“Oh, that’s not good,” Mom Voice says.

I wake up to her concern, a chill in the air, and too much brightness. The light is so intense it’s like seventeen hangovers at once, hammering straight into my brain. My eyes refuse to stay open, and they won’t adjust. A whimper escapes my throat.

Then Mom Voice is by my side, her touch on my shoulder warm and soothing. Her voice is gentle.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Whatever you were dreaming about, it’s gone now.” She pats my head through the covers, which is tolerable because she’s Mom Voice. “I’m here for you.”

The horrifying emptiness and smallness of the dream fades as warmth and wholeness fills its void. I drift into a weary, half-waking haze until Mom Voice speaks again.

“Alright, Sweetie Belle.” She holds a smile when I open one eye to look at where she’s stuck her head under my pillow, her horn making a heavy tent of my bedding. She continues, “It’s almost time for⁠—oh. Oh, I see.”

“Huh? See what?” I mumble. I just don’t have the energy to do better. It feels like I’ve been up all night and then some, without delicious caffeine to help.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mom Voice’s smile takes on a forced quality, then disappears from under my covers. “Get some more rest. Your father will be around when you wake up.”

Oh good, there’s time to sleep in. My eyes close and I mumble something as she draws my covers up further, dimming the light. Consciousness slips away just like that.

The light in my room is bearable when I wake up again, and the chill in the air is more piercing. There’s no drift through a haze into the waking world this time⁠—I’m all the way awake as soon as my eyes open. I push myself up onto my haunches and shake the pillow and sheet off my head.

My room is small, and everything is very blue. Some not-quite-remembered electro-pop song buzzes in the back of my head as I take inventory, but… there’s not much to see. There’s a bed that’s considerably bigger than any three fillies would need any time soon, the floor is carpeted, and there’s a small closet that stands open and empty near the door. My bed is up against a corner, and the shorter wall has a window; I pull up the blinds and look out, but there’s nobody moving in the blue world outside.

Wait, that’s weird. The world outside shouldn’t be blue too. I blink, but it doesn’t go away, like whatever blue filter lies between myself and the world is somehow behind my eyes. Ugh, not more brain-hurting shenanigans.

The walls of my room aren’t decorated, save a collection of twisted and broken twigs with dark blue fur on them that’s hung up over the head of my bed for some reason. The thing seems like a dust magnet. I get up on my hind legs and prop myself up against the wall to lift it off its nail with my teeth, then hop down off my bed and realize there’s nowhere to put it. My room really isn’t set up for much more than sleeping in. It’s not even big enough for much else; the path between my bed and the opposite walls is pretty narrow. A faint pang in my muzzle reminds me it’s a miracle I didn’t face-ram a wall sooner.

The better to nudge me towards more time around friendship and ponies, perhaps. Thanks for reminding me about that, weird dream filly. But I guess Celestia can have this one. I have energy, the sort where just sitting here would chew a hole through me. It’s not entirely a new feeling, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve had it.

After a quick drink of water and brushing of teeth, I take the broken furry-wooden mess down to the kitchen to throw away. Pink is at the table with reading glasses, a newspaper, and some food. He also looks purple right now, but that’s probably the blue filter. There’s more brownie and milk in front of him, and another steaming hunk of dark, buttered toast rests on a saucer by a glass of milk on the other side of the table.

“You can put that in the trash, sweetie,” he says, setting the newspaper aside. “It’s beyond repairing.”

I look around, but there’s no obvious place for garbage. Pink gestures at a drawer, which slides open easily with a tug from my teeth. My jaw drops at what’s inside.

At the bottom of the drawer is a yawning black void, into which the bundle of twigs and fur simply disappears, its top gyrating in place for a moment before being sucked down into the absolute nothingness and darkness below. It is infinitely dark, infinitely empty, so black it hurts to look at. I shove the drawer closed in a hurry.

“You keep that in your kitchen?!” I make a wild gesture at where the void lurks. Pink just chuckles.

“Yep. Perfectly safe, I promise.” He puts his glasses down with his newspaper. “Breakfast?”

“I…” I swallow, glancing back towards the void that will totally not suck down the entire house some day. “I’m not sure I can eat.”

“Well, please come and join me for a few minutes, anyway.” Pink smiles and gestures with a tilt of his head at the cushion across the table from his. Resigned, I go and occupy it.

“So, how was school?” he says. Then he takes a bite of brownie, and mmms in approval. No criticism, then? He has to have noticed my absence when he was supposed to meet me there, but his tone is calm. What does it mean? What is he thinking? The scent of dark, buttered bread is a little distracting.

“It was okay,” I say. The safe way. No information. He’s still chewing, but silence is something I can endure. It’s kind of weird, but nice.

“What brought you to leave?” Pink asks, once he’s swallowed. So it is an interrogation, then. I brace myself. I can’t just say I must have missed him, though. He probably knows about my leaving during lunch. He wouldn’t ask why I left otherwise. That means he might know about Applebloom and whatever it was that Mr. Lee said about mana, which means there’s really no way out, besides stupid excuses that wouldn’t work. I grimace. At least he probably doesn’t have to know about Silver and Rainbow.

“I guess I did get into kind of a fight,” I say. The bread sure does look interesting right now. “Not my fault! I just didn’t want to stick around afterwards.”

“A fight? Cheery didn’t tell me anything about that. What happened? Did you get hurt?”

I look across at Pink again. He holds a look of consternation, strangely enough. I shake my head.

“Just my pride. Some colt started mocking me, and⁠—” the memories kind of suck, but it’s too late now “⁠—then, I’m not sure what happened, and then Mr. Lee was there and he wasn’t yelling at me, for some reason.”

Pink hmms. “That doesn’t sound like a fight, sweetie.”

“It just takes you to fight,“ I say, shrugging. “That’s what my mom always said.”

The silence lasts just long enough for me to realise my mistake.

“I mean, not Mom Voice, I’m talking about my mom and her voice.” Wait, that doesn’t sound better. “I mean⁠—”

“Okay, hold on.” Pink holds up a hoof, takes a nibble of brownie, swallows, and lowers his hoof again. “I don’t understand several things. ‘Mom Voice’⁠—that’s your mother, right?”

I can’t really fight that. I’m a filly. Pink and Mom Voice are taking care of me. Apparently they’ve been taking care of me, though I don’t remember it. That doesn’t make sense, unless maybe this was how I played the game before uploading. It doesn’t seem likely.

“Yes.”

“And she said this to you?”

“Oh, no no! My other mom said that.” I struggle to come up with better words.

“Other mom?” Pink says. “Your mother and I have switched some, but not since you were born.”

“No, um, it’s more like this. So, Mom Voice⁠—Pony Mom, I guess that’s a thing⁠—she didn’t. It’s Human Mom who said that.” I leave the rest unsaid. What, is sex supposed to be arbitrary and changeable here? And if I stick around long enough, are Pink and Mom Voice going to become Blue and Dad Voice? I don’t even know my dad’s voice.

“‘Human’ Mom?” Pink blinks twice. “Oh! You’re an immigrant? When did that happen?”

Oh boy, here we go again. I sigh and rub my forehead. I’m not going to cry just because they were nice until they found out too.

“Yesterday morning. I think.” I’m not going to cry. “I⁠—I understand if⁠—if that means⁠—” The words choke me, wrenching out a sob. Damn it, why does everything do that now? I don’t even know these ponies! They let this happen. It’s their fault, and anyway, I’m not crying, the world is just really wet and vague all of a sudden.

Damn it. It’s probably my fault, crying around them too much. Maybe it’d be better to just clear out before they throw me out. I’m halfway through stammering an apology and racing for the door when a wall of fluffy Pink drops in front of me. My efforts to stop are too slow and too late, and we both go tumbling, but his wings and legs are suddenly around me, enveloping me in warmth and softness and I just can’t speak or struggle anymore. Pink doesn’t say anything, either, not until I manage to get a lid on the tears again.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” His voice is gentler now, and he finally lets go of me, pulling his wings in to his sides. There’s nowhere to go with him between me and the door, nothing to do but sit back and try to tremble less. But he’s not smiling. It didn’t register, until now, how much of the time he smiles.

“I don’t know what I might have said to give you an impression otherwise,” Pink says. He places a hoof over his heart. “But we love you, Sweetie Belle. Nothing you can be will change that. Not ever.”

Somehow, I don’t cry, even though he sounds as genuine as last night. Maybe that was all the crying it needed, or maybe I’m just all cried out right now. That doesn’t suggest any good response, or make the floor any less interesting.

“Yeah,” I say with a slight stammer. “I guess I knew that.”

“I’m glad.” Pink gets up from his haunches and flutters over me to the stairs. “We do have go out, though. Let me just grab something and I’ll join you.”

He’s back beside me in a blink, now with twin cloth bags on either hip that are joined and held up by a sturdy strap across his rump.

We step outside into near-whiteout⁠—blue-out?⁠—snow. There are already a few inches piled up on the ground, but Pink leads me into it like it’s nothing at all, and it doesn’t feel like much besides cool and a little wet.

“Ready for night class?” Pink says.

I so do not need more school right now. Besides, my questions have been burning a hole in my figurative pocket for long enough. I don’t even care how it got cold enough for a blizzard so quickly, or why the cold doesn’t seem to bother me like the heat did. Nothing else makes sense here, so why should the weather? It’s time to get back to my quest for answers.

“I don’t know,” I say. “So what’s Skyways?”

“That would be the airport. Smallest in the region, but it works for us.” Pink extends his left wing to cover my back. “Stay close, sweetie. It isn’t safe to be alone in a blizzard.”

My path shifts closer to Pink and his warmth. So airports are a thing here? Where are all the planes?

“Okay. Can we go to Skyways, then? I’m really curious now.”

“Sure, after school.” Pink lets the conversation lapse into silence and the crushing of snow under hoof for a few minutes. The blizzard abates somewhat, letting us see the vague outlines of snow-burdened houses as we pass, before he speaks again.

“You understand we still have a lot to talk about when we get home.”

“Yeah.” A nervous edge leaks into my voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not in trouble, sweetie.” Pink sighs softly and nudges me a little closer with his wing. “You’re a good filly. Mana surges, school problems, and immigration are just important things to talk about.”

Pink leaves me with a lunch bag only once I’m safely inside the school, which I think is the same place as before, and he departs with a small group of other parents. The teacher, an aged yellow pegasus with a stately blue beard and heavy saddlebags, is actually the last pony to arrive, accompanied by a muscular grey pegasus mare⁠—if a pony with batlike wings is a pegasus. He announces himself with a sharp clearing of the throat just as I’m surveying the mostly-empty seats.

“Good morning, class.” He blinks. “That is to say, good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr. Shield,” a few ponies intone.

“Hmph. I am not particularly pleased to tell you all that on account of the weather, there will be no outdoors recess today. Tonight.” Mr. Shield dips his wingtips in a small pouch and scribbles on the chalkboard with pale dust as his companion slips away through a door in the corner behind him. “Don’t worry, I’ll have something fun, warm, and delicious that we can do instead. And if you have to leave, take a friend.

“Now, because Heart’s Warming is coming, we will start with our annual reading of the traditional Heart’s Warming tale and discuss exactly what is historical and what is mythology. It is, as you will find, a tale of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.”

A few colts snicker at that. I take the opportunity to sit, while everyone is distracted, away from other ponies.

“Yes indeed,” Mr. Shield says. “Would anypony like to start us off by reading the first paragraph?”

Heart’s Warming is a pretty bland story compared to Tirek’s, but that’s how it is with holiday myths. It goes like this: Once upon a time, Celestia was very distant from her ponies and let them not only run their own kingdoms, but also figure out raising and setting the sun for themselves. They became three powerful clans that couldn’t get along: the violent and conquest-driven Apple Clan, the hard-working and wealthy Rich Clan, and the aloof, all-pegasus Cloudhooves. The myth says that the Apples were all unicorns and the Riches were all earth ponies, but both clans were very mixed, aside from having few pegasi.

At some point, the Apples declared war on the Riches. What followed is ambiguous, but Mr. Shield says the Apples were only saved from extinction when windigos, violent winter spirits that feed on the antipathy of ponies who hate each other, caused a fifty-year winter that nearly saw the end of all parties involved. At last, Celestia intervened. She told the clans to choose. They could either become interdependent and cease their hostility and feuding, or submit to her absolute authority in exchange for her personal protection against the windigos.

It isn’t clear which path the kingdoms took, and Celestia has refused to say much of the affair, maybe because Equestria has definitely not been around for 1500 years, but the result is the same either way. They became one Equestria under Celestia’s alternately generous and iron hooves. To facilitate the union, the leading families of each clan were required to intermarry extensively with the others for ten generations. Massive public celebrations of unity were mandatory, and soon escalated into scandalous affairs that overflowed with seasoned salt, geode bowling, and orgies.

“Mr. Shield!” Rainbow Dash raises a hoof. When did she get here?

“Yes, did you have a question?” the teacher says.

“I need an adult.”

Some of the older fillies giggle. The school becomes silent again.

“What’s orgies?” asks a particularly young colt behind me.

“If you don’t know, you probably don’t want to,” I say. I turn to face forward again. “Mr. Shield, can you maybe not?”

“What? Hrmph. One moment.” The teacher steps behind his desk and opens a drawer, withdrawing a pair of glasses that looks comically oversized until they actually sit on his face. Pony eyes are big. Mr. Shield blinks owlishly over the room.

“Oh dear,” he says. “I’m terribly sorry. I could have sworn⁠—well, nevermind. Why don’t we take a break for a little Heart’s Warming tradition? I’ll get out some ingredients, and everypony who helped with the reading can pick a partner and read off the instructions. If you work together well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the result.”

“He means hot chocolate,” Rainbow stage-whispers in my ear. I start, then shoot the unicorn a glare, and she just laughs. “That’s what it always is. So, you have the only face here I recognize. Partners?”

Rainbow’s face is freaky from close up. Nothing else seems wrong, but her eyes have slim vertical slits for pupils that run most of the way up the irises. Plus, she was with Silver Spoon yesterday. But the teacher shows up and drops a heavy cloth bundle and a small paper booklet on my desk just as I’m about to say no.

“Scootaloo, Rune Song, here are your materials and instructions,” Mr. Shield says. Then he shuffles away again.

“Who?” I say.

“Eh, he probably has no idea who we are and just made some names up. Night class is like that.” Rainbow levitates the booklet over to read, and turns the desk in front of me around to provide more table space while she reads. “Can you start unwrapping things? Make sure it all stays separate. I, uh, I don’t know some of these words yet.”

Author's Note

Sorry about the month break. I have stuff going on that makes it really, really hard to write.

This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon. Thank you so much for the motivation and support!