You Are What You Wish For

Chapters

Prologue - As You Wish
1 - A Critical Eye (Fluttershy)
2 - Steel Yourself (Pinkie Pie)
3 - Shades of Success (Rainbow Dash)
4 - Scrounging Up Time (Rarity)

Prologue - As You Wish

“…And in hindsight, I should have released the pink one anyway, because she is the most annoying being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

Ifrit rolled his eyes at his cellmate’s gesticulations. “Yes. I’m sure everyone in earshot is well-aware of Pinkie Pie’s infuriating behavior.”

Tirek stomped over to Ifrit, glaring angrily. “You would not understand unless you heard her voice. It is the squeakiest, most grating pitch I have ever heard, and I have been around for many centuries.”

“As have I,” Ifrit replied coolly. “You are but a child, Tirek, a novice manipulator and, with all due respect, a dumb brute. Were it me against these ‘Elements of Harmony,’ I would have them eating out of the palm of my hand faster than—”

“Oh, so you think yourself my better?” Tirek interrupted, his voice trembling with barely-controlled rage. “Do tell how you came to be locked in Tartarus, then.”

“I am biding my time.”

“Ha!” Tirek pointed a finger in Ifrit’s face, inches from his nose. Ifrit didn’t even blink. “You wish.”

Ifrit chuckled. “Now you’re speaking my language. But I’m afraid my wishes are worthless. I am bound by others’ desires, not mine.”

“Is that so?” Tirek let out a laugh in return. “Then I wish for no more than for you to be away from me.”

Ifrit’s eyes gleamed with magic. “I thought you’d never ask.” With a crack, Ifrit appeared outside his and Tirek’s cage.

Tirek did a double take, then rushed to his prison's bars, gripping them tightly as his mouth worked noiselessly.

“I told you, I was merely biding my time, waiting for someone such as you to escape and learn all about the outside world,” Ifrit explained, flexing and cracking his neck. “It’s much better when you have an idea of what you’re getting into, don’t you agree?”

“You… you tricked me…” Tirek whispered, his knuckles turning white.

“As I said, you’re a child, Tirek,” Ifrit said condescendingly. “Leave conquering Equestria to the professionals next time.” Ifrit turned and began to walk toward Tartarus’ entrance, guarded by a still-somehow-oblivious Cerberus.

“I wish I were free!”

Ifrit’s ears perked, but he didn’t turn around or stop walking. “Nice try, but I’m free to choose which wishes I grant and which I don’t. Farewell.” Ifrit crouched and jumped, turning invisible and zooming up and over Cerberus without eliciting so much as a bark.

Ifrit traveled over Equestria’s countryside for several hours before coming to a halt, looking on from his spot in the air to see a small town in the distance.

From Tirek’s descriptions, that must be Ponyville, Ifrit thought to himself. Curses, I’m still weak... I will have to coerce these ponies to make wishes directly to me at first. Once I gain power from granting them…

Ifrit smiled. It’s time to get to work.

Author's Note

Time for another extended transformation tale! This time I'm going to feature the entire Mane Six changing, and I'm going to try and be a bit more diverse in the transformations I describe. Also, this time around I'd like to focus more on rewriting ponies' histories.

As the prologue doesn't have any transformation, I'm including the first chapter as well, with more soon to come!

1 - A Critical Eye (Fluttershy)

Hovering invisibly above Ponyville, Ifrit reached out with his internal magic, feeling the thrum of several powerful ponies within the town’s limits. He deliberated for a moment before choosing what seemed to be the most isolated instance, a cottage on Ponyville’s outskirts. He felt two strong magical presences there, one rooted in Harmony and another rooted in Chaos, and reasoned if he could get one alone, he would have a much easier time taking care of the other.

Ifrit flew to the ground, coming to a gentle landing beside a window. Still invisible, both visually and magically, Ifrit peered inside to see a small yellow pegasus and a curious chimera-like creature, discussing clothes of all things.

“…do you think? This one, or this one?” Discord said, holding two identical frocks to his waist. “Whichever most brings out my eyes.” Discord fluttered his eyelashes.

“I think they both look fine, Discord,” Fluttershy said, sipping from her teacup.

“Fine?!” Discord spluttered. “This is very important Fluttershy! Our entire friendship is riding on you making the correct choice!”

Fluttershy flinched. “W-Well, I... think you should wear whatever you feel is best.”

“I’m not asking you to flatter me, I’m asking you for your straight opinion. Which one do you think is better?”

She hesitated. “Um... well…”

Discord leaned forward. “Yeeeeeeees?”

“...I’m sorry Discord, but I really think you know what you like better than I do.”

Discord threw his arms in the air, sending the two frocks flying. One fell onto a dustpan, instantly fitting itself perfectly onto it, while the other drifted on top of a bookcase, morphing into a picture book featuring nothing but frocks. “Oh for Pete’s sake, Fluttershy! I can’t even ask you your thoughts on frocks without you trying to avoid stating your opinion!”

“I-I’m sorry...”

Discord huffed. “Saying sorry doesn’t mean anything unless you’re willing to change your behavior, Fluttershy! Ugh, whatever. If you need me, I’ll be in my dimensionhole, searching for more frocks.”

Ifrit blinked as the creature disappeared, and with him, the powerful source of chaos magic. He briefly lamented the missed opportunity to take out who would surely be a formidable opponent, but refocused on the sighing pegasus in the cottage. All the same, my plan is no different. Once I touch a pony with my magic, only my magic can change them back. If I can change this pony, that chimera will have to negotiate with me to get his friend back. And when there’s a desire for negotiation, I win. Nodding to himself, Ifrit slipped inside.

Fluttershy went to sip at her tea, but paused halfway and set it down, slumping on her couch. “Why couldn’t I say anything?” she berated herself, pushing her face into her hooves. “I know I’ve gotten better at telling my friends what I really think, but sometimes I just clam up and...”

A quiet voice perked her ears. “Oh dear, is something the matter?”

Fluttershy looked up from her hooves and glimpsed a creature she’d never seen before standing beside her couch’s end table. It was a big, green bipedal creature, like a minotaur but stouter, bulging with muscle. Its deep blue eyes stared into hers, full of concern. “Wh... Who are you?”

“I am Ifrit,” Ifrit said gently, crouching down so he could meet Fluttershy’s eyes from where she lay on her couch. “You look so heartbroken, my pony friend. I couldn’t help but overhear your desires.”

Fluttershy would normally quail at such a large and unfamiliar creature in her house, especially considering that all her animals seemed to have run and hid from him, but his movement was so delicate and his voice so smooth she couldn’t help but think of him as a gentle giant. “Oh, no, it’s nothing...”

Ifrit smiled a kind smile. “It seems to bother you quite a bit for being ‘nothing,’ but I shan’t pry. However, I would still like to help. You see, I am a genie.”

“A... genie?” Fluttershy uncurled a bit more, looking at Ifrit curiously.

“Yes, a genie,” Ifrit said calmly. “Any wish you make, I can grant. Any wish at all.”

“O-Oh,” Fluttershy said. “W-Well, I suppose I should wish for peace and love all over the world, at least...”

Ifrit laughed. “I would love to, but these are wishes, my pony friend, not miracles. Perhaps try something smaller?”

Fluttershy hesitated. “W-Well, I... have been having a bit of trouble with expressing myself lately.” When Ifrit nodded, Fluttershy swallowed her nervousness and started talking more steadily. “I know I’ve grown more confident in myself the past couple years, but I still have trouble speaking my mind sometimes.”

“Ah, I understand,” Ifrit said. “So, you would like to be a more confident pony, someone less afraid to let her opinions be known?”

“I... yes. That sounds really nice,” Fluttershy said, sitting up.

“Then may your wish be granted,” Ifrit said, and clapped his hands together, opening them in a gesture toward Fluttershy’s entire cottage.

Fluttershy stiffened as her body twinged, locking her muscles. She felt her skin crawl, from the bottoms of her hooves to the tips of her ears. “W-Wh-Wh-Wha-Wh—“

Ifrit didn’t answer. He had gone.

Fluttershy whimpered as she felt waves of nausea attack her. What’s happening to me? She clenched her eyes shut, her breath catching as she felt her insides stretch within her. She grew a few inches, matching her brother Zephyr Breeze’s height. Her fur moved in an invisible magic breeze, shifting to a yellow-green hue like her father’s.

She squeaked, feeling her abdomen and chest tighten to frighteningly unfamiliar body proportions, followed by her neck. She clutched at her face as she felt her jawline and muzzle changing, repositioning her mouth and teeth and tongue. Sobbing, she barely registered the feeling of new clothing against her fur where there had been none before.

“A-Angel? Anyone?” Fluttershy winced at the low, unfamiliar voice coming from her throat. Everything felt wrong. Stumbling off her couch, she half-walked, half-crawled into her bathroom, propping her hooves up on her countertop to see what, or who, she’d become.

Her blood ran cold as a complete stranger stared back at her, with a light green coat and a ruby mane with matching eyes. She may have been the eldest sibling in her family already, but the way Fluttershy looked she might have guessed she was only a few years younger than her own mother. Her face looked frighteningly like Spoiled Rich’s, with pointed features and sharp eyes. She was wearing unfamiliar clothing, a blue-green pleated frock with a bodice that reached up all the way to her neck, covering her entire chest. Her compact, sleek wings were folded against her sides, elegantly threaded through small, precisely-positioned holes. Her hair was as conservative as her dress, her mane shorter and drawn up into a tight bun. Her tail was similarly groomed, only reaching down to her hock. She numbly rotated her hindquarters to see her cutie mark, a needle pulling thread through a fabric square.

As Fluttershy stared into her reflection, she felt a headache come on. She grunted, putting a hoof against her head as she looked herself in the eye. Or was it her? She collapsed against her bathroom wall, groaning as alien memories entered her mind.

She had been the Shy family’s firstborn foal. While her parents had never been the most resolute or decisive, she had quickly learned she had a knack for sewing, and had earned her cutie mark after completing an extensive and exhausting project featuring several different stitch types and immaculate binding between all of them.

Using her bathroom wall as a crutch, Fluttershy struggled to her hooves and slowly made her way out the bathroom, knocking several fashion magazines down from where they’d been stacked outside the door on an end table.

She grew in skill, and her name began to make its way around professional circles thanks to word-of-mouth, but while she appreciated her parents’ complete support and willingness to accommodate her, she felt she had no choice but to follow her craft out of Cloudsdale and into the crown jewel of the fashion world: Canterlot. It was the best, and worst, decision she’d ever made.

Hoof still holding her painfully throbbing head, Fluttershy fell sideways, slamming into a glass cabinet. Awards and certificates gleamed in the shards’ reflections as the panel shattered, showering down on Fluttershy’s wings, dress, and mane.

She became the go-to mare for many master seamstresses and clothes designers, and while she’d already proven her own ability several times over, she found she was even better at critiquing others’ designs and concepts. Once she began circulating regular columns and publications, everypony began hungering for her stamp of approval.

Grunting, Fluttershy shook her head, sending a few more glass shards clinking against the floor, and stumbled to her writing desk, clinging to it with her front hooves. She slipped, and several drafts and half-written reviews fluttered down on top of her as she smacked against her chair.

Everything was perfect... for a while. But as time went on, she started noticing that ponies were working a little too hard to please her. Despite doing her best to avoid speaking about her preferences and remain impartial in her critiques, ponies inevitably deduced her tastes, and suddenly entire trends centering around what she liked—or what ponies thought she liked—became all the rage in Canterlot’s fashion scene.

Fluttershy cracked her eyes open against her head’s throbbing pain. Faint stress lines had creased themselves on her face. She gathered her strength, and in a single motion rose and collapsed across her desk chair. Her floor space was well-kept and organized, not a single birdhouse or feed bag anywhere. She took several deep breaths, shivering as she felt her abdomen swell with air against her seat’s metal surface.

At first she counted on the phenomenon ending once designers’ commercial sales flopped, but somehow replicating her attire and preferences grew wildly popular among the Canterlot public as well. It never seemed to end; every time one of her favorite color combinations seemed like it was finally on the way out, a top designer would release a brand-new line of button-up blouses that she’d taken to wearing. Things she’d complimented in her reviews or mentioned in her columns became unpleasant to her after seeing them implemented for the dozenth time. The promising and talented upcomers she’d used to see surprise her with dazzling and brilliantly innovative concepts seemed to grow more interested in kowtowing to some minor comment she’d made in her last article.

Straight Lace felt her headache begin to recede. Coughing, she unsteadily got to her hooves, wincing as she felt something sharp dig into her back. Glancing at her frock, she winced as she saw several tears in the fabric, and her eyes followed the trail of glass behind her back to her smashed display cabinet.

She’d eventually had enough. After a year of what seemed to be a Canterlot fashion frenzy to please her, she couldn’t remember why she liked critiquing in the first place, and was tired of seeing copycats swarming what she’d believed was an Equestrian industry that rewarded imagination and originality. She waited until her regular column contract was up, published a scathing op-ed diatribe against Canterlot fashion trends, and moved to Ponyville before her stress and pressure built to unmanageable levels.

“Oh dear, I’m not sure repairing this is even worth my time…” Straight Lace muttered as she carefully picked glass shards free from her clothing with her teeth. “At least none of my display items were damaged. I suppose I’ll have to get changed…”

Ponyville had been a welcome retreat, and Lace soon picked back up on writing even if she was no longer active in the fashion community. While she hadn’t expected her tastes would be received very warmly in a place as clothing-optional as Ponyville, her Lace’s Place articles she decided to run in the local newspaper proved popular with residents, and she found sharing fundamentals and basic tips a surprisingly refreshing experience after seeing so many technical artisans in Canterlot.

After a resigned farewell to her dress and a quick sweep-up of her display case’s glass and everything else that had fallen, Straight Lace sat herself at her desk wearing fresh clothing, staring down at her most recent review she’d been writing before she’d had her funny turn.

She had befriended a local seamstress in Ponyville, and while they had remained strictly businesslike in their interactions so far Lace appreciated her talent and creative spirit from what she had seen. She harbored a secret wish that the aspiring designer would remain independent and not succumb to the same critic-pleasing tactics that had plagued Canterlot, and had recently received an invitation to formally review and critique the designer’s upcoming summer line.

Lace moved to pick up her quill, and paused, sighing. She did miss talking ideas and trends with her old friends, even if she didn’t regret moving to Ponyville for a single moment. She certainly wouldn’t mind a kindred spirit to count among her Ponyville friends, which numbered very low in any case.

Perhaps I could go a little easy on her designs, give her the connection she needs to make it big in Canterlot, she mused, before shaking her head at the thought. In Straight Lace’s profession, she couldn’t afford to be kind. Dipping her quill, Lace wrote out in elegant cursive:

Dear Rarity Belle, I am most honored to accept your invitation...

Author's Note

Next Up: Steel Yourself, featuring Pinkie Pie

2 - Steel Yourself (Pinkie Pie)

“Pinkie!”

“Oops! Sorry!” Pinkie Pie leapt delicately over Mr. Cake’s head—as well as the stove he was attending— and grabbed Pound Cake mid-flight. Her weight forced them both to glide downward, until Pinkie had successfully grounded him.

Mr. Cake grunted exasperatedly. “Can you please keep your activities with the twins upstairs? I know the twins can be a hoofful sometimes, but I’d rather they not become everypony’s hoofful right now.”

Pinkie giggled as Pound pushed his hooves against her face, mushing her cheeks. “I’m sorry Mr. Cake! The twins were getting hungry upstairs, so I took them both into the kitchen to get some food!”

Mr. Cake froze. “Pumpkin’s in here too?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Where is she?!” Mr. Cake opened the stove, checking inside before frantically glancing around and under everything in the kitchen.

“Oh, you know, she’s around,” Pinkie said, winking.

“Pinkie, I don’t have time for games!” Mr. Cake shouted. “Where is she?!”

Pinkie wilted and pointed up behind him. Mr. Cake followed her hoof to see Pumpkin peering down from where she’d been sitting in the circular window’s sill, watching everypony’s antics.

Mr. Cake snatched her up, breathing a relieved sigh. “Pinkie, take the twins upstairs, now. I’ll be up shortly.”

“O-OK, Mr. Cake.” She took Pumpkin from Mr. Cake, scooped up Pound, and made her way back up to Sugarcube Corner’s second floor. After a few moments, Mr. Cake entered Pinkie’s room, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cake—” Pinkie began, but he cut her off.

“Pinkie, I know you enjoy helping Cup and me with the twins, but they are foals, not toys. They do not belong in the kitchen, let alone during business hours. Pumpkin could have gotten seriously injured, or worse, if she’d gotten into anything dangerous. And the kitchen is dangerous, especially for very young ponies who don’t know any better. Part of being responsible is taking dangerous situations seriously, which you did not do.”

Pinkie deflated. “I-I understand, Mr. Cake.”

Mr. Cake sighed. “You know I hate reprimanding you, but I can’t stress enough how important it is for you to understand that you have to be able to stop yourself from having fun when it creates a safety risk. Your negligence could have gotten Pumpkin or Pound hurt, and the consequences would be a lot more severe than a slight disruption. OK?”

“OK, Mr. Cake.”

“Alright then. Why don’t you take a bit of a walk? Cup said she’d be back soon, and I’m sure Sugarcube Corner will survive the afternoon without you.”

Pinkie nodded, and glumly followed Mr. Cake downstairs after he’d secured the twins within their safety fence. Waving farewell, she exited Sugarcube Corner and meandered through Ponyville, offering a token smile and wave to ponies who greeted her but not stopping to talk.

She looked up to see she’d taken the path up toward Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack and Big Macintosh were at the market, and Apple Bloom was still in school, so there wouldn’t be much point in visiting, but her quiet and still surroundings helped her calm down a bit. She allowed herself a wistful sigh, taking a deep breath through her nose and smelling the crisp air drifting downhill from Sweet Apple Acres’ apple fields.

“Oh dear, you seem down in the dumps,” a gentle male voice said behind her. Pinkie turned around to see a squat green minotaur-like creature looking down at her.

“Who are you?” Pinkie said, perking up. “Are you new to Ponyville?”

“Oh no, just visiting,” Ifrit answered, inclining his head in greeting. “But I couldn’t help but notice you looking sad. I’ve heard about you from a friend. Pinkie Pie, am I right?”

“Yessirree, sir!” Pinkie exclaimed. “I’m Ponyville’s premier party planner!”

“Yes, he made regular note of your enthusiasm and exuberance,” Ifrit said. “But you didn’t seem very happy when I first saw you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pinkie said in a disappointed tone. “It’s just me being silly.”

“Silly? My pony friend, if it’s something that makes such a joyful character as yourself sad, I’d say it’s quite serious.” Ifrit took a knee, staring into Pinkie with his deep blue eyes.

“Well...” Pinkie decided there wasn’t any harm to explaining things a bit. “I guess I’m just not always sure when to draw the line. I got in trouble for taking some games too far, and it’s not the first time it’s happened either.”

“Ah, so it’s a matter of self-improvement?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. But it’s OK! It’s just something I have to work on!”

“Well, my chipper pony friend,” Ifrit said, smiling kindly, “what if I told you I could help make you that pony?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Pinkie tilted her head.

“Pinkie Pie, I am a genie.” Ifrit rose back to his full height. “Should you wish it, I can make your journey to become a more responsible pony the easiest journey in the world.”

Pinkie Pie’s eyes widened as her smile crept all the way up her cheeks. “Wowee! A wish?! I get a wish?!”

“You do,” Ifrit said. “All you need do is wish for what you want.”

“OK! Then I wish, with aaaaaall my heart, I was more responsible about not playing when it’s inappropriate, so I can help take better care of foals!”

Ifrit nodded, smiling widely himself. “May your wish be granted.” He clapped his hands before quickly opening them as if gesturing toward Pinkie Pie.

Pinkie Pie bounced up and down, screwing her eyes together in joy. Eeeeeeeee! I can’t believe I found a genie and got a wish! Wait until Mr. Cake hears how—

A chill swept through Pinkie, causing her to stop bouncing and open her eyes. The genie had vanished.

“Oooh, I don’t feel so good...” Pinkie murmured, clutching her tummy as her insides curdled. “Um, mister genie, is your magic supposed to feel like this? Where’d you go?” Shortly after she spoke, her stomachache subsided, and she took a few breaths to get over her shock.

“A-Am I just gonna get chills every time I go to far, or...?” Pinkie trailed off, keeping a hoof wrapped around her torso as she felt a pit of ice lodge itself in her chest, shooting out with her every heartbeat into her body. She shivered. “It’s really c-c-cold, mister genie!” Underneath her, Pinkie’s fur had discolored, giving her gray patches on her coat.

Pinkie stumbled over to a tree, leaning on it as she trembled with chills. “I-I’m r-r-really cold now... m-m-mister genie? Anyp-p-pony?” Her entire chest felt numb, and it was getting hard to breathe. The gray patches had spread to her sides, leaching all the color out her bright pink coat hairs.

“G-G-G-G-G—”

Pinkie’s legs gave out, and she slipped off the tree’s bark and smacked against its roots, curling up and shivering incessantly. Her gray patches had become a single patch completely covering her midsection, leaving her flanks balloon cutie mark-free, and were now marching down her legs.

Pinkie Pie was completely numb; it was all she could do just to keep breathing past her chattering teeth as her chest and stomach fought against every inhale. Her irises’ color darkened from their bright and bubbly cerulean shade to a dimmer crystal blue as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Can’t fall asleep, can’t fall asleep...

Her mane began to uncurl from its cotton candy-like appearance, unraveling strand by strand until her mane was as limp as the time she’d believed her friends didn’t like her parties anymore. They fell over her eyes, blinding her with pink. Her tail had begun the same process, drooping and straightening until every hair was parallel to the next.

Something clicked in Pinkie, and she began to feel sensation again, even if she still felt deathly cold. She watched in shock as a wave of smoky coloration swept across her mane, leaving it an iron gray.

Pinkie Pie braced herself against the tree she was under, lifting herself into a sitting position against its trunk. She brought her trembling gray hooves up to her face, tilting her head to the side to shift her mane out of her eyes. “Wh-What happened...?”

Pinkie slowly got back on all fours. She stared ahead for a moment, not wanting to look back at her cutie mark, but eventually twisted her head back to see a dark, unmarked, rectangular monolith on her flank. Aside from her dim blue eyes, she was completely monochrome.

The sight of her cutie mark brought with it a flood of memories, and Pinkie fell back on her hindquarters against her flat tail as she started remembering things she’d never recalled experiencing before.

Pinkie stared down at her hooves again. What color did she think they were before? They were always gray, right? Just like her sisters’ coats. She was never sure why they’d decided to name her “Pinkamena,” but...

Wait, that isn’t right. Pinkie brushed her mane aside as it shortened only down to her jawline, her tail shortening as well underneath where she sat. My name isn’t... whatever I thought it was. She shook her head, confused. It’s Slate Pie. Why did I think it was something else?

Slate’s brow furrowed as she got up again, dusting herself off. I hope I’m not going bonkers. She looked around, seeing a satchel beneath the tree she’d been leaning against. Feeling a curiously strong urge to open it, she riffled through things she felt belonged to her, going through a mental checklist forming in her head and finding clues to her identity at the same time.

Lifting out an old family photo she had always kept with her—all gray coats, except for her father’s of course—Slate Pie’s eyes watered. Normally seeing my family makes me happy... so why do I still feel so sad? Slipping the picture back where she’d tucked it away in a pocket, she pulled out a thick black binder.

The freezing feeling she felt inside plummeted to absolute zero.

Slate had left her family’s farm shortly after earning her cutie mark. She’d never been good at growing rocks, and her cutie mark’s appearance confirmed it. A colt had gotten lost on their farm, and while most of the Pie family (Limestone notwithstanding) had been somewhat sympathetic, Slate had traveled with him to the nearby town, gotten the word out about a missing colt, and watched with a measured smile as he reunited with his tearful parents.

Slate opened the binder, leafing through papers containing profiles and notes. She, and her family, knew she couldn’t stay at the farm, not when it meant she couldn’t follow her calling. She wanted to help ponies, other ponies. Thankfully, her sister Maud was already pursuing her degree in rock studies, and had helped get her the connections she needed to enter college to study for her social work degree.

She blinked as her vision grew fuzzy. She dabbed at her eyes. Am I crying? She realized she didn’t have her glasses on, and took her glasses case out her satchel, opening them and settling her square wire frames on her nose. The world around her became clear again, and she turned her attention back to her case files.

Earning her degree, license, and putting in fieldwork hours on top of it all had been repetitive and grueling, but she was quite used to repetitive and grueling tasks from her time on the rock farm, and soon she’d landed herself a job in Ponyville under the local mayorship. Thankfully, once she’d settled into her role, it seemed all her dedication had paid off, as she finally felt she was having a meaningfully positive impact on others' lives. Ever since she’d helped that colt find his parents, seeing good ponies suffer bad situations hurt her deeply, and helping them find their way again was the least she could do for them.

The chilliness inside her reached out and permeated every fiber of her being, holding her in its icy grip for a final purifying moment before releasing her. Slate blinked at the phantom sensation of warmth reentering her body before shaking off the odd feeling and checking her watch.

Nodding, Slate Pie slipped her binder back into her satchel and stood, wondering what to fill her time with. She had a love-hate relationship with her work hours; some days, like today, she had long stretches between clients. Slinging her satchel around her neck, Slate began walking back toward town.

She frowned. She usually didn’t take time to look through all her cases at once, but doing so just then gave her a strange twinge of warmth in her heart she didn’t usually feel. Slate was pretty much the opposite of upbeat, and she freely admitted it—she never laughed, and despite conversation being a necessity on the job was surprisingly silent when she was alone—but every so often she’d develop an odd craving for something, or someone, to give her life some brightness and excitement.

Slate grimaced. It’s unfortunate there’s no place for frivolity when you’re helping ponies work through rough times in their lives. How can you be happy-go-lucky when your clients have sometimes suffered abuse and neglect?

Slate Pie stopped at Ponyville’s outskirts, having followed the trail from Sweet Apple Acres back to town. Exhaling through her nostrils, she stood still for a moment before heading down a specific street. Oh well. Even if it’s not the most exciting detour, I suppose stopping by Sugarcube Corner can’t hurt before I make Snips’s appointment...

Author's Note

Next Up: Shades of Success, featuring Rainbow Dash and her parents

3 - Shades of Success (Rainbow Dash)

Hmm, Ifrit thought to himself as he floated slowly above Ponyville, invisible to the few pegasi still outside and flying during dinnertime. I believe my last couple of wishes have given me enough power to change ponies without them wishing directly to me. Perhaps I should experiment, to ensure I am correct.

Reaching out with his mind again, he assessed the powerful magical sources still within Ponyville. Ifrit frowned as the chaos user he’d seen earlier remained undetected. He may become a problem later. I’ll have to think of something to stop him from destroying what progress I’ve made.

Mentally filing his chimera problem for another time, Ifrit centered on another out-of-the-way location, a homestead made from clouds with rainbow waterfalls. I suppose I should pick a more remote location to test it. Fewer ponies nearby to hear them shout for help if something goes wrong.

Ifrit approached the cloud home, soon hearing muffled conversation. His ears perked. Ah, perhaps I might also see if I’m capable of affecting more than one pony at a time with my magic now…? He found a window and peered through, still invisible in case any wandering eyes spotted him.

Rainbow Dash exited her kitchen, reclining on a chair in her den. “OK, recipe says to let it cook for fifteen minutes, so we’ve got some time to kill.”

Her parents cheered from where they sat beside each other on the couch.

“Yeah! Rainbow Dash, number one cook!”

“I’d bet a thousand bits you’re the best home chef in Ponyville!”

Rainbow Dash groaned. “Please don’t start that again.”

Her parents’ joyful expressions froze, and Windy Whistles nervously rubbed her hooves together. “We’re sorry sweetie. Even if we know you appreciate it best in moderation, we still can’t help but feel proud of how grown-up you’ve become.”

Bow Hothoof nodded. “It’s tough not to vocalize our appreciation for you inviting us for dinner tonight, too. I’m glad we’re all willing to let bygones be bygones and start fresh.”

Rainbow sighed. “Me too. Just... don’t go overboard, OK?”

Windy and Bow nodded. “We won’t.”

“Thanks.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence stretched over the room, until Windy Whistles asked: “So how are your friends doing?”

She shrugged. “They’re doing OK. Scootaloo’s going out with the CMC pretty much daily now. She told me Sweetie Belle’s thinking of getting Rarity and Applejack’s help to start the Crusaders as a formal business, helping ponies find or rediscover their talents.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Windy interjected. “I do hope she succeeds. She’s a lovely young mare, and she’ll be doing good work.”

Rainbow laughed. “Yeah, she is pretty awesome. Twilight’s holed herself up in her castle again, although I think that’s more because Spike got called away right in the middle of spring cleaning and she’s gotta pick up the slack. At least Starlight’s around to help her make her lists and such, otherwise she might just disappear until next spring!” Rainbow laughed aloud, and her parents shared a smile.

“How about your Flight School friend?” Windy asked.

“Who?” Rainbow asked, tilting her head back to look at her mom.

“Oh yes, er, sorry, I forget her name,” Bow added. “But you speak of her very kindly.”

Rainbow scoffed. That’s easy, it’s... She looked away, uncertainty creeping over her face. Wait, I should know this! She’s been my friend since...

“I... don’t remember,” Rainbow finally said.

“Oh, but you can do it, you can remember!” Windy cheered.

“Yeah! Rainbow Dash, best rememberer!” Bow added.

“Agh, stop it! Just, please excuse me for a second!” Rainbow said, before flying out of her chair upstairs to her room.

Ifrit narrowed his eyes. Either my magic must have been weaker than I thought, or these ponies have very old and powerful magic protecting them. They shouldn’t recall anything out of the ordinary about the ponies I’ve changed.

His attention snapped back to the two ponies still in the living room when Windy turned to look at Bow. “Was it something we said?” she asked.

“I... don’t know, honey,” Bow replied. “Maybe we pushed her too hard again?”

Windy frowned and snuggled up close to her husband. “Oh, Bow... I can’t help but feel as if we’re stuck in a rut with her. Even when I know our support overwhelms her sometimes, I can’t seem to stop myself from cheering her on.”

Bow wrapped a hoof around her. “As horrible as it sounds... have you ever wished that, maybe, we might have done better by her being just a little less enthusiastic about our daughter’s achievements?”

Windy was quiet for a moment before whispering, “I’m wishing it right now...”

That’s all I need, Ifrit thought, smirking as he clapped his hands together.

Bow and Windy both perked their ears. “Did you hear that, honey?” Windy asked.

“Sounded like something outside,” Bow replied, looking toward the window but seeing nothing.

“I hope it’s not—nngh!” Windy interrupted herself, doubling over.

“Honey, are you alr—” Bow didn’t get very far until he too grunted in pain, letting go of Windy and sliding off the couch.

Windy Whistle’s frame thinned, giving her torso and legs a graceful form as she grew a couple inches. Her mane and tail lengthened, growing out into beautifully thick curls that framed her face as they darkened to a sleek black.

Bow Hothoof’s own mane and tail rustled, and his rainbow coloration he’d kept such pride in began discoloring, his orange stripe widening and pushing everything else out until his mane and tail were a single burnt shade of vermillion. His bulky build evened out, giving him a strong, limber appearance.

Bow stumbled to his hooves, coughing. “W-What’s going on, honey?!” He slapped a hoof over his mouth after he said it; the voice coming from his lips sounded like a smooth tenor, not his usual rough baritone.

“I don’t know!” was all Windy could say before she felt her face start to pinch. Her eyelashes curled, and her freckles faded and disappeared, leaving her fur smooth and unblemished. “I-I feel so...” her voice had changed too, taking on a more nasally, less squeaky timbre.

Bow hugged Windy tightly. “N-No matter what happens... I lo…!” He stopped short of saying it, falling silent.

“I...” Windy shuddered as her coat hairs tingled, tinting a silvery gray. She didn’t answer.

Bow’s coat brightened to saffron-yellow. His hooves slipped off his wife as he fell, landing on his back on the cloud floor. His wings molted, his feathers and coverts fluttering loose. Left bare, his wing bones and muscles wilted, shrinking back into his sides.

Windy Whistles followed suit, dozens of feathers decorating the couch as her wings’ skeletal structure twisted and jerked until it retracted into her torso, leaving her sides smooth as if nothing had ever been there.

Bow rolled back on all fours, groaning and putting a hoof to his head. Windy mimicked his action, patting a growing bump on her forehead as a horn corkscrewed out. She felt her coat brush against fabric, and looked down to see herself wearing a conservative blouse, typical of her formal dress. A luxurious suit and tie materialized on Bow’s back as he straightened, dusting himself off.

The couple looked at each other for a moment, their faces blank, as Rainbow Dash zoomed back downstairs. “Ugh, sorry for taking so long, I can’t find any pictures—” She stopped, hovering in midair, her jaw dropping. “Wh-Who are you? Where are my parents?”

They turned to Rainbow Dash, the male unicorn’s slightly confused eyes shifting from amber to green, the female unicorn’s from Rainbow’s own dark pink to a light purple.

Rainbow stared silently for a moment before bolting back upstairs.

Ifrit chuckled quietly before willing himself to rise to the cloud home’s second floor, finding another window to watch as Rainbow darted into her room, slamming the door behind her and bracing herself against it.

“W-Wh-What’s going on?!” she rasped, sweat beading on her face. “They... what is going on?!” Rainbow shook her head in confusion, as baffled by her inability to articulate what she was seeing as she was by the fact it was happening. Something... something had happened to her parents. When she’d seen them, every part of her mind insisted they were her mother and father, of course they were, but her heart said something was very, very wrong.

“And where are all my pictures?!” she shouted to herself, looking at the mess she’d made of her room. Her drawers had been pulled clear out from her cabinets, and she’d strewn everything in her room out on her floor trying to find something, anything, showing her and her friend. Rainbow knocked her hoof against her head. No, I remember her from somewhere, I... why can’t I remember?!

“Aaaaaargh!” Rainbow leapt onto her bed, her stomach flopping onto her Daring Do book series she’d haphazardly thrown on it. “Nothing’s making sense! What’s wrong with me?!” She worked a hoof between herself and her bedsheets, shoving her Daring Do books off the bed, not caring if she bent a spine or ripped a page. “I wish I understood what was happening!”

A clap echoed from her window.

Rainbow reacted immediately. “What was that? Who’s there?!” She flew up and looked outside, but the darkening skies revealed nopony. “You’d better not be... um...”

Rainbow yelped as she felt her wings falter. Flapping hard, Rainbow unsteadily glided back to her room’s floor, landing quickly.

“Ouch!” she cried out, sucking on her hoof from where she’d accidentally planted it on her leadpony cadet’s pin sticking out from a pile of her Wonderbolt knickknacks. “Stupid thing...” twisting her neck to look behind her, she quickly forgot her hoof’s ache to see her sides were bare.

“My wings! Where are my wings?!” She turned and grabbed at her sides, only to feel smooth fur and flesh, as if she’d never had them. Her rear hoof caught on her Young Flier’s trophy, pitching her forward and banging her head against her framed certification stating that she was a full-fledged Wonderbolt. The glass protector fractured, a large crack spiderwebbing across it from where Rainbow’s head had smacked into it.

“Oww...” she slumped to the floor, grasping at a growing welt on her forehead. I’m gonna feel that one in the morning—wait... her pain turned to panic as it grew more and more, tapering to a point as she crossed her eyes and looked up to see a horn in her peripheral vision.

O-OK, this is getting really freaky... she thought to herself, backing up against the cloud wall. First my mother and father seem off, then... she blinked. Wait, there was something before that. Something about... a friend? What in Equestria is going on? Am I losing it?

She looked around her room, feeling lost. A pile of books had fallen from her bed, landing in a heap. Despite her situation seeming so puzzling, she couldn’t help but feel a worried pang that maybe her novels had gotten damaged. I’ve kinda been tearing my room apart... Rainbow took a deep breath, calming herself down, before deciding to clean things up. It wouldn’t do if my mother glimpsed any of this mess...

Checking to ensure her books hadn’t suffered any harm, she organized them by volume number and squeezed them back where they belonged on the shelf. I should invest in a better bookcase... She examined her room again, making a face at all the scrolls that snaked around her bed and closet. Even with her permanently enchanting her home to be solid to everypony, not just the pegasi whose architecture she’d been inspired by—she did appreciate the floor’s softness in the mornings—she always harbored an irrational fear that one day she’d clean everything up and find some scrolls had fallen through and bopped somepony on the head. She always tried to keep her workspace orderly, but her surroundings always seemed to grow out of control before she got around to filing everything where it belonged.

Sighing, she levitated some of her quills back up to her desk from where they’d spilled on the floor with her light blue magic’s glow, moving past them toward her vanity as she sorted the pages of her drafts for the magic textbook she was authoring. She caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror and looked up, surprised. She saw a silver-coated unicorn with a shining, well-kept black mane, the spitting image of her mother. Only her younger age, her bright blue eyes, and her cutie mark differentiated her.

Is that...? She turned her flank to the side, for some reason expecting something colorful, but it was the same three-ringed starburst it had always been. She blinked, shaking her head, and looked herself over again. Huh. No, that’s most certainly me. Almost seemed for a second like I didn’t recognize...

She ceased her train of thought as she glanced to her left and saw her framed certificate. “Oh dear!” Carefully stepping around another pile of books about magic, she delicately levitated the frame free from the wall, looking carefully at the paper inside. Whew... it looks like the glass is still in one piece. I’d be quite upset if I had accidentally scratched the paper...

Peering past the clear surface’s cracks, she read: “This certifies that, by authority of the Senior Unicorn Mage Council, and approved by Her Royal Majesty Princess Celestia, the recipient Mithral Star has completed the Course for Study Prescribed for Graduation by Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns...”

Mithral’s thoughts flooded with memories from her graduation, her studies in magic, her promise in tutoring and helping her fellow classmates learn tricky spells... and her parents, thoroughly unimpressed when she declared she’d be moving away from Canterlot to write missives and guides for aspiring mages and wizards.

“Mithral!” she heard her mother shout from downstairs in her Canterlot accent. “It is impolite to leave while you’re entertaining guests! Or did we not we raise you any better?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m coming, Mother! I’ll only be a moment!” She couldn’t keep a scowl from creeping over her face. She’d really rather not have hosted her parents at all, but she wouldn’t dare refuse their suggestion to dine with her. One reason she disliked Canterlot was she had to play the nobles’ game and constantly be polite and generous, accepting proposals and offers she really didn’t want to. At least in Ponyville she wouldn’t be forever shunned for any gaffes.

From downstairs, she heard the timer she’d set start ringing, signaling her main course had finished cooking. Steeling herself, she carefully laid her diploma on her bed and trotted downstairs.

She entered her living room to see her parents sitting on her couch on opposite ends, idly gazing around her room, judging every nook and cranny with critical eyes.

“I apologize, Gold Brick and Silver Fish,” she announced formally, bowing before her parents in penance. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Her mother, Silver Fish, tsked as she stared up away from Mithral Star at a column decorated with pegasus architecture’s elaborate Corinthian capitals. “You are beginning to sound like the farmers who live down here.”

“Yes,” Mithral answered carefully, minding her language as she spoke and enunciating her words. “It is common for a pony to adopt certain speech patterns and mannerisms when she lives among others who speak differently.”

Silver Fish hummed curtly. “I will not have my daughter becoming a hick.”

“I am not becoming a hick, Mother,” Mithral said, her tone completely disinterested despite feeling an unusually strong twinge of anger inside her. Internally, she wondered why she felt like her mother was insulting someone very close to her. “I do not associate with many Ponyville residents.”

“Perhaps it is for the best you do not,” Silver said. “You were raised a proper pony, and you shall remain so.” Mithral nodded, knowing their conversation was over, and entered her kitchen to remove their meal from her stove.

“You weaved these cloudwalking enchantments yourself, yes?” her father Gold Brick said, gingerly pressing a forehoof into the soft white floor.

“I did, Father,” Mithral answered, levitating several covered pots with her as she crossed through the living room into the dining room. “Dinner is ready.”

Gold Brick glanced down and tested the floor once again before looking up and following Silver to Mithral’s dining table, already set with plates, bowls, glasses, and silverware. Mithral placed the pots on hot pads she placed on the table before opening them one by one. “Soy jambalaya, corn and lima bean succotash, vegetable stew with fresh tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, bay leaf.” It was more than she’d usually make for herself, but the bare minimum of cooking for her parents was a lot higher than even most Ponyvillians’ “upscale” expectations. She had no chance of meeting their bar for excellence making foods they usually ate in Canterlot with only ingredients from Ponyville, so she hoped they’d be more forgiving of meals they considered “earth pony food.”

Her parents remained stone-faced as she served them before serving herself, filling everyone’s glasses with ice water. Silver Fish said grace, and Mithral daintily scooped up a mouthful of jambalaya, chewing quietly.

Gold Brick stared at his plate, his fork hovering over his food. Mithral cleared her throat and asked, “Is something wrong with your food, Father?”

He looked up at her briefly before returning his gaze to his plate. “No, Mithral, not at all. It’s merely... an atypical dish for your mother and I.” He took an uncertain bite of his succotash.

Mithral mentally berated herself, but her face showed not a single quiver. “I apologize if I did not meet your expectations.” Silence befell the table as the three ponies slowly ate their meals.

“Has your sister contacted you at all?” Silver Fish asked, dabbing at her lips with her napkin after setting down her water. She’d barely eaten anything from her plate.

“No, Mother, Morning Star has not contacted me.”

“So you do not know? She has been personally commended by Sir Cobalt for her excellent performance and marks in her classes. There is talk of her joining the Royal Guard as an elite mage.”

Mithral said nothing. She knew exactly what her mother was implying.

“It is a shame you left Canterlot, Mithral,” Gold Brick added. “Solar Gear had offered you an apprenticeship. You would have been slated to be a Senior Councilmember.”

“I am aware, Father,” she said. She kept her face neutral, but she knew the conversation might have terrible consequences if she said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

“Then why are you here? Why are you not where you belong, in Canterlot?”

Oppressive silence again overtook the table as everypony stopped eating. Mithral stared forward, her eyes focused on her saucepan filled with succotash, knowing she had instantly trapped herself in a corner.

She considered saying nothing, but doing so would condemn her as forever a disappointment to her family. Swallowing, she spoke:

“Father, I do not belong in Canterlot.”

“Why ever not?” Silver Fish asked. Her tone was purely inquisitive, but Mithral Star was well aware she was swimming in treacherous waters.

“Not all unicorns have the privilege of attending the educational institutions I have. I believe there are countless talented mages and wizards who could do wonderful things for Equestria and Equestrian citizens if they had access to higher education.”

“If they are truly talented,” Gold Brick said in a reasonable-sounding voice that Mithral knew meant he believed it as irrefutable fact, “they would come to Canterlot and attend our schools. Canterlot has long held a reputation for producing the most powerful magic users in Equestria. Even Princess Twilight Sparkle hails from Canterlot, and attended Celestia’s School.”

Not everypony can afford to live in Canterlot, Mithral Star thought. Not everypony lives in a city that has mandatory magic tests in kindergarten. Not everypony needs a diploma from Celestia’s School to be a great mage. Not everypony has a unicorn family, who can tell if their son or daughter is unusually gifted. Not everypony who’s made her mark upon magic’s history was born, lived her life, and died in Canterlot. Not everypony believes magic is a mark of privilege and not a right.

She said none of these things. She nodded and said, “Of course, Father. I only wish to spread Canterlot’s wisdom and scholarship to those less fortunate.”

“A goal many ponies may certainly find admirable,” Gold said. Mithral translated his sentence in her head: Your youthful ideals are absurd and you likely believe them because you think them fashionable, but I find it unpleasant nonetheless.

“But why must you leave Canterlot?” Silver Fish entreated. “You would have a bright future as a magic instructor. You may befriend the next Princess Twilight as she’s attending your classes. Perhaps Princess Celestia would even offer you the opportunity to personally tutor her future protégés.”

Mithral breathed in through her nose. “I have made my decision.” She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her vision affixed firmly on her plate.

Neither of her parents even missed a beat. “Of course, Mithral,” Silver Fish said. “We would never force anything on you.”

“You are your own mare,” Gold Brick said.

The dining table was silent for another moment or two, before Silver Fish rose from her seat. “Thank you for hosting us tonight, Mithral. We are most gracious of your efforts.”

Gold nodded, rising as well. “We wish you the best, as always.”

Mithral got up and opened the door for them as they smoothly trotted out. They didn’t even spare a glance back as they stood upon her cloud lift, which slowly lowered them to the ground to their waiting chariot.

Mithral stood in the doorway, watching as the cloudlift returned to her doorstep and listening to hoofbeats, then wing flaps, faded toward Canterlot before slumping against the cloud frame. Taking deep breaths, she leaned back on her unsteady hooves and trotted back to the dining table. Between them, her parents had only taken a few bites from their food.

Her mouth quivered. At least I’ll have some leftovers for the next couple days. I don’t think I’ll be leaving home anytime soon. Sighing, she sat back in her chair and started numbly shoveling the now barely-warm food she’d prepared into her mouth.

Magic is for the many, not the few, she thought angrily to herself, finally allowing her face to show her true feelings as she glared at her stew bowl before scraping out as much as she could and stuffing it in her face. She huffed through her nostrils, feeling her cheeks bulge, wishing she could have spited her parents directly rather than bottling it up inside herself.

She swallowed, feeling lumpy masses of vegetables move down her throat, and coughed, magically lifting her glass and gulping down some water. Is it so wrong to want my family to support me? She didn’t think most parents disapproved of their children’s life choices like hers did...

Mithral exhaled after taking her water, looking at her mother’s fork daintily laid on her plate’s edge despite her more or less untouched food. Of course, that wasn’t what she really wanted. She knew there would be no turning back the moment she told her parents she was moving to Ponyville. What she really wanted was to get away from the city’s attitudes. The idea that magic knowledge was to be kept secret, only taught in clandestine schools where being wealthy meant more to whether you could attend than your actual magical aptitude, made her sick to her stomach. Magic was a gift, a gift to be shared. Perhaps her parents would never really understand anyway, considering her father was a bank investor and her mother spent more time politicking than practicing magic, but it still hurt.

“Is it so selfish to wish somepony might support me...?” she asked herself aloud. Of course, she knew it wasn’t selfish, but fruitless. You can’t always trust ponies to support you. Sometimes, all you have is yourself.

Sniffing and purging her mind from her bitter thoughts, Mithral Star stood, levitating all the table’s plates and bowls and bringing them into her kitchen. Perhaps I should get another chapter of my textbook finished tonight. I don’t feel like sleeping.

Ifrit watched from the windows as the once-rainbow-colored pony washed the dishes with her magic as if she’d used it all her life before moving upstairs and writing, her quill’s movement fluid, elegant, and exact. He smiled. Your wish for loyalty... will not be granted. He moved away from Mithral’s cloud home and Ponyville into the deepening night, relishing the feeling of his bolstered power thrumming inside himself.

“Half down, half to go,” Ifrit murmured. “And now that I’ve recovered some of my power, the next will be by far the easier half.” He smiled. “Perhaps it is time I start picking them off in Ponyville proper...”

Author's Note

Next Up: Scrounging Up Time, featuring Rarity and Sweetie Belle

4 - Scrounging Up Time (Rarity)

Rarity looked up from her most recent designs in her sketchbook to see her clock’s hands showing it was past dinnertime. “Oh dear, was I really in the zone for that long?” she mumbled to herself, realizing she’d barely paid attention to Sweetie Belle leaving to sleep over at Scootaloo’s. She’d approved it well beforehoof, but she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty she’d only spared a look over her shoulder and a “have fun!”

Putting her creative materials away, Rarity entered her foyer to see that she hadn’t even gone through her mail for the day. Oh goodness, she thought to herself, perhaps Sweetie Belle is right. I do need a break more than I thought. She smiled as she began sorting through her mail. At least Friday she and I will have a well-deserved sisters’ day where we can relax and enjoy each other’s company for a while.

Placing her new issue of Cosmare on her reading table, Rarity brought the next letter up to her face. She froze, her telekinetic grip on the rest of her mail faltering and letting it slip to the floor. Her lips trembled. “S-S-S-Straight Lace?”

She tore open the envelope and extracted the letter in an instant, her pupils dilating at Ms. Lace’s elegant cursive. “‘Dear Rarity Belle, I am most honored to accept your...!’” she skimmed through the rest, a joyous squeal growing inside her until she released it in an ecstatic cry. “Straight Lace will review my summer line! I’ll be the shining star of Canterlot if she gives me her stamp of approval!”

She leapt into the air, laughing in delight as she bounced around her store’s front room. “Oh, I’ll have to make sure all my displays look perfect! And perhaps I might even preview my latest sketch, if I can commit it to fabric quickly enough!” She read the letter again, scanning for a date. “I will visit the Carousel Boutique for our session... Friday?!”

Rarity looked up in shock. “That’s only a few days! Dear me, perhaps I won’t be able to show her my most recent concept after all...” She gasped, putting a hoof to her cheek as she recalled her schedule. “Oh dear, that’s the same day Sweetie Belle and I are having our sisters’ day! Oh, she’ll be so disappointed...”

Pursing her lips together as she reread Straight Lace’s immaculate hoofwriting, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry Sweetie Belle, if I had any idea I’d actually get a response from Ms. Lace, I would never have gotten your hopes up so much about our special day...” She fell to her haunches, mumbling, “I’ll have to reschedule our sisters’ day. I hope she isn’t too angry...”

Opening her eyes, she looked at her clock. “Perhaps I should go out and tell her now, while she’s with Scootaloo. A good night’s sleep alongside a friend might help soften the unfortunate news in the morning. I just hope she forgives me...”

“So, Sweetie Belle, wanna play Thunderhead?” Scootaloo asked, looking through her boxes of games.

Sweetie Belle yawned. “We played that to death the last couple times I came over to sleep here. Plus, you always find all my clouds in like two turns anyway. Hey, why don’t we play Yahtzee?”

Scootaloo winced. “I’d rather not play anything too noisy. I know Headmistress Golden Braid is pretty lenient, since she lets me have slumber parties here even though I’m technically not supposed to have guests over, but she’ll still probably have to chew us out if we’re rattling dice really loud once curfew starts.”

“Alright...” Sweetie Belle muttered, kicking a hoof on the floor. “Maybe we could just—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. The two fillies stared at each other for a moment; surely it wasn’t lights out this early?

“Sweetie Belle, dear? Mind if I come in?”

“Rarity?” Sweetie Belle answered. She shared a shrug with Scootaloo. “Sure.”

Rarity gingerly opened the door, stepping inside and closing it behind her. “Sorry, Sweetie Belle. I don’t mean to interrupt your sleepover with Scootaloo, but I have some news I’d rather tell you now than later.”

“Um, OK. What is it?”

“Today’s post included a letter from Straight Lace. She’d like to visit my boutique and review my summer line.”

“Oh, wow!” Scootaloo replied. “That’s really good news!” Her eyes darted over to Sweetie Belle. “It is good news, right?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. “Rarity’s been worrying about it ever since she sent Ms. Lace her proposal.” She turned back to her sister, tilting her head. “But why is it so important you had to come to tell me now?”

Rarity’s smile grew strained. “Well, see, the thing is... she’s coming in on Friday... the day we scheduled for our sisters’ day...”

Sweetie Belle’s face screwed up in annoyance, and she looked down at the floor. “Oh.”

“I’m so terribly sorry, Sweetie Belle. I promise we can reschedule, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“You said that last time!” she blurted out, looking back with a frustrated glare. “You promise we’ll spend time together, and then something just ‘comes up’ and you have to cancel!”

“I know, I know dear,” Rarity said. “But this could make or break my store in Canterlot! You wouldn’t want her to say bad things about my work, would you?”

“Well maybe you should reschedule meeting with her instead of canceling our day together!” Sweetie Belle yelled, causing Rarity and Scootaloo to flinch. “I wish I could tell you what to do more, instead of you constantly dictating when we get to do things!”

Rarity put a hoof to her chest. “I know, I know. I wish I would pay more attention to what you want. I’ve been terribly insensitive toward your feelings.”

Outside the window, the ponies heard a clapping noise.

Rarity turned to look out the window, but the dark exterior plus the lights on in Scootaloo’s room made it nearly impossible to discern any details. “What was that?”

“We’re not done talking!” Sweetie Belle said. “You always do this to me, and I’m sick of it!”

“Now that’s going a bit too far!” Rarity replied firmly. “You should watch your tone!”

“I should watch my tone?!” Sweetie Belle shrieked, staring defiantly up at Rarity with blazing tawny eyes. “I think you’re the one who should be watching her tone!”

“M-Me?!” Rarity exclaimed in shock. Scootaloo, for her part, had zipped under her sheets, which were trembling as purple eyes peeked out at the scene.

“Just who do you think you are?!” Sweetie Belle stomped forward. Rarity leaned back slightly, but held her ground. “Since when do you get to tell me what to do? Since when is it in your authority to order me around and tell me what’s best?!”

Rarity opened her mouth to reprimand her, to say how ridiculous she was being, how she was her older sister and guardian and therefore had every right to tell her what to do. But being nose-to-nose with her, pressing her horn into Rarity’s bare forehead, with a withering glare that would have incinerated her on the spot if looks could kill, Rarity found herself feeling quite intimidated, and she retreated a step.

As if sensing her advantage, Sweetie Belle followed, backing her into the wall. Her coat darkened from white to an aluminum gray. “I certainly hope things will be different between us from now on, or else there may be some painful consequences for you! I do not tolerate ponies disputing my decisions, least of all you!”

Now properly frightened, Rarity risked wiping her face clean of spittle with a ruby-red hoof. “T-That’s not what I intended at all! I was merely—”

“I don’t care what you intended!” Sweetie Belle had the height advantage now, staring down her gray muzzle into Rarity’s terrified forest-green eyes. “You have stepped out of line, and if you don’t choose your next words carefully—and I mean very carefully—you may find yourself out a job. Unless that is what you want?”

Rarity bit her lip, feeling sweat trickle down her face and through her disheveled blonde mane, before deciding to debase herself to the mare chastising her and hope for the best. “N... No, Headmistress Widow Peak. Of course I’d like to keep my job.”

“Then explain why you think you can argue with me about what’s best for my orphanage, Miss Marinara?” Widow Peak drew herself to her full height, towering over her as she tucked a strand of her straw-colored mane behind her ear with a flick of her magic.

“I...” Marinara looked down, glimpsing her own ladle cutie mark as she stared at the ground, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that would appease the Headmistress. “I would never argue with you, Headmistress. Your rules are final, your word is law.”

Marinara brought her gaze up to see Scootaloo shaking beneath her blankets. Feeling her mouth tremble, Marinara threw herself at Widow Peak’s hooves. “Please, please don’t fire me! I enjoy my work here, helping cook and watch out for the children! I don’t have the money to start over if I lose this job! I’ll do anything, just please don’t kick me out!”

Widow Peak lifted a forelimb in disgust and took a step back, finally giving Marinara some breathing room. “Then I hope you’re thoroughly aware of your place here, Marinara. You are a cook, nothing else. If you decide to ever dispute my authority again, consider yourself unemployed.”

“Of course not, Headmistress, never...” Marinara cautiously got to her hooves, staying close to the wall away from Widow Peak.

The shaking blankets shifted, and Scootaloo’s uncertain face appeared. “U-Um, Headmistress?”

“What?” Widow said sharply, turning her gaze onto the filly.

Scootaloo let out an eep, but didn’t retreat under her covers. “Well... I was just wondering...”

“Spit it out!”

She flinched. “I-I know the rules say everypony has to be in by curfew, but I was wondering if maybe I could sleep over at my friend Apple Bloom’s house sometime?”

Widow Peak paused for a second, then laughed. “Absolutely not!”

“O-Oh, OK,” Scootaloo said, but Widow Peak continued speaking.

“What, do you think you’re entitled to a sleepover? That you can run off and play with your friends anytime you like? Is that what you think?”

Scootaloo bunched her sheets up against her mouth.

“Is that what you think?!”

“No, Headmistress!” she answered.

“And well you are not! Children feel entitled to everything! It’s like they think the world belongs to them and they deserve extra on the side for being young!”

Widow Peak tittered, her boots making loud clomps on the floor as she paced and tossed her head around the nearly-bare room. “You’re lucky to have what I give you! Three meals a day and a bed to sleep in, and all you have to do in return is earn your keep cleaning and doing chores! If it weren’t for me, you’d be out on the streets! You should be thankful, not asking if you can have a slumber party!”

“I-I am thankful!” Scootaloo squeaked. “I shouldn’t ask for things I don’t deserve, I’m sorry!”

Widow let out a loud hmph, turning to Marinara, who reflexively pressed herself back against the wall. “Can you believe she’d ask for something like that? Do you think she deserves such a thing?”

Marinara gulped, the Headmistress’s reprimand still fresh in her mind. “N-No, of course not, Headmistress. You’re absolutely right, children should count their blessings.”

Widow Peak narrowed her eyes at Marinara for a painfully long moment before closing her eyes, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. “Lights out is in ten minutes.” She threw Scootaloo’s door open, marching through before shutting it loudly behind her.

Marinara held her breath, waiting for the Headmistress’ boots’ hoofsteps to fade. As they tapered off out of earshot, she allowed herself to exhale, putting a hoof to her chest and feeling her heart pound as she glanced toward Scootaloo.

The filly had screwed her eyes shut, twisting her blankets in her hooves, and she shortly burst into tears. Marinara rushed over, pulling her into a tight hug. “S-She’s so mean, Mari! Why is she so mean?!”

“Shh, shh, calm down, it’s over now sweetie...” Marinara murmured as she patted Scootaloo’s back.

“Why can’t Golden Braid be Headmistress? Why does it have to be her?!” Scootaloo’s face was a mess of tears and snot as she bawled.

Marinara hiked herself up onto Scootaloo’s bed, feeling it sag under her weight. She froze for a second, hoping her plumpness wouldn’t cause its legs to fail, before lifting Scootaloo up and depositing her on her lap. She rocked slowly from side to side, hugging Scootaloo tightly against her chest.

Scootaloo continued to cry as Marinara caressed her mane and whispered calming sentences. As her sobs slowly quieted to sniffles and whimpers, Marinara began to sing in her ragged, out-of-tune alto as best she could:

Don’t worry, don’t worry, the sun will still rise
Her warming gaze watchful while soaring the skies
Don’t worry, don’t worry, just look for her spark
Light comes in the morning, no matter how dark...

Scootaloo’s bought up her fetlock and coughed, and though her eyes were still red, her tears had stopped. She looked up at Marinara, and Marinara smiled gently back. “Y-You’re so nice, Marinara... I don’t know what I’d do if the Headmistress had fired you...”

Marinara felt a panicked twinge in her chest at the recent memory. “I don’t know what I’d do either Scootaloo... I love all you children so much, I couldn’t bear it if I never got to see you again...”

Scootaloo’s overhead light clicked off, plunging her room in darkness. Neither reacted, Marinara silently holding Scootaloo close and swaying back and forth as minutes ticked by.

Eventually, Marinara rose, gingerly shifting her weight so she didn’t put undue stress on Scootaloo’s bed. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in for the night. Tomorrow’s a new day, OK?”

She heard a sniffle. “OK...”

By now Marinara’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she quickly made Scootaloo’s bed back up, tucking her sheets in as Scootaloo squirmed beneath her covers and put her head on her pillow. Marinara pulled her blankets up, tucking her in.

“Thanks, Mari...”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” she said, giving Scootaloo a light kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast, OK?”

“OK...”

She smiled, hoping Scootaloo could see it in the dark, before making her way back to the door and slipping through it into the shadowy corridor.

Hearing the door click shut behind her, she let her smile drop, lowering her neck as she let out a deep, morose breath. Poor, poor thing... I hope she feels better tomorrow. Headmistress Widow frightened her nearly to death, and I’m sure she’ll take it especially hard considering she’ll have to tell her friend she can’t sleep over at her house...

She resisted the urge to kick herself. If only I were brave enough to stand up to her! Widow Peak refuses to let children be children! The way she treats them, they’ll never have the fillyhoods and colthoods they need to play and grow! Children should be able to cherish being young!

Marinara took a few steps away from Scootaloo’s door before slumping to the hallway floor. Who am I kidding? Being brave isn’t the problem. I’m just afraid to lose my job. Opposing Widow would probably mean I’m out a home, too. It’s just... the cruel way of the world. Not everypony can get what they want, or need.

She brought her head up, propping it up on her red hooves folded in front of her. Just look at me. I’m so pathetic, I can’t even protect fillies and colts from being screamed at. Some pony I am. She shut her dark green eyes, trying her best not to let her tears leak out. I just... What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to do anything?

Taking a shaky breath, Marinara stood, sweeping her messy mane out of her eyes. She took a moment to get her erratic breathing under control before continuing down the corridor, her sagging form growing dimmer until darkness swallowed her whole.

Marinara stifled a yawn as she stirred the morning’s cornmeal porridge, closing her aching eyes for a few relieving seconds as she rotated and mixed her wooden spoon around the large pot. I hope Scootaloo slept better than I did last night, considering, she thought, grateful for her restful moment as her stirring slowed. I hardly caught a wink, and it’s a hard day’s work ahead of us today. It was always a hard day’s work at Widow Peak’s orphanage, but she had taken to reminding herself most ponies weren’t accustomed to such grueling workdays. It helped keep her mind away from monotonous, heart-hardening thoughts.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and she started, looking over at another kitchen employee who’d nudged her. Grinning sheepishly, she whispered a “thanks” and gave herself a light slap on her cheek, taking care not to dislodge her hairnet. She began glancing up at the clock every so often to keep herself alert, watching and waiting as the hands slowly ticked forward.

The second the minute hand ticked to 6:55 AM, she heard the orphanage cafeteria’s double doors swing open from behind the kitchen’s serving window. Widow Peak’s tall silhouette entered, pausing for a moment as if spontaneously inspecting the large room in front of her. After a moment she stepped to the side, facing perpendicular to the doorway and moving her head to track who entered.

Marinara did her best to keep from looking directly toward the Headmistress’s imposing outline and instead directed her attention toward the now-open double doors as dozens of pony shapes trickled in, most hugging the wall away from Widow Peak as they filed up to the serving window. Despite the hoof traffic, the cafeteria was almost completely silent other than quiet, delicate hoofsteps and an occasional suppressed sneeze or cough.

The kitchen clock’s minute hand reached the top, signifying it was 7:00 AM. As if in reaction, Widow Peak’s silhouetted head glowed with an orange halo behind the kitchen window and let the cafeteria’s double doors shut. If any orphans were running late, they’d be out a meal.

Widow Peak turned and walked down the cafeteria’s central aisle, her boots thumping loudly with each hoofstep on the polished wood floor as she walked down, made her way around the staffer’s table in the back, and moved to the head spot. The moment she had sat in her chair, Marinara slid the kitchen window open and began holding plates out to the fillies and colts standing in line.

Widow Peak never took meals with the rest of the orphanage. In fact, Marinara had never actually seen her eat at all. But she’d never been absent from her head seat at the staffer’s table, watching over everypony as they ate their breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Marinara smiled at every foal as they received their breakfast for the day, a helping of porridge and half a banana. As usual, the responses she got varied. Some would return her smile, albeit with varying degrees of sincerity. Others didn’t even make eye contact with her, picking up their plate with their mouth and trudging over to the beverage table to pour their water or milk. But most just stared back, or nodded their heads.

Smiling and balancing another plate on her forelimbs as a unicorn filly delicately grabbed it with her mouth and moved on, Marinara allowed a small sigh to slip through her nostrils. She wished dearly she could even tell the children “good morning,” but Widow Peak was adamant there was to be no talking in the cafeteria during mealtimes, and the food they were serving wasn’t crunchy or noisy enough to sneak a whispered conversation in. Despite having a cafeteria filled with colts and fillies eating or standing in line, the only sounds were occasional squeaks from the benches as the children seated themselves and a faint general din of spoons quietly scraping against bowls and cups being placed back on tables.

Scootaloo, normally an early bird in the morning meal line, crept up to receive her breakfast in the last half of the pack. Her eyes were downcast, and Marinara could see they were still swollen and red.

Marinara held a plate out for her, but didn’t let go at first when Scootaloo made to grab it with her teeth. Scootaloo finally looked up, meeting Marinara’s eyes, and the mare flashed her a toothy grin. Scootaloo huffed in amusement, the corners of her own lips turning up a little, and Marinara let go of her plate, taking a moment to watch as she moved on to pour herself a glass of milk.

Marinara felt a pair of eyes piercing through her and glanced up to see Widow Peak staring at her from her head position at the staffer’s table, crooking an eyebrow with a faint frown upon her face. Marinara’s smile vanished in an instant and she dipped her head, focusing on the next plate she was serving to a blue pegasus colt with an unkempt orange mane. She looked up and smiled at him, but couldn’t help but worry if her expression looked a bit less bright than before.

Serving dishes to the last few orphans in line as other staff members began coming to the window, Marinara came to a resolution in her head. I won’t let you win, Headmistress. She didn’t look Widow Peak’s way again, even when she felt her tawny eyes boring through her. I won’t let you make these children in your own image. Maybe I can’t afford to fight you, or speak out against you, but I can’t stand by and watch you take away their love either.

The last pony took her plate, and Marinara closed the kitchen window, giving herself time for a breath before heading dishwashing side to begin scrubbing plates and bowls and silverware as foals finished eating and returned them. If she hurried, she’d get finished before the leftover porridge for her own breakfast got cold.

If I can’t muster up the selflessness to speak against the Headmistress, at least I can comfort the fillies and colts when they’re sad or scared, she thought, cleaning plates and bowls with quick, precise sweeps only possible with years’ worth of built-up muscle memory. I can’t stand to see them hurting so badly... but if all I can do is offer them a hug and tell them it gets better, it’s just what I’ll have to do.

She repeated her promise to herself over and over in her head, hoping to ingrain it so deep not even Headmistress Widow Peak could scare it out of her. She had to stay strong and put on a brave face, for fillies like Scootaloo. She didn’t want to even think about what might happen if their young lives were completely dominated by fear and misery, with not a smile or hug to be found in what was their home.

Dividing her attention from the bowl she was dipping in hot soapy water, she watched from her peripheral vision through the closed kitchen window as she heard Widow Peak’s boots stepping around the staffer’s table. Listening through the wall as she cleaned, Marinara’s ears swiveled to follow her as the Headmistress’ shadow stopped in front of the double doors before they flung open once again.

You may take away their toys, she thought as the sharp clack of the Headmistress’s boots grew faint. You may even take away their shouts of joy. But I pray to Celestia you let them keep their smiles.

Author's Note

Next Up: Family Trees, featuring Scootaloo and the Apple family