In Twilight I Trust, Starlight's Enchanting Anthology:

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I had accepted my fate, I am resigned to follow through. Of course, this far too late, to change my mind and back out, at this point.

I have a journey to embark upon. This journey is short, but will change me and my life in the process.

I open the first door, on my journey. This door can only be opened from the outside, which is where I am. The door will be closed behind me, after I have stepped into the next room. I stand still in the hall, for but a minute. They do not urge me, forwards; while I stand still; contemplating my destiny, where I came from and where I am going. Of course, there is no turning back now.

The hall is long. I am standing in the basement of a large castle. I had come here, after I had been sentenced. My mistake, or had I chosen to commit the act; knowing where it would lead me off to? Either way, it is too late to regret, what I had done.

I had opened the door; now I step inside and the door is closed behind me. My hooves hit the heavy, black stone under my hooves. I move forwards.

There is light before me, illuminating up the white doors before me. I trot forwards, slowly; on numb and exhausted legs. I manage to approach the gate before me. It opens and I step inside.

I leave the heavy room, laid with mate, black stone. The next room is coated in glossy, clear rubber; making my steps leave squeaking noises as I move. I move forwards.

“Welcome, to the secret parlour!” a sanguine mare exclaims.

Her coat, coated with the same, glossy, clear rubber as the floor upon which I am stepping.

“Curious!” I ponder; “Thank you!” I add, giving voice to the courtesy required.

I know better, than to insult the mare before me, on the forlorn journey upon which I had just embarked. I can delay, as much as I please; but that, will merely add insult to my injuries. I could choose to starve to death, or die out of old age, if I so please, but what is the good in that? What is the use?

If my journey is forlorn, but I have not been condemned to anything as bad, as what I could meat out onto myself.

I follow the mare before me, step by step; listening to the squeaks that refuses to be denied or ignored.

Here, take your place; make yourself comfortable, while I perform my job!” she points out, matter of fact.

“Thank you!” I merely respond, as I see the cushion before me.

Like everything else, this cushion had been coated with clear rubber. I am left, to endure the squeaks of her reals. No Unicorn could teleport out, no Pegasus could fly out, and no Earth-pony could buck the walls and escape.

She eagerly assists me, in my attempt to mount the cushion before me. After a few failed attempts, I find myself on the top of her cushion. It is soft and comfortable, not to mention, squishy and highly elastic. I feel the material accept my form under my belly, holding me in a steady grip.

I close my eyes and relax. Just resting.

She soon paint my right fore hoof with clear rubber gel. While I do not actually quite feel it; but the rubber is slowly saturating the hoof as it is curing.

She continues with my left fore hoof; then the right and left hind hooves respectively, in turn.

“That was not so bad?” she inquire.

“No, thank you!” I respond.

“Good! Though I did not expect you, to feel it!” she points out.

She is extracting the anal tube, inserting it as intended. I feel the distinct pinch as it plops. I find myself contracting around the tube, fairly forcefully, and the clear rubber membrane is forming from the outside and all the way along the walls of my anal cavity.

She extracts the vaginal tube and inserts it, just as intended. I feel the tube plop with a distinct pinch as it is riveting inside. The membrane is forming from the mound, over the petals of my orchid and all the way down into my womb.

I see her extracting the third and final tube intended to fill my mouth. She is inserting the oral tube. I feel it plop with a distinct pinch as it is riveting. There is the membrane forming from the outer rim of my lips, continuing into my mouth and coats my tongue, before it is finally flowing down my throat.

I try to part my lips and move my tongue in order to speak; but, to no avail. I can't part my lips, more than I can move my tongue; I am muted, mute. Perfectly incapable, of speech or even making the tiniest of noises.

“There, I think you are ready, for the next step!” she points out.

I feel the cushion deflate and my hooves hit the floor. I move forwards, merely nodding my fare well. I could neither curse, nor bless her at this point; my voice gone as I am mute.

I open the door and step in. There is a set of boots.

I hear the doors close behind me and I continue forwards. I put on the shiny, golden rubber boots. There is but the one way, forwards. I continue towards the next door.

Another door to open and I do the only thing I can; open the door, step through and enter the next room. As I enter the room, the boots are fusing to my hooves. The change has no real consequence to me, it is a change that had been expected and a part of the process of crossing the path that is this journey.

There is a light yellow mare in the room. Her body, coated with the same; clear, shiny rubber as the one I had just left behind. Is she a part of the room, or another; poor, lost soul condemned to perform the task of leading me another step forwards?

I notice, her producing a comb out of her mane. She is pulling the comb through my mane. I enjoy the simple touch of compassion. She is freely offering me this one final comfort on my way towards the next door. The next step in my life. Once I pass that door, there is no turning back. No point in complaining; it will change exactly nothing, and I will just be feeling even more miserable for focusing on what I can do nothing about.

Of course, she is also combing my tail. Once she is down; I can see the long strands of hair flowing freely behind me. Each strand of hair glossy and healthy, as if I had been a little filly.

She understands, how and why I can offer no words of thanks. I make due with giving her the little I can; I bow my head in a nod and wink at her in gratitude.

“Was that all I could give her?” I realize, knowing all to well that all the options had been taken from me.

My now glossy tail is reaches to but an inch from the floor. The bangs of my mane curled up beautifully; while the rest of my mane is held firmly in tight braids. These braids reaching all the way down to my fore hooves.

I open the door before me and step through. Now I enter the room, waiting for what is ahead. I feel, almost like a ballerina; preparing, to step forth and claim my stage. I an curious and proud, nervous and frightened. Yet, I do step into the room. The door closes behind me and I can no longer turn back. Yet another checkpoint, another point of no return. Yet, I am still alive and in good health. Am I not?

There is a black mare in this room. She is expecting me. She holds up the bridle and bit before me as I enter the room. I accept, knowing there is no choice.

She slips the bit into my mouth and fasten the bridle behind my head. I feel how she is securing each strap in turn. There is a strange metallic tang to the bit in my mouth, but I barely feel the straps around my head. Coated in clear rubber, they fit so close to my skin; I soon forget, that they are even there.

With the bridle on my head, I find my body growing stiff; as if she had turned my body into rubber, glossy under her gaze.

She is placing the leach on the right side of my cheek, leading me up to the next door. I follow her obediently, feeling my legs eagerly follow her on the way towards where she is taking me.

She opens the door, follows me into the next room. There is a three foot tall statuette in the form of a ballerina.

As I recognize the face, I start to lose my focus. She is striking a pose before me, on the base that is to be her stage. There is a golden plaque, engraved with my name in what appears to be my writing.

I feel the rest of my focus slip away and evaporate entirely. My eyes close and I can't feel anything; as if I had fallen asleep. My eyes are closed. I stand up, like the ballerina.

As I wake up, I can clearly see; that I am standing on the nightstand of my daughters, beside her bed.

As long as I relax, I maintain the given pose. If I focus, I can move my legs and move as freely as the statuette could permit. I can even open my eyes, and open my mouth to speak.

Yet, I am stuck, as a ballerina, standing firmly in place.

After a moment, I realize that I am spinning, the ballerina is dancing to the tune of a music box upon which I stand. The ballerina is physically a part of the music box. If she is, so am I.

As the notes are heard, my daughter is waking up, then casts a glance in my direction. She finds me and stare at me, for the longest of times.

“What a beautiful gift!” she exclaims.

“At least, I can be with you, and see that you are all right!” I exclaim.

I hear my voice; such as it is pronounced, by the ballerina that is me.