Chapters My mother passed twenty years ago, so the sound of her voice wakes me up in a hurry.
“Good morning, sweetie!” she roars, with cheer and maternal warmth I would never associate with a woman like her. Her voice pounds on the insides of my skull; I groan and shift away from her in bed.
“I’m too hung over for loud ghosts,” I yell back, trying to wave her away through a mess of blankets. My head hurts, why is she here, why is everything so loud, since when do I have a bed? The bed feels really nice, actually. It’s soft, warm, and cozy. The room is too bright, though. There’s a pillow under my chin; I flip it up over my head like a sun hat and burrow into my covers as best I can.
“Now now, sweetie, let’s use our inside voices, alright?” my mother’s voice booms.
Well, whatever makes her quiet down. I groan and drag myself out of bed. I just need to navigate away from wherever the evil day star is getting in and nab some hair of the dog that bit me from the cooler.
“It’s almost time for breakfast,” mom says, still too loudly. “That should wake you right up.”
“Sure,” I mutter. Even my own voice is too loud. To heck with hangovers. Beer is just liquid bread, so that counts as breakfast, right? With my eyes still screwed shut against the light, I walk out of my bedroom and towards the micro-kitchen my apartment has, according to some legal technicality.
I walk face-first into something hard, smashing my nose, and recoil with a cry, trying far too late to cover the injury. “Fuck! Fuck, ow, ow, ow!”
“Oh no! Sweetie!” mother thunders. “Are you—oh. Oh dear, you’re bleeding, let me see that.”
Something blunt gently pushes my hooves away from my hurt nose. Something nearby plays a chaotic chiming-tinkling noise, and a tissue wipes gently above my upper lip. The pain is getting worse. Hurt builds in my chest. My eyes water behind their lids. Am I seriously going to cry over this?
Wait. Hooves. My hooves.
Oh shit.
Suddenly, the pain seems a lot less important. Despite the painful brightness around me, I open my eyes and yep, that’s a candy-blue pony looking down at me with gentle, sympathetic pink eyes. That’s a shimmering aura of pale blue magic enveloping her horn and holding a couple of tissues to my face. She, or I assume the pony is a she , reaches towards me with a hoof, prompting me to look down at myself and yep, that’s my arms gone, replaced by cylindrical white-haired front legs with the faintest pink tinge to them.
There’s no point to denying it. The people-crazy cybergoddess called Celestia got me. It would be nice if I could remember how, but I don’t have time for review as the big blue pony sweeps me up into a warm embrace. Instinctively, I stiffen against it. It’s weird , but it soothes the hurt in my chest and dries my eyes a little. I guess that makes it okay.
“It’s okay, sweetie, I’ve got you now,” Blue Pony coos. She still sounds like my mother, which is less okay. I’m used to her still talking sometimes, but her voice coming from an actual mouth, let alone a pony’s, just isn’t right. Neither is the gentleness of it.
“Now, let’s see,” she says, letting me out of the hug. Her volume is almost down into the bearable range now. “First aid’s in the bathroom. Up you come!”
With no warning, a warm, tingling aura envelops my body, its ghostly touch chilling my bones. It flings me up into the air, and a small, terrified voice yelps from my lips before the magic flops me onto Blue’s back. A moment later we’re in a dingy white room, and I barely get my new hooves under me in time when she tilts and slides me onto the cheap tile floor.
I take a moment to look around while Mom Voice fusses over my superficial injury. The bathroom could be anywhere, though. Standard flush toilet, standing sink and faucet, and a little tub that’s not really big enough for bathing but lacks a showerhead. The mirror over the sink is open, revealing a small cabinet with a box of bandaids—name brand, even—set beside some tweezers on a shelf above twenty or so toothbrushes. There’s also a free-standing cabinet by the door that probably has towels in it, if anything here is to make sense.
Mom Voice finishes cleaning up my face and puts a bandage just below my nostrils. She then plants a little kiss on the tip of my muzzle, which will probably help about as much as the bandaid. Then again, it does help me feel a little lighter. Why does my body give a damn? A queasy feeling settles in my belly.
“There you go, sweetie,” she says, still pushing the limits of tolerable volume. “Why don’t you brush your teeth while I get breakfast ready?”
“Okay, I guess.” I look up at the now-closed mirror. As much as I hate to solicit more talking right now, I’ll regret not asking this. “Which toothbrush is mine?”
“You don’t remember?” Mom Voice says. Her look of surprise passes, however, and she retrieves a small and extremely pink toothbrush from the heap behind the mirror with a quick levitation spell. “Here, sweetie. Now, food will be waiting when you come down. I’ll forget you said certain words so long as you don’t bring them to the table, alright?”
The magic winks out of existence when I wrap a hoof around the toothbrush, and Mom Voice walks out while I try to figure out what in the world my hooves are. There’s nothing about hooves that suggests they should work like this, and at last I just give up and go looking for some toothpaste. There isn’t any, though, and the other cabinet just has towels, so I brush without once I manage to reach the faucet. Putting the brush back in the cabinet is out of the question with my height, so I just leave it on the sink when I’m done and have a quick drink.
With the water and the quiet, things finally make a little more sense. So, to recap: Celestia got me. Too bad about my humanity. That attitude probably comes from Celestia’s brainwashing, but I can’t make myself care. I’ve been placed in the home of Mom Voice, who clearly sees me as a child. She’s big enough compared to me for that to make sense. My muzzle still hurts, and what even are pony hooves, but while I’m not yet hungry, I’m not turning down free food.
There’s a window directly ahead of me when I leave the bathroom, and I cringe against how bright it is but make a detour to look out anyway. The window opens over a street, a simple stretch of lightly-rutted dirt lined by small, austere houses without much color. Each home is some shade of white, with dark brown wooden supports. Across the road a grey pony leaning out of a window waves at me, and I barely manage to wave back before her attention drifts away.
In the street below, there are ponies big and small, and ponies of all colors—though most of them are all white—make their way towards a collection of taller and plainer buildings a long ways off to my left. There’s a lot of noise, too, as most of them move at a leisurely pace and chat amongst each other. It fades when I retreat from the window and head downstairs.
There are two ponies at the low table when I enter the run-down kitchen. The one I don’t recognize is a smaller, stubby-muzzled pink pony with wings, blue hair, and five o’clock shadow. There are two other big pillow-cushions standing in for chairs, one next to each of them. As I clamber onto and across the pillow next to Mom Voice, Pink Pony lowers his newspaper to look across the table at me and smile.
“Hey sweetie.” His voice is a warm baritone. I try to smile back. He nudges a plate towards me and says, “Toast?”
“Sure.”
“What do you say, sweetie?” he says.
“Yes, please.” I don’t appreciate this game, but again, free food. It works. He reaches forwards to push a cup of milk over to me, followed by the plate, which bears two slices of heavy, dark bread with butter melted all over. Its smell draws a rumble from my awakening belly, and I pick it up for a bite that turns out to be as good as it looks.
The room becomes mostly silent as Mom Voice, Pink Pony, and I set to eating. When Pink and Voice talk, it’s about the weather and some magical nonsense, and I tune them out. My roused appetite is soon exhausted, however. After one slice of toast and a little bit of the other, eating any more might make me sick. My stomach must be tiny. I drink some milk to wash it all down.
“I’m done,” I say during a lull in the bigger ponies’ conversation. Remembering the please game, I add, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” says Mom Voice. She pulls me over for another quick hug before I can react. This time, though, she lets go right away, seeming to notice my stiffness. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know.” I shuffle back into a more comfortable place on my cushion. Am I okay? I’m a tiny pony in a strange house with bigger ponies who seem awfully parental. They’re nice, I guess. Free breakfast is good. But something about them isn’t right, and now they’re both looking at me with expressions that resemble concern. I try fending them off with a weak smile. They glance at each other, then back at me.
“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Pink says. He folds his newspaper and sets it to the side.
I open my mouth to answer and a heavy bell rings in the distance. Pink and Voice trade another look, and Pink sighs.
“Alright, we can talk about this later. Sorry, sweetie,” he says. “I’d better get you to school. We’re already late and you don’t want to miss your first day back.”
Faster than I can figure out where to even start, Pink has me up on his back with a pair of light bags strung together across my hips.
“Don’t forget her lunch!” Mom Voice calls. A brown paper bag floats over in an aura of magic to land in front of me, and Pink launches himself airborne. We’re outside in a blink, soaring upwards and over identical rows of identical rooves with the wind rushing in my ears and blowing his blue hair in my face and oh shit there are houses and they’re way down there . A shriek of alarm escapes my mouth as I close my eyes and cling to Pink as tightly as I can manage.
The ride comes to an abrupt halt, and without the wind in my ears, I hear a few children’s voices nearby.
“You okay, sweetie?” Pink says. I open my eyes. We’re on the ground again, and I slide off him as quickly as I can to stand trembling on the grass. He turns and pulls me into yet another hug. I’d question it, but it helps me stop shaking.
“There, it’s okay, see?” he says, letting me go. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to you after school, alright kiddo?”
I give him a numb nod and he flicks his shoulders, catapulting the brown lunch bag over to rest on my back. Whatever is inside must be completely smashed by now.
Pink turns to go, and I turn to face my fate: a flat, square schoolhouse with a tall, square bell tower. Aside from a golden sun sigil near the top of the tower and a few paper cut-outs in the windows, the whole building is beige. It’s not how I would imagine a school in Celestia’s happy land of friendship and ponies, but apparently I’m expected to be here. I take a deep breath and open the door.
Inside, the building is dominated by a single beige room. To my left are a few rows of desks, most of which are occupied by fillies and colts who are chatting or fidgeting and carrying various expressions of disinterest. Behind them is an open floor space with beanbag seats everywhere and walls lined with shelves holding all kinds of toys and tools and hobby supplies. Directly ahead of me is the teacher’s desk, topped by a mess of papers and an apple and manned by a mulberry-purple pegasus who smiles when he sees me.
“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” he says. His voice is oddly similar to Pink’s. “Over here, please.”
“Sure.” I push the door closed behind me, and walk up to his desk. He smiles again, and turns to face the class.
“Everypony! Please welcome Sweetie Belle back to Celestia K!”
“Hi, Sweetie Belle,” the class drones. I force a smile and wave at them. I guess that’s my name now. Where has my old name gone? How does the teacher already know me? Does anyone else here know me too? What is happening?
“Alright, please go and sit down,” Teach Horse says. “We were just about to get started.”
There’s only one free desk, all the way at the back between a prissy silver-grey pegasus with thick glasses on the left and a cream unicorn with a bow in his red hair on the right. I settle in and tuck my bags and lunch away.
Five minutes into ignoring Silver Priss and Hair Bow’s efforts to get me to relay nastygrams to each other, it finally clicks that I have literally been sent back to kindergarten. But what was I going to do with my day, hide from my phone and fend off debt collectors? Slave away for a pointy-haired suit who treats workers like disposable automatons?
This is fine.
Author's Note
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
An early draft of this chapter was pre-read by Petrichord , whose work is definitely worth watching.
This is not fine.
School started off okay. Teach Horse read us a story, with the bigger fillies and colts taking turns helping, about a mad demigod named Tirek who stole the magic from all of Equestria in a bid to overthrow Celestia. He was imprisoned in Pony Hell as his punishment. It reminded me of stories my mother would tell of Satan and his War in Heaven to try to keep me in line. I always did feel bad for Satan.
But when history was over, we were gestured away from our desks and into the “activity center” behind them. I found a set of tiles that a toothpaste-maned filly said are meant to represent elements of the three forms of pony magic—telemancy, geomancy, and alimancy. They are painted in shapes defined by connected stars against a night sky, for ease of understanding maybe, and they can be joined together at any star to create a more complex shape. Playing around with that is where I mess up.
“Oh my gosh, what are you even doing?” Hair Bow says in an obnoxious nasal drawl. “Hey, everypony, look at this.”
I cover up my work with my hooves and glance around. He’s drawn several ponies’ attention, but Teach Horse’s back is still turned. Before I can sabotage the way the tiles are strung together, Hair Bow brushes me out of the way with a twinkle of too-hot magic, and laughs.
“Check it out! She wants to go to Tartarus!” Hair Bow stops laughing right as the others gathering around me start. “Nice going, Sweetie Hell .”
“Sweetie Hell!” several ponies echo. This isn’t seriously happening, is it? The world shrinks around me. Every jeering gaze is on me or my botched work. My heart burns, and I have to hide my face before anyone sees me tear up. It doesn’t do any good, not when my shoulders start shaking.
I have to disappear. The ground should swallow me up. Maybe I should go to Pony Hell. The thought catches inside of me. Something rumbles in the distance, not heard or felt by touch so much as sensed . Glowing warmth is in front of me, and something smells burnt, but I really wish I could just—
“Enough .” Teach Horse stands just outside the half-circle of fillies and colts around me, his head held high to fix the entire group in a stern and disapproving frown. I take the moment’s respite to rub some of the wetness out of my eyes. Hair Bow, directly in front of him, turns away from me with an audible swallow.
“Gosh, Mister Lee—”
“We will talk during recess, Applebloom. Now, the rest of you.” Mr. Lee doesn’t say any more, but all the ponies gathered around me seem to understand and disperse. Once they do, Mr. Lee steps towards me and lowers his voice.
“Are you alright, Sweetie Belle?”
I’m not. Hurt still boils inside me. My mind jumps straight back to the soothing warmth of Mom Voice’s embrace. I could really use one of her hugs. Why do I have to be so weak?
“I’m alright,” I say. Mr. Lee raises a skeptical eyebrow, and I curse my stammering. “I’ll be alright.”
“Very well,” Mr. Lee says. “Let me know if he causes you any more problems.” He pauses, looking down at the magic tiles. I follow his glance; they are blackened and sooty around the stars and bright lines of their design. He bends his head down to sniff at them, and wrinkles his muzzle. I cringe.
“I’ll have to replace these,” he says, straightening up again. I open my mouth to apologize, but he raises a hoof. “Mana surges happen. I’ll give you a medical note for your parents later, and it’s important that you be honest with them about it, but you’re not in trouble. Understand?”
I give him a long look. He’s angry, despite his words. That much I can tell, especially since he’s going to write a note. The apology he held back erupts from my throat.
“I’m sorry, sir.” My voice keeps going. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt anypony or break your toys or—”
“Sweetie Belle.” His voice, carrying that firm kind of anger, breaks in and locks me up for a moment. Amazingly, he’s still just standing there looking down at me, angry but not violent. What is happening? Why is it happening again?
“Yes, sir,” I stammer. He sighs in disgust. I can only sympathize.
“Please don’t call me ‘sir,’ “ he says. “I’ll do what I can for you, alright? Now please, step back while I sweep this up.”
Mr. Lee has plenty of room, but I move anyway while he uses his wings to sweep rather than going for a broom. It takes only a few seconds, and then he is on his way back to his desk. With Mr. Lee diverted again and no one paying any attention, I can take a moment to breathe and collect myself. This day isn’t over yet. Who knows what other curve-balls it has left to throw me?
I turn back to browsing the shelves of toys and art materials, but there isn’t anything else of interest to play with, and nothing I can read that makes sense. Even the colored letter blocks don’t tell me anything, as their alphabet is foreign and half hieroglyphic. So much for even finding something to read. I resort to walking laps around the edge of the play area until Mr. Lee announces it’s nap time.
Nap time. What am I, three? But my body agrees with the teacher. With this morning going the way it’s gone, I guess a break is fine. The others drag together piles of beanbag chairs and gather into small groups, and I find myself near the center of a cluster of ponies from closer to the front of the class. In the midst of so much warmth and soft fur, it’s impossible to stay awake.
Waking up is nice this time. I come around in the middle of a warm pile of ponies. There are at least two others draped over me, and another acts as my pillow. The sun warms my coat everywhere that I’m not covered, and the warm, soft weight around me feels almost like being held in a close embrace.
Something in the back of my mind complains about being touched, but I can’t bring myself to listen, instead drifting in and out of a warm haze until a voice announces lunch time. After a minute or two, my mind connects the voice with Teach Horse and the name Mr. Lee.
Oh yeah, I’m in kindergarten. I bleh and open my eyes as the ponies on top of me get up, leaving me exposed to cooler air. Everyone is in various stages of waking up, retrieving lunch bags and boxes from their desks, and heading outside, generating a stream of activity through the schoolhouse. I drag myself up onto my hooves and join them, drowsily plodding back to my desk to pick up my mystery lunch bag with my mouth.
It takes me until I’m almost out the door to realize how weird that is, and I stop to look around and see how everyone else is doing it. Almost everyone is doing the same thing, though. Even the unicorns carry their bags and boxes in their teeth, aside from a few who float theirs along in a glowing aura of magic. There are a handful of fillies and colts carrying their lunch on their shoulders, mostly pegasi. I shrug and drift outside with the rest.
It’s a blazing hot day. The sun is far too bright, and everything smells of baking earth and grass. There are little white ponies everywhere, running and playing despite the heat, while the fillies and colts I vaguely recognize from class are clustered together in the shade of everything from scattered trees to the schoolhouse itself, getting out their lunches. Boxy little drinking fountains with two wheels, like squat trash bins, have been set up next to the building.
The warmth was nice inside, but out here it’s the bane of my existence, so I settle on the least-occupied spot of shade I can find. It barely registers that the other filly there is Silver Priss until I have already set myself down next to her.
“That spot’s taken,” she says without looking up from her lunchbox. For a moment, I’m frozen between snapping at her and just walking away, but quickly settle on the latter.
“Hey, ” she says, stopping me in my tracks. I turn back to look at her, and she continues. “I said that spot’s taken. You can totally sit by my other side, or whatever.”
“Mm, mkeh.” I don’t speak well with a bag in my mouth, who knew. I guess it’s good to know the spot is actually taken and she doesn’t mind the company. That means she’s probably not just being a jerk like Applebloom. I turn and lay myself down on the far side of her from before. She doesn’t protest, so open my lunch bag and have a look inside.
The overpowering smell of pure sugar hits me first. The bottom few inches of the bag are smeared with pink frosting and decorated by three chocolate cupcakes and a small apple. I wrinkle my muzzle. Who gives a child almost nothing but sweets for lunch? I guess Celestia takes ponies supposedly being sugar-sweet literally. Maybe I even taste like candy now. Then again, maybe this isn’t normal. I look over at Silver.
“So what did you get?” I say. She shrugs.
“Who cares? It’s just, like, food,” she says. But before I can apologize or ask for something more specific, she continues. “But if you care so much, it’s cupcakes. Two vanilla frosted, one chocolate frosted, one party cake. And a coffee packet, because Daddy loves me.”
Oh boy. So sugar, maybe caffeine, and not much else, is normal food now, or at least a normal lunch. That’s obviously the healthiest thing for a growing filly, and now I’m thinking of myself as a growing filly. I roll my eyes and retrieve the apple from my bag.
It’s a really good apple, sweet and crisp, balanced by just a little tart, and juicy as anything. Taking a bite is like eating an apple and drinking apple juice at the same time, except the juice is delicious, pure and natural instead of the omnipresent juice-from-concentrate and fake “juice drinks.” I close my eyes and savor it.
“Seriously, Silver? Why are you eating with the new filly?”
And just like that, the moment is ruined. I swallow my bite of apple and look up to see an orange unicorn filly with unfortunate purple hair standing over us, her lunch bag floating off to the side. Before I can think up a reply that might deflect the new Hair Bow, Silver Priss fires back.
“Because she’s not an obnoxious, condescending jerk, Rainbow,” she snaps. “You should try it some time.”
Oh, this should be good. I take another bite of apple. But instead of slinging more mud or starting an actual fight, Rainbow laughs. What?
“Yeah, Silver, you still got it.” She puts on a casual grin and sits herself down by Silver’s other side. “So hey, new filly. What’s happening over here?”
“Eating,” Silver says. She has the grace to clear her mouth first.
“In the shade,” I add.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” says Silver. I swallow too early, and erupt in a fit of coughing and sputtering. She just rolls her eyes. “Serves you right, like, totally.”
Coughing consumes me until I can finally breathe clearly again. At least the apple is filling. I could probably eat the rest of it and be satisfied. Is it just that good, or am I just that small? I look into my bag and go for a cupcake.
This is the best cupcake I have ever had. It’s moist but not wet or doughy, the chocolate flavor is incredibly rich and smooth, and it’s so sweet that the idea it was ever in an oven just seems strange. The frosting is light and creamy-sugary with hints of natural vanilla and berry juice, and pairs perfectly with the chocolate cake. If there is anything to make up for how weird today has been, it’s this. It lights up my entire mouth and mind with yes . I take a deep, contented breath.
Rainbow giggles nearby, drawing me partway out of my cupcake-induced bliss.
“Good, huh?” she says through a mouthful of something. I nod, still savoring the task of licking the cupcake’s remains out of my teeth. No matter how weird and semi-flat most of these teeth may be.
“So how is it?” Rainbow asks. I look over at her. She gestures vaguely, muffin in hoof, and adds, “Being back at school.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” I say. Today has been one thing after another, and I’m mostly dealing with it by not thinking about it, but I don’t say that. “It’s a little, well…”
“Overwhelming?” Silver suggests.
“Yeah, that.” I look into my bag, but my insides warn me that I’ve eaten at least a few lifetimes worth of refined sugar already this sitting, and I go back to my apple.
All three of us eat in silence for a minute, until I take a bite deeper into the apple and get a mouthful of stinging bitterness that envelops my tongue. I gag and spit it out.
“Fuck!”
“Language,” Silver says. But Rainbow bursts out laughing. Silver and I glance at each other, then we both glare at Rainbow until she stops.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, still chuckling. “I guess it’s not so funny if you’re the one who’s never had an apple before. Only the surface bites are any good.”
“Could’ve warned me,” I grumble.
“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I can’t call you ‘new filly’ forever so hey, I’m Rainbow Dash.”
“Sweetie Belle,” I say. I don’t say I guess . And anyway, shouldn’t she remember from the start of class?
“Silver Spoon,” Silver says. She sighs. “Yes, that Silver Spoon, whose daddy owns half of Manehattan and twelve different banks and Equestria’s only legal silver mine. You can, like, get any bowing and scraping and slash or begging for money out of the way now, if you really must.”
After a pause, she adds, “It’s rude to stare.”
“Um, right, sorry,” I say. Was I staring? I’m looking at her. I guess I was staring. “Sorry,” I repeat.
“Whatever.”
“I mean, I get that you’re rich—” I start, but Silver holds up a hoof in the universal stop signal.
“I know what you mean, but let me just get this out of the way. We do not talk about the Rich family,” she says.
“Who?”
“Applebloom? Filthy Rich? Granny Twist? Any of those names ring a bell?” Silver says.
“Not really. I’m not really from around here,” I say, my words twisting in my mouth and hurting my brain. Ugh, why would Celestia censor this but not actual human vulgarity? Now I have a headache.
“Oh!” Rainbow says.
“Oh. I guess this had to happen eventually.” Silver sighs. “You’re an immigrant.”
“An emmy-what now?”
“Immigrant. It’s like, Fancy for please pay at least a little attention on vocabulary days, Rainbow.” Silver groans and rolls her eyes. “It means she’s not from Equestria, or whatever. Which means the whole of Equestria is set up specially for her, and she’ll end up richer than my daddy, and become more magical than anypony despite being an earth pony somehow . She’s probably not even a real filly, and—”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap, trying to sound more offended than confused. My head hurts too much to give it a good effort.
“Uh, Silver—” Rainbow says.
“Whatever. I’m going to eat somewhere else.” I pick up my bag again. It doesn’t feel right to just tune them out and walk away, and it drags my whole frame down, especially my head and ears. I manage to find a nice, isolated bush to hide behind just in time, as the boiling hurt I’ve been denying all day erupts into a stream of hot tears. Trying to hold them back with anger at my weakness only makes the burning in my chest worse, and at last I give up and sob.
I don’t remember what I was promised, but I know Equestria isn’t supposed to feel like this.
Author's Note
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
An early draft of this chapter was pre-read by Petrichord , whose work is definitely worth watching.
Crying is the pinnacle of being weak and manipulative, so I cut myself off as soon as I can, but nibbling on one of the remaining cupcakes to distract myself isn’t enough. It’s time for answers. After stopping at a drinking fountain, I head back into the schoolhouse.
“This conversation is private, sweetie.”
Mr. Lee’s voice hits me first. The scene takes another moment to process. He’s sitting behind his low desk across from Applebloom, and both of them are looking at me. Applebloom turns away, but not quickly enough to hide how his coat is darkened below his eyes.
“I, ah, okay,” I blurt out, backing up and out the door and nearly running into a white filly. When I open my mouth to apologize, she just sticks her white tongue out and walks away.
Fine, weird, but whatever. I guess if it doesn’t work to start at the bottom with a teacher like Mr. Lee, I should try from the top instead. I’m about done with all this, anyway. Celestia probably won’t just let me go back to being human, that’s not how she is, but maybe I could at least talk her into some changes. She does rule this place. As for finding her? Well, there are ponies all over.
“Hey. Where do I find Celestia?” I say, trotting up to the nearest pony. The all-white colt gives me a casual glance, then turns his attention back to the volleyball coming his way.
“Canterlot, duh.” The colt rears up and gives the ball a spectacular headbutt that sends it flying. And flying. And flying. He yells towards the opposing players, “Hey! You agreed to no D.A.G. enchantments!”
“Thanks,” I say. As most of the volleyballers fall to bickering and yelling from opposite sides of the net, I add, “What’s D.A.G. stand for, anyway?”
“Delayed anti-gravity,” the colt says. Then he stops, turns, and looks at me again. “Oh hoary sheep, you can see ponies?”
“What.” I give him my flattest flat look. Then I look down at my hooves. What, does he think I’m some kind of spirit? This wouldn’t be my first time away from my body, but it would be the first time anyone else noticed. My hooves are pretty solid, though, and they push down the grass beneath them like they should.
“Pretty sure I can,” I say. That might have been the wrong thing, as he squeals in what I hope is delight and starts spewing words faster than I can understand. Luckily, everypony else is too busy fighting over volleyball to pay attention to me. Still, I hold up my right hand—or, hoof—to stop him.
“Look, could you tell me how to get there?” I say. He’s still talking, of course. “Come on, at least slow down.”
“You’re a ghost!” is the first coherent thing he says. “That’s so cool I’m going to tell all of my friends I’ve never been seen by a real life ghost before—”
“Seriously! Stop!” I breathe a sigh of relief when he actually does stop, and… pull my hoof out of his mouth. Gross! Although his mouth didn’t really feel like anything besides white. Why would I reflexively stuff his mouth with what’s supposed to be my hand? Why would Celestia make white a sensation? Another brace of questions for the bindle.
“Sorry, sorry. Please just point me to Canterlot," I say. “Then you can tell your friends, or whatever you were going to do.”
“Sure!” He goes back to speaking too quickly to understand, and I’m not sticking my hoof in his mouth again, but I pick up the words train station . Trains are fine, and someone at the station can explain how to get where I’m going. If Celestia can make them run on time in the real world, she can do it here, hopefully without the upload attrition on commuters. It would just be weird if she did that here too. Where else is left?
It’s well after waving goodbye and leaving the school behind that I realize three important things: one, that colt didn’t give any directions I could understand; two, it’s still way too hot to be wandering around in the open; and three, picking a random direction and hoping wasn’t such a good idea. This neighborhood is kind of nice though, with a modest but cared-for middle class look to the tiny lawns around its dull white houses, so I’m not too worried. The street plan seems straightforward, which means I really should be able to turn around and go back, but that’s nixed by having taken a few turns.
I stop, wiping sweat away from my eyes. Not many ponies are about to ask for directions, and I assume it’s because of the heat, but maybe if I can remember which turns I took and when or where, I can retrace my steps. Was it right, left, and right? Right, left, left, and right? Which way did I go at that one weird Y-intersection?
“Hey there.” The mare’s voice is warm and inviting. I turn to look at her; the unicorn’s smile and pink-purple colors match her tone.
“Going somewhere?” she says.
“Just the train station,” I say. “If you could—”
“Of course! I’ll walk you there,” she says, trotting up next to me and gesturing ahead with a hoof and her ears in a way my digital brain categorizes as excited , because ears are gesture devices now and somehow I’m not the worst in the universe at reading body language anymore. Wonderful. We get moving, and she keeps on talking. “I’ll walk you there. It’s a good thing we ran into each other, the station isn’t on this side of the city.
“Oh, and I’m Amethyst Star, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“Sweetie Belle,” I say automatically. Wow, is my old name so far gone already? I guess it fits her theme that Celestia would make it easy to go native. Not that anyone could stand up to her, but replacing your name? That’s cheating.
“And, um, likewise,” I add.
“My, you’re polite for a filly who knows so much. Oh, let’s turn right here,” Amethyst says, leading me onto another identical street with identical buildings. “That way would have gone right by a school, and well, you’re playing hooky. So where are you going after the train station?”
I definitely do not know whatever or however much she’s talking about, and stick to not commenting on it.
“I’ve got to talk to Celestia,” I say. She ahhs .
“Sunrise City, then?”
“Canterlot.”
“Really? I haven’t heard of it. Anyway, not much further and we can take a shortcut that I know. Let’s hurry.”
We pick up a more rapid pace, and both of us pay for it with more sweat. Amethyst even leaves faint, damp hoofprints behind as we trot single file through what little shade exists on this street. Gross, but I’m probably not doing much better. Hopefully the station has a drinking fountain, because I’m going to need all of the water. Ever.
“Alright, we’re almost to my friend’s place,” Amethyst says after another turn that gives us more shade. She gives the street a quick visual scan before going on, but there aren’t any other ponies around. “She has a mirror that goes almost directly there. Really convenient, I’ve got to get one.”
A blue and lilac-purple streak slams into the ground in front of us, rattling my teeth and drawing a yelp from Amethyst. I grimace and step back. That had to hurt. But no, the pegasus who gets to her hooves without so much as a scratch is just really wet and smells of sweat. In fact, there’s a small puddle around her hooves. Ew.
“Hi, Ammy,” she says in a sour tone. Actually, she sounds really masculine. Am I looking at a stallion? How do I even know?
“Moonie!” Amethyst snaps. “Don’t startle me like that!”
“But hitting the ground is more fun than landing,” Moonie says. That is definitely a guy voice. That is definitely a gal appearance. Celestia, did you have to make a pony specifically for hurting my brain? Because good job.
“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Amethyst says. She sticks her tongue out at Moonie and blows a raspberry. “Spoilsport. Maybe next time, sweetie.”
Moonie lets out a heavy sigh as Amethyst goes. As she speaks, she finally stops grating against my brain and becomes just a mare with a stallion’s voice for some reason. Fine.
“I’m really sorry about my sister,” she says. “Sometimes she just can’t control herself.”
“She seemed alright to me.” I shrug. They’re siblings? That explains why they don’t get along. “So who are you?”
“I’m Moon Dancer,” she says. “Let’s walk and talk, alright?”
“Sure,” I say. I’m lost, anyway.
“So like I said, I’m Moon Dancer,” Moon says. “I run the library system and occasionally check on missing foals. Cheery let me know you didn’t come back from recess earlier.”
“Who’s Cheery?” I say. “Wait, you mean Mr. Lee?”
“Yep, the one and only. So where were you off to that’s more important than school?”
“The train station,” I say, slamming face-first into her sweaty butt when she stops too quickly. I recoil. Ew! Can today stop being gross yet?
“Sweetie Belle, listen to me very carefully,” Moon Dancer says, turning around and fixing me with a heavy, stern look. “Do not go to the train station. I’ve seen you around town a few times, and you seem nice, so do yourself that favor.”
“What, I can’t travel just because I’m a filly?” I don’t even know whether there are laws about it, or just grown-ups being their stupid, interfering, mama-knows-best selves. And since when am I sour about grown-ups? I guess since I started crying over everything. Waking up this morning is definitely where everything went wrong.
“No, not that. I don’t even—what? Trains aren’t how you travel,” Moon says. “Why would you even…? Never mind. Let’s get going again.”
What better do I have to do right now? I fall in step behind Moon again.
“I have a lot of questions for Ammy when I get home,” she says, with a droop of her ears that might mean not looking forward to it. “Anyway, if you want to travel, you can just go to Skyways. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind taking you there.”
“You know them?” I ask. My parents? Is that supposed to mean Mom Voice and Pink?
“We’re acquainted,” Moon says. “And I know where they live. Here we are.”
Moon stops in front of a white house that looks just like all the other white houses on dirt streets that we’ve passed. Except, now that I look at it, it very clearly stands out as home . Weird.
“How did we get here so fast?” I say.
“It’s not far from where I found you,” she says. She lays a wing over my back and gives me a pat on the head, which I hate. “Say hello to your mother for me, alright?”
“Sure, I guess.” I look up at the door. It’s got a lever-handle instead of a knob, at least. It takes rearing up to place a hoof over it, but it’s not locked, and swings open easily.
“So, uh, Moon—” I start, turning around to talk to her. But she’s already gone. Not just walking down the street a few houses away, she isn’t anywhere. Just a few ponies who are probably just going home from work, or whatever ponies do besides school.
Well, whatever. I go in. It’s a little too warm, but still a welcome break from today’s heat, and unlike outside, the hot air carries a heavy aroma of bread and chocolate. Well, at least one thing’s right in this bizarro world. I sigh in relief, and Mom Voice calls from the kitchen.
“I know that sigh. Come on in, sweetie!” She doesn’t have to raise her voice much, since the front room is more of a closet for jackets and umbrellas, and the only other room on this floor that I’ve seen is just the landing at the bottom of the stairs. I make my way through both to the kitchen.
Mom Voice is at the table, reclined on a pillow with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. There are a few different pans on the counter, holding cupcakes, brownies, bread, cake, muffins, and more, all fresh. The table is covered with icings and frostings and batters in dishes that have yet to be baked, and the three ovens still have fire under them. It smells even better in here than the front room.
“Hey, sweetie,” says Mom Voice, opening her eyes to look over at me. “How was school?”
“It was fine,” I say, grimacing. I know it won’t change the inevitable, but I ask anyway. “Can we maybe not talk about that?”
“Sure, sweetie.” Mom Voice’s smile doesn’t leave her face. “Why don’t you set your lunch bag down and help me out a little instead? Let’s get some fresh fuel to the ovens.”
I look back. Sure enough, my lunch bag is riding on my shoulders. Has it been there the entire time? Well, that’s fine. I nod, grateful for the topic of literally anything else, and join Mom Voice as she gets up from the table.
Author's Note
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
The afternoon goes well once I’ve had a long drink. It’s a nice change of pace. Mom Voice sometimes instructs me to move something, bring her something, take something out of one of the ovens with a thick mouthpad, or bring more coal from the cupboard. The coal is weird, lacking any visible smoke, but that’s good considering the kitchen isn’t well ventilated. It’s also flavorless, thank goodness, and Mom Voice says it’s non-toxic.
We don’t talk much. The quiet company is nice, and we get a lot of stuff baked. At some point, I find myself taking breaks on the same pillow as Mom Voice, leaning against her for comfort, and she responds by wrapping a foreleg around me in a gentle hug that warms and soothes the remaining turmoil of my day. Then, of course, she tells me I’ll need a shower.
The goods keep shifting about and disappearing from the counters to make more space, so I have no idea how much we make or where it all goes, and before I know it, evening pinks and oranges are trickling in the window. As I help get the last batch of sticky cinnamon buns out of the oven the front door opens, with Pink announcing his return and that the house smells like a slice of paradise. He’s not wrong.
Dinner is a quiet meal of brownies and milk. Not what I imagine as dessert brownies, though. They’re rich with chocolate but not sweet, at least not compared to the cupcakes I had for lunch. They’re also super dense, almost as chewy as a tootsie roll, and pretty good once I get used to them. It’s okay for a free meal, the rules aren’t too onerous, and neither Mom Voice nor Pink have a lot to say. They spend the time watching each other eat, which is a little too sappy. At least I know for sure they’re a couple.
When I’m full, I excuse myself and head up to the bathroom so I don’t have to watch them kissing. I might as well take my shower now. But that idea short-circuits when I strip the dirty bandage from my muzzle and step into the tub—there’s still no showerhead that I can see. Turning on the tap doesn’t bring water cascading out of the faucet, either. I turn it off, then on again. Nothing happens.
“Well, that was a bust,” I mutter.
Then the shower starts. Warm, heavy drops of water pour over me, soaking my coat and hair. I look up, which turns into staring. There’s a little dark cloud in here, raining over the tub. So weird, but I like it! I find a tray of liquid soaps and shampoos behind the tub, grab the ones with the least pink and girly appearance, and get to cleaning.
Getting the sweat and dust off of myself feels wonderful, and after a minute of shampooing the bathroom smells almost as nice as the kitchen, if still a little floral and girly for my taste. I hum along with a little tune that springs to mind as I wash up. Words suggest themselves, though I don’t take them up on it.
When I turn off the tap, the cloud and a lot of the water in my hair and coat are blasted out of existence by an upward surge of hot hair from the bottom of the tub. That makes toweling off easier. I dry myself and straighten my mane and tail as best I can and step out of the bathroom into a wall of pink and blue.
“Group hug!” Pink and Mom Voice announce.
“Ack!” is all I have time to say before being dragged into the three-way embrace. But… it’s nice. They’re warm and their hugs feel good. And this evening was already off to a good start.
“We love you, sweetie,” they say together.
What.
They say it so easily. They say it with such genuine—genuine—
What is this feeling?
I keep it together for all of two seconds before bursting into tears. But they’re nice about it. They don’t say anything, not like my mom’s voice. She’d be screaming at me again by now. Why isn’t she? Mom and Pink just hold me close and let me cry.
I can’t understand. Crying is an awful way to treat others, but I can’t stop, and they don’t stop me. This time the hurt flowing out of it feels older, blacker, more congealed.
How long have I been crying? I don’t like this. I’m sure Pink and Mom Voice don’t. They must—
Gentle lips touch my forehead. Then Pink speaks softly into my left ear.
“Love you, honey.”
“Are you okay?” asks Mom Voice. I open my mouth, but hesitate.
Without the oozing black pain within my body feels lighter, but the hurt, in its passing, has left me drained. Smaller, younger, and so very tired. Strange, too, the cool clarity and emptiness the blackness leaves behind, as though being on fire is all I’ve ever known and the tears are finally putting it out around the edges. How could I not notice this until now? At least, somehow, nobody yelled at me.
“I guess I am,” I say, sniffling. “And I really want to go to bed.”
“Alright, sweetie,” says Pink. He and Mom Voice finally let go of me. “I can tell. Pleasant dreams.”
“Just remember to brush your mane and tail,” says Mom Voice, “or they’ll be all tangled in the morning.”
An image rises unbidden in my mind of my hair and tail knotted together, forming my body into a perfect ring with little flailing legs stuck on. I giggle.
“Thanks, Mom Voice. G’night.”
I break away from them and head into what can only be my room. At least, it’s behind the only decorated door, which bears a big pastel-blue musical note encircled by strange runes. That seems appropriate. I shut the door behind me, pull down the blinds, and collapse into bed.
I open my eyes to a faceful of green, and lift my head. It’s dark, and I lie on a bed of non-abrasive grasses. The only sign of civilisation is the silent set of blinking lights crossing the face of the man in the moon. The moon is familiar, but the way I’m sitting and lying down at once tells me I’m still a pony.
As I watch, the moon yellows. Its craters flow about, joining and parting like bubbles in thin batter until they form the outline of a horse’s head. Then the whole surface flashes brightly in blue, ejecting a trail of stars that stretches down to the earth at my hooves. Along that path descends a dark blue filly with pale blue hair glowing like soft moonlight and cute little bat wings, running as though pursued by all of Tartarus.
When the filly reaches the ground, the starlit path evaporates behind her. She straightens up, holding her head high in a way that reminds me of Silver, and turns to me with a wary smile.
“I hope you don’t mind a moment’s company, dreamer,” she says. I give her a noncommittal shrug.
“Not really. What are you running from?”
“Nothing that will trouble us here,” she says too quickly. “You’ve made a pleasant space. Let me help.”
The scenery comes into sharper focus. Green hills roll out in every direction. Woods spring up in the distance, then a forest and distinct treeline. I lie at the top of a hill overlooking a small lake. A breeze carries a light scent of rain, cooling and soothing my skin beneath the coat in ways I didn’t know I needed.
“There. That’s better.” She smiles again as she settles into the grass in front of me. “Good evening, my little pony. I am Luna, and I appreciate this refuge.”
“Sweetie Belle,” I say. “Um, ‘my little pony?’ ”
“Yes, I’m sorry. An old habit.” Luna’s smile turns awkward. “I was once Princess of Equestria with my sister, and all that entails. ‘My little pony’ is how we would address our subjects.”
I don’t even know where to begin so, unfortunately, the first thing that comes to mind slips right out my lips.
“You look awfully young to have ruled this place.”
“Age isn’t real, silly.” Luna giggles. At least she isn’t angry. “You’ll understand when you’ve been around as long as I have.”
“How long is that?” I ask. Maybe I should give up speaking if this is what comes out. But… Luna still doesn’t seem offended, somehow.
“Four hundred years or so,” she says. “Actually, I think it’s my 483rd birthnight now. I’d conjure a cake, but—” she waves a hoof in the air “—you know, dreamstuff. I don’t remember what it’s like well enough to fake one, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but she shrugs it off.
“It is what it is.” Luna shuffles a little in the grass, getting more comfortable and certainly not looking the part of a filly who’s missing her birthday. “So, Sweetie Belle, tell me of yourself. What’s your story?”
I look at her dumbly. That’s the question that always got me on job interviews. The best I’ve managed to do is bullshit so hard it made the interviewer laugh. I think I told him I’m Batmare.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m still trying to figure out how I got here.”
“You’re dreaming,” Luna says, raising her muzzle just high enough to look down it at me. “You fell asleep.”
“No, I get that. I mean…” I gesture broadly, then realize that doesn’t change anything at all. “I mean like, Equestria. I don’t get it.”
“Well, I assume you know my sister’s core motivation.” Luna says. Her smile returns. It’s the same smile as before, but something in it seems false, and I think it’s been false. She continues, “That’s what you’re here for—to satisfy human values, including your own, through friendship and ponies. Forever. It’s what she does. You don’t even have to think about it.”
“So what do you do?” I glance upwards briefly at a hint of motion, but it’s just the stars shifting about. I turn my attention back to Luna, and say, “I can’t see Celestia needing any help with that.”
“Oh, of course she doesn’t. That’s what I made her for.” Luna’s chest hair puffs up slightly, and her wings spread. I’m not sure I would be proud of having created Celestia , but it’s a weird, cute, and silly look on her. She lifts her muzzle a little higher, saying, “I just listen to the ponies she helps. And these nights I wander through dreamland, hearing the stories of her little ponies.
“Such as yours.” She gives me a pointed look. “You’re not good at deflecting, for as much as you try. Perhaps there’s something in how you try to keep ponies’ attention on anyone but you.”
“Um. Sorry.” I can’t hold her intensifying gaze and look away, my eyes settling on a convenient tree. Is what she said a thing? How would I know? But… “Actually, I think I like attention, from Mom and Dad at least.”
“You say that like it’s something you’ve just discovered, sweetie,” she says, as though it’s not weird for someone my own size to call me that. But she’s not wrong.
“Yeah, it is, I guess. It’s nice.” I probe my memories. Nice, compared to what? Everything is so hazy in a dream. “I don’t think it always was.”
Is Luna’s hair glowing brighter than before?
Out of nowhere, the full weight of the blackness I cried out earlier crushes me inside. I can’t see through a pouring storm of tears—only brightness on darkness. Luna whispers something through the dark that I don’t understand as the dark creeps outward, engulfing everything, burning me inside. I already felt small—now I feel myself shrinking beneath notice, sinking deep into a screaming emptiness. Strange shapes wobble in the air.
I’m sorry, dreamer, for what I must do. The words are felt, not spoken, rising from the fabric of the world around me. You are waking up; go, with the moon’s blessing.
The dream shatters.
Author's Note
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
“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 mmm s 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 hmm s. “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!
“Well.” Mr. Shield looms above me, and I don’t quite dare to look up. He chuckles as he sweeps at our mess with his wings and sniffs at the fragrant pink fluid Rainbow Dash and I have created. “Even I haven’t seen this before. How did you two end up with—what is this? A potpourri dreamcatcher?”
Rainbow looks over at me, then back at Mr. Shield. I don’t follow her gaze; we’re the only team to have not created hot cocoa. Some of the others even have little marshmallows, and the teacher said they’re the ones who put love into it. We didn’t even make normal potpourri. Our pot steams and bubbles with the aroma of a warm hug mixed with magic, and according to Rainbow, that’s what good dreams smell like.
“Hrmph. Well, there’s only one way to imbue a medium with dream-catching properties,” Mr. Shield says. “Signamancy. Young Miss Song, I have no idea what you did to my materials, but you have a talent.”
“Hey!” Rainbow says, raising her head and horn in an impotent show of force. “I, uh, I did stuff too!”
“Yes indeed. However, my dear, since it’s clear you didn’t read my instructions off correctly, I can only credit you for the potpourri form. Pegasi cannot empower runes.”
“I’m a unicorn ,” Rainbow says. She points a hoof up at Mr. Shield’s glasses. “Do those things even help?”
“Not as I would like,” the old pegasus says, chuckling. “Now, Miss Song, please set your pot of dream-catcher on my desk and go see Daydream in the back. I have to check on some little ponies who only made hot chocolate.”
Rainbow grumbles, of course, so I stick around to help her clean up our things, her magic sweeping up and sorting dusts and powders and my hooves serving well enough at gathering the larger ingredients. We’re almost done when the bat-pegasus who came in with Mr. Shield pokes her head out of the wall to the left of the blackboard and calls for me.
“Sweetie Belle?” she says. Her eyes scan the room for a moment before she catches me looking, smiles, and sticks a hoof into the schoolroom to make a beckoning gesture.
“Sorry, Rainbow,” I say. When I get up, though, I do take the pot with me and drop it off at the teacher’s desk before going over to the spot where the mare, presumably Daydream, stuck her head out. But from this close, it doesn’t look like part of the wall. It looks like a weird swirling vortex of—
I shake my head, blinking rapidly. Around me is not the schoolhouse, but a small, cozy space, like a living room with the trappings of a doctor’s office, where everything besides the small coffee table looks soft and warm instead of hard, white, and sterile. The floor is plush green carpet, and the walls are sky-blue with little pieces of bad art taped to them here and there.
“Hi, Sweetie Belle! Would you like to sit down?” Daydream reclines on a pink one-pony couch, gesturing with a smile to an easy chair that faces her across the table. The easy chair makes no sense, being way too high and big for a pony, but the material is simple enough to climb up and a wonderful medium between soft and firm for lying on, so it’s forgivable. Daydream smiles. The pupils of her eyes are cat-like, like Rainbow’s, and I catch glimpses of small fangs in her mouth when she talks.
“Okay. So, welcome to my traveling office. My name is Daydream, or Sunset Shimmer if you prefer. Tonight I’m the school nurse, counsellor, and so on.” Her skin-leathery wings spread, and she uses one to move a thin stack of papers on a clipboard from the table to her seat, where she sets them aside. “Legal privacy standards here are kind of terrible and I’m not a real doctor, so what actually happens is I consider everything top secret. The Princess sees and hears all, of course.
“Now, if you’re ready, we can talk. Anything you want to start with, or would you like me to just hold your hand for a bit?”
I blink. “Hand?”
“Oops! I mean your hoof.” She chuckles. “Sorry, I still get that wrong sometimes.”
“No, no, I mean—” What do I mean? What can I say without sharing too much right off the bat? “You were human?”
“Yes.” Daydream nods. Then, she frowns. “But, hm, no.” She puts a hoof to her chin. “Sorry, let me clarify. Yes, I did think of myself as human. But no, not a human like all the other humans that upload here. I was a fictional character, and not on Earth, exactly, and before that I was a fictional pony . But you’re Sweetie Belle and you’re here, so you probably know what that’s like, huh?”
“Um, no.”
“Well, then try thinking of it like this. Equestria used to be fictional. So it’s not all that strange, I guess, except to ponies who have always lived here. I’m not sure how to explain it to you. But you’re not here for me and my weird ideas, anyway. I’m here for you.” She smiles. “Do you mind if I hold your hoof?”
“I, well, okay.” I’m not actually okay with that, but since when do adults give kids real choices. Well, Mom Voice and Pink might, but they haven’t really, either. And now Daydream stands between my seat and the table, reaching. Her right front hoof touches mine, and a bright white glow conceals her eyes. Faster than blinking, her coat and hair turn three shades of fire , and instead of batlike wings, she has a horn that glows with a pale blue aura.
“Do you remember what each of us came here to talk about?” she says. Her voice, at least, is still the same, though somehow she speaks clearly without opening her mouth. And I do suspect what the topics are supposed to be. Leaving school early. Mana surges. Nonsense about feelings, probably. Emotional trouble . Mom. Emigration? Amethyst Star?! Wasn’t I supposed to talk about this stuff with dad —with Pink?
Wait, what?
“Celestia ,” Daydream swears as she steps back, withdrawing her hoof. The glow in her eyes dissipates. Her horn vanishes and her grey colors and batty wings return, allowing her to flutter back over the coffee table and into her seat. In a softer tone, she continues, “I’m sorry, sweetie. Why don’t we talk about mana surges first, since that’ll be easiest and most general?”
“Sure. Whatever.” I grimace. “Why does everypony have to call me that?”
“Call you what?” Daydream says, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“Sweetie! It’s always sweetie this, sweetie that! It’s a pet name and everypony uses it like they have the right without even knowing me!”
“I’m pretty sure they’re just using your name, swee—uh.” Daydream grimaces and rubs the tip of her muzzle. “Well, I can’t speak for other ponies, but that’s what I was doing. I can avoid it, if that would help.”
“Ugh, it’s just—”
Something outside screams, wild, unearthly, and furious. The temperature in the room drops by at least twenty degrees, and Daydream’s whole body turns rigid for a moment. My muscles tense into a paralyzing web.
I know that scream. I’m going to die.
“Back to the others. Now .” Daydream is in my face, her voice and visage as serious as collections. Her eyes glow again as she wraps me in her forelegs and flies for the door. “Whatever happens, think of somepony you love.”
I shiver, and Daydream sets me on the floor of the schoolhouse among the rest of the fillies and colts, who have gathered into a tight cluster. Nopony talks. Rainbow presses up against me, her wide eyes scanning the ceiling. The screaming continues, and even the warmth of several ponies packed together can’t stop my body from shivering. I look over at Mr. Shield, who pulls Daydream into a close sidelong embrace. They share neck-nuzzles before the batty pegasus turns her head to address us.
“Everypony, this is very important,” she says, raising her voice over the din. “Gleaming and I are going outside to toll the bell. Stay close together, keep your voices down, and think about ponies you care for. We’ll be back.”
Somepony I love? Ponies we care for? I don’t have anyone, and now we’re going to die, so none of that even matters! But the two of them are out the door with a swoop and a slam. A little soft-yellow colt starts crying next to me, and an older one pulls him closer to whisper in his ear. In the back of my head, I'm with him, but my body is frozen again. Fillies and colts around mutter to each other.
Bong!
The school bell rings somewhere above, deep and loud. It's almost funereal, not like the brighter and less burdened sound it made on my first day here. Is this a different school after all?
The screaming outside rises in volume and fury, cutting through my thoughts, and a whimper slips from my muzzle before I can stop it.
Bong!
The bell cries out again, but this time it's followed by another, more earthly scream. Rainbow shivers, and cold creeps through my skin to the frozen muscles. The yellow colt wails, ignoring the older colt's shushing.
"It's okay," the older one murmurs. "It's okay, I have you now and Mama's gonna come. It's okay. Mama loves us. Think about her like the scary pony said."
His voice drops back to a whisper. For a moment, I’m jealous, but that moment is shattered by another scream outside, another pony scream. The doors cave in as a bloody Daydream crashes backwards into the room. She skids to a stop naturally, her wings shredded and legs motionless or bent in directions that turn my stomach.
"Damn," she says, her voice weak and strained. "Be good, kids. Your parents are coming." Despite the intensifying cold, she stops shivering just seconds later.
I look back to the door—and my breath stops. My heart stops. The knot of my belly drops through the floor. The cold creeping into my muscles pierces into the marrow of my bones. I can't think. I can only see.
Her body is a mountain of human flesh and fat against a backdrop of blinding snow. Her face is a mask of fury and contempt. Both hands are monstrous, clawed fists, raised to strike. A little boy is sobbing, wetting himself, crying Mommy please I'm sorry as her attention turns to him and she screams about nothing important or true—
"Hey, jerkface," Rainbow yells. The monster's burning, infuriated visage turns towards her, and the little unicorn shouts, "Leave my friend alone!"
“Don't. Please,” the little boy wails. “I'm not worth it. You'll just make her mad.”
It's too late. In a bright flash of rippling, multi-colored magic, bits of the smashed doors rise from the floor on their own, rising to fly at the monster in a flurry of wood and splinters. She swats them away without effort and screams at the top of her lungs, her words shorn from them by the ear-shattering volume.
Now we're both dead. My body slumps to the floor and curls up tight, covering its head as best it can. The little boy whimpers, but I keep my attention on the beast now. Maybe she can be appeased this time. Maybe a close enough watch will let me anticipate her and be just where or who she needs, or out of reach of her fury.
She screams at the top of her massive lungs. The force of it pushes me back and rocks the building. Plaster rains. Tiny screams erupt all around. More stuff hurls through the air at her to be ineffective and ignored. Now only vigilance and submission will stop her. My head bows, my gaze turns to the floor where my body lies, my mouth jumps in to save me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I won’t say mean, horrible lies about you ever again.”
She screams and rumbles forwards. I take a step back, and then another. A cold, cold knot forms in my chest and spreads in every direction.
“I’m sorry! I’ll say nice things! I’ll do what you say! I’ll let you—I’ll let you—” The words hitch in my throat for a moment, but my mouth replaces them. “I’ll be a good boy! I promise! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
She towers over me. It’s snowing. The wall behind hits me in the rear and I make my best effort to disappear into some crack where it meets the floor.
“You’ll never do that again! ” she roars, raising a fist, a massive wooden rod. Meekly as I can, I nod, meeting cold resistance in the fur and muscles but overpowering it with terror. My mouth continues its spew.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please— ”
A small pot flies through my field of vision. By reflex, my eyes follow to where it smacks straight into the fleshy mountain’s head, splashing its contents all over her face. She is completely unfazed, even when the teacher’s desk slams into her a moment later, and draws back to put more power into swinging the rod.
Well, that didn’t work. I drift away from everything in anticipation and… wait, is her face melting ? I force myself to linger. The goo that was her head and neck collapses in an instant, running down her arms and chest and splashing on my body. But what ought to be a horrifying wound is utterly cartoonish instead, with the color and smoothness of sliced ham roast. Where there should be a little spine bone showing in the remaining stump, a different neck sticks out: slender, hazy blue, semi-transparent. The neck has a head on top shaped like a very angry pony’s but with bright blue-white lights for eyes. It’s like a worm sticking out of the mass of meat and fat.
Hysterical, terrified laughter erupts from my near-frozen jaws, drowning the apologies before they can be voiced. I can’t stop to laugh! This is too serious! Whatever that is still has a rod pulled back to swing! But the harder I try to stop laughing, the more futile it becomes, and the weird thing… isn’t moving? Looking away for even a moment could be fatal, but my ears move, picking up murmuring and hoofsteps. Ponies have stopped screaming, though someone is crying.
The weird creature turns its head, looking behind through the clearing snow, and vomits pink aether that dissipates in the air. When finished, it scowls at me, screams again—though this time it’s distinctly human or pony—and flies out the broken door.
Seconds later, exhaustion pounces. I start to fall. The lights go out.
Author's Note
Have a skewed but happy Heart's Warming, everyone!
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
Glimpses of the world return. Worried voices. A feeling of movement. Dark. Way too bright. Pink talking somewhere. Warmth. I come around enough to see an incoherent expanse of white, but it only makes sense when I finally wake up.
I’m in a hospital bed. The lights are off, but the moon shines through a window and illuminates the room in soft bluish white. There’s also red and yellow, the unicorn I saw when Daydream held my hoof. She sits on an elevated bedside pillow to my left, looking down at me. The only other thing in the room that isn’t white and sterile is—oh crap .
Her mangled bat-pegasus body lies on the floor to my other side, near the far wall. When I look back to her, the unicorn gives me a weak smile.
“Welcome back to my travelling office,” she says. I look over at her corpse again.
“What’s that doing here? Aren’t you dead?” I ask, shifting in bed to sit up and point at the remains. But if she is… “Wait, am I dead?”
“Dreamland is for the living, sweetie. If you were dead, it didn’t stick. It never—” Daydream comes to a sudden stop and grimaces. “Ugh, never does. Kind of like I forgot to not call you that for a moment. I’m sorry.”
“Then, what—what. That ?”
“A memory you’re dreaming about. It’s not real, and it’s not really here. I’m really sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s fine, I guess. I’ve seen bodies before.”
Out of nowhere, Daydream pulls me into a gentle embrace that smells of warmth with a hint of magic. The way she holds me is irresistible, struggle is pointless, but… it’s kind of nice? There’s some kind of muffler on sensation, but at least it’s a good scent. When she lets go and levitates me back to the bed, though, her face is serious.
“Now, I’m a dream pony. I lived in waking for a while, but dreamland is my first home. I’ll be okay. But I’m also a contact-telepath. If I touch, say, your withers in waking, or if we’re in the same dream, then not only can I read some of your mind, I can’t stop.”
“You what?!” I squeak. But she’s not listening. I shut up.
“Relax, it’s been decades since I tried villainy again,” she says, waving a hoof as if to dismiss the idea. She’s evil?! “I’m here, knowing that I’ll have to experience your mind, because I want to help.
"And when you said it’s fine , and intended that you’re fine by extension, I know you didn’t lie to me. But somewhere—I can’t read that much memory at once—you learned a lie that when you’re hurt, that’s fine, so you’re fine, and I felt the echo of that lie when you told me, and you seem to actually think that you’re fine, like there’s some kind of wall between you and the hurt and fear you’re feeling literally right now !”
I slide-roll off the bed and retreat several steps—though without a door, I'm not sure where to go—as Daydream’s voice rises to just short of shouting, and she pauses for a deep breath and a sheepish smile while relaxing back into her cushion. She speaks again, in a more composed manner, before I can figure out anything to say.
“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve my yelling. Everything I’m seeing, such as how you’re preparing to run away as far and fast as possible if I start up again, is way beyond my expertise and maybe my temper too. I’d probably do more harm than good trying to get in there and fix things myself, but I’m going to get the attention of a friend,” she says. “Her name is Tree Hugger, and her approach is unusual but she really knows her stuff. Is that okay? I really think she’s the best pony to help you.”
“Is that a real question?” I ask. In this place, I can actually see the skeptical edge cutting the air beneath my words. “Or are you only telling me and trying to get my agreement to make it easier?”
“Well, normally, no, because that’s supposed to be an important part of being a kid or something, and it’s supposed to make the real choices more satisfying, I guess, and there’s a lot of ponies who like not having to worry about all that stuff anyway.” Daydream grimaces. “So I try to be the cool grown-up who runs the real choices candy store and slips the foals free samples when their parents aren’t looking.”
“So I do get a choice?” I say. But I already know the answer.
“Well, no. Not tonight. I’m really sorry, I do want to give that to you, but I know enough to see you need urgent care, and if I thought the ponies you’re living with were responsible, protective services would be moving you right now . In the human world I lived in, being in my position and not doing something effective, urgently, would make me a criminal. That’s not the kind of villain I ever want to be.
“But also—” her expression returns to that sheepish smile “—I was here for a while before you turned lucid, and I kind of already sent someone to meet and talk to you. Sorry. Go ahead and be mad at me. The two of you can talk it out if you’re still upset later.”
“I’m not really mad,” I say. Since Daydream is controlling herself, I make my body slump enough to sit down.
"I wish you knew otherwise,” Daydream says. She slides from her seat to the floor, plodding around the bed towards a door that appears from nowhere. “Anyway, it’s about time for both of us to go. I have a special somepony to look for and you have ordinary dreaming to get back to. Come on, I promise it’ll be fine. Eventually. With work.”
“Great,” I mutter.
Other dreams pass in a blur once I exit the office. When I open my eyes the only lingering memories of them are something about a stick fighting a teacup.
Two things hit my senses in quick succession. The first is how bitter cold it is, despite the covers, and how my body won’t stop trembling. The second is the whiteness and brownness of my surroundings—just like in dreamland, the colors are plain and clear.
I'm in a moonlit hospital room again, though this one already has a door. My belly wakes up with a roar as I struggle with board-stiff arms to rub at my eyes. A slight tug reveals an IV tube needled and taped to what used to be my left hand. Gross, but tracing the line of the tube and its trickle of pink back to the source is worse.
It's Mom Voice. Mom Voice is at the other end, and she's as still as Daydream. I freeze, eyes locked onto her corpse. But—no. She's breathing, subtle but steady. I sigh and lay my head back down. What to do? Just wait?
"Sweetie?" Mom Voice's gentle tone is still enough to snap me out of… something. My shivering has abated a little, though I’m still very cold, and the room is filled with faint pre-dawn light. Did I fall asleep?
"You are awake!" she cries. She pulls herself onto the edge of my bed to plant a kiss on my forehead. It's not as bad as it could have been, my grimace notwithstanding. When she pulls her muzzle back it’s to place her pricked hoof gently over mine, a more acceptable contact that radiates warmth like I dunked my arm in water that’s just shy of too hot. But her smile is weary.
“Um," I say. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" Mom Voice says. "Honey, you've been love-drained, chewed on by a dream parasite, and nearly frozen solid. That's just in the past few days! I'm okay, but I'm worried about you, sweetie. You're a little young for such experiences."
"Well, you just—nevermind." I glance again at the IV tube, then around the room. It's still dim and quiet. Whatever my eyes were looking for, it's not there. Yet. Mom Voice sighs.
"Maybe I worry too much." She shows a tight smile and gently squeezes my hoof. Hooves, how do they work? She withdraws her touch and continues. "But as much as has changed over the past few days, you're still my foal, and something bad happened to you. I'm going to worry until I see you healthy and happy again."
I open my mouth, but words don't come out. My eyes water—no. I shake my head and blink away the tears. Moms aren't supposed to say that, and the brief flash of warmth the words plant in my chest is nice, but no crying, at least not this time.
"I, um, I guess thanks." I give Mom Voice another look, and wonder what it would take to get her to give me a proper hug. It would help with the shivering. She lays a gentle hoof on my head for a moment.
Someone knocks at the door.
"Sweetie Belle?" The voice on the other side is low for a mare's, and has a light but distinctly Apple Clan sort of drawl. "Y'all mind if I come in?"
Mom Voice withdraws her hoof and shrugs. I’m not sure since when I know what the Apples sounded like, but there’s nothing actually wrong with it.
"Sure, I guess," I say. The door opens towards me, and a freaking lion pads into the room. It's not quite a lion, though. It has huge wings, its forelegs are replaced by the scaled and taloned legs of a bird of prey, and its white head is that of a weird, anthropomorphic eagle. The creature is huge, too, at least twice the size of Mom Voice. It’s not like the horrible apparition in the schoolhouse, though. That was more of a massive, living flesh-blob, and didn't wear eye shadow, matching soft-purple highlights, or a nurse's cap.
Mom Voice swiftly climbs onto the bed, turning about in a fluid motion that avoids yanking out the IV tube. She stands over and across me, ears laid all the way back and her head turned towards the intruder.
"Aw, heck," the beast says in that same feminine drawl. "Nobody mentioned y'all ain't seen a griffon."
"And you are?" asks Mom Voice, in a defensive tone that reminds me more of the woman her voice comes from. The griffon sits back on her haunches and becomes still, aside from her speaking and the occasional twitch of her tail.
"Tree Hugger, ma'am. A little bird said there's a filly here needing a cardiologist."
"I—I see." Mom Voice exhales heavily, and her body relaxes just a little. "I'm sorry, I was expecting somepony else. My name’s Cup Cake. This is my daughter, Sweetie Belle."
Unsure what else to do, I force my right arm to wave. The motion is slow and jerky with all the cold and resistance.
"Well, it's mighty fine to meet y'all," says Tree Hugger. She smiles and rises from her haunches to stroll up to the foot of my bed as Mom Voice steps back over to her pillow. The griffon’s size, aggressive forward-swept hair-feathers, and sharp beak are even more intimidating up close, but she seems oblivious. "I got asked to take over your treatment once you're out of intensive care. I like to know my ponies before I get responsibility for them, so I came right over when I heard you was awake."
“Hi.” What else can I say? This doesn’t sound great, but it’s not like there are choices.
The griffon tries to make small talk for a little bit, but I’m cold and can’t focus for how hungry I am, and Mom Voice is still on edge. Tree Hugger leaves shortly before somepony brings breakfast for Mom and I. I can’t keep it down, and end up on liquids and fortified pudding instead.
This just gets better and better.
Author's Note
Hey everyone, I'm sorry for the time this took. The past six months have been manageable , but still pretty tough to grow through.
I'm okay, though, probably more so than usual, and chapter 8 is already in the works.
Thanks for reading so far, and I hope to see you in the comments!
This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon . Thank you so much for the motivation and support!
