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