practically the opposite of the wistfulness from before with its fierceness and almost anger, Replie seems to stop her tears by will before she steps slowly over me, giving me a view of that place between her hindlegs and under her tail that leaves nothing to my imagination. Different mores… Different mores! I chant to myself, though I all the same cannot prevent myself from blushing even then as it could have been nothing more than an accident—or so I try to tell myself as another part of me, hopefully the new Changeling part, argues otherwise. Whiplash! Too much mood whiplash! I try to explain away such thoughts, but… if I’m going to abandon my past and live as a scavenger Changeling… Why… not?… Yet even though all these thoughts that always-analytical part of me realizes something else: No… mammary glands?… I’m not even a mammal anymore?!

Shaking my head as if the motion can rid me of such thoughts, I notice Reflection looking at me with a strange—perhaps knowing, or at least something close to it, though either way it is not the slightest bit disapproving—smile, and that Twin’s and Replie’s emotions toward increase and change slightly, though they seem to be making a point not to look back at me as they make their way to the circle of chairs and couches. As I stand and stretch, intending to follow them to learn about the day-to-day work of a scavenger Changeling, my eyes wander for a moment before locking onto Reflection’s egg, and again Chrysalis’s words about “her children” replay in my mind. If she wasn’t being symbolic, and she really is the mother of every Changeling in her hive, then would she enforce some law that no other’s can have a child without her? And how severely would such a law be enforced and punished?… Or do Changelings even have ‘levels’ of crime? In what ways and to what extent would the Changeling ability to feel each others’ emotions affect prosecution and punishment?… I think being dropped off in the middle of Russia or Peru would have been less of a culture shock! At least then I would still be around hu-! No! Alternate! Stop that line of thought… Russia and Peru are in a completely different reality, if not “only” on the other side of the Universe… Though if I managed—somehow—to get here, then the reverse should be possi-. Wha-!?

My thoughts are interrupted by a large something appearing in the corner of my sight before quickly filling my vision and slamming into the side of my face. Momentarily blinded and deafened by the impact, I stumble back, trip, and fall to my side. For one terrifying second that seems to stretch into infinity, my mind throws at me the most horrific scenarios involving Celestia or Chrysalis having magically traced me and now attacking the ones who had saved my life, but when my eyes and ears start working again, I hear laughter and see myself laying behind the chair I had obviously trotted into. Who knew trotting was so dangerous? I ask myself as I shake my head of the last remnants of my daze, and I find mind myself chuckling lightly along with them. Reflection steps over me, shaking her head in bemusement and sighing before offering a hoof to help me up while asking with a hint of seriousness, “Still a bit lost in thought?”

Hooking my foreleg around hers, I pull myself back up and sway for a moment, my still rapidly beating heart from that second of fear making me slightly lightheaded. Once I’m standing still, if a bit stiffly, I nod somewhat distractedly as I put a forehoof on my chest, taking a moment to feel my heart slow through the fleshy part of my hoof. I’d never really bothered to learn much equestrian terminology before… I hope that doesn’t get me into some kind of trouble down the line… If I get found out because of some stupid pony-based pun, I’ll-!… Gah! It doesn’t matter, and thinking about it’ll just make me more likely to make a mistake…

Thankfully I manage to turn away such thoughts just as Reflection is finishing chuckling and shaking her head slowly at me. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised to find you have more on your mind that what you’ve just told us, but right now we need you to focus,” she says back to me as I follow her around the chair I had just ran into to join Replie and Twin. I tilt my head at that—Need to focus on what?—and Reflection answers without waiting for me to ask or looking back at me, instead likely sensing my confusion. “About what happened last evening with the guards, incase we need to follow-up whatever story you and Twin told them.” She explains as we settle into a couch opposite the other two.

As I let out a hum of understanding, Twin nods with a grim smile—Interesting…—before answering Reflection’s implied question. “Yes… the guards didn’t appear too suspicious of us,” Reflection nods curtly at this, “but I still think it would be a good idea to follow through with our story… That is, we said we have been visiting family and would be leaving for home today.”

The room turns quiet for a moment as Reflection thinks over this before asking, “Did either of you say where ‘home’ is?” Twin shakes his head almost immediately, and I soon follow him after quickly going over the questions the guards had asked. “Or when or how you would be leaving?” More shakes of our heads, and more quickly from me this time. “Good.” Reflection nods curtly again and allows a small smile. “Good! That simplifies things. Then all we need are two train tickets to anywhere and some luggage, I think, to make it look as if you had really been staying here… anything else?”

The four of us look between each other for a moment, yet while Twin shakes his head and Replie shrugs, I tap a forehoof against my chin thoughtfully, one thing that Twin had said nagging me. “I think… that the bigger the place Hopping Hills and Green Fields live, the better…” I trail off, unsure, but Twin rolls his head as if telling me to go on. “It’s just something you had said, Twin.” He tilts his head, and instantly I “taste” the confusion coming from him that Reflection must have tasted coming from me a moment ago. “about this other foal… Wing Something or Something Wing? If the place is too small, and a colt with that name doesn’t or never lived there, and those guards are more suspicious of us than they let on, then…” I trail off, both afraid to mention what might happen and sure I don’t need to.

After a short, tense moment, Reflection looks between the two of us again. “Okay… one complication that shouldn’t be too difficult to accommodate… anything else?” Although I have yet one more question—What about documentation for our train coming in?…—I suppose that if the others are not concerned, then the perhaps-too-lenient Equestria simply doesn’t have such a system; a shake of the head from both of them seems to clear that matter and I follow their example. “Okay, good. Luckily,” she turns to me, “we keep luggage for such an event as this, but tickets are impossible to plan around… I think, if there are any guards watching, that buying tickets now would be too… convenient, so it would probably be safer to steal them from a couple of tourists. I suppose it’s only luck on our side again, as ironic as it is, that tourism in Apploosa has really jumped since… a few months ago,” she finishes with a swift look away from everyone and an audible gulp, and even if I hadn’t been able to sense the sudden tension in her emotions I still would have known exactly what she’s talking about—or so I think.

In an attempt to quickly dissipate the swiftly growing awkward, tense, and tragic air, I try to turn the focus onto something else. “S-steal?” I ask, and thankfully it seems that Reflection had been waiting for such a distraction, as she looks back up at me with such speed I wince in sympathy for her neck. Yet even as she appears to latch onto my question, I can still feel her emotions shaken by her memories of the failed siege of Canterlot. Interesting… so even Changelings, who can feel such nuances in each other’s emotions, put on at least physical façades… Why? Is it purely for one’s self, as she knows it isn’t healthy to dwell on such thoughts? Or maybe for others, to instead tell them silently that she’s dealing with it? So many questions from such a simple change as being able to feel other’s emotions!… If only I could ask them!

Reflection opens her mouth, ready to answer, but Replie sighs, and after a short, sad look towards her, Reflection turns back to me with a nod. “Yes… I know that it’s bad enough we resort to stealing their love, but if any three of the ponies we’ve constructed buys tickets now, it would only serve as a mark against us, and constructing yet another pony with which to buy the tickets would only be more dangerous, and trying to take the form of any of the townsponies or tourists is similarly too risky in such a small place as Apploosa.” With a sad look in her eyes again, she shakes her head slowly. “So, unless you can come up with another plan, I can’t see any other way.”

Twin and Replie shrug and shake their heads as well, though I instead frown and close my eyes to concentrate. Another way… maybe there isn’t another way… we just need to look at our choices differently!… With a plan forming, my frown slowly turns into a smile and I open my eyes to see the others staring with poorly disguised eager curiosity. “We lost our tickets. That will be Green Fields’ story when she buys new tickets today.”

The other three quickly look between themselves; Replie beams, suddenly cheerful again, Twin’s smile is more reserved, and Reflection’s expression is the most careful of them all as she starts to slowly say, “That is… advantageous… in making it easier to get the kind of tickets we need to a larger city… and the closer to night the train arrives at its destination, the better, as well…” That makes me raise my brow, but I decide to keep the question to myself for the moment. “I still think that buying the tickets, no matter our story, will still raise some suspicion.”

Twin nods at this. “I think so, too. It would seem too, as you said, ‘convenient.’” I frown for a moment before falling completely into my previous grimace, and with a nod I concede to their point. However, now it is Replie that is turning thoughtful, though instead of closing her eyes, she turns to stare not so much at me as towards me, given the far-off look in her eyes. Now it is my turn, along with Twin and Reflection, to wait and watch curiously.

At some length, Replie finally comes back to herself, grinning widely as she now definitely looks at me. Still, her inner insecurity is evident by her hesitation. “What if-… What if we ‘buy’ the tickets… but without anypony knowing?” At the confusion she receives from all three of us, she flicks her ears as if they’re being annoyed by something before explaining. “I mean, we steal the tickets, but we leave bits in their place. With just the right luck, the two tourists we steal from will think they had only just forget to buy returning tickets.”

After a moment of confusion, a myriad of emotions crosses Reflection’s face too quickly for me to either read on her face or identify in the taste of her love, though eventually she settles on a cautious smile. “Yes… I suppose that could work… as we have so little use for the bits we earn as Wood Work…” she ponders as she nods slightly and slowly. Hmm… “so little use for bits”?… I suppose Changelings wouldn’t need to buy pony food, but what else?… Never mind. I suppose I’ll find out, sooner or later. I interrupt my thoughts as Reflection goes on, now looking at me. “I think this would be an good chance to teach you about our disguise, the pegasus stallion, Wood Work, by taking on the form of Hopping Hills as a cover for Wood Work teaching his curious nephew.”

I tilt my head at that, pondering the plan, which at first glance seems like an excellent opportunity to learn about the pony I would perhaps be playing the rest of my life as, but there is one detail… “What about… these?” I indicate my still-bandaged scrapes from yesterday’s fall, which are still quite a ways away from healing. “It certainly wouldn’t be a good idea to have the injuries switch from mother to son.” I finish with a bare hint of sarcasm which the others don’t even seem to acknowledge, which makes me in turn shrug—and pull my injured shoulder.

Instead of pondering upon this dilemma, however, Replie only giggles and says, “Oh, there’s no need to worry about that at all since I learned a few healing tricks while taking the place of a nurse about a year ago! A little spell to get rid of those cuts, then Twin will copy them as best he can on myself so I can take the place of Green Fields!” That make me hum in thought for a moment, and not only because Replie, based only on what I know so far, would not be my first choice of the other three to go on this thievery mission. Rather, her willingness to be injured when it’s unnecessary—after all, I don’t have to learn about this Wood Work disguise first-hoof—surprises me in the most unpleasant ways. But then… there are those stories from last night… to Changelings, injuring themselves as part of a disguise is probably completely normal…

Despite any such thoughts and reasonings, however, I eventually shake my head. “No. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be Green Fields again and steal the tickets. I don’t need to learn about Wood Work neither today, nor in such a manner.” I finish even as Reflection starts to shake her head before I’m half way done and Twin and Replie turn confused. After a moment of none of them saying anything, I sigh. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just used to working alone and not having anyone else hurt themselves for me.” Yet again, however, my words seem to have the opposite effect of their meaning as Reflection returns from looking negative to positive.

“No. You’re right,” she says with a short huff, the meaning of which I have no idea. “Not only what you said about learning about Wood Work—I wouldn’t expect you to be able to start working as him until at least a week of study anyway; one day, even of such direct study, wouldn’t be enough—but we shouldn’t waste our energy on any magic as complex and energy-intensive as healing unless it’s absolutely needed, and that week would be plenty enough time for you to heal on your own…” She finishes with a tone that indicates she’s about to say something else, but only says, “So, if you insist, then it won’t be difficult to accommodate at all, so no pressure,” and her untainted emotions confirm her words.

I turn to Replie, who is now more intrigued than confused, then Twin, who is now scratching the side of his head with a forehoof as if trying to wrap his mind about what I’d just said. No doubt the concept of “chivalry” is completely alien to Changelings… although that fact strangely doesn’t preclude their proclivity towards being kind and generous and… well, “in harmony” with one another…There is no “code” because, perhaps, Changelings don’t need one… That thought makes me shake my head slightly. Forget what I mused earlier about Changelings “being able to change,” for if the Changelings who’ve remained with Chrysalis are like this… then “trust” may be behind this conflict after all… Stop! Not that I’ll ever know or be able to find out! So stop! I let out a sigh that hides a sarcastic laugh before finally answering, “Yes. I do insist.”

Reflection nods again. “I was half hoping you would. It will certainly make things easier… especially without putting pressure on our energy.” I nod back, as if this had truly been the primary reason behind my decision, but if the slight strengthening in Replie’s emotions indicate anything, it seems she at least sees through this. Reflection then turns to Twin, “So, I assume you will take Hopping Hills again as well, Twin?” A nod. “Then I will take up my turn as Wood Work before this afternoon when, hopefully”—here she gives me an imploring look, reminding me of the importance of retrieving tickets that arrive as late as possible—“I will take the place of Green Fields,”—I tilt my head at that, and though I know she must feel my confusion, she dismisses it with a strange grimace and burst of emotion that passes too quickly for me to attempt to identify—“and leave with Twin, where we will abandon the identities upon leaving the train before making our way back here,” a short pause in which she looks between the three of us, “Any last questions?”

For a moment I consider bringing up her plan of taking Green Fields’ place where I’m sure I could do perfectly well, but after thinking over that… insisting contorted expression and the relative harmlessness of the switch taking into account the fact the train cars are likely to have compartments as on the show so that the discovery of Reflection’s uncut cheek and shoulder is minimal at best, I shake my head with the others. All of this planning just to get two small identities out of the potential spotlight… if Chrysalis is so adamant on infiltrating Canterlot again… how? I growl lightly at myself and shake my head yet again to rid my mind of such useless thoughts, and when I come back to the physical world I give a sheepish grin upon seeing Reflection staring at me as if fearing for my sanity. “Sorry. Again. I suppose I should be going to catch those tourists leaving their hotels for the morning…”

“Yes.” Twin answers before Reflection, looking not at all disturbed by my actions just then. “The morning would be one of the best times to catch them unawares.” Twin seems to suddenly remember himself as if coming out of his own thoughts before saying a little too quickly and with a renewed injection of respect in his emotions toward me, “though of course someone as experienced as you would already know that!”

A moment after that it seems everyone comes to a silent agreement that nothing else need be said, so Reflection, Twin, and I all assume our identities with three flashes of our green flame-like Changeling magic and bid a good day to Replie by rearing up to give a short cross stance—this I do only after the other two—and I continue to ponder this symbol’s meaning as leave “Wood Work’s” home/shop, of which the shop doesn’t even have a name, though I suppose it doesn’t need one in such a small settlement. So, I wander halfway aimlessly though the wide and dusty streets with a saddle bag full of bits, looking for a hotel or the train station, from which I assume I’ll be able to find a hotel close by it. Thankfully, Apploosa is as small as the guards had said, and it’s not even a hour before I find myself before perhaps the largest building in… well, not exactly “town,” considering the “Station Hotel” is still only three stories high and about as wide as two and a half train engines. If nothing else, it certainly appears to be the most “fancy” place around… a place where city ponies might stay if they’re not looking for the “authentic experience!”

I grin at the idea that this may all simply fall into my lap—or whatever I have now—yet, but… I need some kind of… “cover”… so I don’t look suspicious just hanging around a hotel… Sure enough, and luckily enough, just one building over and across the street is a restaurant with tables to the open air where, indeed, quite a few city-looking ponies are having breakfast. I wonder for a moment if the Station Hotel doesn’t offer free breakfast, but then shrug the question off—doesn’t matter—as I take a seat and one of the waitresses brings over a menu and glass of water; it’s enough for me that at least these obvious tourists are eating here.

As I look over the menu, somewhat curious about Equestrian cuisine, I still keep my ears pealed for any mention of “train,” “leave,” “today,” or anything else of that nature. I catch quite a few snippets before the waitress returns, but they’re all useless, mentioning either a train that’s leaving after breakfast, or cities either useless—Canterlot… I… don’t think so…—or ones I don’t recognize—Clawstead? Is that perhaps some griffin or dragon city?¬ Doesn’t matter; I’m definitely not gambling on any unknown city—so it’s with a sigh I finally order the “breakfast hash” with apple juice.

Soon after the waitress leaves me, however, I notice, as I look around for anypony whose travel plans I might not have overheard yet, how she looks over her shoulder worriedly at me and instantly I recognize that flowing feeling, only now it’s one-way again. I grimace and look away when I see her shiver as she delivers menus to what appears to be a couple who had just arrived. Get used to it… You’re going to need to get used to it, even if you don’t like it… at least she isn’t somepony you know, like Rarity… Gah! And that’s supposed to make it right? Of course not… Easier? If only… just… calm down… remember where you are…

The breakfast hash doesn’t take long to arrive, and I try to use it as a momentary distraction, even as I know I need to focus on finding a couple of ponies with just the right tickets, but all the same it doesn’t last long as a diversion. Instead, I notice a peculiar taste as I eat, and my first instinct is to panic with thoughts I had been found out and had been poisoned, but those quickly subside when my mind catches up with itself and I realize the taste is actually, a lack of taste?… Of course, I should have realized from all the evidence that Changelings wouldn’t need much, if any, sense of taste; this seems to be confirmed when I take a sip of the apple juice, which, besides its appearance and the slightest difference in texture, isn’t distinguishable from the water. I almost want to chuckle at the idea as I think, Well… I guess now I’ll never know what Sweet Apple Acre’s apples taste like!… then an instant later I frown at the compulsion.

With such thoughts on my mind, I’m sure at first that hearing the name, “… Applejack…” as if on the wind is my imagination, but my ears—still so strange—turn towards an indeed real, physical source: the couple who had arrived as I was ordering. They aren’t just any old couple, though… no, they seem… almost familiar. I can’t put my hoof on it, however, until I think of looking at their Cutie Marks which mark them as, Applejack’s Aunt and Uncle Orange?! I hadn’t recognized them at first because they had obviously aged since Applejack had earned her Cutie Mark; notably, Mr. Orange now has a few grey hairs “accenting” his otherwise still intrusively green mane. Yes! Manehattan! Perfect! Now… wipe that grin off your face so you don’t look like a serial killer identifying his-… her next target! I almost facehoof at myself, but remember my injuries in time. Okay… Now to find out their itinerary… Somehow… Hopefully they say something on their own…

Neither mention anything about any plans for the day, however, instead reliving and laughing good-naturedly about what had happened so far during their stay; I don’t bother to pay much attention to it, however, instead letting their words float over my head just a bit closer than the rest of the low babble of the restaurant's other patrons. I grit my teeth as I notice my hash disappearing, leaving less and less time with which to eavesdrop unsuspected; even as I eat as slowly as I dare, it seems the Oranges have enough stories to fill an entire year of visiting their relatives.

Finally, with my plate practically licked clean I finally hear Mr. Orange’s distinct voice—at least distinct among the Apploosan accent—ask, “What was the plan for today, again, Dear?” I jerk my head up at this perhaps a bit too quickly and eagerly, but thankfully nopony seems to notice… or perhaps notice too much, as the movement pulls the cut on my shoulder, making me wince, which brings with it a small burst of pity from the ponies around me who all seem to have by now noted my bandages. They don’t even know anything about “Green Fields,” and yet they care about her, apparently without even the slightest worry that she, a stranger, may yet be a Changeling… Certainly makes my new life easier, but at the same time it makes Chrysalis’s plans easier as well… Which makes Celestia’s arguments sound more-. Gah! Need to focus!

“—Braeburn, and have an early dinner before getting on the train.” Mrs. Orange finishes, her words nearly making me jump into the air and give a Woohoo! Pinkie Pie-style; I keep the celebration inside, however, as I still have yet more objectives before my first “Changeling mission” becomes a success: get the tickets, “deposit” the bits, and get out. I’m all but certain that the Oranges are staying in the Station Hotel… but where? It may not be the biggest place I’ve ever seen, but still it would take some time to search without direction… Perhaps I could take the form of one of them and say I lost my key… but my bandages… I frown as I realize I may have been too hasty in taking on this job. I could still go back and get Replie to help… no, that would complicate things… and I’d lose track of them, which… wouldn’t be good… Damn it… Looks like I’m on my own. Apparently I manage to keep all these thoughts off my expression, as the waitress hands me my check without the slightest change in her worry. It seems tasting others emotions is helpful in more than just forging trust…

However, it seems that whatever I had missed while lost in my own thoughts included something about returning to the room, for they, receiving their check immediately after me, turn to the Station Hotel. Now! I drop an extra bit on my table before calmly following the Oranges some eight or so pony-lengths behind them. The two of them seem to have chattered themselves into a silence, or something along those lines, as the three of us make our way silently through the faux ornate doors of the Station Hotel and up a flight of stairs. When the Oranges step onto the landing and turn immediately to what I assume is their door—first room on the right? Checkmate, train tickets!—I try to quickly decide whether to simply turn around right then and there or go up to the third floor to obfuscate the reason for my coming and going, but the banging of the front doors and a shout of, “Miss?!” interrupts me.

I learn the hard way that turning around to look behind myself while walking up stairs in an unfamiliar body, no matter how kind fate may have been in providing me the instincts to use it, is still a bad idea. Further more, seeing as how I’m now walking on all fours instead of “just my hind legs,” I also find that it is indeed possible to trip on two hooves at the same time. My entire body falls, making a good THUMP that’s at least halfway to a BANG as my belly and shoulder take the brunt of my weight against the corners of the stairs, instantly robbing me of breath, forcing me to curl up into a ball, and setting my leg on fire with renewed pain.

Beyond all the oh dear’s and oh my’s and the sensation of… quite a few trickles of emotion, I hear the rush of hooves towards me and then the waitress’s voice louder… closer than everypony else, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have just rushed in like that and surprised you, but… oh, I don’t imagine you care right now, but you forgot a bit on your table…” I manage to open my eyes and focus through the tears of pain enough to see her looking down at me more worriedly than ever, biting her lip as she balances my tip on her nose. I can’t help but chuckle at the image, the involuntary act actually pushing though my spasming diaphragm to help me breathe again; though my laughter seems to make the waitress simultaneously relieved and more worried.

“It’s-… It’s-…” I try to say before realizing I had to have missed something if a waitress is running after me to return her tip. Closing my eyes again under the cover of a pretended wave of pain, I quickly go over my breakfast, but I’d been so focused on the other patrons and their travel plans I hadn’t actually bothered with observing the restaurant itself… but one thing I do at least realize now: the Oranges, at least, hadn’t left a tip. Stupid again, Alternate… you’re going to have to pay more attention to everything around you to survive as a Changeling! “I’m… okay…” I manage at length, though of course the waitress doesn’t look the least bit convinced.

However, it’s not her that speaks next. “My… you don’t look the slightest bit ‘okay’ to me!” comes Mrs. Orange’s voice, and I turn to look up the stairs, at the top of which are both Oranges with their eyebrows knitted with concern. Concern… Wait!… Maybe… I, without a word, stand, take my bit with a nod of thanks, and (mostly) fake a shaky stance and limp as I make the rest of the way up the stairs and past the Oranges. Just as I’d hoped, however, she asks, “At least tell me your room isn’t on the third floor!”

I almost smile before turning back to her to say, with perfect implication without actually lying, “I’m alright; I can make it... Then I just need to rest a little while.” I make to turn around again to continue towards the next set of stairs, but both Oranges rush forward to block my way before I manage four steps, turning their bodies to side to block the entire hallway.

“Nonsense!” Mr. Orange shakes his head at my faked stubbornness, “We insist! It won’t be a bother at all to let you into our room… for a few hours, if need be.” There it is again: trust… I let out a sigh of exasperation that manages to be both fake and real, before hanging my head slightly, which incidentally reveals to me the fresh blood seeping into the bandage of my shoulder, at which I gasp with honest surprise. “Nor would it be any trouble to change that,” Mr. Orange says with a kind smile and a point of his hoof before stepping to the side to look back down the stairs. “No need to worry, miss, she’s in good hooves now; you can get back to work.”

Retreating hoofsteps signal that I don’t need to look back at the pony responsible for giving me the perfect opportunity to get into the Oranges’ room, and I don’t even know her name… Another time, maybe… I’ll certainly have plenty of that once Green Fields and Hopping Hills are safely out of the way, I’m sure. “Tha-thank you… but… okay…” I concede with appropriate hesitation as Mrs. Orange slides the key through the lock and pushes the door open; then, Mr. Orange steps up to my side, obviously offering support, which I take with a sigh and affected wince. “but I don’t want to be a bother, so I’ll leave as soon-.”

“You won’t be bother at all, dear! Why, I can say that it should be quite impossible, as we’ll be leaving as soon as you’re settled in,” Mrs. Orange says with that laugh that sounds like it should be annoying, but strangely isn’t. Leaving me alone almost immediately? This is better than I thought! More time to find those tickets and get back, then… but I can’t help… I have the feeling I’m missing something… There is a such thing as “too easy,” especially for… something like this!… Isn’t there?

Though I decide to skip asking about them leaving me alone—if I’ve learned anything about Equestria, it’s that trust is far more easy and wide spread here than on Earth—so I ask instead, “You're going? Where?” as Mr. Orange escorts me into the hotel-sized (cramped, even for one pony) bathroom, where he wastes no time in gripping the bandage and ripping it off in one-go-without-warning style, taking a good bit of my… fur—it’s still strange to think about myself actually having a coat of fur—with it. I turn my head to look at the bandage, only intent on seeing just how blood-soaked it is, but notice instead something far worse: the fur that the medical tape had ripped away with it shimmers green for a second before reverting into a far too obvious black!

It seems I’m lucky, however, in this time having an earth pony tending to my wounds, as it seems Mr. Orange isn’t interested in examining the bandage, even if he had been capable, as he simply depresses the pedal of a trashcan with, thankfully, a lid, so that even afterwards neither pony is liable to notice; it also seems just as well that the bathroom is so small, otherwise Mrs. Orange might have offered her help as well, and then she certainly would have noticed. As it is, however, she answers cheerfully as she digs through some drawers, “Why, to see my nephew, Braeburn, of course! The whole reason we’re here! Though I must say seeing the border was an exciting bonus!”

I barely manage to hold in a grimace at that, but I never had a hope of suppressing the shudder that runs up and down my spine. Mr. Orange, however, seems not to share his…—wife? or sister? No, she said “my nephew,” not “our nephew”… Now you’re getting it, Alternate—his wife’s sentiment if his own grimace and muttered, “I think I’ll pass on the ‘excitement’ next time,” is anything to go by.

When he shivers, I at first think it’s also the idea of the… border, but then Mrs. Orange, apparently having found whatever she was searching for, soon reminds me of my effect on ponies that care for me with her next words. “My, there must be something wrong with this thermostat; it is definitely not twenty-two degrees in here!” I bite my tongue and try to keep myself from lingering on what my feeding is doing to them by thinking, Centigrade? curious… I wonder if Equestria uses meters as well… it would certainly avoid the whole “foot to hoof” conversion issue… though that wouldn’t exclude “hooves” as a non-standard measure, I suppose… Curious “foot” note (haha…): the foot was divided into inches from the Latin word uncia meaning “twelfth part,” so it was actually the foot that was split into inches, not inches that made a foot. The words “mile” and “kilo” descended from the same word meaning “thousand,” from which the word “million” was also derived. “Billion” was actually originally borrowed from French, where it means “a million million,” which was its original English meaning as well, until “milliard” fell out of use and billion became “a thousand million.”

“Done!” Mr. Orange announces around the roll of medical tape between his teeth, and by the look on his face I can tell he’d made this announcement because he could tell (by the look on my own face) that my thoughts had been far away. Stupid, stupid… You can’t just blank out like that no matter how much you want to… What if you missed something important! Gah! No use worrying about it now; I’ll just have to move as quickly as possible… Or should I wait?… No. Quick will be best… as soon as they leave.

Luckily, they seem to be in a hurry to get to Braeburn’s—probably because they’re leaving… or they think they’re leaving this evening—so as soon as they see me safely tucked into the bed to rest my shoulder… with a bag of ice Mrs. Orange had insisted on… they canter out the door with a slightly hastened air about their expressions. No trouble, indeed. I sigh, but don’t linger on the thoughts as I jump up instantly, tossing the bag of ice into the kitchen sink with a flick of magic so it won’t accidentally spill onto the sheets. I may be a thief, now, but I’ll never be inconsiderate! I almost have to force myself to chuckle at my attempt to lighten the mood.

Tickets, tickets, tickets… where might-?… Hmm… Drawers or bags? I lean back and forth for a moment before jumping off the bed and next to the nightstand. With no need to maintain my disguise, I magic the drawers open and pull everything out at once—though I’m not so foolish as to actually reveal my Changeling self, just in case… Not that I have a story for going though these drawers if one of the Oranges does come back… Except… I was looking for medicine. Pain medicine. Yes… “harmless” ibuprofen… unless… can horses, or ponies, even take ibuprofen? Does it even matter, since Equestrian ponies are obviously completely different? I think Pinkie Pie mentioned hot dogs once, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they were- Gah! It doesn’t matter! Either way, ponies have to have some manner of pain relief, right?

Indeed, it doesn’t matter, for I almost instantly find the tickets slipped into some kind of novel that one of the Oranges must have brought, apparently using the tickets as a bookmark. Well, that’s one way to make sure you never lose them, I suppose… if you don’t worry about them being stolen. I grimace, not only at the fact I’m taking advantage of the abundant trust in Equestria… just as Celestia all-but-said I would… but at the fact that, as bookmarks, they’re liable to be missed and it would probably take more than just replacement bits to convince the Oranges they had forgotten to purchase returning tickets. Great… Excellent! Really!… Now what?… Let’s see… brochures… postcards… ticket stubs from the train ride here? I guess it’s the best I got…

Having smartly kept the book open to the page the tickets had been in, I simply slip the stubs into their place, and… facehoof before trying to remember where everything had been in the drawer. With a sigh of mixed exasperation and satisfaction at a job done as well as it could be, I turn to the luggage, now, for the other side of the… “trade.” As I hadn’t seen so much as a single bit in the drawers, I figure that their money must be kept in their saddle bags, thankfully of which Mr. Orange had left his. One look is all it takes to find a pull-string bag clinking with coinage and I leave the appropriate amount bits. With that, I have nothing to do but escape.

Easy enough. I just walk right out the front door, and not one pony suspects a thing.

—

I consider taking a moment to walk around Apploosa a while to try to make myself familiar with it, which I think would be easier under the guise of a “tourist” unfamiliar with the place, but even if I do so later, I figure I should deliver the tickets first so Reflection can alter… that is, smooth out the plan according to the time on the tickets. After a short show of “Mama! You’re back!” “How was your morning, Sister?” “Lovely, thank you.” put on for the ponies trotting slowly up and down the street outside Wood Work’s home/shop, we step inside and I, mindful of the windows and the fact this is still a shop where customers might come in at any moment, pull the tickets out of my bag only once we’re in the kitchen with my teeth and lay them on the counter for Reflection to look over.

She looks over them with an appreciative eye, her smile growing steadily wider as she murmurs, “Manehatten… Leaves at five thirty-five today; arrives tomorrow at seven twenty in the evening… and one coach cabin for two.” Coach? I guess Mr. and Mrs. Orange save their money for impressing their friends… that, or… it has been a good number of years since Applejack earned her Cutie Mark, so… something could have happened… Again, it doesn’t matter since I left enough money from them to buy new tickets… actually, enough money to buy first class tickets… Can’t do anything about that now. Nodding before slipping the tickets back into the saddlebags for me, she says, “Even more perfect than I thought would be possible… and in such a short time, too.”

Twin chuckles and smirks at this. “It’s only like I told you; when are you going to start believing I do have an intuition when it comes to things like this?” Apparently feeling my confusion and anticipating my question, Twin immediately turns to me, “I mean with you… specifically, your abilities…” That only make me raise an eyebrow, which in turn makes Twin ask, “What? Did you think I was hiding near the border, at the point where you crossed, by coincidence?” Actually… yes.

Before I get to say so, however, Reflection nods as if she understands… something… as she explains, “Yes… of course you couldn’t be expected to know,” she gives Twin a playful-fierce glance at this, “but Twin is… sensitive to certain ways in how magic flows through the air. It’s one of the ways we were able to tell you were being truthful about what had happened to you because it fit the evidence of Twin having felt a strong, long-distance teleportation spell with a weaker shorter-distance one following almost immediately.” Only one weaker one? I think before recalling that Twin wouldn’t have yet felt Chrysalis teleporting me back to the border before finding me there, and therefore he wouldn’t have been able to tell either Reflection or Replie about such. Still, “feeling” teleportation spells? And I thought “smelling” transformation spells was going to be the strangest thing I heard from a Changeling… Well, if one can be true, why not the other? Magic. Who cares how it works? Besides Twilight.

I start to say, “But that doesn’t explai-,” but at that moment I’m interrupted by the ring of a tiny bell signaling the arrival of a customer, so with a small jerk of her head and a look in her eyes that says “sorry; have to go,” Reflection leaves the two of us in the kitchen. With the indecipherable murmurings of business going on beyond the kitchen’s walls, I raise my eyebrow at Twin, who shuffles on his forelegs… which makes him look all too cute in his Hopping Hills little colt disguise… but I’m not about to relent just because of that.

With a long sigh of one deciding to just relent and bite the bullet—Guns? In Equestria?—Twin finally says, “it’s not really ‘intuition,’ actually… Just that, after I heard what happened to you—after hearing what you managed to do—I was impressed, and maybe a bit too confident about what you’d be able to do today, so… Reflection made a little bet with me, and now, thanks to you, she has to take my next two turns!” I smirk at that, both at understanding what Twin must mean by “turns” and realizing almost instantly what Reflection had actually been doing, putting Twin in such a position: toying, joking, just like a pony might… not that that’s surprising any more… “Hey!” Twin suddenly brings me out of my thoughts, “I just had an idea! This is the perfect chance to show you around Apploosa!”

My thoughts exactly, Twin, so we do just that. Though I am somewhat disappointed he skipped over the Braeburn impression, I could live with simply repeating it in my head, imagining it in Hopping Hill’s somewhat higher voice—the disguise is still a young colt, after all, which makes all the (cute) difference. Also, it certainly helps that he shows me everything Braeburn had shown Twilight & Friends—I still don’t know what it is about “mild West dances” that always makes me chuckle…—and more until four o’clock comes around, seemingly all too quickly, and we head back to “the hideout in plain sight” to prepare.

Switching out Replie for Reflection to take place as Wood Work is much easier than it sounds… which actually sounds quite easy already, given the, as I’m constantly reminded of, low population of Apploosa. With that, it’s simply a matter of… “WHAT?!” I cry so loudly that Reflection winces—not that she doesn’t deserve it…—as the word fills the basement the two of us are currently hiding in, having dropped our disguises to… as Reflection put it: “prepare.”

“Please!… I know, Alternate, that it’s-… that this isn’t… optimal, but it is the best plan we’ve got!” She all but begs, seeming to reveal her true self: how she is without other Changelings behind her… “seeming” being the key word… I only scoff, instantly regretting it when her shoulders slump… but what else could I do? How else could I be expected to react, when…

“And why- why does this include reopening the wound on my shoulder for a second time to bloody another bandage when you could look “authentic” enough without it?! In fact… why don’t I just go? Why are you insisting on taking Green Fields to Manehatten?” My anger peters out quickly… it is, after all, difficult to be so much as annoyed with someone whose love for me I can taste all too tangibly… But still! I don’t think it’s a good idea to just keep opening a wound like this when I want it to actually heal!

“Why I’m-?” Reflection shifts her forelegs, hesitant, before sitting with a sigh and looking away from me. “for the same reason you insisted on getting the tickets… actually, I got the idea only after you objected to my original plan.” She says slightly more cheerfully, but far from actual cheeriness, still looking away from me. Not that she needs to look at me to feel my question. “For Replie,” she says, finally looking at me… with a small smile, no less. Not that that explains anything… Or so I say to myself until I remember what had happened just that morning. “That is… it’ll be… easier if you just see for yourself… I mean, let me just say that, even when it’s not her turn… she still… lies.” At that, she grimaces as if she’d just vomited into the back of her throat, and though she surely must feel that this has only confused me further, I can tell with just as much surety that she isn’t going to say anything else.

With a thoughtful hum, I just shrug, pulling my cut as far as I can on purpose, before magicking off my bandage and pressing the gauze that will make up Reflection’s disguise against the (again) bleeding cut. As I wait for the appropriate amount to seep into the two pads of gauze (the second being for her cheek, of course), Reflection, now smiling and her love spiced by a powerful thanks, carefully places a stretch of medical tape on her shoulder before ripping away her own fur, copying the look of my shoulder with the precision only a Changeling could possess… though I think that perhaps only another Changeling would be able to tell if it was only the slightest bit off.

Seeing as how I cannot leave the basement without a fourth disguise, I must bid Reflection and Twin a “farewell, good night, and see you when you make it back” in the basement before they leave me… alone, as Replie… ponies? mares?… Stupid puns… that is, she takes up position in order to… No. Actually… forget it… She mans the station as Wood Work… Leaving me down here alone…

The perfect opportunity to think…

I look towards the book shelves, itching to distract myself, but I know it won’t even be five minutes before my eyes begin to slide sightlessly over the words as my thoughts fight to be heard. I sigh and grimace at suddenly being reminded of what I had last said to Reflection and Twin: “-see you when you make it back”… It is certainly not an impossibility that one or both may not make it back for one reason or another… chief among them being that they’re somehow found out, either while on their way to Manehatten or on their way back here.

Only now do I see the foolishness in this ridiculous plan… a plan that I had taken part in… a plan that very well may kill two Changelings just trying to help a practical stranger as they eke out a living at the edge of pony society… I sigh and put a forehoof up to my face as if in shame, but of course no one is there to see it, Changeling or otherwise. In time I raise my head to gaze over the room, taking in its emptiness: the bare chairs, the blankets next to the shelves, and the bed… I… think I could really use a nap…

So I lay down. I don’t sleep, though. My thoughts seem to whirl, yet my mind is empty.

—

I come out of my waking coma at the sound of… the slamming of something. My mind instantly provides the image of Reflection, Twin, and Replie turned into a Changeling shish kabob, and now the Royal Guard has finally found the trap door so that they can add me before presenting the lot of us to Celestia, who will de-wing our bodies to be added to the countless ones already pinned to the posts at the border; then-…! Thankfully, Replie, completely unhurt and unworried, soon appears in the doorway to dispel the horrid fantasy, and I, unaware that I had started, stop shivering. Get used to it… This is just how Changelings live… and without fear, because it’s normal for them… Which makes it normal for you now, too, Alternate…

With no windows, and having not kept track of the time in my stupor, I have no way to tell the time, but given the nature of settlements like Apploosa—or at least settlements like it on Earth—I estimate that it must be nearing, or maybe after, sundown. Replie, at least, appears tired from a hard… afternoon’s work as she opts to fly—I can’t speak for pegasi, obviously, but for Changelings flying is about as easy and energy intensive as trotting—from the entrance to the bed, letting her hooves hang under her as if they are sore.

Normal… “So, is this really closing time, or could Wood Work just not wait to get back to his sister?” I try to joke using Green Field’s voice, playing off of Replie’s tease from this morning, and I think that it should be painfully obvious that my mind is not on cracking jokes, and not only because of the wince-worthy setup, but Replie either doesn’t care or doesn’t see.

“Hmm…” She taps her chin with a forehoof after landing beside me—I pull myself up to sit beside her so as not to have to crane my neck to look her in the face—“Well,” she says with Wood Work’s voice, “seeing as I’m only five minute early… I think it could be seen as going either way!” We share a laugh at this that comes easier than I think it should… No… I can’t just compare humans and Changelings like that… like I shouldn’t have compared ponies with Changelings before… If Replie isn’t worried, then I shouldn’t be—plus, she is my best cue for how to act like a Changeling… “-Si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi,” after all… If only it was that easy…

When our laughing slows to a stop, perhaps a bit more quickly than it should have, Replie takes a swift glance towards the chairs- or rather, one chair in particular… Stupid! Stupid! I berate myself silently as I look once again upon Reflection’s egg. Why didn’t I think of that?! I could have talked her out of this stupid plan using that for sure! I’m quickly brought out of fuming at myself, however, by Replie staring into my eyes with a… concerned? No… scared, look on her face, but it’s not me she’s scared for or of, judging by her emotions.

“A-… Alternate?” I let out a short sigh before shifting my head to indicate I’m listening, even as I turn away from her to stare at the cross—the centerpiece of the room. “Are you-… with-…” she chokes on her words, then swallows before saying in a rush, “Are you really planning on staying with us?”

Not having expected that question, I turn to her with surprise. “Well…” I pause, and though it may sound like hesitation, I’m only just trying to catch up with my thoughts after that tripwire of a question. “Yes!” I intone emphatically in an attempt to make up for my pause.

Either Replie can sense my earnesty, didn’t look too much into my apparent “hesitation,” or simply didn’t take notice of it—just as I only now notice the distant look in her eyes telling me she isn’t entirely in the present—as she simply goes on, “Then-… then you need to know… something.” She sniffles then, and I lean forward so as to touch my shoulder to hers, unsure of if she would welcome comfort at the moment, and how much of it if she would; at least she doesn’t pull away, but building tears become obvious in her eyes before she continues. “Do you remember… that Reflection, last night, mentioned… that… we… played a part in the siege?… On Canterlot?”

I certainly do remember such a thing, yet… she had said something about “having pride,” if I can trust my own memories… something I can’t do entirely at the moment, considering just yesterday I had awoke in the Everfree Forest with no knowledge of how I got there, and in the body of a Changeling, sure I had been a human the day before… but I’m rambling again… “Yes, but I thought she said something about ‘pride… in-…’” I slow down as Replie shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut, forcing a trickle of tears to frame her muzzle.

I give her as long as she needs to gather the courage to say… what I don’t want to imagine. “Pride… Maybe… we do… in helping do what Chrysalis’s Watarsharuti called ‘impossible,’ but… you weren’t there… What the three of us did to-… The three of us made up a…” she seems to struggle to find the words before resorting to what I assume to be the Changeling language, “chakalrahu… Nusagim Riflakshun.”

I try to quickly go over the words in my mind, though I know I haven’t got a hope of translating anything before starting to look suspicious. Okay. Something the three of them “made up”… she probably means the “something” “consisted of” them… “Riflakshun” may be Reflection… or something entirely different that just happens to sound similar… Hmm… Hasharstan… -stan… If “Equestrian” is so similar to English, then this language may be “related” to a Semitic language… or an Indo-Iranian language… Perfect. Two completely different families. That’s narrowing it down, Alternate!… Either way, I’m all but certain “Riflakshun” is Reflection, and I need to gamble and say something one way or another! Gamble… yes, exactly like scavenger Changelings do every day… So I reason as Replie seems to be waiting for something… or had lost her nerve, in which case I still need to do something. “I can… certainly… see that… in her.” I say hesitantly, trying to convey without outright saying that I’d prefer to return to using English/Equestrian/Whateverit’scalledhere.

My luck doesn’t appear to have run out, as she giggles, though the bursts of laughter are interspersed with tiny hiccups and repressed sobs. “Yes… she’s always been the type to take charge… and poor Twin would’ve killed himself if she said so,”—yikes… grim way to say “done anything”… but “would have”?… Was at the border because Reflection ordered him there after he told her of the teleportation spells?—“or… killed someone else… which-… which-.”

I grimace, knowing that the truth is two words away. No. Not even that. You already know the truth; you don’t need her to say it. “Which you did… in Canterlot…” Excellent. That’s how you do it, Alter. Ignoring your own problems by focusing on others’ issues. You may just be the single most psychologically healthy being in Equestria. At least I manage to not let one hint of these thoughts escape me as I release my previous inhibition, wrapping my forelegs around her and pulling her close, even as she struggles, though only weakly.

Still, even after she settles down, she doesn’t lift even one foreleg to return the hug, nor does she release the emotions she’s obviously pent up. Or at least not right yet. “What-… what are… you doing?” Her words are choked by the sobs she’s so stubbornly holding onto; the strain in her voice becomes worse as she speaks—not long now… she just needs one little push. Or two…—“How could you… still want-?… Why would a… scavenger… like you... stay with… murderers? I’m-… we-… I-… I’m… a-… a monster!”

She starts struggling again, though much more fiercely now, and I at first only respond by holding her tighter. She pulls one of her forehooves up as if to “punch” me, so without thinking I throw her to the side, instantly jumping onto her and pinning her to the bed; she tries to yell something at me, but with one of my hooves on the back of her head, all she can do is shout incoherently into the mattress. “Replie. Listen.”—but she doesn’t stop yelling—“Listen!” I cry as I shove against her, which at least gets her to be quiet. “Replie, you… and Twin and Reflection are not monsters.” She tries to say something, at least more calmly now, but another shove silences her. “Now, I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to prove—to yourself—that you’re not a monster by answering my questions.” I don’t wait for her to nod. “First: Why did you kill those ponies?”

Though I step off of her even before I finish asking the question, Replie doesn’t move for a few moments; when she does, she shakily pushes herself up into a sitting position, though she keeps her eyes closed. “Because… Sagim Riflakshun said-… she ordered-… I had to-…” she trails off into incoherent mumble-sobbing, and I sigh as quietly as I can, trying to make it sound caring instead of exasperated. So, she wants to make this like pulling teeth? Not surprising… but let’s cut to the part where the tooth comes free, why don’t we?

I move forward to try to hug her again, but she flinches and steps away from me. I simply stare at her for a moment as she refuses to look at me before moving to hug her again, at which she simply jumps away from me. I sigh, wondering for a moment if this is how Fluttershy had felt when I tried to ask her to stop caring about me. I suppose I can chase her, even off the bed and around the room, if she insisted, but I decide to sit instead to say, “And… Sagim Riflakshun ordered you to because Chrysalis ordered her to,” she nods at this, but having already figured it out, I go on without pause, “So, why do you think Chrysalis ordered her to do such a thing?”

She lets out her loudest sniffle yet before answering, “Mahusayii… of course…” I worry for a moment that she’s not going to elaborate or even give me a hint of what mahusayii is, but then, “-to strengthen the soldiers for the siege… There wasn’t any logistical way to get them out of the way to be replaced, so…” She finishes with a squeak, trying to convince me she can’t go on, but the tiny shifts in her emotions tell me her defense is indeed being worn. So… mahusayii is love? Or a kind of love, perhaps?… It would, after all, make sense for a Changeling language to be much more specific about different types of love when they can feel it so tangibly…

Also, her attempt at steering the conversation away from where I want it to go does not slip so easily under my radar. “Enough, Replie; you know what I was really asking about. There’s only one answer to the question of why Chrysalis did what she did—and does what she does—and I’m sure you know it. It’s the same as the reason Celestia does what she does. Whatever you think of Chrysalis or Celestia… maybe you even think one or both of them are evil,” she shakes her head at this, “… They’re both doing what they think they need to do to help their own kind. Think it’s what they need to do. What’s happened… happening… probably isn’t the best way this could have been handled… by either side… but under the circumstances we’ve been swept up by, we’re only doing what we need to do to survive. Before Canterlot, I’m sure you thought Chrysalis was doing the right thing,” that gets her to finally look at me, even if it is in confusion, “otherwise I’m sure you wouldn’t have… participated,” and just like that, she looks away again, making me bite my lip in frustration. “Either way-,” I mean only to intone, but my Changeling body instead adds a hiss for emphasis, which makes me pause for a second, “Either way… you regret what you did… I’m guessing that you even wish with all your might that you could somehow take it back, and that makes you the exact opposite of a monster.”

Nothing happens at first, besides the fact she slowly begins to tremble, eventually shivering so terribly it starts to shake the bed and, in turn, me. As she continues to not say anything, I soon swallow before yet again attempting to reach out to her, yet this time with only one hoof intended to pat her back softly and perhaps lay across her shoulders if she allowed. Intended. Instead, she jumps towards me, practically falling onto her stomach at my feet as if begging and wrapping her forelegs around my chest and hugging me as tightly as she could, almost squeezing the air out of my lungs. I only sit still for a moment, shocked until I finally process that she’s now allowing herself to cry, soaking the fur on my chest; her sobs render whatever she’s trying to say completely incoherent.

Closing my eyes and pushing back the nagging feeling that, as good as this is, my own problems still have yet to be dealt with, I hug her in turn, one foreleg behind her head and the other around her neck, as I hush her words, “Shhh… You don’t need to say anything else… just cry it out…” and she does so, stopping trying to talk through her pain.

We remain like this for a time that I don’t, nor care, to know, but eventually we lay down, I pull the covers over us, and Replie’s sobbing slows until, finally, she falls asleep. I all but know—knowing about as much as even a Changeling can know about emotions—that this is anything but over. Killing isn’t something one gets over in a single night, after all, nor after one speech… even, I think—I hope—for an alicorn protecting the ponies of her nation or a Changeling queen trying to secure a future for her children.

That night, even after all the “excitement” of the day, I don’t sleep.

"Stupid ponies..."

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Alteration One:

Ponies

Chapter 8:

“Stupid ponies…”

WARNING:

Depending on how weak your stomach is, you may not want to read the beginning of this chapter while/soon after eating.

No matter how long I lie awake, no matter how deep I attempt to delve into my thoughts, and no matter how I try to push these thoughts away to get at least a couple hours sleep, I get absolutely nowhere on any front. I fear that here my life may all too easily freeze into something pointless; that I will be stuck here and, for the rest of my days, live as one of the Changelings that play as Wood Work; that I will spend my days off betting my turns as the pegasus stallion at the risk of taking others’ turns in-between helping raise Reflection’s… Grub? Hatchling? My subconscious instantly recognizes the attempt at self-distraction for what it is and dismisses any pointless conjecture that may have arisen on what a Changeling just out of the egg is called. To think I may be forever trapped in Apploosa, afraid to leave… how more swiftly and efficiently can a dream be turned into a prison?! A prison with its gilded halls, but a prison nonetheless.

I’m just going to have to get used to it! Who knows? Maybe I’ll come around to thinking like Changelings do about these dangers? Eventually… At least until Chrysalis either forces Celestia to take stronger measures against Changelings, or until she succeeds in taking Canterlot and from there roots out all the traitorous scavengers in Equestria… I almost sigh at such grim prospects, but remind myself that Replie’s face is right in front of my muzzle, and I don’t want to wake her accidentally—especially since Reflection and Twin are going to be gone for who knows how long, so she’ll be Wood Work constantly when she’s used to taking turns in a cycle.

Focusing on keeping my breathing level and rhythmic, I don’t realize at first when Replie’s own breathing deepens; only when she groans and begins to stretch do I swiftly close my eyes to pretend to be asleep. The shifting of the bed underneath me and the blanket on me tells me that she’s standing carefully, so as to disturb me as little at possible. Her hoof runs through my tattered, uneven mane once before she pats my forehead softly with one tiny giggle—one tiny step at a time, I think to myself and have to focus not to smile—before she flies off the bed with a light buzz of her wings, opting not to walk on the bed, which has a greater potential to disturb me than just standing and slipping out from under the blankets.

As her hoofsteps, even as she tries to walk silently, disappear, I can tell from behind my eyelids that she doesn’t light the chandelier. Of course, how would she know that I don’t know how to cast even a small, candle-lighting fire spell? And I can’t go outside, since Green Fields and Hopping Hills are supposed to be on a train and there aren’t any other ponies I can use as a disguise… Great, so I guess I’m stuck here, sitting in the dark. I roll my eyes and this time let out a very refreshing sigh. Maybe now that I’m alone, I’ll be able to sleep. How long have I been laying here, awake, anyway?

I pause as I bring my metaphorical left wrist up to my mind’s eye to read that always blurry and vague internal watch; it feels… early. Really early. Maybe even before-the-sunrise early, but then again, for a settlement like Apploosa, that wouldn’t be surprising. Come to think of it… over a period of a thousand plus who-knows-how-many-more years, I’m sure Celestia had to have been late with the Sun at least once, so maybe-… and this is not “trying to fall asleep” at all.

I resist the urge to slap—or, probably more accurately, crack—myself across the face with a hoof, weighing that I’d just be more likely to give myself a throbbing bruise than put enough force behind it to knock myself out. Instead, I try to narrow all my thoughts onto one thing and not let it wander any more. With all the will and ability of a Zen acolyte, I focus on one muscle at a time, forcing it into relaxing before moving onto the next. Once I’m finally finished with that, I turn to my breathing, willing it into a deep and slow rhythm.

Finally, I feel the darkness of unconsciousness creeping upon the edges of my brain. I try to will it to come further and take me completely, but it is chased away faster than it had come by a hiccup. Seriously?! I open my eyes as if I could glare down what had chased away my chance at sleep, only then realizing that the chandelier had been lit in the meantime when its light seared through my poor, unsuspecting optical nerves. Thankfully, however, it’s gently-green tinted light is not strong, but such cannot be said about the shock of finding it lit nor Replie returned—and now flipping through some book, obviously searching for something specific within it—enough to drive my hiccups away.

Quickly enough, though, I realize that such are not hiccups at all, but the beginning of something far more… disgusting; a realization and prospect at which I grimace. Necessity is necessity, however, so I stand and look about, but find nothing down here that may offer itself as a suitable container; under my black fur I can practically feel my skin go white. To think of doing such a thing to these Changelings’ hideout not even a week after they’ve so graciously taken me in! I worry in a panic as I put a hoof to my heaving stomach; the fleshy bands there twitch with need.

Replie seems to have noticed my state, having looked up at me when I had first stood up, and with a quick exclamation of, “Ai! Here!” she levitates a large bowl as might be used to mix enough batter for an entire wedding cake out from under the bed and places it before me. “I can’t believe I forgot…” she mutters to herself as she returns to her book, but I hardly notice, being much more focused on the fact the bowl is already about one third filled with a green slime. Even if my stomach had not already been heaving, I would have vomited.

Instantly, however, I know that I what I do then is not vomiting; at least not so in the way of removing something indigestible, poisonous, or otherwise dangerous. Not only because I finally reason that the “vomit” had been left in the bowl purposefully, but also because I dimly realize, as I empty my “stomach” of the very same green sludge, that the act is not at all unpleasant. Though the splattering is still somewhat sickening, there is no burning in my throat, bitter taste on my tongue, or sour smell clogging my nose, and when I finish by swirling my tongue around my mouth to catch any of the remaining slime and spit it out, what I feel is most comparable to the satisfaction that comes after a good, strong sneeze.

With a small huff of a sigh of satisfaction, I stare at what may easily be taken for a sample of a disgustingly polluted lake. My nausea having left me at the realization of what this is, I find myself intrigued by a very unique and interesting smell coming off of it; an experimental sniff later and I instantly identify the smell, as faint as it is, of potatoes and apples—my hash and apple juice from yesterday, no doubt—before the dizzying myriad of other foods which are far too numerous for me to pick out individually.

A realized question hits me like a blow to the back of the head from an assassin: Wait… If I can smell it now, what was up with that absence of taste yesterday? I can breathe through my mouth, and pronounce nasal sounds, so I should still have a complex intersection of the esophagus, larynx, mouth, and nose comparable to a human, but it’s obvious my sense of smell didn’t aid my lack of a sense of taste… Except in the case where the most simple—and therefore more likely to be true—answer is that it is a truly different setup that both limits Changelings (and ponies?) from smelling the food in their mouth and is still capable of producing human-speech-like sounds. Oh, and ‘maybe magic’… The Multiverse is apparently more like Pinkie Pie than one may think at first—best to just shrug and forget trying to explain it. Poor physicists…

I sigh as my mind abruptly lurches into examining the benefits and complications of such a deprived sense. On the plus side, I suppose I don’t have to worry about failing to fake liking a food my disguise enjoys but I find disgusting. Yet again, it probably wouldn’t end well if what should be good food is inexplicably disgusting, but I can’t taste it, and then somepony eats the same as me. Explaining it away with a cold or some such thing could probably help a Changeling in such a situation temporarily, but… Either way, I’m sure Changelings, who live with this “disability” from birth, have worked out much more long-term strategies throughout the countless generations of their kind, Strategies I should probably work out for myself before I get found out as an imposter amongst Changelings! Unless… I can get whoever is to teach me about Wood Work to, if I’m lucky, show me these strategies without them knowing…

I shake my head, realizing that I’ve probably been staring into the depths of the bowl of slime—I should really get the name of this stuff, somehow—a bit too long, so I straighten up and smile at Replie. “Thank you for this,” I tap the bowl with a forehoof. “If you hadn’t been down here, that could have-… that would have been much more embarrassing,” I give a lopsided, somewhat strained grin before adding, after a moment, “and messy.” I try to chuckle the idea away, but the laughter comes out sounding as if I had been embarrassed anyway. Probably has something to do with vomiting in front of someone I haven’t even known for forty-eight hours, even though it’s not really vomit, and the emotion I can feel from her, and I know she can feel from me, has allowed us to find out far more about each other than perhaps even ponies who have spent half a year together… So it probably has nothing to do with the act of whatever that was, but if so, then-?

“It’s alright,” Replie unknowingly cuts over my internal self-questioning, but by the tone of her voice, it seems she caught the tone of my inexplicably embarrassed chuckling. “If that did happen, it would have been mostly my fault for forgetting to show you where we keep the pazara… so I would have helped clean it up if you insisted I not do it all by myself.” She smirks playfully, and I don’t have to think hard to catch that she’s poking fun at my insistence of chivalry yesterday; something that I decide to mentally shrug off, reminding myself of my reasoning that anyone with the ability to feel emotions like Changelings would likely never come up with any such code.

All the same, I smile good-naturedly and let out a short snort of laughter from my nose. Then, without really thinking of it, I levitate the bowl off the bed and slide the pazara back underneath it. I stare at where the bowl had disappeared from my view; I had no trouble from there continuing to levitate it, as I had simply sensed where it is in a similar way to how I can tell what color my mane is and how it’s styled without having to look at it. All of this… convenience at being able to do things I have never done before—from walking on four hooves and flying with ragged but-no-less-capable insect-like wings to casting levitation and transformation spells—is starting to strike me as more and more ominous a sign that I must be missing something obvious. Something I have no hope of working out at the moment, though that fact doesn’t keep my mind from wandering into that territory.

I let myself flop back into the now-ruffled blankets as my brow creases with a dozen crisscrossing thoughts; Replie looks up at me worriedly for a second, but has apparently found whatever she needs, so she replaces the book, takes on Wood Work’s form (again?), and leaves me with a somewhat strained, “See you tonight.” What if I’m really a Changeling with an amnesia or delusion of some kind? Chrysalis had said I’m not “one of her children,” but would that mean “not a Changeling” or perhaps “the child of a traitor” or more simply “child of another Changeling Queen?” But then it wouldn’t make sense for Chrysalis to accuse me of working for Celestia… unless she thinks the Princess is working with scavengers. There’s also that “smelling a powerful transformation spell” and calling me a pony, but was she speaking literally or symbolically denying that I’m a Changeling, calling me a pony because she thinks that I’m work for them? If not-. Gah! Either way it doesn’t matter any more!

I flip myself over, trying to stand up swiftly as if such a motion can help me leave the frustration I feel against myself, only for the blanket to get caught in the holes of my legs, promptly causing to fall right back down with my legs twisted painfully around themselves. I huff before closing my eyes and calming my breathing; eventually (I’m sure the absence of windows and clocks may very well steal my sanity some day) I open my eyes again and this time stand more carefully while disentangling my legs. Sitting down and bringing up one of those “swiss cheese” legs before my eyes, I finally inspect them without that unequaled panic of awaking in the Everfree Forest with no idea how I had gotten there.

The first thing of note is that the holes do not all run parallel to each other, as they had been when animated; instead, they are quite random, and some even have a curve, or concave or convex bowing. Some even cross through each other, creating “intersections,” though they are more likely than not imperfectly lined up. Looking back and forth between my left and right forelegs, a realization slowly creeps up on me: these two, and my two hindlegs, all have a different set of holes; more than that, when I think about Replie, something—perhaps yet more of my Changeling instincts—identifies that she has a different set of holes from me… and every other Changeling I had seen so far, as if a part of my brain had unconsciously been filing away these “leg holes” (I’m sure the Changeling language has a much more graceful name for them) as a means of identification—Which I’m guessing is their function, given that Changelings appear very similar otherwise… That, and because my Changeling brain just automatically used them as a means of identification… without me even knowing it, I realize as I go over everything that had happened to me after Celestia teleported me away and know that if I ever encountered the same Changelings again, I would be able to tell, as long as they were not covering their legs. Twisting my head around as far as it will go to look at my wings, I realize the same holds for them: the specific entirety of all those nicks, slits, and gashes form a kind of visual finger print.

Dropping my hooves, I sigh as I look around the room. Boredom certainly does not become me… I think into the otherwise bareness of my thoughts. My eyes are soon caught by the chandelier, and how its somewhat dim, lightly-tinted green flames are in such contrast to the bright, white lights of Chrysalis’s throne room. The chandelier is hardly more than an enlarged, glorified fishing hook with three prongs, allowing me to easily notice—now that I’m actually looking at them—that in place of the fishing hook’s prongs are not candles, but shallow bowls filled with something green. No doubt that that is pazara, which is apparently not only flammable (not really a surprise), but that when lit, it burns slowly (little bit more of a surprise, there).

With my curiosity in the chandelier thoroughly sated, my eyes are next drawn to the egg that I have yet to examine in any detail, and now that no one else is around… It may be within the definition of “horrible” to think such a thing, but needless to say I had never before seen such a thing as that egg, and my boredom only spurred me. Urg. “Spurred.” I suppose I should try to get used to it. Equestria’s existence seems to depend on a daily serving of puns, after all… So, with some remaining reservations slowing me, I step up to the egg.

Immediately, my first thought is that it is probably soft instead of hard—of course I daren’t touch the thing—by the fact that it has some transparency. Not much, mind; though I can see something black taking up about half of the space (diameter-wise, not volume-wise), I can’t make out even the slightest detail—not even where his or her legs are—due to how murky the green “contents” of the egg are. More and more green… Changelings really have a theme going on; I’m just glad our blood isn’t green, otherwise I’d’ve been-.

CRACK

I can almost hear the breaking of my thoughts as my mind just halts at realizing I had just thought to myself “our” when referring to Changeling blood.

If I had pupils, I imagine they would have shrunk to pinpricks (though I imagine those white areas serving as Changelings’ pupils might yet shrink—magic, after all) as my legs start shaking and that question I really don’t want to think about because of how useless it is rears up again. But how can I ignore, for any length of time, the question of who I am?… A question so integral to the human psyche? And, judging especially by the CMC, no less so for ponies? Why would it be expected any different for Changelings? I shake my head before beginning to pace around the oval of chairs and couches. I can’t ignore it; that much is clear, but I can’t answer it, either! There is simply no way for me to get out there and just start “looking for myself!” Not with, I shiver so much I’m forced to stop pacing, Princess Celestia out there. Waiting for me to show myself and prove her right.

Ignore it. Simple. I only need a distraction, and, lucky me, there are a few shelves down here filled with them; that, and once Reflection and Twin come back—If they come back… I shake the thought off quickly—then I’ll have plenty more distractions, I’m sure. As long as they don’t ask too often about how I’m doing, because there’s no doubt they’ll be able to feel I’m trying to ignore something bothering me… But I, as always, am able to dismiss this worry thanks to my high skillpoint investment in the “ignoring own problems” stat.

Stepping up to the shelves, I look them over quickly (not questioning how I can read their “Pseudo-Romanic Alphabet”), deciding I should start with some spellbooks—specifically and hopefully (especially hopefully) a spellbook that can detail how to light a small fire just right for igniting the pazara chandelier. Though the subjects of the books vary greatly (and are not well organized—Twilight would be having a fit), I do find a number promising-looking books, pull them from the shelves, then levitate them beside me as I trot over to take a seat at one of the more comfortable-looking chairs.

I find a candle-lighting spell quickly enough, along with a myriad of what I think will be very useful spells, and just as I fear, they come to me far too easily than I think they should. After setting the tip of my tail on fire (on purpose, as I have no actual candle to burn) on the very first try, I put it out by biting on my tail, wanting to take advantage of my mysteriously dampened senses only to find out that such doesn’t apply to the taste and smell of burning hair. So my senses of taste and smell have become… selective instead? At least I haven’t lost them completely; that’s good, I guess… I think as I experimentally sniff at the pages of the spellbook, then use my magic to flip the pages to blow a gentle wind up my nose; indeed, the smell of “new/not-much-used book” is just as I remember it.

Moving on to such things as a fur and hair regrowing spell (practiced on my now-burnt tail and selected for later use on my shoulder and cheek), a horn-illuminating spell (“lumos!” … ha ha…), and a “drying” spell that works by drawing liquid out of cloth and fur (done to my own saliva, after purposefully spitting onto the armrest—though I suppose here they’re called headrests because “hoofrests” are a stupid idea… then again, ponies wear boots that have room for toes, so what do I know?), I find I can cast each one in less than five attempts. I try to explain it off as part of my new Changeling brain, which I reason must be very adept at picking up a lot of varied skills very quickly in order to imponynate multiple ponies (and maybe not-ponies) with any success, but no matter how much I repeat such to myself, I can’t quell the question in the back of my mind.

With those four spells down pretty much pat, I replace the spellbooks—noting them to refer to later—as I don’t want to wear myself out or confuse myself trying to memorize too many spells at once. As I do so, I notice an anomaly I had skipped over somehow before: a series of encyclopedias, but with “C-E” obviously newer than the rest. With some idea why, I pull it out and quickly enough find this entry:

CHANGELING

(Here, below the entry title, is a picture of… the body of a Changeling, laying on its- her side, with her wings pulled out into an unnatural angle to display them. Simply this has a shiver running down my spine and my mouth going dry, feeling very much as if I’m looking down at a body of one of my own kind—Something simultaneously disturbing yet… for lack any better word I can think of, comforting.)

Changelings (scientific name: Synaisthimabius allagistoma) are one of a very small number of known shape-shifting emotuvores; parasites that, different from most parasites, do not need to live in or on the host. Specifically, Changelings feed on love, which denotes them as amorivores. Because most countries are reluctant to screen their citizenry for signs of Changelings, the number of cases, their spread world-wide, and their intensity in different environments are largely unknown, but it appears ponies (of any tribe) are preferred as hosts.

Changelings are roughly pony-like in shape, size, and physical attributes, mixed with other characteristics that are generally described as “insect-like;” in particular their eyes, wings, shells on the back (which are often erroneously described as “beetle-like”), and fleshy, furless “bands” between the barrel and flank. In addition, Changelings have distinctive holes that go through their legs, a thick, shiny black coat which may give the impression of an exoskeleton at a distance, and short, tattered grey mane and tail hair. However, Changelings as a species have a natural skill in transformational magics, and can alter their appearance to mimic a wide variety of animals.

S. allagistoma infection is called allagistomiasis, one of a number of synaisthimabiasis diseases (colloquially and collectively known as fear flu, or rarely phobiaitis) caused by the genus Synaisthimabius. Most often, Changeling infection occurs by a single Changeling temporarily replacing one of the host’s loved ones (spouses, filly/coltfriends, immediate family members, rarely close friends), but there are cases of a group of Changelings swapping out to feed off the same host using the same disguise. During feeding, the replaced is often kept alive in a magically-induced sleep, and once feeding is finished, memory spells are performed to provide the replaced with memories of what happened in their absence.

Signs and Symptoms

Symptoms of allagistomiasis—as with all synaisthimabiasis—occur immediately with the beginning of feeding, but are indeterminate until the final stage.

The first sign is only a sense of “feeling cold,” which may be more or less prominent depending on the host’s core temperature and the ambient temperature. This typically lasts only one to three hours, after which an asymptomatic second stage begins, which lasts for approximately one week.

During the third stage, which lasts between five to nine days (extreme cases an known to extend between three to fourteen days), the host experiences itching on various parts of the body with no discernable reason or pattern in their origin on the body, nor their coming and going. Also, there is a sensation of “dryness” and/or “dirtiness” all over the body, as well as a sensation of dryness in the throat. This typically results in the host constantly sipping water, applying lotions, and taking long baths or showers multiple times a day. Finally, there is a general feeling of malaise, which starts out very mild and steady grows over this second period of symptoms. This malaise is typically misinterpreted as a sign of a cold, and the host will typically wish to avoid others during this period for not wanting to spread the imagined cold.

When the fourth and final period of feeding symptoms begin, all previous symptoms disappear. A constant, but not debilitating, headache will develop. This headache typically has a day-long cycle: worse at night, better during the day, but this is easily altered by the actions of both the host and the Changeling(s) (e.g. a nocturnal host will likely experience the reverse). Though the headache itself is not debilitating, the host will also develop lethargy during this period, which may result in frustration if the headache disrupts normal sleep rhythms. Increased appetite and weight loss will also be experienced, which, when combined with all the above, is enough to finally make a definitive diagnosis.

If, however, allagistomiasis is allowed to fester for an extended period of typically more than three months, going undiagnosed and untreated, a nonspecific sense of impending doom will eventually develop and steadily worsen. This culminates in the host attempting to warn others away from the settlement the host(s) live in; to abandon it. If asked about this warning, the host(s) will not be able to describe what disaster is to occur, when it is to occur, why the host(s) think it will occur, and why the host(s) themselves do not flee. However, if any of the host(s) have preexisting phobias, they may describe a disaster that is in some way connected to such fears (e.g. a host with a fear of snakes may believe their town will be attacked by a giant reptile of some description).

If there are multiple cases of allagistomiasis in close proximity, these “visions of disaster” will be nearly identical, even with no communication between the hosts. As a result, if they go untreated for an extended time, those who did not have the specified phobia (if any) within the vision of disaster prior to infection may develop it, and continue to be affected by it even after they are no longer a host.

The above time table is concerned with constant feeding from a single Changeling on a single host. If there are multiple Changelings feeding off of one host, the symptoms worsen much more quickly. If one Changeling alternates between feeding off multiple hosts, the time a host is not being feed off of generally gives him or her enough time to partially recover and in all but two known cases none of the hosts developed past the second stage.

Treatment and Prognosis

In almost all known cases, Changelings do not kill either the host or the replaced. As well, it is highly suspected that most cases solve themselves long before the final stage when the Changeling(s) leave the host on their own. Only occasionally does a case require treatment via forceful removal, typically by killing the infection, as decreed in most countries, though there are rare cases wherein the Changelings are exiled (such as in Ryuupon).

However, the host, as described above, may experience permanently developed phobias after extended infection. As well, a host may be driven to suicide by their visions of disaster depending on their specifics and severity, and the host’s preexisting mental and/or emotional states. If the case is treated before the final symptom develops, then the host experiences a quick, full recovery to 100% health. There are a small number of cases in which the ex-host experiences paranoia and difficulty trusting others, but more often specific social policies, official decrees, and shared beliefs (such as believing that one’s community is “immune to infiltration” even after evidence to the contrary) ward this development.

There has been a very small number (seven) of known infections in which the host experienced no symptoms. The Changelings apparently also experienced no negative side effects feeding from these hosts. Why these hosts experienced no symptoms is a mystery. Research attempts have not only yielded no meaningful data, but those who experienced no symptoms before suddenly developed symptoms in the presence of a Changeling in a controlled setting in all of these cases except one. It is likely, then, that this is a result of something about the Changelings, not the hosts.

Physiology

Given their appearance and nature…

Though there is more, I look away with a grimace. The encyclopedia’s wording—not just scientific, but clinical in talking about “infection” and “treatment”—is clear enough: The view of Changelings is no better than anything else that causes disease: bacteria, viruses, intestinal worms… something thoughtless and voracious… something to be eliminated not merely without thought, nor simply with anger, but with relief. Then, that phrase, “a Changeling in a controlled setting…” Who ever that poor soul, or more likely, souls, had been, my heart goes out to them for the suffering they no doubt endured-. No… -for the suffering that had no doubt been inflicted on them.

An unexpected flash of anger burns through my thoughts for a moment, leaving me gasping in surprise at the intensity of it. It hadn’t just been at the images of injustice, but at the idea of “my own kind” being tortured; I don’t want to admit it, but the passion behind that emotion had been too strong for even me to ignore. With a shiver, I reshelf the encyclopedia and, on a whim of a suspicion, pull down the next one—E-“backwards F”—of an obviously previous edition.

FEAR FLU

Fear flu (sometimes referred to as phobiaitis) is a cluster of diseases with as-yet determined cause or causes. There are a number of characteristics that these diseases share, prominent among them being a development of strong, constant phobias.

Amongst the various fears this disease may cause, a fear of city-destroying disaster is most common, followed closely by fear of failure, fear of being alone, and fear of being unclean. The only thing that can be said about the means of transmission is that those affected by these diseases almost never had such fears before infection, and may have instead had fears of the exact opposite (such as fearing being in crowds before developing a fear of being alone).

Signs and Symptoms

Prior to the development of the phobia, there are a multitude of symptoms that develop and disappear over time. These symptoms begin approximately fifteen to twenty weeks before the actual appearance of the phobia.

The most common symptoms across various strains of fear flu include weight loss, increased appetite, headache, malaise, a disruption in the infected’s sense of temperature, a disruption in the infected’s sense of taste, nausea, feinting, low blood pressure, chest pain, sensations of being strangled, stiffness in the neck, increased libido, lethargy, dizziness, and pain accompanying movement of the legs.

The above and other less common symptoms never occur all together. Instead, they develop in particular stages and patterns before the final stage: the emergence of the phobia. A specialist can use these patterns to determine the strain before the phobia itself develops.

Treatment and Prognosis

Although there is no known treatment, most instances of fear flu solve themselves eventually, sometimes before the phobia actually develops—determining how often this actually happens is impossible, as it is suspected not all patients suffer all the way to the final pre-phobia stage, which is the only point at which a decisive diagnosis can be made.

Of the known cases that did not solve themselves, approximately 30% of cases ended in suicide, of which most of the patients were already predisposed to on account of preexisting deteriorated mental and/or emotional health. Of the remainder, the patients mostly manage to live in relative normality with the addition of their constant fear, for which they receive constant therapy.

Research

Though there have been many efforts in the past to determine the cause—and a potential cure—for fear flu, there has been no new information gained in the last one-hundred, thirty years after the final strain, fear of sunlight, was linked to its own series of symptoms. At the time of this publishing, only two efforts in research—both in Gryffia—are ongoing.

I don’t know what I thought I would gain from this entry, which is so… vague (what else did I expect?); I shake my head at my own foolishness. Replacing the encyclopedia, I then look through the shelves for something a bit less strenuous on the mind and, to my disappointment, discover that there are apparently no Daring Doo fans among my three rescuers and new “roommates”—Ah, well… I never cared for Indiana Jones anyway, I lie to myself—though that doesn’t mean the shelves are bare of fiction.

Eventually pulling down The House of the Manticore by Pure Orange—Last name “Orange”? I wonder…—which seems to be this universe’s The House of the Scorpion, judging by the blurb on the back cover, I spend the rest of the day—or what I think is the day—reading the strangely familiar work… Only this time, however, I find myself feeling perhaps a little too empathetic towards the protagonist’s plight.

—

That night—or so my internal watch informs me—Replie does not return to the basement. At first, as my eyes grow itchy with tiredness and I retire after making a quick study of an extinguishing spell to put out the chandelier, I do not worry. After all, as I’m still without any way to tell the time, I convince myself that Replie’s work hours haven’t ended yet.

However, as time stretches on to the point where I all but know it must be after sunset, if not many hours past, and I have yet to fall asleep for all my growing worry, I sit up under the blanket and look around the dark room with my new horn-light spell. Pointless, really; if she had been close by then I would have felt her love for me, no matter if I could or couldn’t see or even hear her.

Dare I go up to see what is keeping her? Has “Wood Work” been caught? Perhaps because of Reflection or Twin getting caught? But they wouldn’t say anything. Even if Celestia gave any Changeling she captured time to say anything, she like as not wouldn’t believe them. No matter how much they swore the “pony” they point out is in actuality a Changeling, Celestia wouldn’t believe them in fear for her precious trust. Would she? But still… My thoughts chase each other around, eventually tiring like a dog that’s chased its tail too long, and I fall asleep almost reluctantly.

When I awake next at some unknown time, I find the place exactly as it had been: No Replie. No Twin or Reflection. No hint of anything wrong, nor of anything well. Just like that, the one place where I thought I had found a sanctuary in this world that seems determined to kill me is turned into a prison instead. I try to study yet more magic, but I can’t focus and give up after splashing myself with explosions of water fifteen times in a row while trying to freeze it into ice cubes (using a sink that had been partially hidden behind the numerous chairs, so I only find it while looking for something to distract myself with, instead of when I needed to “expel” my pazara); at least I can still cast the drying spell without trouble. Similarly, however, I find it impossible to distract myself with The House of the Manticore.

Eventually, I find myself simply laying before the cross, trying to distract myself with unanswerable questions as to its meaning. All it brings to mind, however, is my first impression of a tombstone, and the fact it’s made of wood draws my thoughts towards that fence of wings hardly an hour’s trot away, which brings me full circle to the seemingly all too high probability of our being found out because of me. All I can do after that is sit, frozen with fear and guilt. Tears building up as all-too-real images of killed and desecrated Changeling bodies—some with all too familiar leg-holes—flash before my mind’s eye.

Yet another unknown amount of time later, I’m shocked out of my fear-induced daze by the slamming of the trapdoor. I jump up in shock, my wings buzzing to life to instinctively catch me to prevent me from falling back on my legs in an awkward position. What comes next is definitely the sound of more than one or two sets of hooves coming down the stairs. Somewhat stiffly, I turn around to the doorway, half expecting a dozen guards in gold armor to suddenly burst into the room, spears ready. Without really thinking of what I can even do, I pull my reserves of magic forward, my horn shimmering and casting a dim green glow over the top of my vision.

As soon as a pair of black muzzles, immediately followed by two pairs of solid light blue eyes (except for the faded white “pupil”), I recognize the love flowing into me (as well as out of me). With a sudden smile that feels like it should have been enough to remove my lower jaw from the rest of my face, I gallop, almost bounding, forward to embrace the two, all the while shouting, “Reflection! Twin! You made it back safely!”

Shutting my eyes tightly as I hold their necks against my chest, Twin releases an “oof!” of surprise, while Reflection coughs out the much more refined sounding “gak!” They make no move, however, to remove or wiggle out of my grip. I don’t even realize, from behind my tightly shut eyes, that I’m crying until I taste one of my own tears that had slipped around the corner of my lips; after that, I release them with a sigh strained by emotion.

“What? You were worried about us?” Twin asks after taking in my doubtless tear-streaked face. I just nod somewhat shakily even though I can all but taste the rhetoricalness trough the amusement in his voice. I’m about to tell them of Replie’s unexplained disappearance, but he chuckles and says before I can ask about her, “Well, we may not be like you in a lot of ways, but thankfully one of those ways includes us not needing to work alone.” He gestures behind them, and I finally look past them to realize why I had heard the sound of so many sets of hooves.

Questions about Replie leave my mind at the sight of so many other Changelings. I almost ask instead how they had all snuck into Apploosa, but the logic behind the apparent counterintuitiveness of the strategy hits me first: For as long as Celestia denies screening, and places like Apploosa retain that they’re impossible to infiltrate, then even a large influx of Changelings (especially in a place so tourist-happy) shouldn’t draw even a second glance. So instead I ask, “Who are they?… Oh! And what happened to Replie last night?” Given neither Twin nor Reflection turn downcast at the question, I assume whatever had kept her isn’t even close to terrible.

Reflections answers my second question first and Twin lets out a sound of understanding something that had apparently confused him. “Ah, it seemed that a couple of Luna’s Moon Guards came by the other night after we left, but this morning a couple of Celestia’s Sun Guards came by and… ‘removed’ them.” Twin shakes his head, chuckling again at this. “It really is lucky for us how Celestia constantly retains her policy on trust, even if it means she’ll be getting into an argument with her sister once those guards report back to Luna, I’m sure.”

“Wait, ‘being alone?’” one of the closer Changelings says in a whispery-husky voice—the voice of a gentle giant, though he is no larger, or smaller, than any of the others—“You mean this is that kapish you were telling us about?” I quirk an eyebrow when Reflection shoots a nasty look at the Changeling when he says “kapish,” as his tone doesn’t seem to indicate any ill meaning; quite the opposite, if anything, though Reflection doesn’t change her expression when he continues with, “Of course I mean that as a compliment! We are all nukapish here after all…” As Reflection looks insulted by the implication of her being included in the nukapish, I try not to let my confusion show at wondering what kapish could mean that it could be taken as both an insult and compliment, which is helped by him moving on quickly. “You are the one who used to live alone in Ponyville until just a few days ago, before being found out, and Celestia herself-?”

“Yes-szzz.” I cut him off, sounding more annoyed than I intended and buzzing my wings as well as my voice—which surprises me for a second, though thankfully I manage to push away the implications quickly enough—but it hardly puts him off; rather, my affirmative answer only turns his stare, and most of the others’, from curious to appraising. I consider trying to explain how most of it was luck and in spite of my efforts to drive my defenders away from me and to keep them from incriminating themselves, but I have a feeling that such would not have the intended effect, if not the complete opposite! Oh well… After a facehoof careful enough not to knock myself out, but hard enough to tinge Twin’s and Reflection’s love with slight worry, I look up to glare at them, trying to scold them with my eyes and ask silently, “What, exactly, did you tell them?!” Twin turns effectively mollified, but Reflection, somewhat surprisingly, looks almost defiant.

All the same, she thankfully changes the subject. “As for who these are, they are our fellow scavengers, though they live in Manehatten; they also left soon after the siege,” she says as the three of us finally move away from the doorway so the others can enter (on hoof or wing) and seat themselves into the chairs and couches; the answer as to why there are so many seats only then becomes clear to me. As they pass us, Reflection introduces them. “Mirage,” is the one with the whispery-husky voice, then behind him comes, “Proxy,” a female, “Forgery, though she prefers Forge, Echo, Ersatz, and Shadow.” the last three are—Gah, whatever; “female” and “male” sound too clinical—stallions. “Oh! And everyone, this is Alternate,” she finishes in an offhoof, “I-just-remembered” way as if they already know this—which I’d be willing to bet a whole month’s worth of turns as Wood Work that they do.

“Or Altie,” Twin adds jokingly as the three of us follow them with me bringing up the rear. His comment earns a round of chuckles as well as an increase of incoming love; I can only speculate that my having a nickname somehow imbues me with “endearment” or “imagined familiarity” that in turn creates more trust that becomes love. How can such a tiny thing have such a huge effect? I marvel yet again, and I shake my head as their trust and love in me only turns right around with my own caring for them.

“Or Alter,” I jab right back, my tone of voice and playful glare intended to remind him of his initial mistake with my name. By the way he suddenly sits straight and stops laughing, his expression going relatively neutral, I think I can say, Mission accomplished! by starting another round of laughter, which, as I hoped, Twins joins after a few seconds.

Even after the laughter dies, however, no one says a thing as we simply bask in the good feelings permeating the room as one might sink into a Epsom salt bath. For that moment, I almost forget that I had been worried about Reflection and Twin at all, at least until Mirage speaks up. “So-oo…” he begins slowly and hesitantly as he stares interestedly at me, likely figuring he’ll need to be sly to get any information about my fake previous life (though of course he knows nothing about the “fake” part). “Did you really think so little of Reflection’s and Twin’s abilities to discard a disguise safely?”

Given the way he grins as he says it, I know it must be meant as a joke, but my heart still flitters with panic for a moment. Hoping to waylay any chance of either (or both!) taking honest offence by this idea, I answer quickly, my tongue stumbling with haste. “N-no! I di-didn’t think any-nything like that at all!” I blush when my mouth catches up with my mind, and when I make to continue, to correct and clarify myself, Reflection shakes her head with a smile, obviously saying silently: There’s no need.

I hope, then, that I would experience a sense of déjà vu, in which I would hear yet more of the others’ exploits in infiltrating Equestria (and perhaps other lands), but of course that would be proven wishful thinking! Instead, Proxy waves her forehooves about as if to shoo away the lighter chuckling that my response elicits to ask, “If no one else here is going to be so blunt, allow me to say that we have all been interested in hearing your story ever since we’ve heard of you.” I can’t keep myself from wincing at that, but a glance to Twin, then Reflection shows me that neither are going to let me remain silent this time.

I look down at my hooves and scrunch my eyebrows together in thought, though I hope it can pass as hesitation, shyness, or something like that—this time it seems my wish is granted, as I feel no sudden suspicion cutting off any of their love. “That’s, uhm… flattering?” I try to buy a little bit of time, not wanting any of them to further prompt me should I remain quiet too long. “Well, I-… uhm… What do you want to know… more specifically?” I look back up with a awkward grin. If I had my fingers, I would’ve crossed every single one of them that they wouldn’t ask something I have no hope of answering: my supposedly short life in the hive, how I’d come to Ponyville, where’d I’d lived before then… how old I am (how long do Changelings live?), how I’d gotten my name (apparently, Changelings’ last names come from the father, but what about the first name?)… a great list of too many topics to hope to be avoided!

The eight of them look between themselves for a moment before staring at Echo and Ersatz, who are now whispering into each others’ ears. No one seems keen to interrupt them, so I just sit still, looking from one to another, waiting for one or the other to speak up; eventually, Ersatz turns to whisper into Forge’s ear, who in turn asks out loud, “Why don’t you start with your life in Ponyville? What’s the place like?”

I could have sighed in relief. If we’re jumping to Ponyville, then this shouldn’t be too hard… as long as no one asks about anything before then! “Oh… ah… Ponyville is-… Well, I liked living there while I did… but I guess going back isn’t an option.” Oh, what wonders can eight little words do, as their curious, excited faces flash to pity for a moment. I try to think quickly over what I know about Ponyville—general things, mostly—and my casted thoughts land on how long I had supposedly lived there. “It was- is, I guess, peaceful most of the time, but when things got… interesting, they never got ‘just a little interesting.’” Yes. Just relax. You can do this. I tell myself as a few of them laugh at this, including me.

The lies and half-truths (mostly half-truths, or so I try to argue to myself) come easily after that—uncomfortably easy. I try to impress upon the relative quiet, mellow, almost-solitude of the town, and only mention things like parasprites and ursa minors as if they’re once-in-a-life-time freak occurrences—trying to get out of as much storytelling as I can, not just from being uncomfortable with the half-truths and limelight, but also fearing, as I go on, accidentally letting something slip and blowing my cover. One thing of which I’m utmost careful about, however, is not about myself, but Zecora; I have no idea how they might react to such a thing, and I’m not about to be responsible for any (more) animosity leveled against ponies—not that they display such until I mention Twilight’s Want It Need It spell, which, most darkly interestingly, has a powerful effect on all those present: making them shiver and frown.

“That sounds like…” Proxy murmurs in a fearful tone, making my ears perk up with betraying curiosity, which Proxy notices before I can correct myself; she shivers once before giving in to my unvoiced, mostly unwanted question. “Mahu-… -sayii.” The word comes out more like two little squeaks than anything with meaning; Proxy quickly goes on. “If you weren’t at Canterlot, then you’ve probably never felt it before, but it’s… intoxicating… all but literally.”—So, this Mahusayii is a “type” of love after all, it seems… but what does Mahusayii have to do with the siege of Canterlot?

I know I should change the subject; this is too painful for every single one of them, as I can feel in their emotions, but how? What can I change the subject to, if not Ponyville again: those dangerous waters? Gah! -No!… Buck “elegance;” this needs the “one-eighty degree” treatment! “Now, I’ve heard some of Replie’s, Twin’s, and Reflection’s stories, and you’ve heard some of mine, but-…” I hesitate, but it’s all too clear every one of them is now hanging on this change of subject, thankful. Just ask it! The wording of the encyclopedia wasn’t encouraging, but maybe… hopefully… “I haven’t been able to, ah-? -gather much of what ponies think of Changelings; I’ve always been too busy, being alone, but I was always curious what ponies think beyond, well, ‘enemy’?”

I cannot say whether the hate now on most of their faces is better or worse than the, for lack of a better word, despair concerning the yet-to-be-understood Mahusayii. “What are you looking for?” Proxy asks with not a little venom. “More ponies like the one’s who had defended you against Gimaraz Qasabu? Zun; you were lucky.” At this, another strange wave of admiration washes from the Manehattenites and over me, betraying Proxy’s use of the word “lucky.” All the same, she goes on with a menacing tone, putting a harsh, rough quality to certain words. “Stupid ponies… thinking we’re all part of some ‘hivemind’ so they can be comfortable in killing us without poking hypocritical holes in their precious harmony.” Everyone nods at this with grim agreement tinged with a kind of lamentation that I’m sure is the “taste” of wishing this is not so in spite of what Mirage’s voice may imply.

Twin, who is one of two (the other being Mirage) who doesn’t look absolutely disgusted by ponies’ thoughts on Changelings, speaks through the rancor of the others. “All you really need to know is this: It’s easier to kill something by turning it into an unthinking monster… but if you’re still curious about specifics, though, I think we have a book somewhere by one of the more prominent… ‘Changeling researchers…’” various sounds and gestures of contempt and disbelief comes from everyone but Reflection at this. “Somepony with a foreign name… Nomizokakos?”

Nomizokakos? Greek ponies? Why not? Where else would allagistoma come from? I shake my head with amusement, which thoroughly confuses my previous audience. I wonder if it’s actually called “Greek” here, though, and not something like Hippochora and Alogaglossa. I let out a few chuckles, at which Twin looks bemused. In fact, I think I-.

CRACK

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!”

—

The next thing I know, I’m blinking my eyes open as someone shakes me; I’m laying on my back, and Reflection is standing over me, her forelegs “gripping” my shoulders in a pincer-like hold. What… the Hell? is the only coherent thought I can make through the continued pounding in my head. Relief and worry wash over me from all sides as I shuffle to get Reflection to release me so I can lift a hoof to me forehead. As Reflection steps back from over me, her voice shakes as she asks, “Are you alright? It looked like you were having some kind of… seizure… and then you just… fell still. I thought-.” She shakes her head, but I don’t even need the sudden surge of energy coming off of her—which I quickly return, as always—to tell me exactly what she must have thought.

“I’m-…” fine, I want to lie, but who would I be kidding? (“Foaling”?) Then again, considering how Reflection had latched onto my change of subject before… It might not have been “lying,” but it would be hard to make a case that it at least wasn’t self-deception. “I don’t… know. All I remember is suddenly getting a massive headache, and then I blacked out.” That, more or less, is the truth. But the more important question is, “What had triggered it, and why?” I try to focus, but the agonizing slowness with which the pain in my head is fading creates a mental blockade.

The only thing I could honestly expect from saying such things is for the worry to increase, but now it seems tinged with something new, something with less concern… for me, and more for themselves. Excellent, Alternate. I wasn’t an epileptic before, but who knows what side-effects being transformed into a completely different body and teleported into a different Universe has? And now you’ve just set yourself up for a perfectly reasonable exile from this tiny haven… As if to confirm my thoughts, everyone turns to the obvious alpha: Reflection, who herself instead stares at me with eyes more studious than worried, and if I had any remaining doubt, it’s quickly dashed when Mirage finally asks that question. “Well, Sagim, wh-?” but she doesn’t get any further.

“How many times do I have to say it!?” Reflection suddenly cries out, and her annoyance almost manages to drown out the sorrow behind it. Sorrow that, to me, yells ever louder, reminding me of what Replie had confessed to, and that it had been Reflection who had ordered… it to be done. “Maybe this will help: Man zan Iksigima! Sagama taha u Krisalis AB!RA!DI!” She yells with such force, I’m surprised the house above us remains intact, and moreso that none seem worried a pony above may hear her, but it appears the only negative effect her yelling has is on my poor head. “Do you understand THAT, Nukapish?”

As I lay there, putting my other forehoof to my head (No, I don’t understand, but I’m sure it would be fascinating if I could focus on trying to decipher that language…), I can only assume everyone has forgotten about my pain in the wake of Reflection’s manic glancing at each one of them in turn. All but Twin draws slightly back from her, but she doesn’t seem to mind him as he instead shakes his head with a kind of half-grimace-half-grin that makes me think, besides the entire Sagim-thing, that situations like this are not rare with these Manehatten scavengers.

“‘U Krisalis abradi?’” Echo (Dear Brain, Seriously? “Is there an Echo in here?” I hate you. Sincerely, Alternate) puts a surprised emphasis on the last word of whatever Reflection just said.

“Barada? Harsh…” Ersatz whispers, glancing at Echo. “Abradi”? “Barada”?

Reflection only sniffs with contempt at these accusations. “If they don’t think for themselves and realize what a mistake Chrysalis is making, they are ubrad.” She glares at each Changeling in turn, daring them, without words, to challenge her judgment, none of them do, though most look even more shocked by the word “ubrad.”

Proxy is the only one to stare right back at Reflection. “Fuu, tan don’t like the title Sagim? How about…” she pauses to give a strange grin. “Gimarazrasu Maraza Riflakshun?” Everyone but Reflection and Proxy gasp and step back, including Twin this time, which creates enough room for me to slip off the table—though the shell on my back protects my spine from getting sore, I’m not comfortable putting my wings in such a vulnerable position—unnoticed and onto one the couches. Somewhat vaguely, through the continual thumping going on within my skull, I hear Echo and Ersatz whispering frantically in what I assume to be whatever language Proxy and Reflection are switching in and out of, as what snippets I catch I don’t have a hope of deciphering or understanding.

“Don’t. Even. Joke. About. That.” Reflection hisses and buzzes her wings with (what I suspect is) dangerous intention, for she crouches as if readying to charge. As I lay back, I weave between being offended by being forgotten and ignored so easily, to not minding being left to my headache, to understanding why they wouldn’t be so concerned considering my apparent condition. Eventually, I settle on deciding to think more about this later, and right now focus on emptying my thoughts in an attempt to ease the pain. I can’t turn off my ears, though, and what I hear compels me to keep my eyes open.

“Jhii? I’m not.” Proxy stands firm—not even lowering herself a fraction of the way into a defensive stance. “If Chrysalis is not ataa Gimaruuza, and you are starting your own Tabuura, how are you not Gimarazrasu Maraza?” She says with a significant look towards Reflection’s egg. This… would be really fascinating in understanding Changeling sociology, especially the dynamics between Changeling females who have abandoned their queen (Is this argument a mask for some kind of display of dominance, perhaps?)… if this headache would only go away!

Before Reflection can respond to Proxy’s argument, there’s a bang and hurried hoofsteps from the hall, and everyone, to my amusement, turns to the doorway with fear suddenly tainting their emotion and painting their faces. Replie, as Wood Work, appears with a worn, exhausted expression. “I need a break, can somepony-?” She stops upon noticing how everyone is standing, eyes lingering on each of us in turn: me, with a hoof to my head; Reflection and Proxy not taking their eyes off each other, even to glance at Replie; and the rest, now staring at her; even Echo and Ersatz abandon their whispering to do so. Replie blinks in a dazed way a few times before opening her mouth to continue.

“I can take over.” Reflection beats her to speaking, suddenly breaking the staring contest she’d been having with Proxy. She flies over the tables and chairs, landing at the doorway, before taking on Wood Work’s appearance and saying over her shoulder, “As much as I’d rather keep telling you all that I’m no Saguuma or Gimaruuza, I should go quickly. -But one last thing: Alternate is staying.” With that, she leaves, as Replie sheds the pegasus stallion disguise while donning confusion at what her decree means. At least that’s settled. I think with more relief than I had expect to feel as the others’ concern and love returns from themselves to me.

Proxy, taking her own seat as everyone starts to settle down and get comfortable again, takes on a kind of grimacing smile as she says, “Just like a Gimaruuza…” What I feel next I would have loved to blame on my headache, but the taint in her emotions are immediately interpreted by my (relatively) new Changeling brain, even in pain as it is, as jealousy. That… doesn’t mean what I think it does. Not by itself. -and if it does, I don’t want to know, I’m sure.

Replie has an distressing and pensive look on her face as she weaves around the tables and chairs towards me. “Reflection, Gima-? Oh!” she exclaims a few pony-lengths (whether ponies use meters or “hooves,” how long is one relative to a pony, anyway? The whole “apple comparison” assumes apples are the same size across Universes, after all) away from me, stopping in contemplation for a moment before suddenly grinning and jumping onto the couch next to me, making me bang my pounding head against the headrest/hoofrest, and in turn I involuntarily moan from the rush of pain that flows through my head like fresh magma.

“Achaay! Sorry! Sorry…” she apologizes as she climbs on top of me to nuzzle my shoulder. “Here; let me-…” And as her horn lights with a soft green, I remember her having been a… nurse, or doctor? And for how long, again? I want to refuse, not out of fear for any inexperience, but simply, as before, not wanting her to waste any energy on curing something that will likely be gone by tomorrow, if not sooner. …-But it’s not “just” a headache, is it?

Before I can muster the strength and mental awareness to put up even a vocal protest—never mind a physical one—I feel a sudden weightlessness wash trough my head; not lightheadedness, but more suspended in utter bliss: a place where pain cannot follow. As the spell fades and that place of inner peace gives way back to reality, leaving it’s comforting effects behind, I shake my head as a kind of twin test to whether that had been real and actually relieved my headache. Both, it seems, as nothing happens but Replie giggling and the surge of energy cycling between us increasing in strength. “Wow… that belies your words of ‘a few spells’ from a couple days ago. Thank you.”

Replie only giggles a little more at this as she settles atop me like I’m part of the couch; the way her ribcage bounces against me is blissful in its own way. “Well, it’s somewhat comforting to know that you’ve picked up one pony habit,” she says into the fur of my neck, fangs tickling and running a strange but welcome thrill down my spine; that is, until I register what she must be referring to. “One pony habit”? The only thing that makes sense is “thank you”… There you go again, Alternate. Of course a society where emotions are laid bare and reciprocation occurs every second when in another’s company wouldn’t need to vocalize thanks—the feelings of love is enough for that!

“Ari, you look so… contemplative over there!” Forge exclaims playfully, widening her eyes expectantly (Changelings, and ponies, don’t really have eyebrows that can be raised). “What are you thinking about so deeply?” She finishes with a slow not-quite-flutter, but neither a buzz, of her wings—I can only guess it’s some kind of non-verbal sign, though of what I have no clue.

I think for a moment before deciding to be half-truthful; though it’s not at the forefront of my thoughts, it’s still a curiosity, and now that I’m in such diverse company… “Only wondering about the different ‘flavors’ of love,” I say as I turn to nuzzle Replie’s cheek, “and whether it could ever be compared to the flavors of various foods, if I could taste them.”

Replie pulls back, leaving me confused with her look of surprise and apparently wanting to say something, but Shadow speaks first, and for the first time, with a voice rather high for a stallion. “Ah, so you’re one of the lucky ones with the mutation, huh?” He shakes his head before releasing a wistful huff; thankfully, I don’t need to give voice to the odd question when he continues on his own. “I know you have to go through extra training and always be wary of food and such, but it’s not as if taste has any advantages!” He suddenly gets a halfway manic look in his eyes—the look of recalling an embarrassing memory that can never be forgotten. “One time I volunteered to take the place of somepony that looked like an easy job, only to discover they hate pears, while I can barely stand to look at one without drooling! It was too late to back out, and afterward I ate nothing but pears for a week straight! But really! Who doesn’t like pears!?”

I can’t help the disappointment and bemusement that overtakes me then, which superficially hurts Shadow. Really, Multiverse? You’re not only going to make that “a thing,” but you’re shoving it in my face? You charlatan, unoriginal hack… Wait… “Who doesn’t like pears”…! I can’t help it: I facehoof. Hard. -And the pain is more than welcome, though the resurgence of worry in my direction makes me feel a little guilty, but not enough.

“Altie?” Replie eventually voices her concern, but I only continue to stare at the bottom of my hoof, which I keep on my face. “… What are you doing?” She finishes with a kind of deadpanned tone, perhaps realizing I’m neither hurt nor confused.

“Doing”? What I’m “doing” is expecting a blue police call box to appear out of nowhere any time now… “That’s-… That thing about the pears is just one of the silliest things I’ve ever heard.”

“‘Silliest thing’?” Echo—Buck you, Multiverse!—repeats, turning to smirk at Ersatz.

Ersatz turns in mirror to Echo. “Sounds like a challenge to me.” While half of me groans, the other half is relieved that the spotlight is free to swivel off of myself again.

—

The next two days are largely uneventful, though with the way Ersatz and the rest would tell it, Manehatten is hardly so quiet, and from what I gather, the six aren’t the only scavengers in the city—something I suppose I should have realized before. Something I do realize beforehoof is, in addition to the number of chairs, why three Changelings would have two large (“princess-size”?) beds, as we all sleep in huddle that makes me think of a pile of huddling dogs… Only we’re not cold; we’re scared. Scared of Queen Chrysalis and Princess Celestia…

For most of the day, the Manehatten scavengers go out to play their parts as visiting Wood Work and to feed on the ambient friendliness that permeates Apploosa. At night, as Celestia apparently talked Luna down from being so paranoid, everyone is free to reconvene in the basement for games and bed, rather than one needing to remain above to placate the Moon Guard “audience.” So when the Manehattenites leave two days later, while the days feel no different, the nights feel uncomfortably quiet and… depopulated—I can only imagine this is some kind of Changeling “hive-like” instinct. Safety in numbers. After all, I feel so even on those days that it is not Replie’s turn at Wood Work, either, which usually means I spend most of the day with a Changeling all but glued to myself… not that I mind! To the contrary, I do my best to forget my past—a past that I cannot return to—as much as the other three have left behind their grim work in Canterlot, and I return every nuzzle and lick, which includes cleaning each others wings, interestingly, and the holes in our legs, which are most sensitive. Still, in spite of our closeness, we have not yet taken “that step;” whenever I think about it (for Replie never brings it up directly), I can’t help but freeze, which in turn only makes me disappointed in myself, even if Replie never shows any interest in, as perhaps a Changeling might put it, “becoming a queen.”

Over the first week, most of the days are taken up by whichever two are not acting as Wood Work teaching me about the pegasus carpenter: everything from the obvious to the quirks and ticks that, while only a Changeling could name, a pony would still notice “something off” without. Similarly, while not the scavengers’ intention, I learn a bit about ponies as well—of note being those things that would never appear in the show. Indeed, given the apparent gender ratio in Equestria, I feel afterwards that the fact ponies practice polygamy, specifically polygyny, should have been obvious, lest more mares than not be left to themselves (or each other)! All the same, I can’t help but feel slightly… discouraged by the idea, in regards to any potential peace between ponies and Changelings. If, in America at the very least, the disgust with which monogamists view polygamy is so strong, then how would the polygynist Equestria view the polyandry of Changelings, even if none of these other problems between the two species existed? The natural aversion to “the different” and “the other” appears no less strong in ponies than humans, after all.

As for Changelings, I can only assume how their biology, which forces them to understand other cultures in order to blend in with them, also, in a way, “forces” them to view “the other” with… somewhat less animosity, at least. Certainly, the somewhat awkward and confused but not outright hostile tone Twin uses in describing to me the various mares who have put their sights upon Wood Work and are competing against each other in pseudosubtle ways for the title of “current girlfriend” (for it seems only one mare may be considered by a stallion at a time) and eventually alpha mare—an idea which, I can tell, is at best odd for a creature who submits to a queen who takes for herself all the reproductive rights.

I try to put away my own inhibitions concerning both ideas, but all I can hope for is that, when it is time for me to slip on the pegasus disguise, I’m lucky enough to avoid any confrontation—and advances—of Cactus Rose (no relation to “the flower sister” Rose), Rough Diamond (no relation to Diamond Tiara; honestly, there are only so many words that can be used as a pony name), and the others. This lucky, I am not. Instead, I go on hoping that the bickering for alpha mare would draw attention away from me; how naïve I am, to not foresee such a thing as the fact that the position of alpha mare is, in fact, decided by to whomever the stallion pays the most attention. Worse yet is the fact the Wood Work has been designed to be most ignorant of all advances—I imagine this is for the best in regards to the fact that Wood Work doesn’t actually exist, but is instead a composition of Changelings, and not suitable for any mare who wishes for a foal; not that Wood Work, any more than any “other” stallion (or even human male), would admit to such! Still, this acted (oh so acted!) ignorance does not deter any of those poor mares who would make a stallion (who doesn’t exist) theirs.

So, every forth day, for five weeks, I suffer under the fires of determined “suitesses,” as it seems in Equestria, it is expected that the mare make the first move. I suspect this has something to do with the fact that, with so many mares going after so few stallions, each male is all but guaranteed to get a mate—it seems that the ponies’ gender ratio has effects on their society no less strong than the effects of the Changelings’ ability to feel emotions has on their interactions with each other. All of these differences in the end can, sadly, only create more troubles between the two species, even without the impending war.

On my days off, I spend my time expanding my magical repertoire, giving the quick explanation to Twin’s questioning that, as I had been all by myself before and quite busy gathering love for myself, I hadn’t had time to study much magic—he, and the other two, believe me easily enough. Between my arcane self-studies, I go back to the encyclopedia, after which I decide against going into the supposed studies on Changelings by Nomizokakos. After the… medical analysis is (as I suspect by Replie’s look when she curiously looks over my shoulder at what I’m reading and by what I know now that I’ve been amongst Changelings) a hypothetical at best, speciesist at worst, look at Changeling physiology and “sociology;” to put what ponies think in two words: thoughtless hivemind. At this, I can only shake my head and admit not only that Proxy’s conclusion of such baseless hypotheses makes killing us guiltless, but encourages a cycle of animosity that would continue through generations.

There is one sentence, however, that makes me stop: “Changelings, when not feeding, return to their queen in a hive located in the desert at the western border of Equestria in order to breed.” This, to me, seems to be an oddly specific, particularly dangerous assumption to make. After all, who is it that would say something so foolish as the idea that all Changelings live under one Queen in one hive and no where else, with no other Queen, in no other hive? Especially when it’s obvious that such a thing would be impossible to infer, and hard evidence (that just as obviously has not been gathered) would be needed? However… given that Celestia apparently wants me to prove my evil nature, and if she had therefore told the truth about sending me to Chrysalis so I may survive, then she would have to believe that I came from Chrysalis’s hive; of course, how could she assume such a thing unless she believes Chrysalis is the only Changeling Queen? More impossible questions I have no choice but to leave unsolved.

As odd as it sounds, especially to myself, all of the above, and more, turns into a routine I slip into so easily that, had I not been a Changeling, and therefore a creature pretty much evolved to slip into roles not my own, I may have been worried at how I could abandon myself without apparent effort. Still, as I busy myself with Wood Work’s work—which is extensive, considering he is the only carpenter here, and the settlement is still growing—I find I often drift in my thoughts to the worries for the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, for Princess Celestia, for Queen Chrysalis, for Equestria, Hasharstan, ponies, Changelings, scavengers, and everything threatened by the unwillingness from both sides to consider a peaceful solution. I must also suppose, unfortunately, that only I, as an outsider, can consider such as mournful, as the ponies, whenever Changelings are brought up (which is often in Apploosa, considering the border) get a fervent, violent look in their eyes, and even Replie, so filled with guilt of her own actions, doesn’t see the ponies as without blame themselves.

I, myself, for six weeks since I had been accepted by Reflection, Twin, and Replie, admit that peace is an impossibility. For six weeks, until, by chance, I overhear an argument…

—

Maybe it’s a bad habit, but I have been keeping track; I’ve been in Equestria for exactly forty-two days now. Six weeks, precisely, since I woke up inexplicably as a Changeling laying on a path in the Everfree Forest… and forty-one days since I had learned the horrible truth about what happened during the siege of Canterlot. It had never been brought up again, by Replie or myself, or by Twin or Reflection, and I’ve been most content in leaving it be—leaving it in the past, as it is painfully obvious that Replie and the others would not do something like that again—and it seems to me that Replie herself is at least attempting to leave it behind.

Forty-one days… that’s also how long it’s been since Sun Smile had first chased after me to return my “tip” (I’ve learned her name since then). Now, of course, she doesn’t recognize me as I take on the act of Wood Work sitting in the corner of the restaurant and working on a dinner of salad and noodles in an “apple broth” (true to some suspicions, there are indeed options for a more carnivorous broth, but that isn’t part of Wood Work, and in any case, it all tastes the same to me); all the while, I feign ignorance to the “bedroom eyes” Rough Diamond occasionally shoots at me from two tables to my left, but I only barely need to “feign,” for my attention is instead drawn to a particular light blue-coated mare with silvery-white hair and purple eyes; the absence of her cape (along with her hat) leaves her Cutie Mark of a star-tipped wand and magician’s veil obvious, even from the other side of the room.

Trixie—who else would it be? Certainly no Changeling would risk starvation by taking the place of a traveling showmare—sits alone as she munches slowly through a hayburger, quite as indifferent to my observance of her as I play to Rough Diamond’s silent “advances” on me. Just as the three of us (Trixie, Diamond, and myself) are about to finish our respective dinners, Braeburn—himself!—finishes paying for his own meal, walks up to Trixie’s table, and sits opposite her with a… not very friendly look on his face. It’s then I remember that, besides everything else, Trixie had “beaten” Applejack in a rather embarrassing (for the Earth pony) way, and as the Element of Honesty, I can only imagine her admitting her defeat, perhaps sometime after the issue with the buffalo had been dealt with. I can also only imagine that Braeburn, after hearing of such a thing, would have a few choice words to say about Trixie performing in Apploosa.

Unfortunately, the general din of ponies talking over their dinners and the distance between us leaves me most in the dark about Braeburn’s and Trixie’s actual words—or, if their expressions are any indication, “whispered argument” may be more apt a description. My staring at them, however, doesn’t go unnoticed by Rough Diamond, who turns from confused, to “put off,” to angry within seconds. Pushing away the rest of my meal, I purposefully weave between tables to get closer to them than strictly necessary to get to the register to pay; I sigh when Diamond follows me with the intent of… something I’d rather not think about.

Before I can get within earshot, however, Trixie notices us and stands up in the middle of Braeburn’s whispered (what I suspect is) ranting, and, ignoring his affronted look, Trixie rushes ahead of me to pay; with an offended sort of snort, Braeburn exits, though I suspect this is hardly the end of his “campaign.”

“Table two,” I murmur, now used to the restaurant’s “new” addition of the electronic register, which the ponies run on a trust (… always, always…) system of the customers keeping track of their own table number. In the beginning, I had been confused and hadn’t known I should keep track of which table at which I had been seated, but at least I hadn’t been the only one, and the owner had been very understanding and patient and… all those things expected of a pony interacting with another pony.

Leaving Rough Diamond to pay as fast as she can so she doesn’t lose track of me, I trot out as fast as I dare inside the respectable establishment, and step outside into the end of what I can only suppose to be either a shouting match or verbal beating—no one is eating outside, given the rapidly cooling evening desert air and the low angle of the setting Sun, which annoyingly glares off at least one window no matter which direction one may turn.

“… -You’re nothing but a coward and liar, and tomorrow I better see the back of your pathetic wagon heading back to wherever you came from!” Braeburn, glaring at the mare standing her ground, points with a forehoof to the wagon parked at the end of the road before making a rather violent “out” gesture. I stand at the low fence surrounding the restaurants outdoor tables, where I had stopped when I heard the vehementness in Braeburn’s accusations and order… where my mind latches onto one word as Trixie silently turns away with a roll of her eyes.

“… Coward…”

“Wood Work?” Rough Diamond steps up next to me, but I barely notice. “Double W?” Even the playful nickname—up until this moment sure to catch my attention—fails, but now Diamond turns more worried than angry. “Do you know that blue mare? Are you okay?”

I at least manage to nod, but I tune out whatever she says next as I begin to walk slowly after Trixie. Coward… Coward… the word rings in my head. Fear… Scared…

Then, I realize something. Something horrible… It should have been obvious. I should have known it before, but I had dismissed as ridiculous. Or impossible. Both! But now, when I whisper these three words to myself, I know they are true: “Celestia… is… scared.”

Scared! Princess Celestia, practically (if not actually!) a physical god, is scared! And not without reason! No! Why wouldn’t she be?! Who knows how long it's been since Equestria has faced a threat capable of subduing the entire Royal Guard, capturing the Elements of Harmony, and defeating Celestia (and presumably Luna) in one day?!

… But that’s not all… My trot turns into a canter. That’s not the only reason…

She’s scared stiff about how Changelings can crumble the foundation of trust without needing to do anything—just as I proved! She's so scared, she doesn't know what to do besides kill and try to scare away what's scaring her… If this war is going to end with any semblance of happiness, then she has be shown the truth, somehow, before it gets out of hand… but nopony is going to do that, even if a pony can step back from thinking of her as the infallible goddess she’s not and realize the truth… and no Changeling would dare approach her in order to confront her about this…

Which leaves this… to something neither pony, nor Changeling…

I’m now sprinting steadily towards the only chance I see; that chance which has already disappeared into her wagon. Damn me and my reckless, fatal selflessness! So I tell myself, but truthfully, I know that no matter the outcome of the brewing war, scavengers would be hunted down, whether by Princess Celestia or Queen Chrysalis, there would be no difference in the outcome: both would kill us, either forced by the war to finally give in and start testing the residents of Equestria for Changelings, or, after winning Equestria, hunting down the scavenger “deserters,” and punishing them accordingly…

In other words, I, and those three who saved my life, are dead either way. When you only have one bullet, better to shoot in the dark than wait until it’s too late…

"I'm not brave..."

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Alteration One:

Ponies

Chapter 9:

“I’m not brave…”

I slow to a stop about a meter away from the wagon, and there I do nothing for a long moment as I simply stare at it—long enough a moment for Rough Diamond to step in beside me, looking at me still worriedly, but kindly not saying anything yet. That wagon… it looks so… innocuous and plain; not a place one would expect a peacemongering campaign to begin. Such a cliché. Dangerously clichéd. This has a very high chance of being A Bad Idea and getting me killed or at least putting me in a bunch of ridiculous scenarios. I snort with derision, then chuckle as I shake my head. -but who would be better suited to show me around Equestria? I need information first and as quickly as possible. Information: the only weapon I could possibly wield against the Bearers and Celestia… and Luna.

“Rough Diamond…” I say softly as I finally turn to face her eye-to-eye—maybe a bit too softly, if the way her ears perk up is any indication, and I’ve been getting better and better at reading pony expressions lately, which will only make it harder to act ignorant. “I do know this mare, Trixie, from a long time ago—before I moved here—and I’m just worried about her and would like to talk with her a bit… alone.” I had known even before I said her name that that last word could only affect her negatively in one way or another, but it’s the most important word. Even if she and her advances on “me”—Wood Work—are the most awkward things I’ve experienced in my life, I can never wish any harm, even this, on her, but I can see no other way to make sure she doesn’t hear my proposal—not in that way!—to Trixie. “Okay?”

A myriad of emotions write and rewrite their signatures over Diamond’s face—not that I need to see her face to know which directions the tornado is going through her mind. First, eyes narrowed and eyebrows pulled together with suspicion; second, lowing her head to look at the ground as she berates herself for jumping to jealous conclusions, then chewing on her lip as she debates, going back and forth; finally, a sigh as she decides to put my wants above her own—she is so kind, even more so than the average pony; a real stallion would be so lucky to have her in his herd. From her emotions I already had known she would let me go from the beginning, but I put up an act of looking worried as I wait for her ultimatum, and I release a sigh of my own when she finally says, “Yeah… Okay. If it’s so important to you…”

She starts to turn away, but I shoot out a hoof to stop her with nothing more than a light touch to her flank—not as sexual an act as one such as myself might consider, or indeed sexual at all—and get her to turn around with a little pressure. “Thank you,” I say as I give her a quick one-hooved hug, pulling back with a grin large enough to make me close my eyes in that way ponies do; it’s only partially—not even a tenth—faked. “You’re always so… considerate, amongst so many other admirable things.” I worry that I may be pushing the limits of Wood Work’s design a bit, but I know I’m not; I know it’s only a psychological distraction—an attempt by my survival instinct to convince me that what I’m doing is wrong.

After getting over the surprise, she returns the hug, and we pull back at the same time, having hugged for a length of time just shy of being too intimate for “just” friends. “See you tomorrow,” she says, and it’s not a question, or anything with implications—she really will see me, or rather she’ll see Twin as Wood Work, since he’s currently working on replacing some rotted flooring in the house that’s directly on the opposite side of the street from Diamond’s residence and place of work.

Nodding once, I then watch her walk down the street; the shadows around her, and the way the Sun only shines on one side of her body reminds me of how late it is, making me jump and hover for a moment in shock (Equestrian “physics”…). I better just get this over with—like ripping a band aid, but… I kind of hoped I would be able to come up with a way to “breach the subject” on my way over here. Forget it; I don’t have to be… honest… right away! As much as I’d hate to give Celestia even more ammo against me, I can’t risk a bet on Trixie being more open minded than any other pony. I sigh with dejection at the fact I must again fool a pony in order to get what I want from her, but still turn back to the wagon and walk up to it as I shake my head—I need to get back into the role of Wood Work before somepony sees me and starts worrying, which would lead to questions, which would lead to unnecessary complications with the invented disguise.

I lift a hoof to knock at the door, but suddenly, before I can touch it, it is surrounded by a light purple-pinkish glow of magic (oh so familiar, of course) and opens up to reveal Trixie laying upon a cot barely big enough to hold her—though the wagon itself seems hardly fit as a closet for a quadrupedal creature, never mind fit to live in for any length of time. “Trixie heard you wish to speak with her… alone,” she smirks and quirks an eyebrow as she says the last word, which makes me pause—is she actually making a joke or does she really think I-…? Ew! No! Bad male brain! Of course not!—“Well, come in.” she loses what little patience she had in under a minute and beckons; the amusement that had graced her muzzle for so short a time is gone.

Shrugging with Wood Work’s pegasus wings, I step in and take a look around, kicking the door shut behind me. As could be suspected, the place is quite cramped: at the far wall is the bed, and next to it against the left wall is a coat stand in front of a window holding a number of identical hats and cloaks, while opposite the rack on the right wall is a trunk/chest-thing under that side’s window, the contents of which I can only guess at. On either side of the door is a barrel (probably containing water, I guess) and miniscule icebox-looking-thing (presumably powered by magic). This leaves enough space for about one full grown pony and a foal, if one is not counting the space on the bed. The whole place is illuminated in a suspicious purple-pink by a lantern hanging from the ceiling with a “flame” of the same color; heavy curtains are drawn against the setting Sun, preventing its light from diluting the color of Trixie’s magic.

Eventually, Trixie seems to get impatient again, and begins to tap her forehooves together to get my attention; not a bad strategy, as the sound they produce is quite annoying when repeated in a rhythmic dripping-faucet-like pattern. When I only look at her but don’t say anything, as I still haven’t the slightest idea how to bring up the topic—Maybe it’ll be better if I wait for her to say something, and I can bring the conversation around slowly?—Trixie slowly raises her eyebrows before finally breaking the silence. “Well, my little imposter? What do you want from Trixie?” She narrows her eyes then and mumbles something to herself.

I blink rather stupidly at her words—Come on! Come on! You know the longer you wait the more suspicious you’ll look!—before I manage to cough some feeling back into my throat, which had dried without me noticing. “Uhm, im- ‘imposter?’ I… don’t know what you mean. My name is… Wood Work, and-…” I start to introduce “myself,” but Trixie rolls her eyes and scoffs, making me slow and eventually stop as I swallow a nervous lump. Who knows how long it’s been since the Ursa incident, or, if it’s past, the Alicorn Amulet incident? Just because she wasn’t powerful then-… I really don’t want to finish that thought! I swallow again, discovering my saliva has developed a consistency like peanut butter.

Then, inexplicably, her eyes soften. “Please, your kind cannot fool the true master of illusion: the Great and Powerful Trixie!” She suddenly jumps to her hooves before rearing up in what I presume is supposed to be an impressive display (but the absence of her hat and cloak greatly diminish the effect) before she lets herself fall back onto the bed with a great and powerful whoomp. “-but… you also need not fear her.” A smile graces her lips again as she says this.

That doesn’t stop me, though, from reaching halfway into my magic, ready to fight and keep her from shouting out my and the other Changelings’ secret. “I… don’t?” Indeed, as she shakes her head with that smile not leaving, I notice that her horn isn’t glowing… that, and the way she’s laid herself out on her bed: relaxed, unconcerned, and… exposed. I let out a great (and powerful) sigh of relief as I pull myself out a defensive stance I hadn’t realized I’d been in, and as the adrenaline wears away, I put a hoof up to my oh-so-slowly decelerating heart. “How did you… uh… know? -and why are you so… calm? -indifferent? -or whatever it is you are?” What would one call a pony who is so… this after discovering a Changeling in their home?!

Trixie chuckles as she stretches out a bit before answering. “Trixie overheard you talking with that pony who followed you from the restaurant. You said you know Trixie, but she doesn’t know you. -or at least she don’t know Wood Work. Has Trixie met you before?” Something about her answer and question strikes me as distinctly odd, but as I don’t answer back, trying to think of what exactly is bothering me, Trixie decides to go on. “As for why Trixie is so calm around you, or any Changeling—especially nukapish—is not only because she is very well-traveled, and therefore has encountered many cultures too alien for most Equestrians to even imagine, but because she’s dealt with Changelings many times and long before the attack on Canterlot. Who would have thought that a traveling showmare with a talent in illusion magic would attract that kind of attention?” Of course, her use of the word nukapish proves beyond any doubt she certainly knows Changelings better than the average pony, and—most importantly!—isn’t so biased against us.

“Wait!” I cry out when the answer pops into my head, “That doesn’t make sense! How did Trixie- I mean, you figure out I’m a Changeling from just me saying I know Trik- you! -but you don’t know me? Isn’t the more likely conclusion that I simply mistook you for somepony else?” I sit and raise an eyebrow; only after I ask the question do I figure it doesn’t really matter how Trixie knows, but that acknowledgement can’t stop that unknown from bothering me. Trixie opens her mouth, about to answer (I guess), but I yell, “Wait! Again!” before jumping onto the trunk to peer out between the curtains, and thankfully no pony is in view, but-.

“Relax: nopony—or anything at all—can hear us. Trixie has an enchantment placed on her wagon at all times that blocks any sound from escaping… as long as the windows and door are closed.” When I give her a dubious look from the window, with my forehooves still on the sill, she huffs, “I am- The Great and Powerful Trixie is the master of illusion magic! -and that includes not merely the sense of sight, but all senses! -and, as a master, I not only can make others sense things that aren’t there, but make them not sense what is there!” I don’t know when or how it happened, but when Trixie stops ranting, I realize I had backed away from her, now scooted into the corner and cowering on top of the icebox, and she is now standing, crouched as if ready to pounce; there’s a growl in her throat and her breath hisses as it passes through her clenched, bared teeth, which sends a new thrill of terror through me when I see they’re sharp like a wolf’s!

Considering them for a moment, that last part is what knocks me out of my fight-or-flee instincts: naturally, Trixie doesn’t have teeth like any kind of predator’s—she has “illusioned” them (that’s a word now, because I’m sure I’m going to be needing it if I convince Trixie to let me travel with her). As I lower my poor heart from its second fright in less than an hour, I huff out between gasping breaths, “Ah… Right-. … Of course you- … -can do that. … Uh… What were we- … -talking about- … -again?” Understandably, I want to pull the topic back to more civil grounds as quickly as possible.

Half falling, half slumping into a sitting position, Trixie takes a moment to regather herself before answering. -or so I think before she speaks. “I’m sorry. Ever since-… ermf… I can get really defensive when someone doubts my abilities.” As I lower myself back to the floor, I wonder if perhaps that “ever since-” concerns the Ursa incident, but I quickly decide not to bring it up incase it is—I need Trixie on my side. “So, we were talking about-…?” Trixie taps her chin a couple times before having a silent “eureka!” moment. “You were asking me-… how Trixie knew you were a Changeling.” Here, Trixie shoots me a nervous grin that squeaks (honestly, Discord didn’t need to do anything to make Equestria not make sense). “Trixie figured it out because… of her ability to detect illusion spells…” Is it just me, or does it sound like… that’s the one part of herself that she’s not only not proud of, but is—maybe—ashamed of? She did try to hide that particular ability by using that pitiful “evidence” first… but why? Ever more and more impossible to answer questions; something tells me I don’t think Trixie will be spilling the beans on this one without serious prying—which I’m not all that inclined to do, even if I had the leverage to do so. I have enough to worry about right now…

Something about her smile now is not entire convincing, either. That, and where have I heard of something like that before?… Ah, yes: Chrysalis… Let’s hope this isn’t a repeat of my “encounter” with her. I quirk an eyebrow (There’s a lot of that going on here lately…) “Hmm… I don’t think so. A Changeling’s… change is transformation magic.” As soon as I say it, however, I’m not so sure. Wait… if that’s true… Trixie was just now talking about “senses,” so if I transform into a pony when I “change,” then why don’t I get a pony’s taste buds, unless-?! Oh, manure… She’s going to call me out on my “lie,” isn’t she?

However, instead of narrowing her eyes, baring her teeth, or showing any of the expected signs of aggression towards me (again) for doubting her, she instead smirks before outright laughing a great belly laugh (though she doesn’t really have much of a belly; a result of her travelling alone and therefore pulling her own wagon all the time, I guess) that forces her to fall back on the bed and roll back and forth; at first, I myself am mildly amused by the display—after I get over my surprise—but soon I wilt under her laughter and shrink down in shame. When she regains control of herself Trixie says to the ceiling, “Oh, whoever you are, I told you I’ve come to know many Changelings during my travels, and if there’s one thing I know about Changelings that nopony else knows, it’s that Changelings can’t transform their horn away, so they have to hide it with an invisibility spell; even if they transform into a unicorn or alicorn, the pony-like horn is just a cover for the real horn, silly Changeling.” -and with that she trails off into giggles.

“Oh…” is all I am able to voice as my mind zooms backwards all the way to that first day where I had seen a glow of magic over “Hopping Hills’s” forehead, where, now I understand, Twin’s horn had been illusioned away. Changing has come so instinctively to me, even from the beginning, that I hadn’t even realized the specifics of the process involved—but why does that process involve illusioning away one’s horn instead of transforming it away? -and my sense of taste, at least, I can’t regain, but is that for the same reason, or a different one? “So, you know… that,” I say quickly, before (I hope) I start to look suspicious. Hah! A Changeling not looking suspicious? I’m pretty sure they have a word for that that starts with “o”… and it’s not “odd”!

At that, Trixie rolls back onto her belly and rolls her eyes at me. “Of course Trixie does! She just told you she can sense illusions,” She starts out strong, confidant, and somewhat condescending, but when she mentions her illusion-sensing ability, she again seems to crumple in on herself mentally—Okay, that’s twice now; definitely suspicious—but she recuperates fairly quickly and just as quickly changes the subject. “Anyway, Trixie thinks she knows what you want. She has travelled across Equestria with Changelings before, even once escorting a Changeling who had been crippled after the attack on Canterlot back to Hasharstan. I can take you anywhere safely.” Somehow, I doubt that… and how small is the chance that the one place I think you can’t get me into safely is the place I need to go?

Still, something strikes me as odd about her last statement. “Why?” I ask, “I mean, have any of those Changelings told you why they came to you? -you, specifically?” She said something about, I think, Changelings being “attracted” to her because of her illusion skills, but it is that the whole story? I tilt my head, trying to look innocently curious, and though something tells me Trixie doesn’t buy it, she doesn’t make her own inquiry.

However, she doesn’t answer right away, either, but looks up at the purple “flame” while humming in thought, until after at least a whole minute she turns back to me. “No, or at least no reason that made enough of an impression on Trixie for her to remember it,” she shrugs as she explains her potential memory lapses, “but she has her own little theory that she’s developed over the years, if you’d like to hear it?” I shrug myself, then motion with a kind of dip of my head for her to go on.

Again she takes a moment, this time closing her eyes—I’m guess she’s trying to collect her thoughts into a logical enough order so she can put them into words. “Over the years…” she starts with her eyes still closed, “one of the most important things Trixie learned is that Changelings aren’t all that different from ponies.” That earns her a raised eyebrow from me, but of course she can’t see it, and I’m unwilling to stop her. “-mentally, anyway.” She smirks, and in that instant I realize that she could be using some illusion to make it seem like she has her eyes close. In this lighting, after all, I wouldn’t be able to see her magic!… No, I can’t think like that. Trust; that’s the biggest piece of this puzzle I have right now, so I’m just going to have to go with it… but—of course!—I can’t just trust her for trust’s sake!

I can only suppose Trixie—proving me right—had noticed me delving into my own thoughts rather than her story, for she continues only when I come back to the present. “Which means she also knows that Changelings have no ‘hivemind’ that everypony suddenly started on about after the attack on Canterlot—not that anypony besides Trixie even knew that Changelings existed before that!—and it’s obvious that all those other things that’ve supposedly been found out about Changelings are blatant lies to anyone with-!” Trixie’s voice has steadily rose into a rant, which she just now realizes and stops herself—ranting about pony misconceptions on Changelings? Interesting. After waiting for her breathing to slow, she gets back on track. “What Trixie means is that just because Changelings don’t have a hivemind doesn’t mean they don’t have a hive mentality similar to ponies’ herd mentality: some kind of ‘safety in numbers’ instinct. Trixie has only ever… worked with one Changeling at a time, for any length of time; sometimes her wagon got more crowded, but Changelings almost always prefer the company of other Changelings, so at those times they usually left Trixie earlier than they originally planned…” Yet again that tone of voice: something like shame, but… “deeper”…

At what she says, however, I only hum, careful not to either nod or shake my head, though I know what she’s talking about in regards to the herd/hive mentality, having experienced it on multiple occasions now myself. After an appropriate “topic changing” pause, I’m about to say something about the “work” she just mentioned when she speaks up again. “So, now it is Trixie’s turn for questions… unless you had another?” she asks, noticing how I jump when she cut across my thought processes, but I shrug. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough, and what ever it is, I have to do it. -for everyone. “Trixie wonders: are you the only one going?”

I don’t have to think about that before I nod; even if one of the others—most likely Replie—wants to come with me, I have to be adamant that, if I fail—an all too real possibly, but one I have to ignore—I will at least fail alone and bring no one down with me. “-but I’ll be leaving with a different disguise. There are… others who will still need Wood Work,” I quickly elaborate.

“Trixie half expected that.” She nods and smiles at first, but then her eyes slide out of focus and she frowns. I can only guess at what she might be thinking: why I’m leaving, why they’re staying, especially so close to the border, or maybe even why she’s offering this “hidden” service. Either she thinks through whatever it is quickly, or she dismisses it, for she shakes her head almost instantly before smiling again. “Of course, Trixie advises you to disguise yourself as an Earth pony, so you may work for Trixie without as much risk. Trixie hopes you didn’t think she ferries Changelings back and forth across the country for free, after all!”

-and there it is. I can’t help but groan at what I imagine she’ll be having me do as an Earth pony. “I suppose that’d be because you want a strong set of legs to ferry you around in your own wagon? -setup the stage? -pull around your wheel-less, giant four-poster bed?” -and there that is! I know Trixie has already made her first appearance in Ponyville because of Braeburn’s reaction, but now this will either give Trixie the idea for her second appearance, or… pull… her… smile down. Well, that wasn’t what I-!… Great.

Almost instantly she begins to fidget as, I imagine, she tries to come up with some kind of convincing lie. “I-… er… Trixie-… That was-… I wasn’t-… didn’t-!” she shouts and rushes on, “I didn’t mean any of what I did. The Amulet-. I didn’t know what it would do!” Well, then! Color me surprised! I was sure for a moment Trixie would deny it or try to work around the issue in some other-. Wait! I wonder… could that sensing-illusions thing have something to do with the Alicorn Amulet incident? Not that I have any evidence… and I can’t see how yet, but it may just be something to keep in mind. Soon enough Trixie, perhaps after frantically arriving at the conclusion that I couldn’t know about the Alicorn Amulet—and I’m not about to correct her; I have the information I want—coughs in an about-to-change-topic way. “An-Anyway, not exactly, though we will take turns at pulling Trixie’s wagon, naturally, but I say Earth pony because I want your assistance on stage for an act. I don’t want you to participate here—that would be far too suspicious, since… Braeburn,” she hacks out the name as if it’s a hair trying to snake down her throat, “knows Trixie is here alone. she’ll explain the specifics another time, since it’s getting late-”—how does she know with the curtains-? Oh: more illusions, I’m guessing—“-but she can say you don’t have to do much of anything but move where and how Trixie says. Now, before Trixie asks you to leave so she can sleep, one last question: Where do you want to go? -if you have a specific destination in mind, of course…”

I grimace, knowing this question would come, but hoping it would have be asked a little bit later, maybe even after we leave. Looking down, I say to the floor, “I… have to get to-…” No. I can’t be like this. No hesitation. No questions. No choices. I look back up with a vigor in my eyes that makes Trixie pull her head back with wide-eyed surprise, and what I say certainly doesn’t help. “I have to get to Canterlot. Not immediately, mind; I won’t be bothered if we take a bit of a more winding route.” -because I need to see what the life of a pony in Equestria is really about before I see Celestia again…

“Canter-…-lot?” Trixie puts a hoof to her mouth, and this time I can’t even guess what may be going on in her mind. “Why? A Changeling entering Canterlot is-… That city has the largest concentration of guards who, despite Celestia’s policies and orders, still watch carefully for anything that looks halfway like Changeling activity…” She lowers her hoof, then turns away and down, now staring at it with a thoughtful crease to her brow.

“That’s what I’ve come to you for, Miss Master of Illusions.” I smirk, but she doesn’t look up, or even react in any way, never mind any way I imagined—and hoped—she would. “As for why-…” I can’t tell the truth. First, she probably wouldn’t believe (I know I wouldn’t believe me in her position), and second, I’m not going to accidentally incriminate her—or at least make it look worse for her—in case things go bad. “-that’s my business, and mine alone.”

Trixie nods, now actually closing her eyes. “Alright. Trixie will help,” she says in the general direction of her pillow. “-but now it is getting late, and Trixie thinks you still have a lot to talk about with your friends.” This time, she smirks as I turn around and leave, the “candle” extinguishing just before I close the door behind me.

She’s right. Now… for the hard part. I sigh as I trot slowly through the town that had become a haven- a false haven to me for such a short time that had seemed so long.

When I finally enter the underground room, I had become so lost in thought trying to create some plan of attack that minimized the chance of Reflection, Twin, and/or (especially) Replie hating me, that at first I don’t realize where I am until I’m inexplicably wearing a giant, furred necklace determined to choke the life out of me—i.e. Replie. “What took you so long?!” she chides, pounding my back with just enough force to leave a sting that lingers.

“What? You were worried about eména?” I ask jokingly, chuckling as I pat her a bit more gently on her back. I wonder if it’s just me that finds something familiar about this scene? Doesn’t matter… no more distractions. The sobering, self-telling-off makes me stop laughing in a way that I realize too late is rather worrying itself; at this, Replie pulls back, nodding slowly, uncertainly. I don’t answer the unspoken questions I can feel in their emotions, but fly somewhat languidly onto one of the couches, and the others quickly take seats opposite me; their quiet, concern yet unrushed makes me feel even worse for what I know my words will do to them. “To be honest…” I start, but shake my head; there had never been the question of “are you being honest?” in this room outside of being a joke. “I’ll just come right out with it:-”—Like a band aid—“-I’m going to be leaving Apploosa… soon. I’m not sure about exactly when, but… that fact is at least pretty much written in stone.”

The effect may not have been as bad as I’d been imagining, but then again the mind's eye for the future tends towards the extremes of any spectrum, so I may not be the best judge at the moment. Twin is simultaneously disbelieving and something that can only be described as “waiting-for-the-punch-line” which I’m sure has something to do with my use of “to be honest.” Well, that really bit me hard in the behind, didn’t it? Next to him, Reflection… frowns and tilts her head, but also nods in a knowing way that implies she’d been expecting something like this to happen eventually. Finally… Replie. She gasps and puts a forehoof up to her chest; tears start to pool and she shakes her head disbelievingly. “No. No, You’re not! You’re-…!” She screams with her voice on the border of shrill that still makes me wince, but I must stay strong here; she—they—deserve nothing less than the whole truth. “Where would you go?! Why?!”

Those two damning questions… Better to get the hard stuff out of the way first, isn’t it? I look down at the floor under the table and let out a sigh so long I start to feel a little lightheaded near the end of it. No knocking yourself unconscious to get out of this one, Alternate. “I’m going to-”—moment of truth—“-Canterlot.” Not good enough. “Canterlot Castle. -to speak with Celestia.”

Their reactions are about as “good” I could expect at my most optimistic. “Samuura hamix! Do you have a deathwish!?” Reflection shouts, abandoning her earlier calm acceptance—not that I had expected her response be any less worried for my safety than her words, as angry as they sound, truly indicate.

At the same time, Replie again cries out, “No! No, you’re not!” but they all must know I’m being completely serious. Twin seems to have gone from disbelief to trying to convince himself not to believe me as he closes his eyes, hangs his head, and jerkily shakes it as if in answer to some question in his own mind.

I can’t do this and fight against their emotions at the same time! I need to get across my reasoning first. No distractions! “Let me explain.” I hold up a hoof to catch their attention and prepare to catch Replie in case she decides to fly at me; certainly, the way she’s staring at me, whimpering quietly, hiccupping occasionally, and eyes watering all make me worry about being choked into unconsciousness (maybe by accident) so that I’ll miss leaving with Trixie. “All three of you-… I know you know that no matter what happens, our days here—in Apploosa, as Wood Work—are coming to an end, and soon.”

No distractions! Before I can gauge their reaction to this, I quickly close my eyes, but not tightly, only to look as though I’m thinking, but in my strangely clear mind—perhaps it has to do with actually being focused on something for once since I’ve arrived in Equestria?—I already know what to say. “Whether you think Queen Chrysalis has a chance of successfully attacking Canterlot again or not, she’s going to try. I can think of only two outcomes: One, she wins Canterlot and eventually Equestria, and once her victory is secured, she’ll come after those who didn’t believe in her and abandoned Hasharstan. Two, she fails, and maybe it will take multiple attacks, but eventually Princess Celestia will be forced to admit that stronger security against Changelings is needed, and she won’t care whether the Changelings she finds and kills are spies or scavengers. One way or another, this war is going to kill us, even if we don’t participate.”

“How can you… know those are the only two possibilities?” Twin’s uncertainty is obvious; as for the others, I continue to strain to keep from looking at them. What they think is of no consequence, I’m doing this no matter what! I slowly lower my hoof down before answering.

“A couple of things that Princess Celestia said when she confronted me over a month ago…” I hear the expected uneasy drawing in of breath from all three of them at the mention of my encounter. “First, the thing that saved my life from her: She said that the base of Equestria is trust, and I know she believes in trust because it was her trust in… Fluttershy’s, Rarity’s, and Rainbow Dash’s judgment that she spared me.” I shiver and sigh as I see flashes of those wonderful ponies defending me, even against their Princess—it’s still a little hard believe. “However… when Fluttershy explained her defense, Celestia said something else. Something about animals being more dangerous when they’re hungry. I didn’t think much of it at the time, since I figured anything I said would automatically be taken as a lie, but now I know she tricked- lied to Fluttershy… though I’m not sure if she realized it herself. Hunger is just a kind of fear, and it’s fear, in the broadest sense, that makes anything dangerous, and… after the siege, I’d bet- I am going to bet my life that Celestia is scared, that the only thing holding her back is trust, and that someone has to pull her back before Chrysalis pushes her past the limits of that trust—that tiny sliver of potential trust that I’m going to try to cultivate inside her. There’s a chance; I can just feel it. I can feel that there has to be something-… something else beyond the trust of her subjects that’s holding her back—that I have to… get to.”

A pause, and the only thing I hear is breathing; two heavy and thoughtful, and the third quick and panicky. After a long moment—longer than I expected—there’s a sudden buzz of Changeling wings and a set of holed hooves wraps around me again; I don’t move an inch to stop Replie, or push her away, instead I simply remain still, or as still as I can with a shivering Changeling hanging off my neck, crying as silently as possible, face buried against the shoulder where my scars from so long ago (or not really so long ago) are now hidden by my fur. “Why?” She eventually manages to ask, “Why you? Why does it have to be you? Why not someone else? -somepony else?!” and by her tone, I can tell she already knows, or at least suspects, my reasoning.

“Replie-…” Breathe in. Breathe out. No… distractions. It starts to get hard to think such a thing, however, with my shoulder wet and getting wetter. “Replie, you know no pony is ever going to go against Princess Celestia on something like this; even if some- very precious few ponies don’t think of us as mindless, soulless monsters, even fewer wouldn’t find at least some merit in the argument that Changelings are a threat to Equestria.” I can’t hold myself back any longer, and give in to hugging Replie, loosening the valve on my heart slightly, and pulling her tighter against me, though her own grip is already quite firm. “As for-… Even if there is another Changeling out there willing to stand before Celestia, I just feel-… I think my previous encounter with her may just give me the tiniest boost I’ll need to convince her. -or at least make it easier for me than for anyone else.” That last part I’m not entirely certain about, but I need to say something halfway realistic.

“We don’t-…” Reflection starts, but swallows nervously; when I look over at her questioningly—Reflection? Nervous?… If we were ponies, I’d think she’d been replaced by a Changeling!—she looks pained, as if she expects whatever she has to say will hurt her. “We don’t have to stay here!”—Now that’s… interesting… She’s almost pleading now. “It’ll be easier to travel once Silverglass hatches; we can leave the week after that! Gryffia. Saddle Arabia. Anywhere that’s not Equestria or Hasharstan.” Silverglass… I look over at the egg that has been here since I first arrived, with very definite features; I wouldn’t be surprised if it hatched before the end of the month, and then… It would be so easy to leave. I… once was a human—I think—so this war has nothing to do with me. Going somewhere would certainly give me a greater chance of survival than purposefully waltzing into the Canterlot throne room right in front of the immortal Sun Princess who called me an enemy of Equestria on sight!

However… “Reflection, why did you come here in the first place? After you… ‘abandoned’ Queen Chrysalis, why did you come to Equestria, instead of going to one of those other places you just mentioned?” I could also say I don’t know how to transform into anything besides a pony, but they’d just say they can teach me, and I can’t let them let themselves get distracted from the point here, either! No relenting. I don’t give her any time to answer beyond the widening of her eyes and, I suspect, the quickening in her heartbeat. “Replie told me that night all that time ago what role you played during the siege on Canterlot. I-.”

“D-Don’t-. Don’t talk about that!” Somewhere in my brain a wire must have been crossed or something, because at first I hear those words in Reflection’s voice until something else catches up and corrects the mistake, and I realize it’s Replie yelling into my arm. “Why do you have to bring… that up… again! Leave it alone… in the past where it belongs!” Finally, she pulls away slightly so she can at least look at me. “Why does it matter, anyway? If we weren’t… here-. I don’t want to think about it!”

Right. If Twin hadn’t been there that first day, I might not have realized the border guards were coming towards me until it was too late, and they would’ve… “I’m not asking about ‘what if,’ I’m asking about ‘why.’ Why Equestria, given your… ‘history’ here?” I wait, but no answer comes. Twin and Reflection look at each other, then turn their eyes down, while Replie buries her face into my shoulder again. Eventually, I sigh. “Never mind. I think I understand. This whole time, you haven’t cut me off like you, Reflection, did that first day. You listened. You argued against what I said instead of just saying that it’s impossible, or that you don’t care what happens between Equestria and Hasharstan. So-” I snort and shake my head at the revelation, “what happened… on that day in Canterlot is important to you in a different way. At first, maybe it was just about redeeming yourselves, but now you honestly care about ponies for their sake instead of your own… However, you don’t know what to do-. You don’t know what you can do, but you’ve never stopped looking for some kind of opening. Now, here is: you can let me go.”

Nothing.

No argument.

Reflection has closed her eyes softly and calmly, and her breathing has slowed… all as if in meditation. Twin is biting his lip so hard it’s not just his fangs that are drawing blood, but he’s created a long cut across his entire bottom lip, and I imagine he’s also bleeding into his mouth, if his periodic swallowing is any indication. Replie, meanwhile, has gone completely stiff, so much so I can barely feel her shallow breathing as her ribs rhythmically and almost imperceptibly rub against my leg. I believe this is what they’d call “hitting the nail on the head”…

“I’ll go with you.” Replie breaks the silence of unknown time, and she finally moves, pulling herself completely away from me, sitting back; her whole face is matted and wet from having rubbed her tears into my shoulder—looking, in fewer words, utterly miserable… except her eyes, now burning away the tears with fiery determination. “You-… Everyone this war would affect could use all the help you can get to try to stop it. I can-.”

“No.” When I cut her off, she just stares at me. Before going on to explain, I pull her back against me in another hug. “Replie, I don’t-… Anything you could help me with, any argument you could provide against Celestia, I can do and say alone. There’s no reason to risk your life, too… Besides, Reflection and Twin could really use your help after Silverglass hatches. You’re part of her hive now, and she cou-.” I just start saying whatever comes to my mind, hoping some of it sticks to Replie and holds her here—keeps her from trying to follow me after I leave.

“I am not a… queen!” Reflection juts in, half-leaping forward, stomping her forehooves onto the table between us, and buzzing her wings—something she very rarely does, even when agitated—but even as she does this, her love doesn’t change; it never has since I started doing my share as Wood Work—neither has Twin’s changed, and Replie’s has only even grown stronger.

Yet even besides that, her new position only helps to show off how wrong she is. “Reflection,” I shake me head, “stop lying to yourself. Look at your stomach!” I point to those fleshy, furless bands all Changelings have, but which on Reflection has been slowly turning green since about three weeks ago; hers are still a much darker green that Chrysalis’s, but then her first egg has yet to hatch. “Look at your mane and tail!” I point to each in turn, which, to my surprise when I had first noticed it, is now an extremely grayed-out purple. “Your horn is growing longer. Your Wings are growing larger. You are growing taller. As much as you say you’re not a queen, I don’t think your body cares.” With each thing I point out, Reflection shrinks back a little until she’s sitting back, and with that last sentence, she tilts her head until it’s leaning against Twin; I turn to him next. “Twin… you most likely saved my life that day. I was in such shock from everything that had happened that I’m sure, now, I wouldn’t’ve been able to make it on my own. I don’t want to make you feel like your efforts that day were wasted, but I-.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head with a smile that seems halfway a smirk. “So I saved your life? I didn’t ask for anything in return, and I never will. I’m not going to hold that or anything else over you. I keep forgetting-… I guess you wouldn’t know that’s not how Changelings do things.” He looks away from me then, and his smile turns to the side of whimsy, and I remember how he had been one of two who didn’t look revolted when I had asked the Manehatten Changelings about ponies. “Maybe-?… Who’s to say it’s impossible? Out of all nukapish, I’d bet you know more about Celestia than any other. So…-” He turns his eyes back to me with that smile striving for a dream still on his muzzle. “-… I trust you.”

The magic word. They’re done. We lay in place for a long while, the only movement being Twin slowly embracing Reflection, and the two of them turning to stare at their egg. “Listen…” I eventually say to catch their attention. “I don’t know when I’ll be leaving. -maybe tomorrow. -maybe the next day or the day after…” I don’t know what else to say after that, but then Replie looks up at me, pleading in her eyes and her love—I know instantly what she wants and why; even I know I might not live. Almost instinctively, I look up at Reflection, recognizing her authority over, if nothing else, at least this. There’s no need for words; she shrugs permissively.

Replie and I barely sleep that night as, instead, we slowly share our bodies, exploring a passion that even a Changeling’s emotion sharing cannot touch. I do take one, and only one, precaution, though; no matter what I’ve told myself, I don’t think I’m ready to be a Changeling’s father yet.

Maybe next time… once this is all over.

The next day, I explain in as much detail as I have my plans for leaving Apploosa, and Twin, before he leaves for the day, promises to get an itinerary from Trixie. After last night, and with our love swirling stronger than ever (strange, how not even two months ago such a turn of phrase would have been more than a little incomprehensible to me, before I became a Changeling and felt how love between Changelings feels), I’m not surprised in the slightest when I don’t feel even the tiniest twitch in emotion or body from Replie—as we lean against each other—that might indicate some jealousy or other fear. As much as she might hate my (for want of a more accurate word) plan, I know I’ve now proven myself to her of my determination to succeed… and my determination to return to her. When did I become so attached, and to a Changeling, of all things?! I only have to again focus on the love energy surging back and forth between us for my answer: It doesn’t matter.

Almost the whole day I spend simply attached, in one way or another, to Replie, and as evening arrives, I debate with myself about attending Trixie’s show, but not for long—a tiny shift of Replie’s, her fur brushing mine, convinces me to remain with her until it’s time to leave Apploosa altogether. That time, as Twin informs me, is to be tomorrow at noon; supposedly, Braeburn has a much stronger influence over the town than either I or Trixie expected, and her performance tonight had barely managed to garner enough bits to cover the cost of traveling to and from the very-out-of-the-way settlement.

That night, I feel like I should barely be able to sleep, but after last night’s activities and the frequent shows of intimacy throughout the day leave me drained, and I fall sleep easily with Replie and I entwined as close as can be. Similarly, I expect my dreams to be haunted by images of Celestia, standing tall and mighty and angry, piercing my chest with her horn before stepping aside to show me the torn bodies of Twin, Reflection, and Replie… or something like that, but instead, if I do dream, I don’t remember them when I wake, and I feel not even the vaguest sense of fear.

Leaving is simple. I have no possessions to call my own, though I had, before seeing Trixie, been thinking of buying a new spellbook, having gone trough all two spellbooks in those underground bookcases, but now that’s not going to happen. They offer me a bag of bits (“Just in case,” Reflection insists), and I decide to take it without fuss, sensing they’ll just keep arguing until I give in. My goodbyes with Reflection and Twin are simple and short, not because their love has decreased in any way, but because of what they expect: indeed, I leave Replie for last, and we hug for some untold time until Trixie arrives. Twin takes on the form of Wood Work and leads Trixie down to us, where she casts an illusion to make me “unseeable” (“-which is different from being invisible,” Trixie insists) after one last kiss with Replie. Then… I leave. Trixie leads me into her wagon, which she’d parked just outside, before hooking herself back up to the harness and heading out of town beside the railroad tracks, as there are no real roads out of Apploosa—a sign of just how far we have to travel before reaching civilization again.

From then on, I don’t have to worry about disguises, but I do work on the one I’ll need for working with Trixie, at her direction: an Earth pony mare, with a build nearly identical to Trixie herself, with a Cutie Mark of theater masks—in other words, with a talent in acting. Some things are left to my discretion, such as her light rose coat, teal eyes, electric purple mane, and her name: Amethyst Act. With my new disguise, I can make a good guess at what Trixie will be having me do once we reach the next town, and, indeed, I’m mostly correct. During shows, Trixie will provide a fake horn for me to wear, “Just in case,” since I can, of course, make my own—and from there I only have to perform a series of acrobatics after Trixie “creates a twin of herself” (in actuality casting an illusion to make me look like her), who then attacks her to prove which Trixie is more great and more powerful—I won’t be using any actual magic myself, as Trixie will be conducting both our “attacks” at the same time. It actually, in my opinion, makes for quite the gripping finale to her magic show.

A week after we leave Apploosa—during which I’ve informed Trixie of quite a lot about what I’ve been through since I’ve arrived in Equestria (edited to fit the story I told Reflection, Replie, and Twin, of course)—and after we’ve stopped for the night, I ask a question that leaves me feeling most stupid after I hear the answer. “Trixie?” I ask to get her attention as she pours over a scroll; I in my Amethyst disguise. “Why should I be an Earth pony? Wouldn’t the act be less stressing on your magic if I transform into you and handle my own attacks?”

Trixie sighs and closes her eyes so much so that I think if I fed off exasperation instead of love I’d be set for the week. Closing the scroll, she sets it back into her trunk (which she’d brought out of her wagon to read its various contents over a fire she’s cooking her dinner on—I’d given up eating physical food, as there is no need for any pazara) before turning to me. “First, your magic would be a dead giveaway—literally. Second, Amethyst Act provides you with a layer of protection from suspicion; when ponies see you walking around with me with that Cutie Mark, they’ll come to their own conclusions when they see you ‘dressed-up’ as me.”

The peculiar sense of stupidity settles over me then. “However-…” I perk up as Trixie taps her chin contemplatively. “What you say about magical exhaustion is true, and Trixie can think of another way, but-! -you must promise her that you will not teach this trick to any other Changeling, no matter who they are, even those ones in Apploosa.” Those words make me blink in disbelief for a moment. Promise? That’s all she wants, and she’ll trust me with this secret of hers? She’s far more trusting of Changelings than your average pony, but this… this is like… how ponies treat each other!

“I promise.” In my head, I have to resist imagining going through the motions of a Pinkie Promise, wondering if Trixie knows what it means (and will therefore think me insane if she doesn’t) and whether she’ll still trust me with this “big secret” of hers if I smile inexplicably.

However, she doesn’t give it so much as a half a second’s thought before she nods. “Excellent, then Trixie will show you the greatest!-… -and only-” she murmurs, “…-spell that the Great and Powerful Trixie has invented!” With that out of the way, she then lifts up the trunk, then one of the very few things concerning magic that I think impossible is performed before my eyes, and in the next second I understand her want to keep this spell from Changelings: the color of her magical aura changes! -shifting from light purple to red to yellow, to green, then back to normal before winking out, dropping the trunk.

Trixie, smirking, allows me a moment to get over my shock—the consequences this spell would have for unicorns, now that everypony knows to look for a green aura-… The impact!—before she tips my frozen self over with a playful hoof. I have to ask her to perform the, as she explains, illusion (what else?) a couple more times before I gain some confidence in attempting it myself. This spell, contrasting with my earlier experiences, takes me almost an hour to gain some competence to the point I barely falter. Holding the illusion while casting another spell is more difficult than I imagine, contrasting with the illusion of keeping my Changeling horn invisible, which comes more naturally.

“Ha!” I exclaim as I hold the trunk aloft in a steady light blue aura, the horn of my currently undisguised self wrapped in same; a second later, my magic winks out as I release the spell with a sigh of satisfied exhaustion—working on such a complicated spell for so long leaves me panting, and I close my eyes and let myself fall against the dusty ground, not caring (at the moment) for the dirt collecting my holes (I hadn’t had any opportunity to learn or ask about the Changeling word for “leg-holes”). “So, you really invented that spell, huh, Trixie?” It’s not really a question; I’ve already reasoned that if anypony else knew of such a spell, it would be a top priority to Queen Chrysalis. Not that I actually know what she is and isn’t after… but the way Trixie asked me to promise her-… I don’t think she has any reason to lie. “You’re-…” I struggle to find some adjective Trixie hasn’t already applied to herself. “-amazing. More so than you think you are, even! -maybe!” I laugh, but, unexpectedly, I don’t hear a single chuckle from Trixie. Wonder if she fell asleep… I peek open an eye, but Trixie is still sitting, eyes open and staring at me with something unreadable on her face, but the sense of her energy flowing into me strengthening (for I had been getting some energy from her since Apploosa, if not very much) gives her away.

I tilt my head at her questioningly, and knowing she’s been ousted by her own emotions, looks away, blushing. That’s strange… I don’t think a simple compliment would provoke that kind of reaction, would it? Not for Trixie, I’d think… Uh-oh… “Trixie’s not-…”—Aaa-and here it comes. -whatever it is.—“Alternate, Trixie-… She-…” She gulps, closes her eyes, then lets out a slow sigh that seems to work at calming her. “I am not at all what I say I am. I’m not great; I’ve done nothing to earn a title like that. I’ve actually done… quite a few things I’m not proud of… -and I’m not powerful; the only thing I’m really good at are illusions, and those aren’t… powerful.”

I can’t help it: I try to hold it in, but I make a noticeable and distinct coughing sound before I burst out laughing at her last statement. I can’t say how she reacts, because the only thing I know is that I’ve fallen on my side, and I’m tearing up, the laughter hurts so much. Before she can question—or before I can actually hear her questions—I regain just enough control to speak. “You’re telling—ha!—a Changeling that—heh… heh—illusions—keck—aren’t ‘powerful’ with—ah… ha ha!—a straight face?” After that, I manage to slowly pull myself back up to all four hooves, then lift one up to wipe at my eyes, getting a little dirt in my eyes, but I’m still tearing up so much I barely notice. “You-… I know you realize what that spell means for Changelings wanting to imponyate unicorns… and alicorns. It may be ‘just’ an illusion, but if Chrysalis-…” I stop with a shake of my head. It probably wouldn’t’ve affected the siege during the wedding, but now, now that everypony is aware-… Focus! This, right now, is about Trixie!

“As for being great, and what you’ve done: I was there, in Ponyville, both times. The first time, I saw—and heard—everything.” I ignore whatever reaction Trixie may be having to this; I’m doing a lot of that lately… but I have to forge on! “You said, in no uncertain terms or tone of voice, that you thought it impossible to vanquish an ursa ‘major,’ yet you still tried—or did you? Because what I think is you didn’t try to vanquish it so much as distract it. -and good thing, too! Who knows what the ursa might’ve done unchecked while Twilight Sparkle’s friends were giving her a pep talk. They might not have even been able to talk her into… ‘showing off.’” I grin and chuckle at that, but what I hope for—Trixie at least smiling a little with me—doesn’t happen. Onward, then, and hopefully upward—for Trixie!

“The second time-”—Trixie flinches so hard she bangs into the trunk beside her—“-I got trapped outside, but it’s what happened afterward that’s important, especially given the effects of that amulet.” Another flinch, but not so strong. “The way you went up to Twilight Sparkle then… asking for forgiveness after doing something so horrible, not sure you’re going to get it, and probably much more certain that you’ll be punished instead… That’s bravery-”—at least I hope it is!—“-and that alone makes you more great and powerful than most ponies will ever be.” With that, I sit up, smiling proudly for about… four seconds.

Trixie simply stares at me, looking slightly bewildered, for about two of those seconds, then looks away, grimaces, closes her eyes, and finishes with three painful words, “I’m not brave…” I barely am able to register myself deflating in emotion and body before the second bombshell. “I’m not even Trixie.”After this admission, she slumps against the trunk as if suddenly inflicted with a horrible wound draining her before she can even realize it. Not Trixie?! Is she saying?!… No, she simply can’t be a Changeling. I know I care about her, yet I feel no draining! Then… what is she saying? “I… am-…”—Come on, Trixie, or whoever you are! You are brave! Don’t wimp out here and leave my words for nothing: Tell the truth!—“My real name… is… Tricky Glamour.” She whimpers and pulls away from me, pressing herself against the (rather heavy) trunk hard enough to push it an inch or so. I can only tilt my head at her until my mind registers a few things and puts them together. Wait a minute… that reaction and her tone of voice. Is it just me, or does she expect me to know this name?… -to know it, and something, or somethings, negative related to this Tricky Glamour? Is this somehow connected to her illusion sensing ability, and why she’s ashamed of it?… Manure… I should have seen something like this coming, and not just because ‘Trixie’ is a rather odd name for a pony when I actually stop to think about it… but the one, simple fact this reveals is that I have no idea what this means!

“Trixie… or Tricky Glamour, it doesn’t matter what your name is-.” I try to pull the conversation back onto ground where I feel surehooved, but at this Tricky Glamour quickly looks up, abandoning her fear for bewilderment. Great. That cinches it: she did expect me to know—and probably hate—Tricky Glamour. -but why? Maybe she’ll give up the answer if I keep pressing… “It doesn’t matter what your name is or who you are—it doesn’t even matter what you’ve done! What matters is what results from what you’ve done, and how you feel about it. It’s not your fault the ursa attacked Ponyville, and it’s not your fault you were corrupted by the amulet; Ponyville didn’t suffer from any permanent, crippling consequences, but you still feel bad about what you did… As for whatever Tricky Glamour did? It looks to me like you’ve already beaten yourself up enough for that, too.”

Slowly and gently, in a matter that might suggest she’s been wounded if I didn’t know better, Tricky Glamour pulls herself up from the ground and away from the trunk, sitting where she had been before; a niggling worry, yet to be defined, worms its way into me as she does this. “What Tricky Glamour-… What I did…” She stares into the fire as she speaks. “I can never… ato-.” Suddenly, she cuts herself off with a jerking motion as if she’d just been jolted by electricity. Uh-oh… A second later, Tricky looks up at me with a smile that’s trying too hard and is more than a bit pleading. “I- Forget Trixie said anything. She shouldn’t be bothering you with her troubles when she knows you must have plenty of your own if you want to go to Canterlot!” Damn it! I was so close! -but I don’t think I’ll be able to get anything out of her until I find out about Tricky Glamour… and what she did that’s so horrible she thinks she can’t atone for it, and would make her leave that identity behind. “Trixie has to ask, though, that… you please never tell anypony- anyone what she said about Tricky Glamour?”

I nod, still somewhat lost in thought. The fact remains that she did entrust some information to me… and her love towards me did grow as she did, and it hasn’t decreased, so she knows I only tried to pry out of care and worry for her… Still, I think it’s obvious I don’t have any option but to leave this alone for now. Also, she’s quite right about me having more pressing troubles, but I can’t do anything about those at the moment, either! “Alright… Trixie.” I sigh, and inwardly shake my head, deciding to go back to our original topic. “This… uhm, magic-color changing spell… can it make the aura invisible? So no one knows when you’re using magic?”

Instantly, she perks up, obviously happy about the change of topic, and a moment later turns thoughtful—thoughtful with a hum and a much more honest smile—for a little while before answering. “Invisible? Trixie doesn’t think so. Unseeable, maybe. Trixie hasn’t really tried, you know, since it’s actually a rather useless spell outside of-…” Another moment of thought with Trixie tilting her head back and forth. “Before Twilight Sparkle pointed out that all Changelings have a green magic aura, nopony has ever really paid attention to what color a unicorn’s magic is. However, Trixie thinks-.”

“Wait.” I cut her off with a raised hoof and a shake of my head. “You’re saying you invented a useless spell, fully knowing that it was, indeed, useless?” That definitely doesn’t make sense. Trixie doesn’t seem the type to waste anything, time or energy, given how her lifestyle forces her to work and travel constantly. Also, she doesn’t seem the type to simply invent a spell for scholarly pursuits, like Twilight might—the mustache-growing spell being a case in point… unless she decided she might actually need that spell after the event with the sea serpent during Nightmare Moon’s-. Getting off track!

“It wasn’t-.” Trixie speaks two whole words with confidence before biting her lip. “Ah… Changelings… well, Trixie knows you have always known that your magic auras could give you away-”—I think I know where this is going now…—“-so I invented this spell for… one particular Changeling who traveled with me for longer than any other, and became one of… Tricky Glamour’s best friends.” Tears come to her eyes when she uses her real name—the kind of tears that come with remembering happiness that cannot come back. “I don’t know where she is now, but she’s-… I’m sure- absolutely certain she’s alive!”

I contemplate going around the fire to comfort her, but I shake the idea off; she sounds just certain as her words, with no manifestation of any worry for this other Changeling, so I decide to leave that topic for something else that pokes at my curiosity. “Another thing…” I say to get her attention, and quickly enough she comes out of what I suspect are sweet memories. “I wanted to ask about this before, but forgot: You said something before about invisibility and being unseeable being different, but just what is the difference?”

“Ah!” Trixie exclaims in understanding before laughing a laugh that might sound belittling to one who can’t feel love. “Oh, yes! Trixie knows this confuses most who don’t study much into illusion magic. She thinks it will be easier to explain starting with unseeable… Yes…” Trixie pauses a moment to gather her thoughts and wipe her too-wide smile away. “Unseeable is like the aura-color-changing spell Trixie just taught you (which is why Trixie thinks the spell might be able to make the aura unseeable, too), only it changes a thing’s color to… a ‘color’ that ponies can’t see, so it becomes… unseeable. Obviously, this isn’t optimal, but suitable for deception at a distance or for a very short time. Invisibility is much more difficult. It makes light simply pass through something, so it doesn’t have any color at all, like… glass, but without any of the distortion of light that glass makes. This also works for other senses, like silencing and unhearable spells.” I just nod as I take in all this information—I don’t know what to say about it, or anything else; our conversation falls into nothingness as she doesn’t say anything else, either.

I decide to leave my practicing that night, and lay down to sleep; I don’t hear Trixie do the same before I fall into my dreams.

Three days later, we arrive in the village of Buckley. By unspoken agreement, I never bring up Tricky Glamour again, though now we’re in an area with other ponies about, I know I’ll have to be more careful about accidentally letting the name slip. As much as I would like to find out more, with Trixie so close by I also know I can’t risk asking around incase somepony recognizes her or even just makes the connection that Trixie sounds an awful lot like Tricky; though I suppose since Trixie has been using the name for quite a while now, nopony—using thinking very much similar to the way ponies largely ignore the threat of Changelings, it seems to me—has made the connection for so many years, but I would still hate to be the one to ruin that streak.

Buckley itself seems hardly distinguishable from Ponyville, except for the distinct lack of forests or any kind of trees, as it’s so close to the edge of the Sorraia Desert. Well, that, plus its even more distinct lack of any Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, baby dragons (or any dragons), and Cutie Mark Crusaders! I chuckle at the thought when it comes to me—no doubt this place is much more quiet!—as Trixie and I are walking through town, hoofing out flyers for Trixie’s show (featuring me!) tomorrow. It’s an uneventful afternoon, for Buckley, having neither a Braeburn nor any Apple family at all (no apple trees here), is much more welcoming. As it turns to evening, we visit a restaurant for dinner—here there’s no avoiding eating without becoming suspicious, so I join Trixie, but all the same I somehow draw the unwanted attention of one lone unicorn stallion.

Upon entering the relatively empty establishment (for it is a bit late for dinner now), there is a gasp from one corner where the said stallion sits, and sea-blue eyes lock onto me with shock. I just raise an eyebrow at him before turning away, wondering who this stallion is and whether he’s confused me—or rather, Amethyst Act—for somepony else, but I still glance occasionally at him, catching him staring each time. Trixie notices as well, and eventually, after casting a spell I suspect is to hide her voice from all but me, whispers, “Changeling friend of yours?” After recalling how she can detect illusions, I shake my head, and she shrugs at that before releasing the spell. The stallion—Changeling—only gets up when we get up, and follows us out; Trixie smirks before whispering again. “I’ll leave you to admirer, my little lovethief.” Her “nickname” earns a glare, and she looks appropriately sorry before galloping off to disappear around a building.

I turn back around to the gawker with another quirked eyebrow and turned up muzzle. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you. What do you want?” I ask in my best imitation of an offended mare, which greatly helped along by my inherent Changeling abilities, naturally.

He (or she) stops some five or so pony-lengths away from me and after a moment of continuous staring, finally says, “It would… be easier to speak in private.” I shrug at this, noticing out of the corner of my eye a signal of purple-pink magic from a now-invisible Trixie; I have to stop myself from smirking, and when the stallion turns around to begin leading the way, I give a quick motion to indicate she should accompany me, just in case. I doubt this Changeling wants to hurt me—why would he or she?—but if he or she does want to…

Soon enough we come to an hotel, and when he holds open the door, I purposely slow down just a bit both to be barely noticeable and to give Trixie time to rush ahead of me. The stallion steps in behind me, and with expected green magic casts some spell which lights up the whole room for a second—a spell which I suspect is to prevent any sound from leaving the room. With that, he releases his disguise (it is a he) and immediately afterward I follow his lead and drop Amethyst. Then, he begins by instantly confusing me by bowing on one foreleg and saying, “Doctor Samsa, it is good to know you are still alive, even under the current circumstances.”

With my mind suddenly turned blank, I can do nothing but blink dazedly for what feels like quite a few moments before I find my voice. “Ah… What? Doctor… excuse me, who, again? -and what circumstances are you talking about? I think you have the wrong… Changeling…” Just a moment ago I didn’t think it would be possible to be more confused, but the other Changeling shakes his head halfway through my last sentence, smiling knowingly.

“No, I’m definitely not mistaken, given the unique signal of your tracer, even if it now only works at close range because of-…” He slows, volume dropping, until he falls into mumbling incoherence; he also gets a far off look in his eyes, apparently suddenly considering something to make him rethink saying whatever he had been about to say. Just as I’m about to speak up to ask about this “tracer” that’s apparently on me, he jolts out of the almost trance-like state and smiles something fake. “Ah, it’ll probably be easier to start at the beginning, since there are quite a lot of things I have to speak with you about. My designation, as I’m guessing you don’t remember, is IA-38.” ‘Designation’? ‘IA-38’? This is… I know Changelings don’t use random strings of letters and numbers as ‘names’… at least Chrysalis’s Changelings don’t, anyway. Need to remember: assumptions are dangerous—I’ve never found or encountered anything to suggest other Changeling ‘hives’ don’t work this way…

“Does that… stir anything in your memory?” He asks after a couple silent moments as I digest this; he looks more than just crestfallen when I shake my head. “You can’t even remember the designation of one of your closest friends? The one who went through GA and IA training with you, and accompanied you to SA training purely for the sake of accompanying you? Can you not even remember you were the one who started this? How you went on and on about your precious love mine even as the tower was still being built?… Oooh…” he moans as if about to be sick, looking away with a pitying grimace when he sees me still shaking my head. “… This is… way worse than even she thought you’d be…” I perk up slightly at “she,” but something tells me he isn’t going to divulge who he’s referring to. Again he gets a far off look in his eyes, but quickly enough blinks his thoughts away; then he looks up with sudden determination. “Listen: you need to know that BT has ordered that if and when you were found, and that your condition was deemed unrecoverable, you’re to be… killed.”

“What?!” I cry out, but I can only suppose he expected my outburst by how he doesn’t even flinch. “Why? Who is BT? What’s this training and ‘tracer’ and tower you were just talking about? … -and-… -and why would-…?” I can’t finish the question, and I shake my head yet again and look down at my holed forelegs—legs I had come to accept as my own, wholly and completely, not all that long ago, and now I learn I’m being hunted down by this BT person? I don’t want to believe it, but why would this IA-38 lie?

In contrast, he looks progressively horrorstruck as I ask each question. “You don’t remember… any of that? Dr. Samsa, please…” He pauses, waiting for me to look up, for only then does he continue. “Please, I need you to think very hard: do you remember anything—anything—that happened before you woke up in the Everfree Forest?” As he asks this, he steps forward, staring intently into my eyes, looking- hoping for something.

At first, the question sounds easy. “Of course I-…” but as I try to think of something specific—some kind of proof that I’m not this Doctor Samsa—I falter. “… Of course I… don’t…?” Then it hits me. It hits me so hard I fall to the ground and the pain of understanding it brings tears to my eyes. I thought I had convinced myself to leave my past humanity behind. I thought I had convinced myself that it was unrecoverable; in a way I had been right, but not the way I had thought. It’s not that I had shoved my human self behind me, but that I had, somehow, forgotten it, and my partial recognition of that fact—my act of putting it away consciously when I had in reality forgotten it… forgotten it separate from my will!—had been a mental defense that IA-38 had just torn down with one question. “What… does this… mean?” from the floor I beg in such a pitiful way I’d never heard before, nor even imagined could come from my own throat.

“It means exactly… what I said: with you in this state, BT has no choice but to declare you a danger to our mission and get rid of you.” IA-38 steps forward and I cringe, expecting a strike and a fight to break out when Trixie jumps out to defend me… if she wants anything to do with me any more. However, instead he places one forehoof across the back of my neck comfortingly. “I suppose it’s lucky, then, that there are no SAs or other IAs nearby. -or even any GAs. Even if you can’t remember me… I’m still your friend, and I’ll let you go, but you’ll need to leave quickly. -and that mare you were with in the restaurant will be in danger, too, though it’ll probably be better if you don’t tell her everything I’ve told you.” No need to worry about that; you’ve been telling her everything yourself this whole time! … Damn it, Alternate, pull yourself together! This doesn’t change anything! You’ve already decided to leave your humanity behind! You still have a mission of peace to carry out! You have a Changeling mare to return to who loves you more than anything! With a deep breath, I pull myself back to my hooves to face a sorrowful smile on IA-38’s muzzle. “We have a little time, I think, before an SA or two converge on our position, so… I can answer a couple of your questions, as long as they aren’t too complicated.”

I nod seriously, and close my eyes, thinking carefully about what information I might need. Everything about the past I can leave alone; it’s now and the future that’s important! The future of my mission!… “These SAs and IAs, how many are there, and where are they?” I consider for a half a second asking where they aren’t, but I worry that’ll be too easy for this “BT” or someone working for BT to interpret as me asking where it’s safe to go (from IA-38’s actions and warning about SAs converging on Buckley, it’s obvious he’s communicating with someone, somehow, maybe even involuntarily), and I can’t think of any other way to ask this while further encrypting what I’m actually asking. Of course… that voice from so long ago! It could hear me, too! I’m sure of it! I’d forgotten… but then, I haven’t heard from him since encountering Celestia… Those ‘love mine’ and ‘tower’ things… curious, but not important right now! I don’t know what else to ask, so I guess I’ll have to work off a hunch! “And this… trace on me, you said it only works at close range now because of something. What is the trace, and why is it working differently?” There… He said a couple questions, now I guess this is all I can risk getting… No doubt he’ll be hunted now, too, not just for letting me get away, but for helping me!

“There are eleven SAs and-.” he winces as if struck across the side of the head; I can only try to imagine what’s happening in his mind with him going against orders. “-and thirty-nine IAs… or thirty-eight, now, since I-…” I just nod hastily, urging him to go on. “No one working for BT is outside of Equestria, all of the SAs are in the largest cities, and the IAs are spreading out to the frontiers of Equestria. The trace is more than just a trace; it’s also a communications link back to BT and-.” Now he grits his teeth and closes his eyes for a moment before returning rather suddenly to relative normality. “-and it’s a-… a… transmitter of love energy to the tower, which is the reason yours is only working as it is: BT was forced to cut off all connections between you and the tower.” I raise my eyebrows incredulously at this, but quickly remember that, given all he’s already told me, it wouldn’t make sense to lie about this, and if he is lying, it wouldn’t make sense for BT to leave me alone for seven weeks if I’ve been slated for ‘termination’! “No one is really sure what happened, but during your encounter with Princess Celestia… something—we don’t know what—happened with the love energy being received from you; containment unit two was… breached… or something—nothing like what happened to CU2 has ever been seen before, and BT decided to protect the rest of the facility by cutting off the energy being received from you. However, nothing like that situation was ever prepared for, and cutting off the connection to your energy required cutting off everything between you and the tower, so…” With that, he pulls his unicorn disguise back up and bows again. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I think that’s all we can risk; I can’t travel with you, since my trace will make it too easy to find you.”

“Wait!” I cry when he begins to move towards the door. “Doesn’t that mean…? Where will you be going?”

IA-38 chuckles sadly before answering, “Ah, even without your memory, you’re still the same Doctor Samsa that-…” He puts up a hoof to his chest, and though I get his meaning, I’m bewildered by the lack of any energy flowing from him. It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch, though, that something would be done to prevent the loss of love energy if BT is ‘mining’ it… but given my experiences with other Changelings, this love loss prevention must also somehow be connected to this ‘trace’ contraption. “As for me, well, everyone with BT is scared to leave the ‘safety’ of Equestria, so I’ll be leaving these ponies behind… Where, specifically? I don’t know yet.” He waits for me to disguise myself before opening the door, and he turns back one last time. “Leave, and I’m sure I don’t need to beg you of all people, but please don’t forget that mare, or what they’ll do to her… I don’t know and don’t want to imagine.”

Then, he leaves.

I stand there for a moment simply trying to process and file everything I’ve just learned in this shabby hotel room. Who would ever guess it would witness such an important event with so many branching consequences? If walls could talk, indeed… As for Trixie, I guess she’s trying to do the same, but is, perhaps, even more confused than me. I try to shake myself out of it as quickly as possible, though. I can think about this later, after we’ve moved! “Trixie…” To be honest, I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if she had left me, given the danger we now know I pose to her, but with a shimmer of her magic, she appears standing between the bed and wall. “I know… once we get to the next town, you’ll probably want to-.”

“Let Trixie- Let me cut you off there… Samsa.” I bite the corner of my lip at the use of my apparently real name—I don’t know anything about this Samsa person! I’m not him! -not anymore!—but Trixie ignores the sign of distress. “We made a deal: I will get you to Canterlot, and you will perform with me. I see no reason to change this agreement, even if we have to abandon our… show here… in Buckley…” Trixie slows as some thought takes over, and she gains a wicked grin, but by her love flowing into me, I know it’s not directed at me. “Oh… Trixie has an idea to send these ‘BT’ Changelings off the trail!”

“Wha-?!” I exclaim as she rushes past me and out the door.

“Just follow Trixie and trust her!” She shouts over her withers (thank you, Equestrian encyclopedias) as she continues to gallop towards where we had left the wagon. When I run out after her, I take a quick look around, but IA-38 is nowhere in sight. No big surprise, since I don’t know how long we were out of it for… which means we might not even have time to get the wagon!

“Trixie! Trixie!” I call, catching up to her easily thanks to my current Earth pony build; while the night is beginning to creep up, it’s not so late that my shouts would disturb anyone trying to sleep. “Trixie, do you think we really have time for-?”

“All part of the plan.” Trixie cuts me off again, only this time without further explanation. Still, Buckley is not very large nor very populated, so we reach the wagon in minutes. I’m tempted to ask how we’ll escape with such a large and obvious burden, but this time I remember Trixie is a talented illusionist before I can voice my stupidity. Still, that doesn’t seem to qualify as much of a “plan”; all the same, I decide to allow Trixie some time before insisting we need to leave now. Trixie literally jumps into her wagon as she magics open the door, and by the time I’m at the left-open door, she’s pulling out a cardboard box and book out her trunk. “A-hah! With these, Trixie will secure our escape!” I lower my eyebrows doubtfully—exactly what Trixie wants, for she then levitates up a quill and pot of ink. After ripping a page out of the book—which I now suspect is a journal or diary of some kind—she scribbles out this message:

To the Town of Buckley,

Trixie and her assistant are sorry, but they will not be able to perform the promised show, as they must return to Apploosa immediately.

Worry not, for they will return to this fair town sometime when certain uncontrollable events are not so pressing. In the meantime, please enjoy these fireworks as an apology.

Trixie

After reading through the note and smiling at it’s cleverness, I glance at the box, which is indeed full of what can only be fireworks. Before I can ask, Trixie seems to read my mind. “Yes, usually Trixie uses illusions, but on her off days… well, I always carry a backup plan for my shows! -and this will be one of my most important shows of all!” I resist the urge to facehoof, but step out after Trixie, and I hook myself up into the wagon’s harness as she selects a rock heavy enough to hold the note on the box without crushing the fireworks. Just as I thought, Trixie—with a bit more than a little strain—casts a full on invisibility spell on everything (plus us) before climbing back into the wagon. Then I simply, almost too easily, walk out of Buckley in the direction away from Apploosa.

Just like that… crisis averted. -for now. I grimace, knowing that it’s not over, knowing that a new complication has been added to the already monumental problems of Celestia, Luna, Chrysalis, and the coming war, and knowing that that complication is now forcing me to act faster than I would like. Not that I really had much of an option to begin with! Chrysalis could be ready to attack tomorrow, for all I know! I only wanted a little more information… just more incentive, I guess, to move quickly, but Trixie probably won’t like it. I know I said before we can take our time getting to Canterlot, but now… I’ll just have to hope she understands how the situation has changed. No doubt she’s going over everything she just heard, and may just yet come to the same conclusion!

Celestia sets the Sun, but I keep going; I feel like I should be tired, but I keep playing IA-38’s words over and over in my mind—not just his warnings—and they seem to power me; I guess my mind won’t rest until it utterly exhausts itself trying to puzzle everything out. There’s no real need for it, but I let it go on and on as long as it wants- as long as it keep me pulling that wagon as far away from Buckley as I can get it before I tire. No need… Everything that IA-38 said changes nothing about my mission to end the animosity between ponies and Changelings except to make known to me that I have another obstacle, so in a way, it’s better that I ran into him, otherwise I wouldn’t have known about these SAs, then they would’ve…

I gulp, and start to cry silently, but my tears aren’t out of fear, and they don’t stop me from pulling onward.

"... for a Changeling to trick a Changeling..."

LOVE MINE

Zephyrus Scary

Editor: Cantankerous

Alteration One:

Ponies

Chapter 10:

“… for a Changeling to trick a Changeling…”

Our travel, as directed by Trixie, is slow—“We may be invisible, but the dust we’re kicking up isn’t; too much dust outlining us will make all my hard spellwork useless!” she had explained. As another precaution, despite Buckley having a real road leading in and out to places yet unknown to me (unlike the isolated Apploosa, connected only by railroad), we avoid using it, traveling far off from it, but, Trixie also tells me, taking care not to lose sight of it—“Even though we’re no longer in the desert, the Sorraia Wastes are a featureless flatland known for swallowing up even the most experienced explorers and cartographers, and Trixie would personally not want to find out why.” I really don’t like the look she gives me as she explains this after I had asked: a combination of suspicion and weariness at having to explain what she plainly considers as something everypony knows. Still, the entire time I walk, I feel continually empowered by energy flowing into me from within the cart, in quantities no less than what Trixie had been giving me when we had entered Buckley.

The benefit of the doubt? Somehow, I don’t think so, or, at least, that’s not the entire story here. Trixie has dealt with Changelings for years, and even become friends with them; we’re creatures of secrets and deception, but ponies are, as well, aren’t they? Just because they don’t have natural abilities to help them or any need to keep secrets or deceive, they still do. Trixie saw my reaction—I was at least as shocked as her to find out I’m being hunted!—and she knows what the situation means for her continuing to associate with me. Neither of us has the whole picture, but she understands enough to trust me…

Hmm… “understands enough,” huh? “-dealt with Changelings for years”… I don’t have years, but I wonder-… If I can get Celestia to grant me one opportunity, showing her how Changelings actually are- but that would require actual Changelings to show her, and the only ones that I know where they live-! If it fails, they would be in the worst kind of danger. -and Reflection… -how would Celestia react to an ascending queen? Would she see her as another threat or evidence that she has truly left Chrysalis’s hive?… Will I even have a choice? I have to get Celestia to understand the Changeling point of view! -somehow!… Is there any better way? Is there any other thing she would believe than something she sees with her own eyes? Then again, that’s what Changelings are known for being able to manipulate so well… -but if she can be convinced to give us Changelings a real chance to prove ourselves, then it would still be the strongest evidence I could give her: the best chance for peace.

-but if I fail, there’s little doubt Celestia would execute us. Replie, Reflection, Twin, and even little Silverglass! Is she even hatched yet?… Would Celestia care if she’s naught but a nymph?… I wonder if Twilight would be disappointed that I’m not sure of either answer—would she care about the life of a nymph? -What am I thinking!? No! I’m not seriously considering using Silverglass! No!… No. -but if I’m to show Celestia what kind of life Changelings live, it’s inevitable that Silver would get involved…

There has to be some other way; I just haven’t thought of it yet. It’s this quiet, monotonous walk… making my thoughts wander. I have to find another way: some way that doesn’t endanger anyone but myself… but even I don’t understand everything about Changelings, which means-! Damn it! Now I’m just going in circles! Be calm, Alternate, you’re still gathering the pieces of the puzzle: trust, fear, and now understanding. Things are becoming clearer. You’re not confronting Celestia tomorrow. Yes, you have to rush, but there’s still some time to find a different plan of attack. There’s no reason to believe this is the only way.

“… Oh, who am I trying to convince?” I whisper to myself—a whisper that might as well have been shouting in the dead quiet of the Wastes, or at least that’s how it sounds to me; nothing comes from Trixie, though. No words. No sounds of stirring. Is she asleep? After telling me she’d tell me when to stop! Ugh!… “Excellent distraction, Brain… It all comes down to what is the best chance for peace; I’d hate it, after what I told them- promised them, but Replie already offered… and the rest, I know why they’re here… Could I really do it, though?”

“Stop.” The word comes to me as if from far away—I, deep in my thoughts and hopes, pay no heed. “Stop… Trixie says, ‘Stop!’” I—honestly—neigh in surprise when I find myself suddenly unable to move my legs and descend into a primitive instinct that causes me to attempt to buck out, but my hooves remain glued to the ground. A second later my rational mind returns to me; I look down to see… magic? There is something strange shimmering around where I know my legs are (as they are still invisible, along with everything else), but- “Ah, Trixie was right, of course: That spell can only go so far as to become unseeable!” Trixie’s voice comes from somewhere behind me as I hear hoofsteps on the dirt and the sound of a wooden door being shut. “Anyway, it should be safe to stop now, so come in and rest.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, looking back at where I think Trixie is standing until I remember that, as I’m also invisible, she can’t see me, either… or so I think for about two seconds until I also remember her ability to sense illusions; I half-expect giggling to tickle my ears at how silly I must appear to Trixie, but none comes. “I can still keep going; this pace is nothing, with the influx of energy from your love.” I wait for her response, now expecting her to insist that I rest, if I can judge by how much she cares for me, but there’s a long moment that I eventually have to break. “Uh, Trik-?”

“Nothing!” Her cry makes me jump, but a second later I’m the one laughing at her—I can’t help but think she must be very glad I can’t see her surely very red face. “Oh, drat! Fine! It is just that Trixie somehow forgets every time that Changelings use the word ‘love’ with a much more broad meaning than anypony- any creature. Non-Changelings would say that-… something like, ‘I care for your wellbeing,’… or something!” Oh, yes, she’s definitely glad I can’t see her!

Smirking so wide it hurts even though I’m half-sure she can’t tell, I quip, “Well, have you ever thought that it’s ponies who use the word ‘love’ too narrowly? It seems to me that caring for someone else’s wellbeing is love; it’s certainly feeding me, after all. Unless… you’re hiding something about why you care for my wellbeing?…” I finish the question with a teasing lilt, and soon start chuckling, growing in volume with her continued silence, but I suddenly stop. “Too narrowly”?… Do ponies, apparently the most loving species in this world if Chrysalis’s word is anything to go by (and somewhat still apparent, even if her word is not), have too narrow a definition of love? More importantly: Does Celestia? If so, is that something I can use…? I can’t see how, yet, but I think it would be a good thing to keep in mind if it comes up when I’m trying to convince her.

Actually, on the topic of love: I’ve been feeding from Trixie since we left Apploosa… just about a week and a half ago, which means she’s overdue for showing signs of third-stage allagistomiasis: itching, dry throat, and general malaise, with a side for craving water and bathing/showering constantly. -and we’re currently in Sorraia Wastes, the driest, most barren land after the Sorraia Desert, in the middle of hiding from BT’s forces, which we barely understand… Which is not to say that IA-38’s help isn’t most welcome! -it’s just not very helpful thanks to my lack of foresight in how my feeding will soon affect, or actually should already be affecting Trixie! “Wait. Forget about that, Trixie; I think we might have a bigger problem, but I hope I’m wrong. Please tell me you have a way of countering the symptoms of allagistomiasis.”

During the short pause, I wish I could see her expressions, both facial and the rest of her body, for only now, as I try to focus on the minute tuning of her love, do I realize how much easier it is to read a fellow Changeling’s emotions compared to ponies’. I’ve never had to read a pony’s emotion like this before—they wear their true feelings so obviously in their faces and mannerisms—but Trixie… She’s hiding things; that’s obvious enough, but why am I having so much trouble! It surely can’t be inherent in Changeling biology that other creatures are more difficult to read, right? Perhaps it is because I wasn’t born a Changeling? -or perhaps a Changeling has to be taught how different emotional signals differ from creature to creature? “Alla-…-gaystomach-…? What is that, whatever-you-said?” Jawdrop. She’s… not serious!? -but why would she lie, except to joke? Allagistomiasis is no laughing matter!

“Ah-lah-gee-stoh-mai-ah-sihs,” I enunciate. “You have to know, traveling with Changelings all the time, even becoming best friends with one! It’s the ‘disease’ ponies experience when they’re being fed off of by Changelings! You should be experiencing symptoms like feeling as if you have a dry throat, itchiness all over your body, and just feeling ‘sick’ and drained of energy! That’s the third stage…” Wait… She’s not saying-!?

“You’re saying… other ponies get these ‘symptoms’ when a Changeling feeds? -but… wouldn’t that-?”

“You really don’t know…” My tone isn’t that of a question. “I… should have expected that as possible: Being a mare constantly traveling, I’m guessing you only ever have time to pay attention to the most important news, if you ever get even that. You wouldn’t’ve heard about it being discovered that Changelings are the cause of Fear Flu, so-”

“Fear Flu!?” Her voice is that of disbelief, with, strangely, at least to me, no fear. “Ah, what strain?”

I struggle a moment to recall the exact wording of the encyclopedias. “City-wide disaster. -or city-destroying disaster. City-wide, city-destroying disaster?” I tap my chin. Close enough…

“Oh…” Trixie lets out a breath with the syllable that displays her easing tension—a slight tweak to her emotions is triggered in just about the same instant and I try to register the change to some meaning, but all the same I can’t deny I have no frame of reference—I might as well try to infer the difference between “read” and “read” without context!… “Well, perhaps Trixie is not affected because she has no hometown that I worry-” She stops herself, and another emotional shift has me thinking she must have realized what she just told me; however, now I’m wising up, and force myself not to jump to conclusions. All I know about this is that she’s “not worried”. She could still have a hometown; it seems very likely to me, considering her profession, she just doesn’t consider it as “home” any more… -or she does, but, like her best Changeling friend, she’s certain it’s in no danger. -or perhaps… because of her best Changeling friend she’s not worried?…

“I- Trixie means that… she might not be affected because… she must be immune!” She’s no longer capable of hiding herself; it’s obvious that she’s frantically searching her mind for some other explanation, pausing frequently before suddenly blurting out the first plausible thing her mind lands on. Then again, since she doesn’t know anything about Allagistomiasis, she wouldn’t know anything about the small number of cases in which ponies were found immune to its symptoms. -until they were exposed to another Changeling in all cases except one—the only thing I’m sure of right now is that that “one case” isn’t Trixie. I have no idea what this means, but perhaps I can still use this… It’s a good thing I read those “useless” encyclopedia entries after all! I just have to find a way to smoothly transition the subject… which would be easier if I could actually see her; she’s determined to hide, but her face and body will give her away.

“Trixie…” I try to keep my tone as even and conversational as possible under the stress; unfortunately, without Trixie’s face to judge by, I’m unsure of my success. “We’re pretty far from the road. Maybe you could drop the invisibility and set up some less strenuous illusions? I believe I recall you saying that unseeable illusions are good for deception at a distance, or do you know a camouflaging spell? Then we could go inside and… not be invisible to each other.” Bite the bait. Bite the bait. Bite the bait…

“You… are right.” Her tone is enough to tell she’s wary. To pull further back or to push harder?… “Trixie could use a break from maintaining all of this invisibility, but the inside is too small for two to be comfortable; instead, if we stay on the side of the wagon opposite the road, all I need to do is keep the wagon camouflaged and we should be safe being… just visible.”

I smirk at the apparent absence of a word to describe the absence of visual illusion effects before nodding. “Okay. Sounds like a plan!” I follow the sound of Trixie’s hoofsteps to the stated side of the wagon and, with a whirl of what I can now recognize as unseeable magic, the wagon and the two of us pop back into view, with the wood of the wagon now appearing painted to match the desolate reddish tan nothingness of the Sorraia Wastes. Turning to Trixie, I jump slightly, now glad I had suggested this upon seeing her sweaty brow—she’d done well at hiding her fatigue from her voice moments ago! Further doubt creeps up on me that I’d be able to wheedle information out of her upon discovering she had been able to conceal such a present condition from me—something more ethereal and long-past will surely be easier for her to hide… or harder, for all the deeper and more poisonous pain it’s causing her.

In the next instant, another flash of unseeable magic creates a merrily dancing campfire with flames the same color as Trixie’s magic. Noting my instant worry, Trixie laughs; I, in turn, note how her expression shows no hint of what we had just been discussing. Worrying… “Relax, pretender; this fire is only another illusion!… -of sorts: It’s flames and light are only visible to those the caster—in this case, Trixie—decides can see it… though its heat can be felt by everyone.” She has to know that’s not my only worry. “I’ve lit a similar flame in the lantern in the wagon so that you, my assistant, may fetch the map in the trunk. Now.” The last word has, not exactly a “bite”, but the ever-so-slightest change of tone that indicates she will not be welcoming to interruption or disobedience. Patience… If I give her a little space, she just might lower her defenses enough. Then she adds something that makes me pause. “Also, fetch a bottle of water from the icebox and freeze some of it.”

Great. The one spell I’ve developed a block for is the one spell she asks me to perform! I don’t think she’d appreciate being doused by an explosion of water, so… “Actually, Trixie… I can’t cast a freezing spell. I know how simple it is!” I cut her off at the surprise, tinged with anger, that flares. “I just have a bit of a block for that particular spell. Sorry. I know you’ve been hard at work maintaining so many invisibility spells, but when I just can’t… I’m sorry.” I bow, prostrate, but she almost instantly pulls me back up with a rough telekinetic jerk. With a sigh, she leaves me with the instructions to simply retrieve the bottle without casting the freezing spell.

Swiftly as possible I jump in through the wagon door, making my magic unseeable just as I saw Trixie do—What would I do without this natural ability of Changelings to learn so quickly and easily?—so as to present as little visibility of anything “strange” for any BT Changelings to potentially see and come investigating. Just as promised, the inside is well lit (to me) by the illusioned flame, and I notice that, despite that nature of the trunk, there is no apparent lock. Apparent. Trixie is an illusionary master… It opens as easy as it appears it should and I rifle through the contents of the chest, which consists of two coin bags (one hers, one mine I had entrusted to her care, their sizes quite disproportionate, with mine dwarfing hers) and everything else is books… illusioned to be all blank, I guess, without even a letter left on their covers to guess at their true nature. Shoved hidden into the bottom is a rolled up paper that I guess instantly is the map, and unroll it to check; sure enough, the land of Equestria and some of the bordering lands are revealed. It takes me a moment, however, to notice I can’t read a word; squinting and leaning over the document, I puzzle over the strange script that, if the Chinese logosyllabary might be described as “chicken scratch”, then this could be described as “scraps of string”: twirling, spinning, and curving in unbroken lines with few harsh edges. Well, Trixie is a traveling magician; it doesn’t seem all that surprising, in hindsight, that she might know more than one language.

Rerolling the mysterious map and snatching a bottle of water from the magical refrigerator, I jump out of the wagon similar to how I entered and rush around the corner; Trixie smirks as I present the map and bottle to her in my unseeable telekinesis. Upon unrolling the former and sipping from the latter, she sits, levitates the map so that she can see it by the firelight, and focuses on what I presume is the west side of the map; in the next instant, her smirk gives way to a grim frown. “Just as Trixie thought… and worried.” She looks up from the map to me. “Unfortunate news: Sometime early tomorrow we will come upon a fork in the road. One path leads to the unremarkable settler town of Dodge Junction, the other goes through the so-called ‘lawless’ metropolis, Las Pegasus. If we want to not get lost forever in the Wastes, we’ll have to go through one of these ‘gates’ into the safety of the Equestrian Valleys…” She pauses and shakes her head. “Both present problems, though: Dodge is small, which means our passing through it is not likely to go unnoticed, leaving an easy trail for our pursuers if they merely think to ask around. On the other hoof, Las Pegasus is easier to go through without anypony being able to recall our passage, on account of the city’s… eccentricities.” So “Las Pegasus” is Equestrian Pun-ese for “Las Vegas”, I’m guessing. “However, because of it’s status as a ‘major metropolis’, Trixie would bet there’s quite a few of BT’s Changelings there, whereas Dodge Junction seems as if it would attract little, if any, attention from BT if we trust the information given to us by that kapish…” The way her brow furrows reveals her doubt, but her tone is even.

“Not any more.” I shake my head. “BT is likely to have noticed the same thing… or at least it’s better for us to assume she has noticed. In that case… both Dodge Junction and Las Pegasus are going to get an increase in security from BT, leaving, probably, Las Pegasus as our best bet; get ourselves lost in the crowds.” As soon as I say “our best bet”, a shift in Trixie’s emotions alerts me to… something negative.

Trixie nods, still looking grim, but with an added touch of… tears—swimming, not fallen yet. She sighs before responding to my deduction. “Trixie was afraid you would say something like that, because… there is another matter. A matter of… funds.” Before I can ask, she adopts the tone of one verbally ripping a bandage away. “Unlike you, Trixie can’t feed off free and unlimited love; she has to actually buy at least some of her food. In Dodge, my show would be enough to draw everypony in that small town!” A touch of glee, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. “-but in some place like Las Pegasus? Trixie’s little magic show just can’t compete…” Her head droops. Is… she opening up again?! If I had any wandering attention, it’s all on the mare sitting across an illusionary fire now. “Trixie… she had plans when she was still- when she still believed she was ‘The Great and Powerful’… She was going to take Equestria by the reins,-”—Probably best not to think about whatever history is behind that phrase and just go with it!—“-force it to recognize her, and become the most attended show in the entire country!” She rears up as if celebrating a victory, but falls down with a heavy sigh. “Which would’ve… of course, required the performance of regular shows in Las Pegasus… but… now-!” Her suddenly wavering voice and uneven breathing threaten to choke out her sentence with tears and hiccups, but, with strength I know she has, pushes through to finish. “There’s only so much the word of even the Princess’s personal student can do to repair an utterly destroyed reputation! I’ll never be taken seriously again! I’m fated to forever do nothing but silly little traveling shows that only impress ignorant villagers!” With that, she allows her resolve to retreat, leaving her to fall on her belly, sobbing into her forehooves, the dictionary picture of misery, and only to add to my already aching heart, she murmurs just barely loud enough for me to hear, “Mother… Father… I’m sorry. I can’t-…” Whatever she can’t do is smothered by whimpering. This… could be an opportunity to-

I stop. Had I really just thought that? Her sorrow is-… -is an “opportunity” to me?! -maybe not “just”, but first and foremost! It was the first thing that came to mind! “Oh…” Not feeling well all of a sudden… How could I not see? Was the change really so subtle? -so slow? The only reason I’ve been digging into Trixie, from day one, is because I saw her as a source of information I can potentially use against the princesses! I huff, shaking my head. This is what I’ve been reduced to: Thinking of ponies—anything not-Changeling, really!—as… things to use! I never wanted it, I would never have become aware of it if not for now, and… I had it forced on me. I only changed into this because I had to in order to survive! Another huff. -and now it looks like even as I think this, another point of attack has been revealed… but that’s not important right now! This time, the huff hides a disapproving sort of chuckle. “Trixie… please!” I stomp, startling her when she doesn’t look up. “As if I would allow you to stave to death?! I have plenty of bits I’m not using or even planning to use!” -and might not ever get to use… “Who or what do you think I am?!” Another stomp, this time forward, and she stands up, backing away as I continue forward. “Someone who would abandon you!? Well, as you apparently do, I’m happy to say you’re wrong! Damn it! You’ve promised to help me, a Changeling, enter Canterlot! Don’t you know what that means to me!” Replie’s safety and future. -and Reflection, Twin, and little Silverglass. “Of course you don’t because I never told you, but I think you already have an idea!” Now she’s cowering, clenching her eyes shut, muzzle in the dirt. “It means-! -peace… I hope.” My voice loses its fire, and Trixie looks up in wonderment and confusion. “It means asking Princesses Celestia to give Changelings a chance. It means redemption… and forgiveness.” I sigh, feeling suddenly spent. “Don’t you know what your help with that means to me? I’d say ‘I’d risk my life for yours’ if I didn’t already have such an important mission that requires me to stay alive; bits and helping you forage for edible plants would be nothing!”

Panting from my verbal explosion, I let myself fall to my belly while Trixie sits up; a complete twist in her emotions makes me look up to a growing smile, and not even a second later she bursts our laughing. “You- haha! You want to go- kah-ha! -go to Canterlot for that! What- ha! -are- heh heh… -you going to say? ‘Don’t kill me!’? Oh- haha… wow… You actually had me going there for a minute!” I look up at her swiftly, glaring; my energy after my rant rebuilding in an instant—I’d pulled Trixie’s wagon to Buckley, helped pass out fliers, got myself on an emotional high thinking about my first performance, got IA-38’s warning, left in a worrying hurry, and pulled the wagon some more… “The power of love”, huh? “Oh, you Changelings!” she calls out as her laughter finally begins to peter. “Your sense of humor is so strange! Oh, but refreshing, too… Heh. Ahh…”

When she regains enough control to look at me, and see my face containing no trace of amusement, much less humor, she is left blinking uncomprehendingly. “No, you’re wrong; I’m being honest with you Trixie.” I assert. “The only time I lied to you was when I walked into your wagon as Wood Work, and while I might not have always told the whole truth, anything I’ve kept hidden, like this, is for good reason, like me worrying you would react this way… Now think about this: Why else would a Changeling—not affiliated with Queen Chrysalis!—want to enter Canterlot? What is in Canterlot that a kapish cannot find elsewhere?” I remain still where I lay, but I, by Trixie’s unsure looking back and forth, suspect I radiate a certain aura of truth: trustworthiness.

In time, Trixie turns back to me with her own determination. “So… this whole time what you were really asking Trixie to do for you is to- what? -assist in your suicide?!” She shakes her head slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, yet, more interestingly, the flow of love from her doesn’t merely change, but also increases. Some kind of… “realization” of hers? “You want to ask the Pony Tyrant-” The phrase makes me jolt—“Pony Tyrant”?! Strange, interesting, and… worth a question or two…—which gives Trixie more steam. “-to ‘give Changelings a chance’?! You might as well ask-…” She quickly glances around, casting for an idea. “-ask fire to stop burning!” She points at the crackling lilac-colored flames as if inviting me to do just that, but she shakes her head again, more rapidly. -dismissively. “-but I can already tell how determined you are. Since Trixie is kind, she won’t just leave you out here in the middle of the Wastes. You think you’ll have an easier time in Las Pegasus? Fine, Trixie will take you to Las Pegasus, but from there you will have to find another way into Canterlot.” Dismissively, she pulls up the map between us and, I’m sure, only pretends to look over it.

“You can put the map away.” Trixie pulls it down enough to give me a raised brow. “You’re going to Canterlot, too, aren’t you? That, or you haven’t thought it over enough. You know you’re being hunted by BT, too, and- What was that you said? Something about Canterlot being the most secure city in Equestria because of the Guard’s tendency to ignore the ‘Pony Tyrant’s’ orders to not go Changeling hunting?” I purposefully leave out IA-38’s assertion that no BT Changelings are leaving Equestria—deceptive, definitely, but I need Trixie’s skill with illusions if I’m going to evade Canterlot’s illicit protection. “-and if you’re going there… why not take me along? I don’t know how I would be able to gain audience with Celestia without somepony’s help in making sure I don’t get found out…” In a snap-decision, I hang my head in a hopefully pitiable way. “Would you prefer I get killed before even being able to speak one word in my—in all Changelings’—defense rather than at least having a chance to stand before the Princess, even if I die by her own horn the instant I reveal myself,” I waver for half a second, then forge ahead with my last weapon, “Tricky Glamour?” I know that name is related to something she’s trying to atone for. -something powerful… I hope it’s powerful enough!

There I go again: using manipulation exactly as Celestia warned the Bearers I had, was, and would… but it’s necessary! I need Trixie to get into Canterlot in a similar way to how I need a disguise to get into Canterlot Castle—neither of them are giving me a choice!… Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe I should just go back to Replie and let Reflection teach me how to turn into a griffin so we can leave Equestria, and a budding war, behind. Leave behind thousands to die. Still living in fear of being found out and probably torn to shreds by griffins in the end, or something just as gruesome. Not even Silverglass would be spared!

For a long time Trixie doesn’t do anything but look off to the side, shadows created by the illusionary fire obscure her expressions, but she can’t hide a flare in her emotions. How much does she really care about me? “I’m not doing this for myself. I’m nukapish. I could always flee from the conflict that you know is going to happen between ponies and Changelings; the others back in Apploosa already offered to take me with them. I’m sure, even if I fail, they’ll be fine.” They wouldn’t endanger Silverglass, after all. “-but innocent ponies and other nukapish are going to get caught up—killed—in the coming war.”

“Then why not go to Chrysalis!” Trixie remains turned away. “She’s the one that started all of this! She’s the one that insists on invading Equestria! She’s the one that needs to be talked down!” She punctuates each statement with a stomp of a hoof.

“I can’t…” That makes her turn back to me. “I thought I already told you: She promised I would be killed if I ever went back to her. If I’m ever going to see her again, I need some kind of plan to dissuade that, and I’m sure I can convince Celestia to give me such a plan. Even if it was otherwise and I convinced Chrysalis to attempt peace instead, the siege of Canterlot-… when Celestia confronted me, I didn’t recognize it at first, but-” I can’t say “she’s scared”! Nopony would believe it! “-it did something to Celestia; she’ll never believe a Changeling’s word—she’d never trust Chrysalis. Celestia needs as much persuasion as Chrysalis.”

“You-…” Trixie shakes her head. “You are really, truly insane… You basically just told me that there’s no chance this war isn’t happening! You can’t-!”

“No.” I swiftly cut her off. “I do have a plan for confronting Celestia: a couple of weapons to convince her. That was one of the things I was going to ask you, but I suppose the situation has changed. If you refuse to help me into Canterlot, will you at least take me as far as Ponyville? Leaving me there will give me a much better chance of survival—and success—than leaving me in Las Pegasus.”

For a moment Trixie bites at her bottom lip, her inner back-and-forth battle open to me by the switching emotions. “Fffff-fine! Buck me, but I’ll take you to Ponyville! -but not even a millimeter further!” I allow myself nothing more than an inner sigh of relief, for I fear any outward display would only incite her. “I’m- You should know Trixie is only doing this because she knows you can’t be persuaded to just leave, like any sane nukapish would do! You’re the most meddlesome outsider Trixie has ever met or heard of, and Trixie has traveled far and wide enough to have met and heard of many meddling outsiders!”

“An outsider?” I question without real interest. Now that she’s no longer going on about “assisting my suicide”, I think I can bring the subject around to her use of “Pony Tyrant”; this might lead somewhere, as Trixie is more-or-less an outsider, too… “What makes you say such a thing about me? I told you about my life in Ponyville.” The lies pile up and up… I mentally shake off the self-reminder and self-admonition. I can- will atone. “Atone”…

Trixie raises a brow and tilts her head as if the answer should be obvious. “Well, as much as you might identify yourself as a ‘ponyvillian’ or ‘Equestrian’, you certainly aren’t, and as you aren’t Queen Chrysalis’s, you simply can’t be Hasharstansharu,-”—I think it’s safe for now to assume “sharu” means “person of ___ country” or similar—“-therefore, you are an outsider to this conflict. Trixie believes they call that a ‘Q.E.D.’.” Trixie finishes by pulling back her head and giving a flourish of her mane that may very well have flung pure Essence of Confidence and Superiority across our campsite. Before I can shake off the effects of getting said Essence on my face and acquiesce, only to turn around and point out how such allows me to be much more neutral, Trixie goes on. “That reminds Trixie: What exactly are you a doctor of, Samsa?” She raises her brow as she speaks what, to her, must seem like an odd kind of name.

Beat to the punch in changing the subject!… I suppose, in light of what we discovered in Buckley, I have been acting just as suspiciously secretive as she has… but without meaning to! “That… is a really good question.” I raise a forehoof to scratch at my forehead. Think, Alternate! You must have freakish amounts of knowledge about something if you have some kind of doctorate! “Well, I am pretty sure I’m no M.D. so-… that leaves every other kind of subject out there…” Too many “not that”s to sort through! I grin apologetically, but Trixie already has her face in both forehooves.

“Really? Seriously? Amnesia?!” She shakes her head, disbelieving. “That’s what you’re going with?… Really?” I can’t help it: I begin to chuckle at… What? The way Trixie frames her one-word questions? No. The way she’s shaking her head, reared back, sitting? No. The way my claims of amnesia are being dismissed by a talking, blue, tattooed, magic-wielding unicorn—a creature I would have relegated to simple myth not all that long ago? Ah, there we go. The unforeseen dose of absurdity lifts my spirits in a way that couldn’t have been anticipated, and that very out-of-the-blue nature only contributes to the amusing oddity.

“Ha! Yes, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!” Trixie pulls one of her forehooves down to glare with one eye, I think, at the cheerfulness—which could be interpreted as insincerity, but I can’t help it—in my declaration. “Insincerity”? I wonder if I might be able to-… “Then again, IA-38 could’ve lied. It doesn’t seem like there would be any reason for him to lie, though, doesn’t it?” I pause to tap my chin, but not for long; I don’t want to risk Trixie interrupting this. “Ah, but then again, why do Changelings lie?” I shrug and shake my head mysteriously, still grinning. “They are alien creatures that, by all evidence, appear to have alien reasoning that a pony like you can’t hope to rationalize inside your own pony thought processes, never mind understand.”

That gets Trixie to lower her other forehoof, leaving her standing with her head tilted in the most “confused puppy” look imaginable; the sound of grinding gears may very well have been audible across the empty Wastes for those moments—I wouldn’t know, being so engrossed in firmly setting Trixie’s expression in my memory. The spell is finally broken by Trixie shaking her head so that it blurs, and the face that surfaces afterwards… melts my smile away: deeper than simple sadness. What was it that I said? I want to ask, but don’t want to at the same time; Trixie speaks before I can decide. “Alright, Samsa…” I wince, struggling to associate—or reassociate—myself with that name. “Is there anything—anything at all—that you remember about BT other than what IA-38 told us?”

Of course I know some things by virtue of knowing that “BT changelings” are actually humans, creatures from an entirely separate—what had been separate—world; or at least all evidence (what little there is) points to this. The real question is: How can I phrase such information without revealing the origin of same? I meditate for a moment, and in that time I feel what I interpret as Trixie’s emotional high cooling off. “I know… that BT comes from another land; they are largely unfamiliar with Equestria—though this is likely quickly changing—and especially not knowledgeable of Hasharstan, yet this is probably not changing or going to change soon, as IA-38 implied.” For what good that does us, being more-or-less stuck in Equestria with Chrysalis’s threat of death upon-! Wait! “Which means, I’d bet, they have absolutely no idea about what Chrysalis is doing, or her plans; they have a way of identifying each other, but not non-BT changelings.” Don’t know how that might ever come into play, but it’s better than “They don’t know anything about Hasharstan”… I rub at my forehead with a forehoof, struggling to come up with anything more useful. “Presque vu! I’m sure there’s something else, but it’s… not coming to me!” I tense with mental exertion, but in the end can only sigh in disappointment. “Sorry, Trixie. Perhaps I’ll be able to come up with something tomorrow? It is getting late, now…”

It seems that sentence is all that’s needed to get Trixie to yawn; she agrees with me readily enough, and we both settle down on the ground.

When morning comes and leaves, the idea of missing something about BT—something important—doesn’t leave me, but I come no closer to figuring out what it is. At Trixie’s direction, I take us down the right path when we reach the fork she had described last night, and by the afternoon we come into view of a huge cloud above a skyline the likes of which I never imagined existing in Equestria. I daren’t ask Trixie about the cloud, but it becomes apparent soon that the place is hardly called “Las Pegasus” for no reason: the city has two “levels”, one on the ground, and then the cloud-city above it. Just as I make this observation, Trixie warns me that she’s going to release the invisibility spells (which she had replaced just before we set off this morning), as it would be too strange for us and the wagon to materialize in the middle of a city where practically no road is left vacant of bodies going to and fro.

After the illusion is released, I rush forward, not wanting to get caught out here, for though we are within sight of the city, we are still far enough away that if we were attacked, no one in the city would be able to tell and call help for us. As the muddle of colors on the streets start to coalesce into individual ponies, I slow down, panting: Running under the noon sun in the Sorraia Wastes seems to be a really good way to make oneself pass out from heat stroke. As I pull us into the city itself, however, I find my wonder decreasing at an exponential rate as the details of the city of sensory overload sharpen; by the time I dive into the throng of the streets, I’m utterly uninterested. Why would this be? Have I been to Las Vegas? I can’t recall consciously, but my subconscious self must, on some level, find this hyperactive place “boring” for some reason… Oh well. Where I have and haven’t been back on Earth is of no consequence here! The only thing that draws my eyes is the cloud above us—from this angle the cloud-city can no longer really be seen, but I wonder at how this city is founded on two levels all the same.

Practically immediately, Trixie jumps out and in whisper informs me that two Changelings appear to be following us; turning down streets at random more or less confirms this, especially once our path takes us in a circle and Trixie informs me that the two are still there. For a moment, I hum in thought. I really hoped Las Pegasus would help us avoid detection; I should’ve realized BT would be watching the road in from the Wastes! I really, really didn’t want to, but… on to plan B… “Trixie, sorry, but you have to know using illusions to escape now wouldn’t work.” I wince at the implication of Trixie’s now-uselessness, but she only shrugs. “Now, we have to dissuade them some other way…” I wait long enough for Trixie to provide her own suggestion, but none seems forthcoming when she motions with her head for me to go on. “I’m thinking… that this means hired protection.”

“What!?” Trixie cries out loud enough to overcome the general din and attract the curiosity of the ponies around us; an embarrassed smile from her has most shrugging and going back along their ways. Just to be safe and make sure nopony is still listening in, Trixie waits until we turn down another road at random before continuing with much more hushed surprise. “You can’t be seriously considering hiring a Sun Guard!” So, the Guard also operates as a mercenary agency? I suppose in a land with so few problems, that makes sense. It also makes things easier than I originally thought! “What if you get found out?!” Yes, it will make being found out more likely, but…

“Relax.” Unsurprisingly, she does nothing of the sort. “We’ll only hire one, so if—if—that happens, it’ll still be us two against one,-”—instead of us two against a few mercenaries—“-but against BT it’ll not only be all three of us, but-”—What a surprisingly pleasant development!—“-one of those will be a Sun Guard! They can’t afford to kill a pony guard under such suspicious circumstances, and letting the guard go would be entirely out of the question.”

Trixie is shaking her head before I finish. “That won’t work. They’re Changelings, remember?”—Déjà vu, or is it just me?—“They only have to change into the guard and us, report the completion of their mission in Ponyville and sign the papers, then disappear, leaving everypony thinking that something happened in Ponyville instead of on the road to Ponyville from Las Pegasus.”

“Manure…” I curse to myself. The very same policies against testing for Changelings that’s protected me so far also, of course, protects the Changelings hunting me! Now what!? Think, Alternate! Think… There has to be something about those policies we can use against BT… -something they most likely wouldn’t know, but I do… Maybe-! I didn’t know anything about such policies when I first came here; while BT most likely would have learned much of the same as I have learned over the weeks, what do they really know about such policies? It’s impossible to tell for sure, but I’m betting they don’t know everything I know, just like… Luna on that day. It would be safer to assume that BT has infiltrated the Sun Guard, but-! “Then… is there any way we can hire a Moon Guard instead?”

“I was wrong…” Trixie giggles humorlessly while shaking her head. “You don’t have a death-wish; you’re not even run-of-the-mill insane! You’re-…” She points accusingly, but then pauses, seemingly lost. “You-… I don’t know! I don’t know if Unicorn* even has a word for what you are!” Unicorn? Just roll with it for now, Alternate; it’s clear from the context that Unicorn is a language, and it’s pretty much 99.9999999% certain she’s referring to what we’re speaking now. I let out a huff through my nostrils and try to communicate by looks alone that Trixie is making a spectacle of herself, but a second later remember that we’ve already been found by BT and this is Las Pegasus—a quick look around confirms only the occasional curious pony, and even those I catch staring are already shrugging and moving on.

I motion for Trixie to come closer. “Believe it or not, Trixie, but hiring a Moon Guard instead of a Sun Guard will be safer in both protecting us from BT on the road and decreasing the chance of me getting found out.” I nod and grin encouragingly, self-assured; Trixie only looks ready to laugh derisively at the most unconvincing argument she will ever hear—it makes me smirk inwardly. “Firstly, we’ll be going to them for help. Trust is a cycle—initiating that cycle is not only important in and of itself, but the very act of same makes one appear more trustworthy. Secondly, your reaction just now is something that may provide protection similarly to how the belief that no Changeling would dare be in Apploosa for its proximity to the border. By acting in certain ways that are opposite to what is expected, we can remove suspicion.” She doesn’t look very convinced—not that I expected her to, as these would apply to the Sun Guard as well; they’re only a warm up.

“Thirdly and finally, ignorance and paranoia are detrimental, but knowing somepony else is ignorant and/or paranoid can be a weapon. It wasn’t all that long ago when I witnessed the Moon Guard violating Celestia’s anti-Changeling-hunting policies—she wasted no time in ordering her Sun Guard to remove the Moon Guards, and, no matter what those Sun Guards might have thought about the matter, they did as they were ordered. I’m not sure why, but ever since then I’m sure Luna, and therefore the Moon Guard (for Luna is their ‘superior figure’, and therefore the one they are more inclined to agree with in the case of any disagreement between the princesses), are still ignorant about Changelings more than, I think it’s reasonable to assume, Celestia and the Sun Guard. Fear, the root of paranoia, not only discourages learning about what is feared, but compels one to believe things that aren’t true, yet validate the fear. If we can get a more specific idea of what the Moon Guard’s misinformation about Changelings is—as likely planted in their minds by Luna—then not only can we better protect my identity, but there will be more and larger holes for me to hide in than in doing the same with a Sun Guard.” As well as get an idea of what Luna herself believes, so that I’m better prepared for my confrontation with her. I keep the last thought to myself, of course, recalling how Trixie had acted towards my admission of going to Canterlot to confront Celestia, and adding that to how she just reacted towards the Moon Guard. The thoughts make my eyebrows fall with pained empathy. “I know, Trixie: It’s not optimal, but we have very few options right now. BT has effectively cornered us; we need to put into play some kind of unknown variable that will force them to back off.”

When Trixie realizes I’m done speaking, she sighs. “Very well, Amethyst… Follow Trixie.” I allow her to step slightly ahead of me; from her new position, she can no longer glance behind us to check if the two Changelings are still trailing us, but I’ve no doubt they are, and I’m sure Trixie shares this conclusion. It takes us a long time to reach what might be called a “police station” by human conventions, but what is obviously not, given the simple fact ponies don’t have police, and the Guards are, according to Trixie, whom I have no reason to doubt, up for hire as mercenaries. I wait outside, unhitched and inside the wagon, after giving Trixie what she believed is the correct amount of bits to hire a Guard to accompany us to Ponyville; I refused to allow her to use the last few of her own bits, not least because I, and I alone, am the reason we need a Guard in the first place.

More than an hour later (I don’t worry, as I know nothing about any bureaucracy and red tape that would slow down the hiring of a Moon Guard), the door opens without a knock—it is her wagon—and Trixie steps in with groceries suspended in magic, which she dumps without much care into the fridge-box next to the door, then drops a set of saddlebags on top of the trunk with a clasp inscribed with a crescent moon. Success, it seems. “Trixie has returned from her mission!” she announces before jumping back out and using her magic to shove against my rear, all but throwing me from the wagon. “This is Tough Targe, who will be our hired defense.” She motions to the pony beside her, undeniably one of the Moon Guard, with slitted pupils and leathery wings along with everything else that makes the Moon Guard as uniform as the Sun Guard, except… its build—I have absolutely no idea if Tough Targe is a mare or stallion; I quell the urge to swallow nervously at making the wrong impression by accidentally calling… it by the wrong pronouns, and merely incline my head for a long moment. “Tough Targe, this is Amethyst Act-” Trixie waves her still-raised hoof from… it to me as I straighten myself up again. “-my recently acquired partner and apprentice.”

Instead of speaking, helping me identify it, it opts to copy my not-really-a-bow inclination of the head; I raise an eyebrow when it raises its head, hoping to prompt it to speak, but its androgynously-shaped muzzle remains firmly shut. Okay… Can’t lie to myself: This is a little creepy. Curse the uncanny valley! -which I suppose also houses me at the moment, as far as most ponies are concerned… Shaking my mind of the notions, I turn to Trixie, who, if I’m not mistaken, is silently asking me, with what seems to be a little smugness, whether I’m questioning my plan now that I’m face-to-face with one of those who view my entire kind as their enemy. “Good!” I cheer, surprising Trixie in a way she’s quick to hide. “This…-”—Guy? Gal? What?!—“-one-!-” I finish way too loudly. I can’t be breaking down already! “-looks like… they’re up to the task…” I try to keep up a smile while fighting down the urge to bite my tongue.

“Can’t tell if I’m a mare or a stallion, can you?” It speaks so suddenly in a voice just as androgynous as the rest of it, along with an accent completely incomparable, that I jump and fear for a fraction that I might lose my disguise not only in front of a Moon Guard standing before a Guard station, but in a street packed with ponies. “S’okay. Been like this for as long as I can remember. Don’t min’ that I’m mistaken for a mare half’a the time any more.” Inside, I’m simply shrugging, but outside I add an embarrassed smile, thinking this would be socially expected, or at least acceptable. “Nah’ a problem.” He shrugs externally. “Also, can jus’ call me Targe; tha’ doesn’ matter either.”

“Right.” I nod. “Yes. Okay. Well, then, I’m guessing we’re all ready to depart, right?” Look up at the sky, continuing without waiting for an answer from either. “We should be getting out of here if we want to get anywhere today.” I step forward to strap myself to the wagon once more and the now-three of us set off, led by Trixie. As we leave the city, I carefully watch her look back before turning to give me a worried look, then glance up at where Tough Targe flies above us. Obviously can’t talk when he might overhear. Safe to say, though, that we’re being followed, the question is, “How?”… “Hold up!” I call out as I pull off to the side of the road, now devoid of buildings. “Trixie, I think I forgot something—can you help me look?” She tilts her head, so I try to give her a signal by raising my eyebrows for a fraction of a second; it doesn’t help, but she follows me in all the same while Targe settles on the ground before the door, which I shut after Trixie’s entrance, then I step forward and swiftly whisper, “Do an unhearable or sound blocking spell or whatever.”

She seems to be starting to get the gist, for she instantly lights up her horn and the entire interior without question, but after a moment of spellcasting, she speaks up. “What is this about? Getting cold hooves about Tough Targe?” She rolls her eyes at the idea, but her tone is serious—she honestly believes I would back out.

“No, I didn’t stop us about him, but those BTs on our tail: What did you see?” I ask without preamble; the smallness of the wagon means it won’t be long before Targe starts to get suspicious about our supposed search.

“Huh? Oh! Uhh…” Trixie apparently hasn’t caught on to my urgent tone; I motion for her to hurry it up. “Well, nothing, really. I looked back before we left the city limits, looked forward again, then didn’t see anything when I looked back again—that was when I just now looked at you and Targe worriedly.” I nod, frowning somewhat grimly; I’d expected this, but hoped for more. Oh well… When your enemy are Changelings, stuff like this is bound to happen… I can certainly understand now why just the idea of Changelings can be scary, if they can disappear even from a pony that can sense through illusionary magic. If I didn’t have Trixie with me, or anyone who can sense illusions, we wouldn’t know about the BT Changelings following us in Las Pegasus, therefore we wouldn’t have stopped to hire Targe, and then-… I don’t need, or want, to complete that thought! I sigh and nod, and she releases whatever spells she was using to keep Targe from hearing us even unintentionally.

“False alarm! Everything’s set after all!” I call when I open the door and hop out, hooking myself up as Trixie steps out after me.

Targe shrugs, looking and feeling—It is definitely good to be able to feel a pony’s emotions clearly again! Now there’s something that hasn’t happened in a while: another “I never thought I’d ___”!—utterly unconcerned. “Whad’ya thin’ you forget?” he asks conversationally, not knowing what he’s doing.

Manure! I really didn’t think that “cover story” through! I almost stop walking when my brain jams, trying to work overtime on an answer before I start looking suspicious. “Oh, just some food.” Preemptively, I run through what I saw Trixie dump so haphazardly into the cold-box. At least with the food all disorganized it will look like we rifled through it! However, now… I completely failed to realize that, with somepony else along, I’ll have to go back to eating to put up appearances, and… pazara—at least when I need to cough that up, I can pretend I need to squat! Do ponies even squat when they-? -Not thinking about it!

“Oh? Wha’ kind?” he continues, the conversation beginning to get a rise in his emotions: trust. It’s then I notice the shiver—the first sign of allagistomiasis—but he doesn’t seem to realize it. Thankfully…

“Daisies. I like a particular brand, and wanted to make sure Trixie got the right one.”

“Wha’ brand is that?”

Manure! -and the worst part is that I can actually feel he’s just trying have a friendly-!

“White Flower’s Flowers,” Trixie intervenes, and I find myself suppressing a sigh with extreme difficulty. Oh, colt… Haven’t felt that particular brand of excitement in a while! Thankfully, after that it seems the Moon Guard has satisfied his curiosity or can’t think of any more questions; we all fall back into silence, and soon enough Targe takes back to the air—I watch him as he swivels his head around in all directions. He certainly seems to be taking this job seriously enough, but I would be beyond surprised if he sees one of those Changelings, or any other BT Changelings, following us, and even further so if he suspects them of any kind of malicious intent, even if he doesn’t suspect them of being Changelings… Such is not the point, of course, but to ward them off from attacking us; keeping them from following would be impossible at this point, but as long as I get to Ponyville safely, then all will be well. -as well as things can be with two countries on the verge of war and me trying to stop it…

We remain in our own silences, Targe occasionally landing and taking off again at his discretion, until the Sun is resting on the horizon, at which time Trixie points ahead at where a stream comes alongside the road for a short while before wiggling gently back into the otherwise flat grassland, which we had entered without my noticing. The area between the road and water consists of densely-packed, gravelless dirt and only sparse grass: obviously a space where ponies often pullover and tent-up for the night. “Let’s stop here.” There’s no argument, for it is nice enough—certainly, across the relatively flat landscape, there doesn’t appear to be a place any better, or at least Tough Targe doesn’t report such as he takes flight and circles above the proposed campsite.

As we have no tent or tents, having no need for same, our preparations consist of nothing more than starting a campfire, which is set unexpectedly by a bolt of lightning with Targe’s encouragement from a cloud after Trixie and I collect some wood from the riverbank (no longer worrying about being seen, there’s no reason not to have a real fire now), then we prepare a dinner of what can only be described as vegan sloppy joes. None of this takes very long, so by the time Luna raises the Moon, we’re already halfway through our meal.

Most of that time I’ve spent staring at the sandwich, wondering what it would taste like if I still had my human tastebuds, and whether it would taste better if I had pony/Changeling tastebuds, but as I watch one sister’s orb replace the other… There’s no point in putting it off. The more I know, the better! “Targe?” I say to get his attention, and only continue after he turns to me and, chewing, hums his acknowledgement. “What do think… about…-” say it! “-Changelings?”

Trixie, also chewing on a bite, immediately begins coughing and pounding her chest; Targe and I move in on her, but before either of us can reach her, she gives a massive gulp and begins panting. “All right. I’m all right,” she gasps out as she waves us both off, and when Targe turns his back on us for half of a moment as he returns to where he left his sandwich, Trixie gives me an alarmed look; I try to tell her to calm herself and play along by giving a slow nod.

“Hmm…” The thoughtful hum from Targe draws my attention back to him; he’s looking up at the sky, having slowed his chewing to a more contemplative motion, but most of all… He’s not angry, or aggressive, or even concerned? When he finally swallows, before which I’ve returned to my own place around the fire, his words confirm what I sensed and concluded. “Changelings, huh? Wha’ do I think of ’em?” I give an encouraging nod. “Well, honestly: nothing. Nothing much at all.” He shakes his head and shrugs while Trixie stares incredulously, forgetting about her sandwich in her magical grip, letting it drift dangerously close to the fire. “Ah’ know: It mus’ seem mighty weird for a Guard, ’specially Moon Guard, not to even hate Changelings a little mite, but-” He gives each of us a long, stern, no-nonsense look before continuing. “-but before you ask any questions, I tell you, I was there, in Canterlot, when it happen’, and I tell you both there’s no reason to worry about Changelings, least’a for common ponies like you, ’specially.”

At that, even I can’t help but look a little incredulous, even as his emotions only corroborate his opinions! Not one bit of my skeptical tone is artificial. “So, what did you see in Canterlot that makes you think that? I mean, the Changelings wanted to take over Equestria and… harvest us all for food, right?” I do, however, try to sound a little disgusted when I mention the Changeling diet, purposefully phrasing it as if I’m misinformed, and finishing with a stuck out tongue.

“Aye.” Targe nods. “-or least’a something like that,” he corrects with a shrug. “Na’ my e’zpertise, but I understand it tha’ Changelings don’ permanently hurt nopony eating their love. ’Course,-” His emotions suddenly take a sharp turn into anger, but not so much that it overshadows his remaining unconcernedness, and his anger isn’t reflected on his face. “-tha’ doesn’t say anything about the attack, though, na’? What happen’ to me there: I was captured in the first few seconds—didn’ get to buck one Changeling’s face in. One second I see the barrier breaking and the Changelings coming down, and the next I know, I’m stuck to the ground, completely ’elpless, at their mercy…” He pauses dramatically, leaning forward. “-and I’m still here, aren’t I?” He leans back again. “Canterlot was crawling infested—was always in sight of least’a one of them, and it wouldn’t’a taken na’ but a momen’ to tear my neck open with them’s fangs; they had hours to do it, but they didn’t.” Here his emotions switch again, this time towards sorrow which foreshadows his next words. “Now, I hear after that some ponies were killed, viciously, too, but why na’ me? Why only those dozen ponies?” He shakes his head, and what little anger had colored him begins to dissipate. “Like I say: Na’ my e’zpertise, but I think there’s something i’portant about that we’re missing—something that makes the Changelings more equine than most think, I’da bet. Least’a I don’ buy any ‘hive mind’ na’sense; I canna’ put it in words (they’re never my sharpest weapon),-” Frustration comes to fore for only a second before he pushes it away. “-but something about the attack… jus’ didn’t look right to say they’re having a hive mind.” He ends with a sad shake of his head, lowering it to stare at the ground in what seems to be sorrowful contemplation.

Those are interesting conclusions to reach, particularly for someone who experienced the siege as he did. “That… doesn’t really address my point.” I shake my head in turn, injecting indignance into my tone. “What if the attack had succeeded?! You’d be used like-… like food!”

“E’zac’ly,” Targe answers instantly. I raise my brows, tilt my head, and thrust my head forward in a rather rude gesture to invite him to go on; he snorts at this and narrows his eyes, staring straight into mine. “Do na’ get it? The attack was never mean’ to hurt us—they need us alive! They-. -need-. -us. Na’ preten’ to know why the Changelings chose to attack us as they did, but I do know that it was na’ malicious. Whatever their plan was, they did it for our love: to feed themselves. Do na’ know if my point is getting to you, but either way, we na’ need to worry about being attacked like Canterlot ag’in.”

Trixie, apparently having gotten over her shock and worry, asks my next question for me. “How can you say that? -that ‘another Canterlot’ won’t happen?”

Targe tilts his head in Trixie’s direction. “Eh? That’s easy: The only reason Canterlot was over run is because we were na’ prepared to be attacked by anything like Changelings- something that could look like your best friend, then the instant you turn your back, they get you. That’s how I was captured, as do na’ think I told you: Thought it was my partner by my side, and when I turn toward some Changelings rushing at us, my ‘partner’ jumped on my back! Now, the Guard’s ready to deal with mos’ Changelings’ tricks, but more than that’s-… The Changelings are na’ going to be trying anything like that ag’in, anyway.” Even before he’s finished this statement, he has his forehoof raised and is turning his head aside to stem questions. “Just think about it for a secon’ before you say anything. Think about how Princess Celestia insists that nopony go out hunting Changelings, or even just checking random ponies every once in a while. Think about how Changelings must have been in Equestria long before any plan to attack Canterlot… Would they try ag’in after their failure, now that we’re ac’ually prepared? Na’. If you ask me, Changelings have gone back to doing what they’ve always done: replacing somepony for a few weeks before leaving everything as it was. Perfec’ly harmless. Insignificant little bugs going back to their insignificant little lives.” He believes that… or at least I think he does, if I can judge by his emotions, still untainted by any kind of aggressive leaning.

However, that leaves one more question that I would really rather not bring up… “What about…-” I swallow back real nervousness. “-the border?”

The effect is instantaneous: His emotions shatter and scramble between uncertainty and worry. “That-… That’s na’-… It’s a precaution. A warning… that we’re na’ going to tolerate any aggressiveness, least’a like another Canterlot, from them. I-… I na’ agree with it!” He looks around as if expecting Princess Luna, having been spying on us, to jump out at this admission and discharge him from her Moon Guard; only after a long moment in which this, unsurprisingly, doesn’t happen, he continues. “Something like that…-” He shakes his head, sorrow coming forth again. “I na’ heard of anything like it. That’s just na’ something ponies… do.” He ends with a sigh, and I can tell he has more that he’s on the verge of saying, but it’s easy for me to admit I don’t need any more. Maybe it is something ponies do, maybe it isn’t; I know I don’t have any way to know, Trixie isn’t saying anything as she looks at the ground, and Targe…

For the rest of the meal, no one speaks or even tries to meet another’s eyes—not even me and Trixie—and we just as silently take up our beds: Trixie in her wagon, I next to the embers of the fire, and Tough Targe on the roof of the wagon to better watch over us.

“-ing… Changeling.” The word comes to my ear, whispered and close; I fight against its pull towards the waking world, still too connected to the resting world to realize the battle is futile. “Changeling,” it comes again, a little more insistently, seemingly encouraged by my wordless mumbles and attempts to twist and turn away. Then something clicks: The voice is that of a male’s, which means it’s not Trixie, which means-!

Still rendered partially blind to reality, I burst into a fit, tossing my limbs everywhere, but meeting nothing but blankets. I try to call out for Trixie, but my tongue doesn’t cooperate and the blankets tighten against my mouth, cutting off any sounds I manage to make.

“Shh. Shh!” Tough Targe shushes in continued whispers. “Na’ hunting you if you na’ hurt me? I na’ worry about you if you na’ worry about me.” As power is restored to the logic center of my brain, I recall Targe’s words from only hours ago (I think; it could’ve been minutes ago for all the attention I wasn’t paying), so, more calmly and coordinately, I pull at the blankets until I can finally see the stars… and Targe standing about half a meter away, barely illuminated by the moon and embers. “-and if you don’ believe tha’, could’a-”

“-killed me in my sleep. Right.” I finish for him, and when he nods, I let out a relieved sigh that ends with similarly-flavored chuckles and a shake of my head. “So, I’m guessing you want to know what I’m doing in Equestria and why I want to go to Ponyville before you decide what to do about me?”

“Aye.” He nods. “-but before that…-” He tilts his head and, I can tell now that my eyes are adjusted to the darkness, narrows his eyes with curiosity, without a hint of aggression—Which would also define his emotions. Emotions that definitely contain less love than when… I went to bed? I’m guessing, then, he only figured this out after, or at least started to suspect, which I just now confirmed without him needing to break the “no hunting” rule. Clever. “-I was wondering, why hire a Moon Guard instead of a Sun Guard?”

Thinking back to the arguments I used to beat down Trixie’s reluctance, I grimace. “Well…” I stall as I frantically think of some nice way to phrase my intended deception and information-gathering techniques. I could just come up with a quick lie-NO! I gulp, but tense with new determination. “Well, I thought, it would be easier to-” I pause for only half of a second “-fool you.” My eyes widen in the next moment. “I mean, not ‘you’-you, you specifically, but the Moon Guard in general, because you’re- ‘the Moon Guard you’-you’re the more paranoid of the two, so I thought ‘Moon Guard’-you would be more misinformed, so it would be easier to hide right under your muzzle.” I take in a deep, nervous breath through my teeth. “Uh, which… doesn’t really sound all that better as far as ‘not insulting’ ‘you’-you, which-”

A raised forehoof is enough to get me to stop rambling; the raised hoof is followed by a shake of the head and a shrug. “I ’preciate the honesty. Even if you’re wrong, it make’ sense.” He raises the forehoof again, this time to his chin to turn to thought for a moment before nodding. “Aye. Thinking if I was you, would’a done the same, a’zhually. Easier to fool somepony who’s’ve convinced themselves a bunch’a lies, aye?” He nods again and answers his own question before I can even get past the thought that Tough Targe has basically just admitted his own Guard as the more misinformed of the two. “Aye, and for most Moon Guard, would’a been right, but na’ think most’a has seen what I saw.” My next question must have been clear on my face, for Targe doesn’t let me ask it before answering. “Na’, na’ meaning about what I’d saw in Canterlot, but… a Changeling I ran into after the attack, in Las Pegasus, a’zhually. Orders are to kill any Changeling you know is a Changeling, but tha’ Changeling… was so pitiful, I jus’ could na’ even consider that. Then, it na’ just thank me after, but hugged me, a Moon Guard. Was completely alone, let it move into a position it could’a attacked me, and, just like Canterlot, it na’ do a single harmful thing to me. Was when I realized tha’ Changelings are just like ponies, wanting to just live and sometimes falling in’a bad point in life—bad enough to do somethings desperate, occasionally.”

“Oh…” I don’t know what else to say about that. To think a pony would risk-! No… Trixie is doing the same thing, just like Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash did. Of course none of them can know, for what knowing is worth, but that’s what trust is: not knowing… “That was what you were on the verge of saying earlier, wasn’t it? -but you didn’t want to say anything in front of Trixie in case she didn’t know?”

He nods. “Aye, but guessing by the way you phrase’ that, she do’ know?” My turn to nod, which makes him snort. “Now there’s something, huh?” I tilt my head at that, but he’s already going on to clarify. “You two act familiar ’round ’ch’other, her e’zpecially to you, so also guessing you two’ve been traveling together for a mite?” A more confused nod from me this time, as I wonder what he’s getting at; his neutral face falling into a slight frown quickly turns most of the confusion to worry. “-but only hire a Guard now? Do na’ tell me you two’ve run into some money troubles, owing more’an your worth?”

“Wha-?-No!” I raise my forelegs to wave them about as I shake my head as fast as it can go. “No, nothing like that at all. It’s more like ‘trouble is hunting for us’, yeah… actually more like ‘following us’ most likely. It’s other Changelings that are after us.” I’m quick to explain, figuring what he’s going to ask next. “Some… didn’t like what happened in Ponyville about two months ago. I-”

“Wait,” he cuts me off, looking to the side thoughtfully. “Ponyville, two months ago?” The question is obviously to himself, so I wait for the conclusion that, surely enough, comes with wide-eyed surprise. “Mean you’re the one that copied one’a the Element Bearers, and was dealt with by Princess Celestia?!” For a moment, panic rises inside of me at the thought he’s going to accuse me of attacking the Bearers with intent to replace them, or something like that, but his emotions, showing no such intention, beats down those worries just as quickly as they came. “Wow. Even doubted it when I’d heard you’re spared an’ teleported across the border. Well, s’far’s I’m concerned, that’s the end’a that!” He nods once, resolute. “Got the Bearers of Kindness, Generosity, and Loyalty behind you? If had na’ been already convinced, that’d do it, thinking. Aye! About to say something?”

“Oh, just… I was going to answer why I’m going to Ponyville.” I sigh and lower my eyes to the ground. I don’t know if it’s safe to tell this one the whole truth, but… “It’s-… It feels like my home, even though I never really had a ‘home’ there, and I just wanted to… see it again, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live there again, with these other Changelings who would just be waiting for the right moment to strike, but it’s not safe for me to travel, either, so… I just don’t know what’s going to happen to me; whether I’ll still be alive next week, or the week after that, or- I just don’t know, so I figured I’d rather be someplace that’s at least familiar.” There. None of that is technically untrue.

“Oh… Oh,” he whispers as his eyes widen yet again, and, not entirely surprisingly, his love towards me jumps in strength slightly. “Na’ ever considered that being banished by one’a the Princesses herself’d result in being attack by your own, but… I can see they’d see you as a threat, right? Course’a; you let the pony you imponyated go out to shout how there was a Changeling looking like her while you’re feeding-…”—Is he talking about Fluttershy? I don’t think she’s the one to be shouting about anything, even a Changeling using her form. Well, especially not that, and especially not any more, I think!—“-and then there was Princess Celestia’s promise to be watching out for you—na’ doubt that’d endanger other Changelings in and around Ponyville! Oh… well, then-” He narrows his eyes determinedly. “-we’ll just have to figure something out. Something to convince all these other Changelings that that was all a big mistake and misunderstanding… but na’ tonight. Sleep well, Ame-”

“Alternate. You can call me Alternate.”

He gives me a bow-like nod. “Aye, Alternate. Sleep tight.”

As he spreads his wings, I respond, “I’d say the same, if I didn’t need you to be awake most of the time, and a light sleeper when you’re not.” He chuckles and the addition of camaraderie causes another slight boost to Targe’s emotions towards me.

I watch him launch himself up until he becomes a faint shadow that can only be seen by how he blocks the stars, except for, occasionally, his eyes flashing like a cat’s, and when I lay down again, I indeed sleep very tightly.

The rising of the Sun is our alarm clock (with no snooze button) , or at least it is for Tough Targe and me, laying outside in the cold morning air (that feels particularly cold after traveling through the Sorraia Desert and Wastes) while Trixie rests inside her wagon, though after traveling with her for a while now—to say nothing of the love I can literally feel that she has for me—that doesn’t last long with me being comfortable with waking her. Breakfast is a quick helping of daisy pancakes (with no syrup or butter) made with Amethyst’s favorite brand; at least that’s breakfast for Trixie and Targe, for as there is no one need of being fooled, I decline. “Trixie,” I explain, “there’s no need to waste any food on me, at least any more.”

“Huh?” Trixie allows herself to be confused for only half of a second before she raises her eyebrows and shifts her eyes ever so slightly towards the shoulder over which I can see Targe munching away so happily that seeing him so, it’s hard not to say his favorite food is dry daisy pancakes. Catching his eyes with my own, I smile and nod before glancing significantly to Trixie, then to the plate of pancakes she has levitated beside her—he returns my nod just before Trixie turns her head to grin at him in what, true to Trixie’s form, appears honest rather than the worried nervousness that must be threatening to escape her.

Targe, noticing this, swallows when I give him another nod and glance to the plate of pancakes again, hoping he’ll get the hint I’m inviting him to speak the truth. “Aye. Alternate’s right: Na’ need to waste food on a Changeling… e’zpecially daisy pancakes,” he adds as he positively skips forward and with his teeth takes the top pancake off the stack the now-frozen Trixie is still holding in her magic. As he chews on what she had deigned as mine, Trixie is only able to make little sounds of confusion.

“Relax, Trixie.” That gets her to finally look away from the Moon Guard. “Didn’t I tell you it would be fine?” On a whim, I lean close to her ear, but don’t bother to whisper. “I have him completely under my control…” Pulling back slowly with a murderous grin on, I flash my horn green, which draws her horrified, open-mouthed expression to my forehead. I can’t help it: I burst into laughter almost instantly. “Trixie, you should see the look on your face! Oh… heh heh heh… I don’t even know those kinds of spells!”

“-An’ besides, those kind’a spells take more than one night’s worth’a applications to get somepony ‘completely’ under your control, and you’d need some kind’a excuse to cast some kind’a spell that you could pretend to be casting instead, otherwise would na’ let you cast that spell on me.” Interesting. That certainly explains Chrysalis’s actions in the days leading up to the wedding. Actually, this would also hint that it was Chrysalis that made the threat to Canterlot, in addition to suggesting (as Cadance) that Shining Armor put the shield up, in order to have an excuse to cast spells on him!… -probably… “Chrysalis’s actions”? “Pretending”? “Suggested”? I wonder…

As Trixie and Targe finish eating, I take my freed-up mealtime to wash the pan in the stream, thinking furiously about a wisp of inspiration on augmenting our defenses. With the fire put out, the campsite disassembled, and the wagon ready to roll, I put a halting hoof on Trixie’s cold, shivering withers just as she opens her mouth and points at the harness. “Wait. I have another idea.” I grin mysteriously. “Targe, if you’ll accompany me into the wagon?” He nods, and I motion for him to go ahead, which he does. “Good. Trixie, once we’re in, I want you to cast every single spell to block every single method of detection you can think of on the wagon, except any that would block Targe and I from seeing and hearing each other, and once that’s done, light the lantern, can you do that?”

“Yes, but-” I don’t give her time to ask the obvious questions, as they’ll be answered soon enough without me needing to say anything. There is a moment of strangeness, in which there are no obvious signs of magic being cast, but the air tingles nonetheless, then it disappears, and a moment after that the lantern flickers to life with a tiny flame.

“Right’a, Alternate, what want?” He cocks his head from where he’s standing on Trixie’s bed. As an answer, I look him up and down for a moment, then, just as I see the dawning of realization, bring forth my Changeling powers: The green fire burns away the form of Amethyst Act and leaves in her place Tough Targe, armor and all. “Oh… -but, uh, why?”

“Easy: The Changelings following us—that’re na’ doubt hiding somewhere outside right now—’re after me, so disguising myself as you, while you’re still right there nex’ to me, adds an extra layer of protection to me by confusing them; my protection being the reason you’re hired, remember.” He nods, confusion leaving him. “You’re the one who gave me the idea, a’zhually!” I grin at how quickly I’m able to bring that confusion right back. “Firs’ got me thinking by mentioning how I ha’ been caught, what with Fluttershy running for help while I’s still in her shape, feeding, and then just now talking about that mind-control spell. I realized for a Changeling to trick another Changeling using na’ bu’ Changelings’ natural ability, all needs to do is reverse how Changelings use that ability to trick ponies! As a bonus, disguising as a Moon Guard means nopony passing us on the roads will be suspicious, since all the Guard looks like ’ch’other.”

I bask in the wonderment that infuses his emotions then. “This- You- That…’s something else. Thinking that you selling yourself short, Aye?” It’s not really a question. “Aye, shows that skills is na’ everything, but the smarts to use them. Thinking that you’ll be just fine like this—that you’ll be able to avoid these other Changelings, and find a different, more permanent, less risky way of hiding from them. Maybe even be able to lose them entirely just with this? -but… just thinking, what about eating? Won’t it be obvious who’s who after only one’a us eats?”

“That’s easy, too: We do the same thing we’re doing right now. After each meal, Trixie will enchant her wagon as I just asked her to, then, after a while…” I light my invisible horn with magic to open the trunk and pull out a bit from my bag. “I flip; you call. If it’s yours, you go out after me,” I say as I pull the coin towards me and drop it on my upturned forehoof. “Also, every few hours or so, we’ll alternate pulling the wagon; we’ll do another coin flip every morning to see who starts pulling—you call wrong, you pull first.”

With a silent nod of understanding, he motions with a careless flick of his hoof for me to go ahead. I do so and, as the coin reaches the apex of its flight, he calls, “Tail.”

Catching it on the hoof I tossed it with and keeping it there with my other forehoof, I reveal, “Head. Now call for first wagon-pulling duty.” This time he calls the opposite side, but, “Tail.” I nod and grin at his playful grimace as I slip the coin back into the bag and shut it in the trunk. Flapping my new bat-like wings, I fly over him as he crouches and crawls under me, but as he raises a hoof to open the door, I look back at those wings with a sudden thought. “One last question: What exactly am I, now?”

He looks back and begins to tilt his head in that familiar way, but catches himself with an, “Oh!” of understanding. “Hearing commons call us ‘bat-ponies’-” He rolls his eyes before straightening up with pride. “-but we’re named noxaballiones by Luna, who transformed us, as well’s firs’ created this form, to better serve her under her night.”

“Right.” That’s that mystery solved. Not that it really helps, of course, but “Mission: Sate Curiosity” is a success! “‘Night’… that would explain the ‘nox’… which also, probably just coincidentally, means ‘dream’,” I murmur absently to myself, but this comment catches Targe’s interest, judging by the way his ears perk.

“Now, that’s interesting.” I quirk an eyebrow, inviting him to go on. “Latin’s been dead forever; only spoken by scholars now-days.” He give me a scrutinizing look. “What’s some-Changeling with your smarts doing out here playing magician?” He corrects himself quickly. “Meaning, what was some-Changeling like you doing in Ponyville, which na’ e’zac’ly a place where smarts like yours wou’ be used to their potential? ’Re na’ you like some ‘language-ist’ or like-some?”

Me, a linguist? I am, apparently, a doctor of something, but language? No, that doesn’t feel right. Closer than anything I’ve considered, but no bullseye. “First, most importantly, and… only, is that I’m not any kind of scholar.” -that knows what he’s a scholar OF, I add to myself. “I only-… Linguam latinum studui, uh, paulisper?” I finish with a question, not only unsure of the word itself, but unable to recall if Latin adverbs are allowed to come after the verb, and therefore I should have corrected myself with “paulisper studui.” I wince. Definitely no “language-ist”!

Tough Targe blinks once, twice, thrice. “Well… I don’t,” he says, apparently under the impression I had said something along the lines of, “I speak Latin a little,” or something like that. “-or like-some”… I like that!

“-didn’t!” I correct with a laugh. “Said, ‘I’ve studied Latin a little.’… Least’a thinking that’s what I said!” I add, making him laugh with me, which all the while raises how much love I’m getting off of him. He has to be okay with it, I tell myself as I fight the urge to bite my lip, but I’m not sure my continued laughter is as convincing. As a Guard, especially a Moon Guard, he has to know about allagistomiasis! He’s probably reasoned that we’ll get to Ponyville long before any serious symptoms show up… We stop laughing soon enough, and he neither looks nor feels suspicious.

Forgetting in that moment that Trixie is waiting for an explanation and passively sees through illusions, I wave a hoof to invite him to go ahead, and he leads us out without another thought, causing Trixie to greet us with, “Tough Targe… and Alternate!?” She looks back and forth between us; I’m not the only one around here “selling myself short”, though, and the intelligent mare figures it out pretty quickly. “Oh! Trixie thinks she gets it! In order for a Changeling to trick a Changeling, you reverse-!”

“Aye.” I hold up a forehoof. “Got it e’zac’ly right, but now we’ve to do this all over again, since you just informed any watching us who’s who.” She looks appropriately scolded, shrinking back in a kind of half-bow and smiling apologetically. At this display, Targe rolls his eyes, which he settles… on me? Cowed in turn, I lower me head. “Sorry, Trixie. That was my fault for forgetting how you see through illusions like you do, so I thought I should keep you in the dark in order to keep you from figuring out which one of us is which, so you wouldn’t accidentally blow my cover… which, now that I think about it for a second, isn’t really all that good of a plan.” I let out a few weak chuckles, inviting the statement to turn into a joke, but no one joins me.

“Trixie understands, and for what it’s worth, she thinks that if she wasn’t cursed so, that that would actually be a good plan.” I can’t tell if she’s just trying to stoke my confidence, but I take the compliment for what it means. With that, Targe and I once again retreat into the wagon, the lantern is lit after a moment, and we flip the coin twice: This time I exit first, but Targe is still left with first wagon-pulling duty.

As I leap up, ready to take position over the wagon when we get moving, Trixie moves up to the harness, where Targe is struggling with the straps. “Let me help you with that!” Witnessing such, I realize that even though I no longer have to keep my Changeling nature hidden from Targe, I now have to maintain my noxaballio disguise, which means that will be me in a few hours.

With Targe hooked up, Trixie retreats from the cold into her wagon, and then the three of us are off. I probably shouldn’t fly too high, since I don’t know if the trace is capable of reading height as well, but I can’t fly too low—that might look suspicious… I settle at an altitude I think is lower than what Tough Targe had been at yesterday, but try to compensate by making slightly wider circles. I earnestly look all around, but the Changelings, which I’m starting to doubt are following us at all, remain entirely elusive. As the Sun rises further and further, and we stop to get Trixie to help with switching the harness—she instantly understands the confusion tactic in this move—and any potential threat from BT fades into the background of my thoughts, I can’t help but grow worried about something far less concerning: my apparent lack of pazara production, or at least feeling no urge to expel. Perhaps it’s something a Changeling needs to get used to? I attempt to reason with myself. Perhaps, after “maturing” some part of the pazara-making organs, a Changeling no longer feels such an urgent need, and only “vomits” when consciously prompted? I shrug off the question, reminding myself that, if I do feel the urge, there’s no need to hide my nature from Tough Targe, and afterwards we can always do the coin flips again. Also, having a little pazara ready in my stomach at all times sounds like a good idea—never know if and when it might come in handy, and it’s not like I’m using my stomach for anything else!

In this way, we travel on for a few days, encountering nothing more exciting than the occasional fork in the road, until we reach Ponyville itself.

Targe, currently flying as I pull, swoops down to alert us we’re about to enter the Ponyville’s city limits, and that I should resume my invented Amethyst disguise right then, as the roads are clear of anypony who might see. City limits… that’s definitely too close to too many ponies for BT to dare try anything now. I nod, and he soars back up as I surround myself with the usual green fire. “Usual”? It hasn’t really been that long, after all—not even a quarter of a year since I first set hoof—a frantic, starving hoof—in Ponyville… and yet everything I’ve learned, so much in so little time, even as it feels like so little in so much time, is going to be turned into weapons of peace and understanding… somehow. I wince.

What do I really know, anyway? What do I know that I can use to convince even one of the princesses, never mind all three?! Realizing how quickly I’ve started hyperventilating, I close my eyes to help focus on my breathing. Slow down, Alternate. You knew when you left Buckley that you wouldn’t be able to gather much information. You have what you have, and you’re not likely to get much else; the best you can do is counter Celestia’s arguments as they come, and once you have her, it’ll surely be easier to convince the other two. I could try to convince Luna or Cadance first, but… I have no reason to expect they might be easier to convince, but I am sure Celestia has the most sway over both the other princess and the public.

We enter Ponyville proper, and… nothing happens. Not even a Changeling-proof barrier? It has been a whole two months, but… I suppose that’s too close to “hunting Changelings” for Celestia to be comfortable with, or something, for whatever reason she’s refusing the hunting of Changelings. I look up at the now-visible Canterlot, seeing it, too, is barrier-free. That’ll help with getting in, once I have the Element Bearers on my side.

The Element Bearers…

Though Trixie might have been right about the entirety of Equestria, it seems at least that Twilight Sparkle’s local influence has made the ponies of Ponyville look beyond Trixie’s past wrongs on the town, and we’re even greeted with some friendly—or at least “I’ve forgiven you”-type—waves. The first place Trixie leads us to is the Guard station, saying paperwork on this end of the mission needs to be filled out, but shouldn’t take nearly as long.

“Actually, Trixie, I’ll catch up with you later, there are… things I need to do- ponies I need to see.” I incline my head to emphasize the already heavy implications in the message.

Tough Targe comes to my rescue. “Course’a!” He waves as if brushing dust off a low, invisible table. “This side’a the paper na’ taking long at all, an’ Ponyville’s a safe place for leaving things unattended, anyways.” He shrugs, and after a sigh, Trixie shrugs as well. I suppose she can’t be blamed for being wary of the Ponyvillians… -and Targe… I hadn’t known you for long, but your love for me has grown so strong! Of course I daren’t say such things out loud, but I think he gets the gist in my downturned brows and long sigh as I wave to him while he holds the door of the Guard station open for Trixie.

Now, to business. Pinkie Pie, just before I was teleported away, appeared to be on the verge of accepting me, so she’ll probably be the easiest… If Celestia hasn’t managed to pull her back. No point in thinking about that, though! I square my shoulders, but still can’t help but gulp nervously as I once again bring up that mental map of Ponyville that had very likely saved my life- that had been one of many things that had saved my life on that first day. Though I don’t remember any Guard station being in Ponyville, judging by the direction to Canterlot, I’m pretty sure Sugar Cube Corner is in this general direction.

I’m right, and arrive at the eccentrically designed bakery—A perfect place for a pony like Pinkie, even if she didn’t turn out to be a baker as well as a party planer—but I’m in no mood to congratulate myself. A mood Pinkie is sure to notice in an instant… and draw attention to, no doubt, with her loud ways… No! Stop thinking like that! You’re a Changeling!—You can fool her just long enough to get her somewhere alone, maybe her room, or somewhere. Urgh, that kind of makes me sound like a rapist or something! -“something” like a Changeling… Maybe Pinkie will be “the easiest”, but that doesn’t mean “easy” in the more general sense!

Steeled, I push open the door that sets a tiny bell jingling and I enter with my best fake smile. I hope it don’t look too fake—Pinkie seems like the kind of pony that would be able to tell! -except she didn’t recognize Applejack’s fake smile, did she? -and that was a really bad fake! Bolstered by such thoughts, I walk more comfortably up to the counter than when I had entered. However, Pinkie isn’t at the counter, nor anywhere else that I can see. Hopefully she’s in the kitchen or with the foals—Have Pound and Pumpkin even been born yet? -Don’t get sidetracked! “Eh, hello…-”—Should I say “Mr. Cake” or “Carrot Cake” or pretend I don’t know him?—“-mister. Is Pinkie Pie here? I need to talk with her. -in private,” I quickly add. His eyes widen slightly, and, guessing what’s coming, I give another addendum. “She hasn’t done anything to me or my property, I just… have a few things that need to be said. I’m not mad or anything, promise.”

He forms an “O” with his mouth for a moment, then looks me over before nodding—my smile apparently fooling him, at least—and finally glancing at a wallclock. “Rrr-right! Good timing on your part: It shouldn’t hurt any to let Pinkie take a break now. Let me show you into the kitchen, and I’ll tell Pinkie.” I nod, widening my smile slightly as I walk around the counter to where Mr. Cake is holding open the low door that mutely tells customers, “Employees only”, and leads me into the kitchen. Inside, Pinkie is decorating a line of cupcakes, but whips her head around upon hearing the door, and gasps, not a happy gasp, but a surprised gasp. Pinkie. Surprised. Just by the appearance of her (co-?)boss and some apparently everyday Earth pony. I don’t blame Mr. Cake for turning a little worried, but I’m more interested in how Pinkie’s forehooves continue on without her, decorating the cupcakes perfectly.

Eventually, Mr. Cake gets over his surprise of seeing Pinkie surprised and begins to introduce me. “Pinkie, this is-”

“-Amethyst Act,” I supply quickly enough, as I hadn’t given Mr. Cake my name.

“-Amethyst Act, who wishes to speak with you in private.” He waves his hoof somewhat unnecessarily, then, probably realizing the unnecessarily-ness, raises it further a bit too late to scratch at an itch in his mane I’m sure doesn’t exist.

Finally, she gasps again—this time a happy gasp—and launches into movement, rushing forward and grabbing me by my muzzle, leaving bits of frosting in my fur. “Ohmygosh! You’re new! -but… how?! My Pinkie Sense didn’t tell me somepony new was in town!” She shakes me forward and back, “You must tell me how you got past my Pinkie Sense!”

With my vision blurred by Pinkie shaking me, I look to the side, but see no yellow. Looks like Mr. Cake made a tactical retreat back to the service counter, the lucky stallion. Pushing Pinkie away with a forehoof, she slides impossibly smoothly for the friction the wooden floor and my muzzle should have provided, and continues for a moment to jerk her forelegs back and forth as if still shaking me. A movement catches my eye: A curious mare walking by has stepped closer to peer in at us—I nearly let my smile slip as my eyes widen for half of a second. “Pinkie.” Catching her attention, she drops to all fours instantly and begins instead to stare somewhat unnervingly—I feel in that moment that, should she merely consider that I might be a Changeling, she’d inexplicably be able to see through me somehow, and equally inexplicably be able to remove my disguise without needing to knock me unconscious, and raise the alarm. What would Tough Targe think then? What if he’s the one that responds, and doesn’t know it’s me? -or, worse, does know it’s me, or at least believes strongly it is?!… I have to swallow once, then twice before I even think I can speak again, then I swallow a third time to make sure; my voice still doesn’t sound normal. “Pinkie, is-… is there somewhere more… isolated, so we can speak more openly, without… any chance of being interrupted or overheard?” -preferably someplace soundproof and with only one exit on which I can use my pazara to block… Not that even that would be guaranteed to stop Pinkie.

Thankfully, she seems completely unaware of my apprehension. “Sure, we can talk in my room! Follow me!” Without waiting for a response, she begins to bounce away into the private dwelling half of the business-slash-house combo that, as far as I’ve seen, is the norm in Equestria. Shrugging, I follow, and even though she’s already out of sight, the sound of her bouncing, much like a spring that ignores what should be her considerable weight crashing down on hard hooves-… No use thinking about it. Arriving in the bedroom, I close the door with a kick of a hindhoof, after which Pinkie whirls around on me. “So, why do ya what’a talk to me, huh? Is it just me, or do you know me, but I don’t know you? Are you gon’na explain that?”

“Yes,” I answer even she finishes the question, which stops the stream or maybe that was really the last of her questions for now? Doesn’t matter. What does matter is… maybe I can get my point across gently? “Pinkie, you’re right: I do know you, but you’re wrong, since you know me, too; you just don’t… recognize me because I look different from the last time you saw me.” I lean forward, imploring her to understand the intentionally vague just incase there is still a stray ear nearby. Mrs. Cake remains unaccounted for, after all… “-really different,” I add with a raise of my eyebrows.

Pinkie looks up at the ceiling, rubbing her chin and neck as she hums thoughtfully; soon enough, she looks back down, the obvious confusion knocking my spirits down. “Are you sure-sure? I suppose you could have dyed your fur and your mane and tail and got a new mane cut and styled your tail different and got colored contacts, but I don’t recognize that Cutie Mark at all, and I remember everything about every pony I’ve ever met. Maybe you’re confusing me for some other Pinkie, because that’s just a nickname; my real name is Pinkamena, and I was just thinking maybe I accidentally stole the name of somepony who’s real name is Pinkie and you confused me for them.” She gasps. “Ohmygosh! I stole somepony’s name! I always thought Pinkamena was a weird name, so I liked Pinkie better, but I didn’t think of checking if somepony else was already named Pinkie Pie, so maybe I should go back to being called Pinkamena even though I don’t really like it, but Pinkie isn’t my name, I just took it without asking! I’m a name thief!” She wails, rearing up to dramatically clutch her head between her forehooves like a certain mare named after a certain flower.

“Pinkie!” I grab at her head in turn and force her down. “Focus! It’s definitely you I want to talk to. Besides, no pony could confuse you for another because no pony is like you… not even your own clones were quite like you,” I add in a mumble. What now? What can I say now?! “Pinkie, the last time we met, I made a Pinkie Promise in front of you to a very close friend of yours that I would be okay… which is, actually, partially what I came here to talk about.” At the mention of my promise, the memories of that day rush back to me. If things don’t go as I hope, I might not even get to see Fluttershy again. At least, most likely, she won’t know it’s me, the one who made that promise—she can go on, imagining I’m safe and sound back in Hasharstan… A tightness in my throat makes me cough, and quickly wipe at my eyes before their building tears can fall; I can’t fool Pinkie though, and her face instantly falls into a frown. “I’m… not sure I’ll be able to keep that promise, so I was-”

“NEVAR!” Pinkie suddenly shouts, brows knitted dangerously angry, making me jump and let out a tiny sound of fear; embarrassing thoughts of what else could’ve happened make me grateful I no longer have a bladder. “Nopony- no one can ever break a Pinkie Promise!” She shoves her muzzle against mine as she shouts, then when she says, “Ne-ver,” she pulls her head back to shake it one way with the first syllable, and the other with the last; finished with that, she returns to staring at me, only now much more seriously. “You just can’t.”

As I calm my heart, I realize what Pinkie had just said. She corrected “nopony” to “no one”?… I wonder if that means what I’m hoping, because if so, she’s not panicking, which would be a good thing if my hints got through to her! “Ah, but, Pinkie… I promised that I would be all right, which I really can’t keep any more because of… certain life-threatening things I need to take care of—things that are more important than my being okay. Those ‘things’ are, actually, the other reason I came to see you: I need your help, but-” I lift a hoof quickly to make sure she doesn’t go rambling again. “-your life won’t be in danger; I can promise you that, but-” I lean forward with a jerk, forehoof still out. “-don’t promise to help me just yet. You… might not like what I’m about to ask you to do…” Wincing at the thought, I pull back, sitting and rubbing at one foreleg with the other as if bruised. Which I might just be in a few seconds if I’m wrong about Pinkie having figured it out and she attacks me as soon as I tell her in a less cryptic way!

“No-no-no-no-no-no-no, you don’t understand!” Pinkie implores as if trying to dissuade the Cutie Mark Crusaders from doing something dangerous. “There’s nothing more important than keeping a Pinkie Promise—the Pinkie Promise overrides everything! Besides-” Pinkie looks to the side, closing her eyes and smiling, smug, as she waves a hoof dismissively. “What could be so important and so dangerous you’d want to take back a Pinkie Promise that you’d be okay?”

“Stopping a war.” That gets her attention: Her eyes pop open and her hoof stops waving, then, creakily (literally), she turns her head to face me, frozen, fearful. “The war between ponies and Changelings that’s coming. I need to talk to Princess Celestia, and you, Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, are the only ones I can think of that not only can, but who will even consider helping me, just like Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash saved my life when we first met.” There. That has to be it: There’s no way she can misinterpret that! Right?

It looks like it: Her eyes are widening, and her mouth opening into a shocked “O”. “Oh… Ohhh… You- You’re- You were… Alternate?” She says my name in a whisper.

Not running away. Not screaming. Not knocking me unconscious. Not even a single sign of aggression or fear… This is… Good? Good! “Yes!” I let out more as sigh of relief than a word. “You’re actually going to give me a chance to explain myself?” The hope in my words could have been baked into a cupcake and eaten—something I half expect to happen, being in the room with the only pony I can think of who just might have the powers to do such.

Immediately, she looks back up at the ceiling, humming, sending a jolt of worry striking through my heart, convulsing, twitching, straining, shuddering, contracting, raising up to block my airway—can’t breathe—and my throat—try to swallow, push back even the tiniest fraction of my nervousness, but can’t! Tears begin to well up. No! I thought I was so close! Why would Pinkie need to think about merely giving me a chance?! I only asked if she would listen to me, not to make a decision on whether to help or not yet! Old images rush back to me: Celestia standing over me… along with the mental images she inspired: burned like an ant under a magnifying glass, crushed under a giant hoof—she could do anything to me. I should get out of here while I still have a chance. The Bearers would have been my best defense, but that’s not going to work now. As long as I’m still alive, I can come up with another plan. No time to think about it here, though. Get out, NOW!

Before I’m even aware of it, I come back to myself to find I’m opening the door and all the muscles in my legs are tense and itching to gallop away. “Hey! Where’re ya goin’?” Pinkie calls out, sounding… insulted, in a depressed way? Daring, I look back to find her slumped down, tears of her own forming, but they splash away when she jumps up, surprised by something. “Whuh- What’s wrong?!” That’s when I feel it: energy, and there’s only one potential source. “Are-… Are you afraid of me?”

I sigh and shiver as I feel the love flowing into me relax my muscles one by one. “No…” I shake my head as I relax my neck, turning to the floor. “No, not of you, but-… I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to convince you. I mean-!” I add with a hysteric voice, to which I laugh at in a relieved way. “I mean, if you had to think that long about just giving me a chance to explain myself, would I have been able to convince you of anything? -and if I couldn’t convince you, then-… then you would get Twilight to call Celestia down here for her to… get rid of me,” I finish with a shiver and fearful gulp, then shake my head at myself. That’s not going to happen now! Wait, why? “Although now I’m curious as to why I can feel a little love coming from you for me, Alternate, not this disguise.”

Slowly, at a normal trot, Pinkie steps up to me and shuts the door again, then… hugs me, surprising me so much I don’t respond for a long moment, then when I think of trying, I only realize that Pinkie is hugging me in such a way that holds down my forehooves—if I hadn’t been able to feel her love, perhaps I might have been frightened by this move, thinking she’s about to attack me. “Because, silly, I figured out you were telling the truth! I wasn’t thinking about whether or not to give you a chance to explain yourself; I was thinking about if I needed an explanation at all to make my decision to support you when you inevitably confront Princess Cadance, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna, and since you came with me here alone, where you could attack me without anypony knowing, then started talking about stopping the war with Queen Chrysalis instead of replacing me, and you tried to hint to me a couple times that you were Alternate before I finally figured it out, I figured out that you must be telling the truth, especially after, when you thought I wasn’t going to give you a chance, you decided to flee instead of doing something to me to make sure I couldn’t tell anypony about you! I don’t think anypony—or anychangeling (do Changelings say that? ‘Anychangeling’?)—could go that deep into reverse psychology! -but I have one question: You lied when you said you’d been living in Ponyville, didn’t you? The first day you were in Ponyville was that day, wasn’t it?”

“Uh… Uh…” Is all I’m able to “say” until I decide to leave the whole explanation alone and just take Pinkie’s love for me at face value, because, as a Changeling, I can do that without misunderstandings and repercussions of the previously stated. “You-… After reasoning all that out, you only have one question, and that is it? Just me lying about having been in Ponyville before? Which… you’re entirely right about. How did you figure that out, anyway?” Chances are the reason is “because Pinkie”, but on the off-chance, it could turn out to be something useful to my arsenal of information…

“Oh, that?” Pinkie hops back to wave a forehoof nonchalantly. “That’s just my Pinkie Sense telling me somepony new was in town, and it had to be you, because the warm belly feeling stopped when I met you-”—That’s an interesting way of saying “when I attacked you with an ERSATZ SLINGSHOT”!—“-which also explains why my Pinkie Sense didn’t go off today, because you’re not new to Ponyville any more! -bu-uuuu-t that doesn’t explain how you knew so much about me and my five special friends.” She emphasizes the word “special” in an obvious attempt at subtlety, at which I can do nothing but sigh.

It’s not a question, but the asking for information is plain enough. “I… don’t know how I know about the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, Pinkie, truly.” Definitely true: I had assumed before I had watched a show starring these ponies, but I can’t find anything in my memories to support that! “I…” I gulp. “I did lie, but that’s only because I thought it was the truth, but about a week ago, I realized I actually have amnesia—those memories of being in Ponyville? Fabricated by my subconscious to protect my conscious self from breaking down in the middle of dealing with a threat to my life… I’d guess.” I shake my head as I feel tears begin to mark my face. Damn it, I don’t have time for this! I can deal with this later, after I’ve completed my mission! -especially since I don’t even know if this can be dealt with at all!

The wind is knocked out of my lungs by a bodily tackle from the only other in the room, and given the spike in love coming from her, instinctively not even a touch of fear brushes against me, then. Hugging. Typical Pinkie, trying to cheer up someone… “Don’t worry, Altie.” A shock of emotions, not entirely unpleasant, fires through me, bring up memories for a mere split second at the nickname. There’s no way she could know about-! but she is Pinkie… “Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll get your memories back, someday! If you don’t get ’em back by the time you stop the war from happening, I’ll help you and do my best to convince all my friends to help, too! Pinkie Promise!” Suddenly releasing me and jumping back, I’m left to fall on my face without support, but Pinkie leaps back forward again, to pull me to my hooves. “Oopsie! Sorry about that!” she apologizes before once again pulling back to recite the Promise along with the motions. “Cross my heart, hope to fly/ Stick a cupcake in my eye. Oh, and that goes for helping you with the Princesses and convincing A.J. and Twi to help with that, too!”

I chuckle. “Thank you, Pinkie. I really needed that… -all of that, but I think I should confront Applejack and Twilight alone. I just have a feeling I need to do at least that on my own in order to reduce any chances of either of them thinking I’m manipulating you into manipulating them.” Why do things like this have to get 1,000 times more complicated just by the inclusion of Changelings-? No, not even that! -by the inclusion of one Changeling?! “So, it’d be really helpful if you wouldn’t tell anyone—which is what Changelings say, by the way, not ‘anychangeling’—that I’m here… except maybe Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash; I’m sure they’d love to know I’m okay, but make sure they won’t tell anyone else!” She instantly nods. “Also…” I sigh. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to promise that you won’t help me escape.”

“WHAT?!” she cries out as she jumps up and hangs in the air, mane frizzing out, then inexplicably returning to its curly state when she lands. “No.” She turns her head to the left. “Never.” She turns her head to the right. “Not-” Left again. “-ever!” Right again. “I-” Left. “won’t!” Right.

I wave my forelegs with a downward motion, urging her to calm. “Okay, okay! You can help, but-! in that case, I want you to promise instead that you will only help in ways that it won’t be obvious to anypony that I’m being helped at all. Can you prom- No… You will promise me this.” She doesn’t look very convinced, though. Even Pinkie is equine, though, and with that comes some predictability… “I know you want to help me; maybe more than you would otherwise feel, telling yourself you need to make up for what you did to me the last time.” That gets a wince out of her. On the dot, I’d say. I frown at the fact. “I don’t hold that against you,” I quickly assert. “I understand why you did what you did: I’m a Changeling, which makes- made me a threat in your eyes; you had to protect the ponies you love from being hurt. You had to. You wouldn’t be Pinkie—equine—if you’d done anything different.” That at least brings back something of a smile, shivery as it is. “Back to what I was saying before: I don’t want you to get hurt protecting me, and that especially means I don’t want you being targeted by a mob on a Changeling hunt. Mobs are one of the least rational beasts in existence, and if they see you helping a Changeling…” We gulp in synchronization. “I think you know what would happen then.”

“Okay.” Her voice is almost a whisper now, Fluttershy-like, even. Fearful. Scared, not for what might happen to her, but that her Promise might force her to stay away with me in mortal danger—it’s all in her love. “I Pinkie Promise I won’t put myself in a dangerous situation like that.” This time is my turn to initiate the hug, though not quite as enthusiastically—even if I had Pinkie’s excitability, it just doesn’t seem appropriate. Eventually come the sounds of hoofsteps, drawing both of our ears’ attentions, but their steady, unconcerned pace soothes any fear we might have been heard. Maybe Pinkie’s room really is soundproof, but only one-way? It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing…

A knock on the door, and Mr. Cake’s voice calls. “Pinkie? Amethyst Act? Are you two almost done? I’m sorry to interrupt like this, but Pinkie will need to get back to work soon.”

I disengage, and Pinkie very reluctantly follows to allow me to open the door. “Yes. Good timing, actually; we just finished.” I intend to leave it at that and make to pass the stallion, but he raises an eyebrow and makes a subtle shift so that I would have to squeeze against his side to pass. I step back, matching his eyebrow.

“Allow me to show you out.” Okay… Weird, but let’s not get paranoid here, Alternate. It’s not like you know anything about Mr. Cake, really… you think. He could just be worried I’ll take advantage of any hospitality and swipe one of those admittedly delicious-looking cupcakes. Bah! It’s been a while since I last bemoaned my lack of a sense of taste… At my shrug and nod, he turns to his employee. “Pinkie, I want you to fetch a bag of flour and a bag of sugar from the cellar, and while you’re down there, count how many bags of each we have; got that?” Pinkie nods enthusiastically. “Thank you.”

Pinkie jumps over us and bolts ahead in a pink blur, leaving the two of us to glance meaningfully at each other before letting out our laughs simultaneously. To my surprise, Mr. Cake doesn’t speak to me at all, and I’m led to the kitchen door instead of the bakery entrance, but I shrug both off easily. Mr. Cake just might not be a very sociable pony, or just not feeling sociable at the moment, what with Mrs. Cake someplace unknown to me… and this door is closer to Pinkie’s room, and he probably already figured I’m not here as a customer, even partially. Still, he waves merrily from the doorstep as I take what I believe to be the road in the general direction of Sweet Apple Acres.

I don’t need to walk very far though, for at the second intersection, I come across the Apple mare herself, pulling an empty cart which I assume was full of apples this morning. Speeding up my trot into a canter, I soon come alongside her, earning a curious tilt of the head. I explain quickly. “Applejack, my name is Amethyst Act, and I need to speak with you in someplace private, where there’s the least possible chance of being overheard.”

She nods and looks back ahead. “Alright, Ms. Act. Seein’ how ya know my name already, I’ma guessin’ you also know I work at Sweet Apple Acres; the farm is pretty isolated, and nopony goes inta the barn u’less there’s work ta do in there. That sound alright?” The entire time she looks straight ahead, and though her eyes are narrowed for one reason or another, I feel trickles of energy coming off her.

That only leaves one question. “Hmm, and what of your younger sister? Is there any chance of her barging in?” -along with, probably, the other two Crusaders? I add to myself, huffing out a laugh through my nose.

“Nah**.” She shakes her head with a grin. “After school, she an’ her friends are gon’na go ta Sugar Cube Corner ta think about new Cutie Mark Crusadin’ ideas.” I nod at this, and the two of us continue on, past the outskirts of town and entering the surrounding farmlands; it doesn’t take long to reach Sweet Apple Acres, as the empty cart provides no trouble for the Earth pony. Entering the land of the farm itself, I glance around, curious, but find little of interest: trees all around, stripped of fruit, and no sign of any other pony around. Even in the brightness of the day, the shade provided by these trees in the lonesome silence, invaded only by hoofsteps and the creaking of the wagon’s wheels, makes the place seem uncharacteristically eerie. Realizing the silliness of such things, I sigh and shake my head, trying to force my smile back to where it had been.

The inside of the barn does not have much of an improved atmosphere; if anything, it’s only worse here, and as I pass through those wide barn doors, I actually cringe, lowering myself towards the ground until I catch myself just in time for Applejack, having unharnessed herself, to turn around and slam the barn doors shut with a quick flash of green magic from her invisible horn. No! I lower myself to the best approximation of a fighting stance I know, having never been in combat, or at least “never” as far as I know. BT, what did you do? What are you thinking?!

We stand there for what seems like minutes; I ready to defend myself, and the Changeling in Applejack’s skin… tilting her head and raising an eyebrow at me? Finally, she speaks, dropping the now-obviously fake accent. “What has got you so riled up? I know the news about some rogue group of Changelings has got everyone a little paranoid, but me?” Is she talking about BT’s Changelings? Then that can only mean she’s Chrysalis’s! “Did you honestly think I, Film Listis, couldn’t take care of myself?” She- He places an ironic emphasis on the name of Applejack’s Element, grinning widely at the… joke, before pulling his head up and placing a hoof on his chest proudly, at which point he allows the form of Applejack to burn away.

I manage to pull myself up and stand with my legs straight, but I find I can do nothing else, not even close my mouth. Oh, no. With one of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony replaced—the real Applejack who-knows-where… most likely in Hasharstan, though—this can only mean that Chrysalis is forging on, making good headway in effectively castrating (or is that “gelding”?) Equestria, which in turn means that she’s who-knows-how-close to launching her second attack! Even if I do manage to convince all three Princesses, would I even have time to dissuade Chrysalis from attacking?! No! I can’t think like that! Just the journey here from Apploosa required a number of alterations to my plans, mostly improvising the whole way! Wait… did he just say-? I think he thinks I’m Chrysalis’s, too! -which means!… Actually, I don’t know what that could mean, but maybe I can use it: I still need Applejack’s support, though whether it’s actually Applejack doesn’t matter as long as everypony thinks it’s her… Urgh, that’s horrible, but there’s just no way for me to get the real Applejack here; I have to work with what I’m given! Also, how did he know about-? Doesn’t matter! All that matters is that he knows!—maybe he has a passive ability to see through disguises like Trixie, but that’s impossible to know, and I don’t think it would be all that wise to ask if I’m going to pretend to have been sent here on Chrysalis’s orders!

Now with some semblance of confidence inside me, the first thing I do is drop my disguise as well, assuming he’s expecting me to do the same—instantly, he gasps and points, making me jump. “Y- You! You! You! You-… You’re alive!? Alive! -even after- after-?” Now it’s his turn to shake his confusion off; I sit there silently and let him do so, waiting for him to speak. If he thinks I’m here on Chrysalis’s orders, it would be as easy as telling him that my mission is part of his Queen’s plans to get “Applejack’s” support, all I need to do is nudge him in the general direction of that conclusion… or maybe I should tell him outright I’m here on Chrysalis’s orders and that she wishes for the Bearers to be made sympathetic to the plight of Changelings for-?… -some reason. Maybe not, then. “I thought for sure you were dead, even when the Pony Princess sent you to the border—which I doubted she actually did, but sent you to a dungeon or something—then surely the Queen would kill you for not only making such a stupid mistake as allowing the pony you were disguised as to run into town, telling everypony a Changeling is using her form, but also endangering the missions of all the Changelings in Ponyville, especially me, obviously one of the, if not the, most important!” He shakes his head again, now with disbelief, chuckling. “Then again, you just as obviously did—somehow!—convince Celestia to let you live, so maybe Queen Chrysalis saw some value in that?” My eyes widen with hope as he looks up at the ceiling in thought, considering. He’s moving in that direction! Should I say something now? It seems like this would be the point to say that, yes, I am here by our Queen’s orders, but what to say?! “Then again…” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just luck!” He laughs. -or perhaps the supposedly impossible-to-break Pinkie Promise to “be okay”? The thought helps me laugh with him.

As the laughter winds down, which it does fairly quickly, I figure I better start explaining myself. I have no idea what I’ll end up saying, but how’s that different from everything else that’s happened to me since I started traveling with Trixie? “About that… the ‘Queen Chrysalis seeing my value’-thing, that is…” Maybe I can “nudge” him just right with some ambiguity and no actual lies? “Uhm… Well, that is part of why I’m here again, but this time-”

“Say no more!” he declares with an interrupting, pompous wave of his forehoof. “This time we’ll need all six Bearers on the same side if we’re going to get the Pony Princesses to lower their guard!” Yes! I can’t help but grin and be grateful that that same grin can be mistaken as happiness to be taking part in this “brilliant scheme” of Chrysalis’s. “Yes… and I suppose you could use all the help you can get to convince Magic?” The low tone he falls into at the last word, combined with the obvious avoidance of using Twilight’s name to highlight his contempt, pulls me down from my elation. Huh? Is it just me, or did he imply that he knows I’ve already brought Pinkie around? He did say that there are other Changelings working for Chrysalis around Ponyville, but the only pony I know who knows I was there-!… -is Mr. Cake… Again, nothing I can do about it, and even if I could, that would expose me as “not on Chrysalis’s side” for sure! This is my best shot at getting at least one of the Princesses to at least give Changelings a chance to prove we can live in peace.

“Yes,” I answer simply and nod. “With that… I believe that’s all I had to say. I won’t be confronting Twilight now, though. For her I still need to think of a strategy, as even with yours and all the other Bearers’ help, Twilight isn’t one to fall for something as obvious as an ‘appeal to the majority’ attack. We’ll need something not only substantive, but firm and objective.” He nods his understanding before returning to Applejack’s form, which I again take as an invitation to return to my disguise. Only after I’m ready does he open the barn door, this time with a hoof, and points me out with a silent, kind smile, and even though I now know his true affiliation, I can’t help but return a little of that love; after all, if I succeed, then we’ll all be able to put this horrible situation behind us.

Twilight, the only bearer left… I think to myself as I trot along the path back into Ponyville, and through the trees a flash of something catches my eye, and looking up, I gulp at what I see: Canterlot.

Then, the Princesses.

Author's Note

A Super_Thank_You to Super_Big_Mac for helping this story by providing a second perspective on a worry I had with the confrontation between Alternate and Trixie.

*My headcanon is that the “Equestrian language” is called Unicorn, I just couldn’t find a good place to include this information before now. If you think this is racist or whatever, consider English for a moment. Would you argue that the name of the language “English” is (somehow) racist against speakers not from England? … I didn’t think so. It almost seems as if the word “English” (language) and “English” (people) are two completely unrelated words, doesn’t it? Bizarre, right?!… Not really; this is actually a fairly common phenomenon called a homonym—so common that I would find it a safe bet that you use at least one everyday… Like “safe” (state of being secure) or “safe” (device used to secure things inside). With such words, you might notice that, thanks to context, you are capable of instantly zeroing on the intended meaning with close to 100% accuracy, ignoring all other meanings to the point that, for that single, short moment, they almost seem… not to exist. Now that’s bizarre, right?

… Ah-khem!…

Back to the headcanon: Each tribe of pony had their own language separate from the other two before the founding of Equestria. Because unicorns were more likely to be in positions of management and decision-making, a good portion of Earth ponies and pegasi spoke Unicorn, but not many unicorns spoke either of the other two languages. After the founding of Equestria, because Unicorn was already the most widely used language, Earth ponies and pegasi eventually conceded that it become the official language of Equestria (this was also likely helped along by the fact that, again, unicorns were still more likely to be in positions concerning the making of macro-focused decisions (e.g. the official language of their country, public schooling language curriculum, etc.)). One of these included the “Earth pony Latin” that divided into the Equestrian version of Romance languages when ponies of all kinds fled in all directions from the Windigos, including the supposed “Fancy”/“Francy”/“Prancy”/whatever-Applejack-said-that-one-time. The Pegasus language was obviously (Ancient) Greek. Woo hoo! Linguistic Anachronism Stew! (-not that most of you would know!)

**If you're confused about the distinction, or wondering if there even is a distinction between Tough Targe’s “na’” and AJ’s “nah”, it's like this: The former is pronounced in the back of the throat, like “not” without the “t” and the latter is pronounced forward, like “gnat” without the “t”.