The Taming of the Moon

It was all over. My splendid new kingdom of eternal nighttime beauty was to fall—and only a half hour after its spectacular birth, no less.

"No! No!"

That horrid beam of joy and laughter, the things my so perfect night lacked, was so strong. It tore through my magic and engulfed my body; it burned every one of my limbs with its sickly sweetness. And then, as a scream tore itself from my throat, I lost control of my own position in the air; as my heavy wings stopped beating I was flung from my kingdom at the hooves of my own sister—my selfish, vain, holier-than-thou sister.

I continued to scream as the rainbows catapulted me away, my panic ever greater as I realised where my destination was; my moon, my spectacular moon.

How fitting. My wonderful sister surely couldn't bear to have somepony such as myself tarnish her equally magnificent sun.

None of my subjects could hear my cries now, nor would they have heard my roar as my body was pummelled against the rock—and sunk straight through. But my momentum hardly slowed at all and, in a breath's time, I was catapulted right out of the other side. But still the rainbows carried me onwards as they threw me as far away as possible from my beloved, ignorant little ponies.

A mare's slender head vandalised the flawless finish on my moon now, but I hardly had time to watch. In fact, I could not see clearly in general; my vision had blurred, my ears were muffled and my body, previously surrounded by nothing but magic, suddenly began to feel compressed. Confined, even, as if I was in some tight fitting cell.

But this was no jail. For one, no cell that I knew of—and I ought to know, for I had designed them alongside my dear sister—was filled with liquid. But more than that, there was no room to move and, as I tried to open my now-closed eyes, I could see nothing. I could smell nothing, either, but my ears could pick up on something low... Grumbles, moans. Sounds of distress.

There was no time for me to ponder the noises. Almost immediately something warm clenched around my body and forced me forwards, strong enough to shove my hooves and muzzle through a small, hard gap. I winced immediately, the surroundings suddenly cooler. The grumbles became louder as well, though they died out a little as the force eased off; a moment later, I was jolted about in my confines, my body floppy as it was jostled about.

The disturbance lasted for a good few minutes before it settled and the warm push returned. It lasted longer this time, powerful enough to shove my head out through the hole so that I lay halfway. I moaned as I waited; the hard matter dug into my stomach.

I could, at last, smell air now. It was odd and unlike anything I had smelt before, but that was irrelevant, I supposed. A more pressing matter, quite literally, was the pushing warmth which had now returned; I moaned and grunted and hissed as the most powerful shove came into existence and tore a small, muffled yelp from my mouth. The pressure was overwhelming; it tore every nerve in my body to shreds and surely shattered every bone to mere shards.

And then, as my shoulders emerged through the hole, the pressure stopped; I felt my body slip and at that moment, a blast of cool air struck me as I hung limply. I was not flying—my wings were firmly clamped to my side—and I still could see nothing, my eyes unresponsive.

I remained in the limp position for only a moment before I slipped further and, with a muted gasp and whimper, I flopped out from whatever beast my sister had imprisoned me in. I fell for only a second before I felt my body crumple against something hard and earthy—dirt, I supposed. Wet dirt now, for it had burst whatever casing had kept me trapped.

For some reason that thought made my heart race. I needed air, needed to breathe—had I even been doing so before?

I gasped for air, my lungs suddenly feeling swollen and waterlogged. I then spluttered and coughed as I thrashed about, still unable to open my eyes. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the air I so needed, nor could I clear my chest—a thick coating was wrapped around my muzzle, hindering my attempts. Or so it had seemed until something warm and wet and rough began to clear it away—was that a tongue?—and, in only a few moments, I could hear and breathe and see again.

My vision was blurred as I glanced about, but when I looked behind myself there was no denying what I saw; a silvery blue mare with uncombed, vaguely savage-esque black hair and a small white snip on her muzzle, large enough to just cross her wet nose. Her proportions were peculiar, much finer than most ponies—more similar to a cavemare than any modern-day equine.

She looked down at me with a sparkle in her brown eyes and, even though her body was drenched in sweat, the small nicker that she made was soft and sweet. She lowered her head at the same time and nuzzled behind my ear gently.

Who was this peasant earth pony, to think that she could treat royalty so leniently?

I snarled a little as I flattened my ears and leapt to my hooves. The moment that I did so my legs buckled; I fell back down to the ground with a cry and landed heavily on my muzzle. The pain drew a yelp from my lungs and yet more murmurs from the peasant mare. As I looked up at her and nursed my muzzle with a hoof, though, something struck me.

My coat was blue, no longer black, and I wore neither my standard nor my nightmare shoes. On which note, my hooves seemed so dainty—and oddly hairless, but that could be dealt with later.

I glanced back up to the peasant mare as she licked my legs and pushed her away with my horn, my wings flared out. She only retreated for a moment before she then began to preen my feathers, ignorant of my displeasure. As she did so, she did not speak once; she just continued to nicker.

This was ridiculous; insulting, even! While I was never a supporter of segregated social class—if anypony would enjoy my night then I would accept them, peasant or not—but a princess had to upkeep her status and act accordingly. Thus, I opened my mouth to give her a quick lesson in respecting her betters—and only managed a small squeak.

I gasped and raised my hoof to my throat, rubbing it gently. Once more I tried, to no avail—and then realised that I did not have my necklace, either. I hesitated for a moment and then I flicked my ears quickly; my heart sunk right out of my chest when I felt no crown on my head.

I turned my head backwards to look at myself; my chest burned and bile slowly rose in my throat when I saw my tiny wings. I then glanced down at my legs and held my breath at their thin, gangly nature. They were much too long for my body—but even if I was to stand, I'd still be half the hight of the peasant mare.

Oh my.

I was a foal.