Chapters Off on the edge of town, past the train tracks and past the wheat fields stood what remained of Jewel Estate. This large property of rolling hills and woodlands was once the residence of the richest family in town. For six generations The Jewels lived a privileged life on the outskirts of town, hosting a number of balls and banquets that attracted any number of aristocratic members of society.
Ponies traveled from all over the world to attend these lavish balls. Dozens of guests would show up and enjoy not only the luxurious amenities of the Estate's many guest rooms, but the friendly locals in town that entertained them with their humble ways as well.
Now all that was left of Jewel Estate was the ruined remains of the rundown mansion on the hill and a fragmented fence encircling the entire property. A hollow, decrepit skeleton of what it once was.
No one really knew where the Jewel family went. One day they all mysteriously disappeared without a word or warning. Some rumors spoke of a genetic disease that wiped the entire family out in a week. Others would claim the family simply moved. Over recent years, the mansion developed quite an infamous reputation. Especially among the town’s youth.
It was a silly old story. Nothing but a rumor. Tall tales spoke of ghosts that still haunted the manor, floating between worlds until their unfinished business in this world was complete. Some would say these were vengeful spirits, hunting down those who stole the wealth and riches once stored in the estate’s vaults. Others would claim the place was built on an ancient, unmarked graveyard that haunted the place endlessly and relentlessly. Again, just silly old stories with very little evidence to back them up.
For the mischievous teenagers of the town, the spooky mansion served as a test of mettle. Only those brave enough would dare cross the rusty metal fence barrier that marked the properly line. And only the even braver would venture into the mansion itself. A pony who managed to grab an old piece of junk from the many rooms of the mansion were guaranteed bragging rights for life and it was considered romantic to some teenage girls if their boyfriend managed to carve their names in one of the mansion walls. For some, it was used as a proving ground for bets and challenges.
And that’s how young Mix-Up ended up in this unfortunate circumstance. Mix-Up was a skinny pegasus, even for a stallion his age. His wings were just about the strongest part of him and saw the most work during his regular flights among the fluffy clouds in the sky. His eyes were of a bright yellowish green thanks to his mother's side of the family. His fur was a vibrant, corn flour blue with splotches of white running up his legs and covering his muzzle. His teal mane and tail was always kept a little messy as it was very likely that the teenager didn't even own a brush or comb. He really saw no need for it. A couple brushes with his hoof to take care of any bed head was enough for him.
By whatever means of fate that brought him to this path, the teenaged pegasus found himself given a simple task. All he had to do was spend a night in the mansion. That was it. He never believed in the ghost stories anyway. To him, the mansion was just a building. Sure it had some pretty neat old stuff just prime for the taking, but thinking that the whole place was guarded by some vengeful spirits was childish.
It was late in the evening on a cool spring day when Mix-Up set off for the mansion. The cobblestone path he followed out of town slowly turned to decaying flag stones the closer he got to the property. Town square faded behind him, silhouetted by the orange sun that hung low in the sky.
Before long, a rounded hill rose up to meet the young pegasus, illuminated by the fading evening light. On top the hill perched the large, derelict mansion with its many rooms and cracked windows dark in the sunset.
Was he scared? Perhaps not. More accurately he was cautious about his overnight stay at the rundown mansion. He didn’t worry about ghosts taking away his soul, but he spent a fleeting moment or two worrying about getting hit in the head with a falling support beam or catching pneumonia from the under kept rooms. He never believed the stories of restless ghosts or superstitious urban legends.
In a way he was excited. This was his opportunity to explore the old mansion without impediment. He wondered what sort of artifacts he might be able to dig up inside. Old books, medallions, jewelry, maybe even gold! It was a child like awe and wonder that drove the pegasus past the mansion's property line.
The grass of the property was overgrown and unkept, growing wild up to Mix-Up's waist. The only guideline through the messy field was the remnants of once beautiful stone pavers that marked a path up to the mansion's front door.
The mansion’s front doors creaked lowly as old hardwood groaned and rusty metal hinges harshly scratched against each other. The outside air rushed into the old mansion, unsettling the thin layer of white dust that powdered the marble floors of the foyer. Fading sunlight that filtered through the doors and a big hole in the roof illuminated an expansive space that was probably once a place that hosted parties and balls and would see hundreds of ponies dressed in beautiful garb dancing around its white stoned columns.
Those days of merriment, however, had long since passed. There was no joyous music and no vibrance to the place. The chandelier that likely brightened the whole place up with its double dozen extinguished magefire lights hung lifelessly in the center of the room, surrounded by a pair of old wooden staircases leading up to the second floor. In front of the stairs sat a crumbling fountain made of a pale blue stone, dried up and overgrown with vines. Paintings that hung on the wall were either hastily pulled off the walls by thieves or slashed by vandals. There was hardly anything left of that bygone era of history.
Mix-Up could only imagine how this place looked in its heyday. It was a shame to see such history fade away into neglect. For a fleeting moment he wished he could have attended one of the mansion’s parties, back when everything was fresh and new.
After taking in an eyeful of the dusty foyer, Mix-Up hung right and ventured into a nearby half opened door. Piles of dead leaves and rubble barred the ornately designed door open, freezing it in place and nearly fusing it into the stone tiled floor. He peeked in and found it to be an old parlor room. Empty raided bookshelves lined the walls as a dusty, water damaged area rug was sloppily rolled up and kicked to the side to expose the bluish white stone tile in the center of the room.
Judging by the discarded papers, broken glass bottles, and what appeared to be the remains of a small campfire, this was a room that many of the town’s teenagers hung out in for spooky ghost stories or tarot card reading. An open window that hugged the far left wall was wedged open by a piece of timber, allowing the elements of nature to filter into the room, bleaching old parchment with sunlight and curling old wood with rainwater.
Mix-Up examined the room with a frown. Ruined. Absolutely ruined. Any historical artifacts or memorabilia from a long past era were already taken away or destroyed by mischievous teens who didn’t know what they had. No, if he wanted to find something cool to bring back as a trophy, he’d have to venture deeper into the mansion where most ponies would fear to tread.
Leaving the vandalized room behind, Mix-Up reentered the central foyer and made his way to the pair of curved staircases that connected to the second floor. The stairs were in a dangerous state of disrepair. A number of the wooden paneled steps were either crumbling away or gone completely. The only real evidence of a consistent path to the second floor was the line of rotted red carpet that curved up the center of the steps.
With careful hoof placement, Mix-Up ventured up the steps. He occasionally used his blue feathered wings to leap across some of the larger gaps, but was able to find a decent path up to the next floor. The old, rotted wood groaned under his tentative steps.
The second floor was just as neglected as the ground floor. Large holes in the ceiling allowed rainwater to seep in as moss and plants had even started to grow into the carpet. The area was shamefully dusty and decrepit. Tattered paintings hung askew on ruined wallpaper walls. Family portraits laid on the floor, framed in shattered wooden frames. Doors of heavy hard wood ran along both walls leading all the way down the straight hallway. If there was something to find in this mansion, it'd be in one of these rooms, Mix-Up assumed.
The first room he wandered into was a large open room. The floors were weathered, but appeared to have a high polish to them back when the house was new. The far wall had tall windows covering most of it, opening the room up to the blue glow of the moon outside as it overlooked a decrepit and over run garden. All that, coupled with a broken ballet bar attached to the mirror wall must have meant that this room was some sort of dancing studio.
As interesting of a find such a place was, Mix-Up was disappointed to find nothing of value in the open room. Seeing all that he could see at the doorway, he returned to the hall and ventured further down the hall.
The next room he wandered into was a long dining hall. Big enough to comfortably fit twenty ponies at its long dining table, the room was in desperate need of repair. Broken chairs sat scattered around the mighty table as tarnished silverware and candelabras stood silently on the table. It was as if the whole place was set up for a banquet that never happened.
Strike three. Luck just didn't seem to be on Mix-Up's side today. He had half a mind to just give up and return to the ground floor and forget the whole treasure hunt all together. Spending the whole night wandering from room to room and finding nothing, the young stallion now sought out a comfortable place to take a quick nap.
As he journeyed farther down the second floor hallway, the sound of squeaking hinges drew his attention to an approaching door. The door creaked open as if beckoning the young stallion in. He followed the path into the open room with careful steps.
Faded, incredibly worn wallpaper clung to the walls. Indistinct shapes could be occasionally picked out along the barely blue color. The overall color palette, although mostly drained of its vibrance by time and the elements, appeared bright and cheerful. From what he could make out, Mix-Up assumed this was a room for children. A playroom or nursery perhaps. Although it was a little hard to determine that with the room being completely barren of any furniture.
“It’ll have to do,” Mix-Up said with a yawn. This was the only room he found so far that still had its ceiling intact. It was already getting pretty late. He could explore more after he got some rest.
He investigated the rest of the room, checking for any rotted floorboards or infestations of pests. Surprisingly enough, it seemed nature itself avoided this room. Here would do well enough. With another yawn, Mix-Up found a dry place on the floor and sat down for a short nap.
Author's Note
This story is a trade with Mix-Up who did the lovely cover art for my story "The Masks We Wear" . You can find more of his artwork on his DeviantArt .
Later in the night, as the blue moon rose high into the sky, Mix-Up stirred awake from his slumber. A stiff breeze rushed past the teenaged stallion, pulling him out of the comfortable embrace of his short nap. He could feel the chill of winter air looming overhead, teasing his nostrils with a dry, almost snowy, wind.
He groggily pulled himself up, shivering off the sudden cold snap that appeared to have fallen overnight. He immediately wrapped his feathered wings around his body and desperately looked around the room for the source of the sudden cold. He had assumed, although incredibly unusual, that the crisp winter air was slithering through an open window or an unforeseen hole in the wall. However as his eyes quickly scanned his immediate surroundings, he found himself in a situation much more puzzling than a winter's day in spring.
He found himself in a cage only it wasn't quite a cage. It was true that even in the moonlight he could only make out the outlines of bars surrounding him. However there were no bars on the top, a clear and obvious design flaw if it was intended to imprison a pegasus. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mix-Up recognized his new supposed prison. It was a giant baby crib.
The crib was...not quite there. Mix-Up could feel a firm, springy mattress under him, but the crib as a whole appeared faded, almost glass like. He could hear the creaks of the crib's wooden joints whenever he moved, but everything was made of this ghostly material.
“What is going on?” he mumbled to himself, pulling himself up to the crib's wall and peered through the glass like bars.
From what he could recognize, he was in the same room that he fell asleep in not two hours ago. The faded wallpaper made that easy to determine. However now the room was populated by ghostly echoes of bedroom furniture which shimmered that same greenish blue glow. He could make out the shapes of the other furnishings, recognizing them as a dresser, changing table, a school desk, and toy chest, but even that was difficult to do considering the glass like material that made up each object.
“Oh wonderful, you’re up,” a voice of a mare spoke through the darkness, “I was afraid you were going to sleep the whole day away.”
Into the moonlight floated in an older unicorn mare, dressed in an Elizabethan nanny outfit. Her mane was tied up into a bun on the back of her head, partly hidden behind two pointed ears that stood straight and attentively on top. Her body was tall and willowy, standing about a head and a half taller than Mix-Up. Everything about her body language appeared rigid and authoritative. Her fur, once a deep coffee color, was faded and spectral, almost appearing translucent when in direct moonlight. She walked not on legs, but a ghostly trail that tapered off her body and faded into nothing the closer it got to the ground. As she hovered in closer the wintery chill in the air seemed to only increase.
Although Mix-Up hardly ever believed in such things, the floating mare appeared to be some kind of specter or spirit caught between worlds that he heard so much about. “What is...?” he said scrambling up to his feet. His startled mind finally remembering the word to describe such a sight, “you’re...you’re a ghost!?”
“Nanny,” the ghost corrected with a snap, “and I will be referred to as such.” With a click of her invisible hooves, the ghost recomposed herself and cleared her throat. “A colt your age really shouldn’t stay in bed so late in the day.”
Giving Mix-Up barely a minute to process everything, the bars of his crib magically lowered before he was pulled out by the glow of the unicorn ghost’s magic. He was rather crudely hoisted into the air and despite his weak protests was inspected from end to end like a statue.
“H-hey! Quit it!” was all the surprised Mix-Up could manage to say. He struggled inside the nanny's magical hold, even going as far as to flapping his wings in a futile attempt at escape.
The nanny tsked, promptly ignoring the audible arguments from the magically bound pegasus. "Honestly, I don't know how you were put to bed without proper protection. It's a wonder you didn't ruin your bedsheets."
"Proper protection? What are you talking about!?" Mix-Up shouted, "let me go!" His wings fluttered and flapped a few more times for good measure.
"Well it’s already late. We shall get you fully dressed once you've eaten," the nanny plainly stated, pulling Mix-Up through the air as she walked off.
Leaving the ghostly furnished nursery, the nanny carried Mix-Up into the mansion’s main hall. An uneasiness was felt around the place as wooden boards creaked and groaned. The low noises rumbled through the very foundation of the building like slow moving thunder. It was as if the walls themselves were slowly bending just slow enough to not be seen by the naked eye. Was this mansion about to fall in on itself?
The pair entered the dining hall where evidence of ghostly activity continued to leave its mark. The wooden dining chairs were still scattered across the floor, but now had ghostly echo versions of themselves lining up on both sides of the long dining table. Each echo was made of the bluish-green otherworldly ghost glass from before and gave off a most peculiar mist.
A solitary glassy highchair stood at the other end of the room, growing ever more solid as the pair stepped closer. It’s shape seemed to shift and morph into slightly different forms until finally snapping to its final form once the two ponies approached it. By the time Mix-Up was dropped onto the ghostly wooden chair, the whole thing moved and grew to be just the right size for the teenaged pegasus.
The nanny took her spot beside the translucent high chair, clipping its tray into place and tying a faded blue bib around the colt’s neck. She then reached for a number of glass jars that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Completely invisible at first, the bottles glowed and began to take shape against the nanny's touch. She placed four of these small jars on the high chair tray and popped the lids off of each one, one by one. Each of these jars came with their own paper label which were yellowed with age and decorated with fine lined calligraphy. The baby food inside glowed with a similar spectral light as the ghost nanny. In the dim moonlight, Mix-Up could make out subtle differences in color of the various jars, but they all appeared to have that similar, mushy texture.
As his unfortunate meal was conjured up before him, Mix-Up took the time to examine his infantile bindings. It appeared to be made of a heavily polished hardwood, but that was difficult to determine considering the almost transparent texture. It felt real enough and it surprised him that there was even a highchair big enough for him. He craned his neck around the seat to get a better look at the locking mechanism that kept the tray firmly in place. Perhaps, the hopeful young stallion hoped, perhaps he could find a way to unlock it from where he was sitting and escape this embarrassing situation.
The colt’s investigations were cut short by a sharp, stinging pain smacking against one of his forehooves. “Back straight!” the nanny shouted as she waggled a ghostly metal spoon in Mix-Up’s face, “a proper colt does not slouch.”
Mix-Up yelped, recoiling in pain as his hooves pulled away. His back shot straight up and pressed into the cold wood back of his seat. Not a single inch of his back bent forward. “Whadja do that for!?” the colt shouted, rubbing his hoof.
This ghost certainly had one heck of a swing. And what a walloping too! He could have sworn he was going to get a bruise from that. After momentarily nursing his injury, he had planned on saying a few choice words to the uptight ghost, but before he could say a word a metal spoon carrying a small glob of baby food shot into his mouth.
“Hush!” the nanny snapped, pulling out the spoon and scooping up another mouthful of slop, “I don’t want to hear a single word until you’ve finished your breakfast.”
Mix-Up struggled to swallow the first mouthful of baby food. It’s texture, bland flavor, and supernatural origins all made his tongue numb. He wanted nothing more than to spit out the stuff and refuse another mouthful from the obsessed spirit. He wanted to escape and run off from this haunted place. But for some strange reason, no escape plans turned into action. Instead, as if by instinct, he swallowed the watery mush and the nanny was right there with another spoonful waiting for him.
The baby food was unbelievably dull. A food so heavily processed and grinded down to a fine pulp, it only remotely tasted like the fruits and vegetables it claimed to be. The orange mush tasted like old carrots that were bitter and soapy. The tan one tasted of starchy apples. The yellow, at one point might have tasted vaguely like bananas, now tasted sour and musty. It all made Mix-Up curl up in disgust.
Spoonful by spoonful, the dull flavored muck was scooped into Mix-Up’s mouth. He wanted nothing more than to resist, but the nanny's forceful hoof was determined to feed her charge by any means necessary. When he tried to turn his muzzle away, the nanny would yank it back with her magic. When he tried to keep his mouth closed, the nanny would painfully press the spoon into his face until he conceded. When he refused to swallow, the nanny would have another spoonful waiting for him. It was an exhausting and tedious battle of wits.
In record time, with the task handled quickly and with clockwork efficiency, all four jars were emptied and set aside where they eventually faded into nothingness once more. With the meal concluded, the nanny untied Mix-Up's surprisingly clean bib and folded it on the tray.
“There, now that we’re fed we can get you ready for the day,” the ghostly unicorn stated, magically pulling Mix-Up out of his bindings.
The food didn’t sit well in Mix-Up’s stomach. There was nothing in that meal that made him nauseous, but the thought of being fed spectral baby food by some sort of ghost nanny made him uneasy. What made him even more uneasy was the fact that he led her do it. Looking back at it now, he kicked himself for all those wasted opportunities to escape. Why didn’t he run?
The pair exited into the hallway where the groans and creaks of the mansion still echoed off the warped wooden walls. Mix-Up struggled less this time around as he was ferried from room to room, not out of submission, but exhaustion. His wings were starting to get sore from all the squirms and flaps he tried to pop the magical bubble around him with. This break in his resistance gave him a moment to really take in his surroundings.
Much to his surprise, the hallway, despite its water damage and rot, appeared different. They were subtle changes, but easy to spot for the colt’s keen eye. For instance, the paintings on the wall no longer hung askew or seemed as torn as before. One particular painting caught his eye because of its tarnished gold frame that even in its old, neglected age had some shiny spots that twinkled in the moonlight.
Before tattered and ripped, the painting now had some life brought back into it. The canvas had less holes and the paint was no longer chipped and faded. The picture was a portrait piece, illustrating a lavishly dressed mare standing beside a young colt in front of what appeared to be an ornate, white stone fireplace. The mare was a gorgeous looking earth pony with a royal blue coat and emerald eyes. Her mane, styled up into a regal looking dutch halo braid was sky blue and almost appeared crystalline in the painting.
The colt at her side, frustratingly enough still had most of his body tattered and faded. From the quick examination Mix-Up was able to give it, the young colt had a blue coat although finer details like his face and eye color were almost impossible to make out as nature seemed to take most of its fury out on that corner of the painting. He did appear young though, no older than five or six. Mix-Up couldn’t even fly at that kid’s age.
The nanny floated Mix-Up back into the nursery where she immediately made a beeline for what appeared to be some sort of glassy changing table. To no surprise, it appeared big enough to accommodate him as well.
"A good and proper colt should ALWAYS wear protection," the nanny firmly stated as she laid the colt on his back.
Mix-Up nodded nervously, pressing his body into the spectral pad under him. He didn’t quite understand what she meant, but he found himself submitting easier so to not upset the spirit. But he didn’t have to wonder for long because shortly after scolding the colt, the nanny extracted a folded white diaper out from underneath the table.
Against his initial reservations, and again such submission was strange for the young stallion, Mix-Up allowed himself to be diapered. He didn't want to push his luck with the ghostly nanny. He hoped that it would show her that he was willing to cooperate. At least, that's how he rationalized it. Even as the diaper was wrapped around his waist, he struggled to convince himself that this was for the best.
The diaper was plain white and had a crinkly plastic shell on the outside. Inside was a soft and pillowy material that thickened it up several inches. It appeared to be the perfect size for Mix-Up, not fitting too loosely or too tightly. The nanny was meticulous with her diaper changing, ensuring that everything was lined up just right and that the ruffles in the leg gatherers were all folded in.
The pair’s next stop was a large walk in closet that hugged the far wall. The nanny magically carried Mix-Up most of the way, but deposited the diapered stallion on the floor before entering the small dark room filled with shadow cloaked clothes.
Once Mix-Up touched solid earth once more, his legs wobbled to cope with the added fluff of the diaper. It felt like he was wearing a giant, crinkling pillow around his waist, bowing out his legs and making him stand with a wide, embarrassing stance. Just what had he gotten himself into?
The nanny emerged minutes later with a number of outfits folded up into neat piles floating beside her. "Madame Jewel has approved a number of outfits that you are allowed to wear tonight,” she stated, examining each outfit and barely looking up at Mix-Up.
“Where...exactly is Madame Jewel now?” Mix-Up inquired, still trying to get used to the bulky diaper between his legs.
“I’m afraid Madame Jewel is out of the house and won’t be back for awhile,” the nanny passively replied, juggling five outfits in the air with her magic, “but a colt shouldn’t worry himself of such things. What you should focus on are your lessons.”
“My lessons?”
“We shall begin once you are fully dressed,” the nanny said as a single set of clothes was pulled away from the rest of them and floated over to Mix-Up.
It was a simple dress suit outfit resembling an old Victorian school boy uniform. It consisted of a dark green long pants, a gray vest, and a bright white long sleeved undershirt. Every piece was crisply folded and pressed, carefully laundered as if they were brand new.
Mix-Up was helped into the outfit despite his initial protests. Wearing a diaper was bad enough, but having the ghost helping him get dressed in such a childish outfit made him feel silly all around. Hoof by hoof the nanny threaded the stallion's limbs into the outfit, taking great pains to ensure the seams were straight, the straps were neatly tied, and the whole ensemble was free of unsightly wrinkles.
"Follow me," the nanny said once she was finished. With a pivot on her heels, she spun around and began marching over to the far end of the room.
A teaching area was set up off to the right side of the nursery, opposite of the changing table where the stacks of diapers seemed to loom. Against the wall hung a dark green chalk board, hemmed with a cracked, brown wood. Sitting about five feet away from the board sat a wooden desk, equally as cracked and old as the rest of the room. Everything had an eerie bluish green glow to it and gave off a ghostly fog.
The nanny led the way as Mix-Up trailed close behind. Somehow he felt obligated to follow the nanny's lead, despite clearly having the freedom to run out the door at any time. For a fleeting moment he even worried that he might get lost in this strange haunted mansion if he didn’t follow her. Whenever he didn't move quite fast enough, he was ushered along by a gentle nudge from the nanny's magic. She was in no way pushy or rushed with her advances, but kept things up at a steady and efficient pace. She couldn't have her charge dawdle now.
Hoisted up once again by the nanny’s magic, Mix-Up was plopped into the desk chair, his diapered rump cushioning the impact as he was dropped onto the warped wooden seat. Old, rusted joints creaked under his weight as the desk felt cold to the touch. It was as if he was sitting on a metal bench on a cool winter evening.
The nanny meanwhile took her place in front of the board, levitating a stick of chalk into the air. With graceful dexterity, the chalk danced across the blackboard's surface, drawing out opulent letters in a thin and wispy cursive handwriting. The nanny's penmanship appeared elegant in design, yet stiff and rigid in execution.
With the white chalk, the nanny wrote out the first subject of today’s lessons: Etiquette and Manners. “A proper colt should know how to carry himself in important social gatherings,” she began as she wrote a list of items with her chalk, “he is polite, quiet, and well mannered.”
And with that, the nanny’s sudden school was in session. All the lessons were delivered dryly and by the book. The nanny solemnly strayed from the topic and presented each lesson in the same short and to-the-point manner that seemed to orchestrate the rest of her life. She never wasted time with colorful descriptors or off topic anecdotes. Her job was to present the information and that was it.
Mix-Up felt like he was back in some twisted version of grade school. For a fleeting moment he flashed back to those days back when he spent less time learning and more time goofing off. He did the homework, most of it, but hardly ever paid attention during the tedious lectures that all the teachers in his life needed to give. No matter the class, mathematics, social studies, reading, the information was always presented in long winded speeches where the teachers would talk to the class for hours on end about whatever was on the lesson plan that day. In that way, it was as if the nanny was a conglomerate of all past experiences he had in the educational system.
Even nowadays, his entire high school career - or...was it middle school - was a constant uphill battle. It wasn’t that he was deliberately trying to be a bad student, it was just difficult to focus on anything being taught to him when it was delivered with the same mundane, monotone voice. When he’s forced to sit for hours on end, listening about modern history or poets from hundreds of years ago, it was no surprise that he’d spend the time daydreaming. Even now he could feel his focus fading and he spent more time staring at the cracks and carvings in his desk than at the board.
“Back straight!” the nanny shouted, whipping a wooden ruler against the chalkboard with a sharp smack.
Mix-Up popped out of his daze and immediately shot upright in his seat, back perfectly straight. His jumped to the top of the desk parking themselves on top, spaced evening apart on opposite sides of the desk’s surface. His attention snapped back to the chalkboard which was now covered in a number of figures and math problems which the nanny had been slowly working through as the lecture continued. How long had he been spacing out?
Throwing a glare at her ‘stubborn’ pupil, the nanny returned to the lessons. She took meticulous steps in explaining each math problem by the order they were solved. The equations, however, were incredibly low level. She taught him so much, but in a strange way he felt like he was being untaught.
He felt a fog grow over his mind, although it might have just been out of boredom. Everything he was being taught was so juvenile and obvious. It didn't take a genius to know how many sides a square had or which clock hand was the hour hand. It was like his mind was shutting down from the under stimulation and disinterest. Like his mind was draining of knowledge and information he had learned over the years. It very nearly put him to sleep.
Before long he acquired a sort of half focused, half opened eye stare. He was paying attention for the most part, but didn’t appear to be the most interested of students to teach. Listening to the nanny drone on about mathematics and literary devices was tiresome.
He began to stare at the notes on the chalkboard with a daze. He watched as the words and sentences turned into shapes and then into blurred white blotches. The blurred images remained incoherent for the longest time, but soon morphed into fluffy clouds. The clouds gently floated across the blackboard, drifting aimlessly across the surface like the night sky. Among the soft clouds popped out an airship, still just as white as the clouds, but much more detailed than the fluffy clouds it cruised through. The airship powered through the clouds before being joined by other airships until a whole armada floated across the blackboard sky. The clouds then turned into gentle waves as the airships lowered themselves among the white ocean.
He imagined himself on a white sandy beach, watching the ships go by across the horizon. The late afternoon sun above still felt warm even as it was slowly setting over the sea. The beach felt so real from the silky fine sand to the cloudless summer sky. He could hear the crashing of the waves, hear the cawing of seagulls, and smell the salty ocean air. He could even feel the sun's gentle rays warming him up as if he had just finished swimming in the cold white water. It was tough to say how long he imagined himself sunbathing under the summer sky
The warmth seemed to linger even after the daydream image began to fade. When the salty air and the sound of waves reached their natural end and began to disappear, the one thing that stuck around was that strange warmth. It took him a moment to realize things that the warmth now focused around his crotch instead of his entire body. Something was wrong.
Mix-Up finally snapped out of his daydream, startled by the glowing heat that now encompassed his crotch and back side. Did he really just pee himself? A subtle wetness had grown between his legs. His school boy pants now bulged out tightly against his crotch. He looked between his legs with wide eyes and a flushed face.
“U-uhm, M-miss Nanny?” he spoke up with a bit of an embarrassing squeak.
“A proper colt does not interrupt!” the nanny barked, barely looking up from her notes.
That shut Mix-Up down almost immediately, silencing any further attempts at grabbing the nanny’s attention. He could only imagine what sort of twisted punishments this strange spectral world had in store for him if he disobeyed. He had no choice, but to sulk and wallow in his soggy diaper.
The lessons continued on normally as he sat there in a heavy moment of disbelief. He could hardly comprehend the fact that he let his control slip that much. Just what was going on in this strange mansion? How could he have let himself get this far? Why was he just sitting there in a wet diaper, allowing this ghostly nanny teach him these childish lessons?
His mind flooded with these thoughts that conflicted with his situation. His mind made escape seem so simple and yet there was a part of him that didn't want to. Maybe it was the dread of disappointing the nanny or the fear of incurring the wrath of whatever magical powers hung over this strange place. For some reason, and this was rather strange for Mix-Up, peeing in his diaper felt...good. He couldn't even explain it. It was as if the act of wetting himself made him more comfortable in diapers. It was relaxing in a way and that’s what confused him the most.
After what felt like hours, the nanny finally wrapped up her teaching with a brief lesson summarizing the three different types of triangles. All of which was thoroughly explained in excruciating detail earlier in the lessons.
"I suppose that will be all," the nanny sighed, placing her ruler on the large desk that now appeared in front of her, "for now Madame Jewel has requested that I verse you on your dancing skills."
With a glow of her magic, the nanny helped Mix-Up out of his chair and ushered him out of the room. At the same time, she took the opportunity to check the young stallion’s diaper, finding it thoroughly soaked, but not wet enough to merit a change.
Mix-up was pulled back into the main hallway which was now pitch black and full of shadows. In the brief time he spent there, his slow adjusting eyes could only pick out faint and blurry afterimages of hanging frames and extinguished candle fixtures. The trip was brief, but even in that time he noticed the lack of creaking from loose floor boards or the musty stench of stale rainwater. The floor even felt cleanly carpeted in some parts.
Further down the hallway they entered a large, open room that was lit up by a number of small glass chandeliers. It appeared to be the same dance studio that Mix-Up had explored earlier, but it seemed more vibrant in color this time. The wood was no longer stained with mud and the ballet bar attached to the wall was no longer broken or rusty. The cloudy windows on the far wall were no longer broken and opened the room up to an early morning sun.
The gardens that stretched beyond the view through the tall glass windows glowed in a golden morning glow. Lush green trees with finely groomed, round tops dotted the landscape. Squared off flower beds of blues and reds and octarines decorated the gently flowing green lawns. Occasionally the whole landscape seemed to quiver and shimmer, revealing a blink of sepia toned evening sun. This was difficult to notice, however, since the more Mix-Up focused on it, the less the flickering seemed to happen.
Off in the nearest corner of the room stood an old record player sitting on a square table made of an ornately designed dark wood with a highly polished gold horn protruding from its top. A jet black record sat still as a shiny gold needle arm hovered over it, practically begging to be played.
"Let us begin," the nanny stated, standing face-to-face with Mix-Up with an expectant stare.
She waited a beat, looking at the colt as if he was expected to do something. Still trying to process what was happening in this strange, ghostly funhouse, Mix-Up hardly had any idea. She looked at him longer and he just stared back at her. Finally the nanny rolled her eyes and crudely helped the colt up to his hind legs. She then hoisted his forehooves into the air, positioning one on her hip and the other extended to the side, joined up with her own. She paused for another beat, examined her footing, the stallion's stance, until finally casting a small spell onto the record player.
The record player crackled to life, its hand crank twisting on its own as the vinyl on its turntable began picking up speed. The music started slow, moaning out long, drawn out notes before the eerie instruments evolved into sounds that Mix-Up could recognize. The tune was an orchestral piece, muffled by the vinyl medium, but lively all the same. Through the distortions and record static, the song appeared to be some sort of waltz that blocked out a steady tempo.
“And," the nanny started, straightening up and pulling Mix-Up's hooves up. "One two three. One two three. One two three,” the nanny called out the steps to the tempo of the music, leading Mix-Up along a sort of waltz.
Mix-Up felt silly being guided along the wooden dance floor. He didn’t know how to dance so he practically stumbled over every dance move. Every stumble caused his sagging diaper to slosh and crinkle underneath his tight school boy pants, exaggerating his loss of balance every time he swayed just a bit too far to the left or right. The nanny led him well, even going as far as to supporting him when he was just about to trip over his own feet and fall. There were even times where she helped him up to his feet with a firm push into his soggy diapered rump, but for her this simply was a means to an end.
The pair danced around the center of the room, going through the gentle sways of a typical ballroom dance. Over and over again, the nanny walked Mix-Up through the routine, leading him in circles as the music continued to play. She practiced with him a dozen, no maybe it was a hundred times, until he got the hang of it. He was dizzy and felt like he had two left hooves the entire time, but he was getting the hang of it.
The waltz transitioned into a steady slow dance as the enchanted record player flipped to its opposite face. Muffled violins were now predominantly on display in the musical piece, giving it a more romantic and floaty tune. The nanny changed positions and pulled Mix-Up right up against her in a surprisingly intimate pose. At least it might have been considered intimate if she didn’t maintain the rigid professional attitude towards it all. To her it was all just a job even if the colt she was dancing with started to blush.
Mix-Up meanwhile struggled to breath for a moment. As he was pulled closer into the nanny’s grip, he felt his heart shiver as everything in his body seemed to shudder and shift in a millisecond.
The dance was much easier to learn than the first one. Generally speaking it simply involved the pair swaying in place, rocking from their toes to their heels. The simple dance routine made it easy to memorize and within moments Mix-Up spent less time staring at his fumbling feet and more up at the nanny.
Amidst the lofty tunes, their eyes met. The nanny’s charcoal gray eyes twinkled in the light as Mix-Up stared deeper into them. Her embrace felt warm. Soothing almost. For the first time during the night, Mix-Up no longer felt that ever present chill in the air. He took a deep breath, which for once felt warm and almost tingled a bit.
The warmth was almost intoxicating. It was like a nice warm blanket on a cold winter day. It was comforting, calming, fuzzy even. It sent a pleasant tremor through his whole body, surging through his legs and pulsing up to the tips of his blushing ears and then down to the tip of his tail.
Suddenly the gentle swaying was interrupted by an immense, burning pressuring that abruptly appeared in Mix-Up’s gut. He squatted down immediately, bearing down on a pressure in his gut that he just HAD to get rid of. The urge was so primal. Something that he couldn't put off. His diaper bulged out against the fabric of his pants. The tight material ensured that the whole thing stayed close against his body.
The dancing grinded to a halt as Mix-Up made a baby of himself in the middle of the studio. His strained grunts and tiny huffs were amplified by the echo chamber of a room around him. It felt like he was up on stage, putting on a forbidden show of taboo for a captivated audience.
When he finally finished, the teenaged pony straightened up back into the expected dance position, only when he looked back up at the nanny, her stern and straight faced expression had morphed into a surprised and mildly irritated one.
“Madame Jewel will be very displeased when she hears about this,” the nanny sighed although she didn't sound entirely disappointed or all that surprised by this.
Mix-Up could only feel shame for what he had done. First wet diapers, now he was soiling himself out in the open like some kind of overgrown toddler. Just what had gotten into him? What was going on in this place? How could he get back on the nanny’s good side?
The enchanted record player stopped with a crackling thud as the tonearm snapped back into its raised position. That was enough dancing for today. The nanny forcefully pulled Mix-Up out of the room, nearly pulling the startled stallion right off his feet as he scrambled to follow.
The main hallway was now well illuminated by the orange glow of flickering candles that hung off the walls in ornate metal fixtures. A red velvety carpet stretched down the middle of the wood paneled floor, connecting the number of closed doors to each other. The ruined landscape paintings and tattered tapestries that Mix-Up could only faintly recall seeing not too long ago now appeared completely restored to pristine condition. Gold trimmed, wooden frames were no longer splintered and there was nary a frayed string in any of the red and purple draperies.
The portrait paintings that the pair so briefly passed appeared in much better shape this time around as well. One painting in particular was the portrait piece consisting of the aristocratic mare and the faceless colt. The regal mare appeared just as she did before with her lavish dress and elegant mane. The color in the painting’s pigments even looked as if they had more life put into them. The colt in the painting, however, appeared to be the age of a toddler...although as Mix-Up thought more about it, he began to think the colt was always that age. Still, much like before, the colt’s face was impossibly indistinguishable.
It was tough to really take in the sights at the rapid pace that the nanny kept up. Mix-Up had much more trouble keeping up this time through the hallway as the heavy load in his diaper kept his back legs bowed out in a toddlerish gait. He felt ridiculous waddling after the nanny like some kind of lost puppy. Everywhere he went, the heavy stink of his diaper was not too far away.
Returning to the nursery, the nanny wasted no time pulling Mix-Up onto the padded changing table. The stallion’s heavy diaper slopped against his backside as it mushed against the table, molding its oozy texture around his backside as he cringed..
“I hope you know that I will be telling Madame Jewel EVERYTHING you’ve done tonight,” the nanny firmly stated, disappointed, frustrated, and stiffly stern all at once, “she has not put me in charge of issuing punishments, but I assure you I will be giving her some STRONG WORDS about your recent slippings of discipline.”
“Y-yes, nanny,” Mix-Up managed to sputter out, fighting the instinct to hide behind his forehooves.
The nanny took a sharp breath of air and took a half step back. She recomposed herself and straightened her outfit out. “Yes well,” she started again, still sounding frustrated and stern, but strangely a little more collected and calm, “consider yourself lucky that I’m changing you tonight. If it were up to me, I’d make you sit in it for a few hours.”
Mix-Up gulped and nodded a submissive nod. He would have very much preferred NOT being changed into a new diaper, but looking into the stern eyes of the nanny made that option almost unthinkable.
The nanny immediately began the diaper change, ripping the diaper open and wiping the area clean. The stench of the mucky mess was replaced by the sterile and sour smells of scentless baby wipes as they were used to clean the stallion’s backside one by one. Shortly after that, a fresh diaper and a frugal covering of baby powder covered Mix-Up’s lower half and he was once again wrapped in the softness of the crisp, dry padding. All this time spent in a wet diaper made him miss that soft feeling.
“I’m sure you’re tired,” the nanny stated, prompting Mix-Up to let out a yawn, “an early bedtime then. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”
Another yawn slipped out of Mix-Up’s mouth as he struggled to find the energy to even ask what was happening tomorrow. Suddenly he felt so exhausted and lethargic. His eyes felt heavy as sandbags and his thoughts slow and sluggish. He heavily relied on the nanny’s assistance as he was helped into his crib.
“Ah yes, and one more thing,” the nanny stated as she lifted up a toy with her magic.
The toy was about twice the size of Mix-Up’s head, resembling an adorable plushie sheep. It’s body was a roundish ball made of a curly, faux wool fabric with four cute stubby feet filled with beans for an added bit of weight. Two brown glassy eyes were attached to its snub nosed muzzle as two gray horns made of minky protruded from the sheep’s head, curling over its cute little floppy ears. The whole thing was stuffed with just enough cotton to make it huggable.
“Madame Jewel picked this out for you to sleep with,” the nanny said as she handed down the plushie.
Mix-Up accepted the gift with unsteady hooves. “She...picked this out for me?” he replied, examining the stuffed animal, “uhm...tell her I said thank you...”
“I won’t have to,” the nanny replied, “you will be seeing her tomorrow at the banquet.”
“Banquet?”
The nanny let out an aggravated sigh. “Yes, the banquet. The estate’s annual harvest celebration. You, of course, will be expected to attend.”
“I-I uhm...alright,” Mix-Up replied, returning his attention to the sheep plushie, “does uhm...does he have a name?”
“I don’t know why it would,” the nanny raised an eyebrow as she magically hoisted the crib’s gate up into place, “but if you must, you may name your toy.”
Mix-Up snuggled into place, sliding under the blankets with his new bunkmate in hand. “Uhm...G-goodnight,” he felt he needed to say something.
“I will return in the morning,” the nanny simply said as she made her way out of the room. “I cannot expect you will be able to dress yourself.”
And just like that, the overhead lights were turned off as the blue glow of the moon came flooding in. With his plush sheep in his arms, Mix-Up rolled over onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling that hung high above him.
How very strange that he’d be put to bed so early in the day. Or was it early? Mix-Up had trouble keeping track of time. The only thing he had to base things off of were the brief glances he got of the outside. And even that was tough to keep track of. It felt like just hours ago it was morning. Or was it yesterday? What time was it now?
He held his sheep toy up in the air and looked at it in its glassy eyes. “I don’t suppose YOU know what time it is,” he said to the toy, not surprised when it didn’t reply. Instead he let his hooves drop to his sides, allowing the plushie to roll wherever it might roll.
These fuzzy distortions of time followed Mix-Up well into the night when he finally fell asleep.
Author's Note
What do you call a dancing sheep?
A baa-lerina!
Dreams this time around for Mix-Up were...strange. Nights prior had always been plagued with vague, foggy fragments that he hardly ever remembered. They always felt so distant even as he experienced them, just barely remembered. Tonight, however, he found his dreams were almost as vivid as real life, but as fantastic as any dream could be.
In one dream he found himself floating above a flower filled glade, his weightless hooves dangling idly inches above the vibrant flowers that sprung out of the grassy ground under him. The scent of a recent rainstorm tickled his nose. Whenever his hooves brushed a flower, the plant would release a small puff of pollen that twinkled like starlight. A spring-autumn sun glowed above him, warming him so gently through and through.
In another dream he was bouncing in a room made of pillows. From the floor to the ceiling that reached hundreds of meters overhead, the entire place was covered in soft, springy fabric that was as soft as it was bouncy. Hopping on the pillows made Mix-up giggly and if he tried extra hard he could bounce really high into the air. Try as he might though, he just couldn't quite reach the ceiling. Even on his highest of bounces, the top of the padded room was always far above him.
When morning came the next day, Mix-Up woke up to, strangely enough, a setting evening sun. That seemed strange, but then again, he couldn’t quite remember what time it was when he went to bed in the first place. Come to think of it, he couldn’t quite recall how long he had been here. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Maybe he had been here all his life.
He rubbed his eyes with a groan. There were a dozen of these questions buzzing around his head. It was exhausting just trying to keep track of them all. It felt like it would just be a waste of time trying to answer so many questions. He instead reached for his sheep plushie that sat beside him and pulled the toy into his lap. Having the toy close by made the questions less frustrating to dwell on.
Into the room walked the nanny who was rather elaborately dressed for the evening. Instead of her usual uniform of drab grays and blacks, she wore a dark green evening gown with long sleeves tightly stitched against her forelegs and a long hem line practically covering her rear hooves completely. Her mane was just as dolled up as the rest of her, but still maintained her strict and restricted style.
"Good, you're finally awake," she said in her typical blunt and straightforward tone, “come now, you mustn’t stay in bed all day. It’s almost time for the Banquet.”
“Banquet?” Mix-Up parroted back, giving his waking mind a moment to sluggishly remember.
Of course! Tonight was the night of the annual Harvest Banquet! The very banquet he had been preparing for for the past couple of weeks! Already his mind filled with half memories of dance lessons and etiquette lessons, all handled by his nanny with a meticulous and flawless eye. He half remembered the time he mixed up the salad fork with the dining fork and half remembered how he always bowed too low when practicing how to greet a guest. How could he have forgotten?!
The nanny helped him out of his crib and began prepping the colt for the evening. Once his diaper was deemed "dry enough" to last him the evening, a fancy outfit was already laid out before him in preparation for his first ever night of dressing up for a big, fancy grown up banquet. Or...at least it felt like the first time he had ever dressed up. Although he could have sworn he had dressed up for special occasions dozens of times. Maybe he was just nervous.
He was dressed up in an adorable sailor suit of blues and whites. Around the neck tied a light blue neckerchief as his legs were bound in white trimmed sleeves. His feet were fitted with blue shoes with metal buckles and knee high, white socks. The rear of the outfit had metal buttons running along his pants’ backside that bulged out conspicuously behind him. On the back were two elastic holes for his wings to sprout out of. And finally, to tie the whole thing together, a round, dark blue sailor hat with a light blue ribbon was perched on top of his head.
“A properly dressed gentlecolt,” The nanny said as she straightened the seams of Mix-Up’s completed ensemble.
Mix-Up examined himself in the mirror. Everything seemed well fitted to his measurements exactly. The nanny always had such a perfectionist's eye for detail. His shoes weren't too tight or too uncomfortable. The perfect dancing shoes. His hat fit his head perfect. Very unlikely to slip off. Even his diaper was kept snuggly in place, the bulge of which almost was kind of hard to see if he stood just the right way. He felt almost...grown up.
“A properly dressed gentlecolt,” Mix-Up found himself repeating with a glowing smile. It made his wings flutter with pride.
As he modeled in front of the mirror, he took another look at his wings. The blue feathered limbs almost looked smaller in the mirror. Like they had shrunk some. Then again, he couldn't quite remember the last time he had used his wings for anything. Not for flying, that's for sure. He was much too young for flying...right?
"Are you quite ready to go?" the nanny interrupted, "your guests will be waiting."
Only the anticipation of attending the ball was enough to pull the colt away from his very grown up looking reflection. They left his bedroom and journeyed down the long hallway where a richly red carpet led the way to the party. They walked past the oil paintings of rolling hills and past the golden candle holders that carried tall, stark white candles on top of their ornately designed necks. They even walked past the family portrait that hung just near the entrance to the great gathering hall.
The portrait now appeared completely restored like it was painted only yesterday. The familiar painting now vibrantly portrayed Mix-Up, standing in his Sunday-best in front of a roaring fireplace. The young pony wore a beaming smile, despite having to stand there for hours as the painter captured his likeness on the canvas. He just felt so grown up posing for the portrait.
Beside him, of course, was his mother as beautiful and as radiant as ever. The painting didn’t quite capture her grace, but the older mare still appeared very regal and poised. He did so love his mommy...his mother. He needed to remind himself that grown ups say “mother”, not “mommy”.
The main hall, a far cry from the derelict and weather torn echo that it once was, had returned to its pristine state. White and gold marble columns twinkled in the light as banners and blue-white streamers were hung off of them. The white tiled floor, polished to a perfect mirror finish, was void of any cracks or imperfection.
It was nothing like the cold and moss covered ruins that Mix-Up walked into only a few days ago. Or at least that’s what he initially thought before those memories grew fuzzy and dream like. Perhaps that was just his imagination getting the better of him. The mansion staff were always so keen on keeping the main hall spotless when company was over. How could the place ever look so downtrodden? They had the Jewel family’s reputation to look out for, afterall.
Looking over the crowds that gathered in the hall, it seemed that the banquet was already in full swing. Dozens of ponies dressed in lavishly designed ballroom outfits chattered and mingled away as others danced in the center of the room to a four string quartet.
“Presenting for this evening,” a servant at the foot of the steps called out over the party, ”Master Citrine.”
The crowd turned to applaud Mix-Up's arrival, making the colt glow with pride. Holding the nanny’s hoof, he took his first steps down the carpeted steps. The crowd started to gather as he neared the foot of the steps, dotting over the well dressed gentlecolt and commenting on how cute the clothes made him look.
"What a grown up young colt," he could hear them say, "he looks so well behaved for his age."
Age. The word rattled in Mix-Up's mind for a moment or two as the nanny guided him through the crowds. How old was he again? Well surely he was old enough to attend high school, right? Or was that just a dream he had. Afterall, he was still in diapers and he couldn't imagine any school would allow one of their students to walk around in diapers. Then again, he still had these lingering thoughts that he wasn’t always in diapers. Was there a time before that? Before all of this?
All these thoughts were so difficult to keep straight. Often the young colt had a tough time keeping his dreams and real life separate. He was sure he could come up with all the answers eventually, but he was so often distracted nowadays.
As the pair cut through the crowd of richly dressed ponies, Mix-Up noticed a familiar face among the chattering groups. It was an older mare with a royal blue coat and a flowing sky blue mane. She wore a lavishly gold and yellow dress that consisted of a complex ensemble of bodices, poofy sleeves, and skirts. She was all dressed up, but Mix-Up immediately knew who it was!
"Mommy!" Mix-Up exclaimed, cobbling over his own feet as he rushed across the room.
In his haste the excitable colt blitzed through the crowd, nearly toppling a waiter carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvre. He rushed into the motherly mare's arms at breakneck speeds, nuzzling into her chest.
“Oh goodness!” the mare chuckled, patting Mix-Up on the head, “why hello there, Citrine.”
"My apologies, Madame Jewel," The nanny was right behind him, bowing respectfully "the young master got away from me."
"Oh that is quite alright," Madame Jewel replied, "he's just excited to see me again." She gave the eager colt a loving hug as she continued, "I suppose I should have come up for a visit before the party."
"He was certainly growing anxious," the nanny replied, "could hardly focus on his lessons."
"I learned lots!" Mix-Up exclaimed, "Nanny's been teaching me table manners and silverware placement and dancing!"
“My, he does look handsome in his little sailor suit,” a new voice chimed in, catching Mix-Up’s attention.
“He is cute, isn’t he,” he heard his mom respond, “this year we decided he was old enough to attend.”
Looking up, he saw his mom was talking to another mare with goldenrod fur and a wine red mane swirled into a lavish hairstyle on top of her head. Beside her, half shielded by her leg, was a young colt with a ochre colored coat and a neatly trimmed, dark crimson mane.
The colt looked younger than Mix-Up...or was he older? Whatever the age, he seemed incredibly bored despite the lively party that played out around him. He also appeared a bit on the chubby side. From an easy, laid back life of never ending sweets and no nanny to tell him no, Mix-Up assumed.
“Dear, you remember Saffron, don’t you?” Madame Jewel said, gesturing toward the colt, “he’s your mother’s uncle twice removed third step-”
“We prefer just cousins,” the other colt's mother politely interjected, “easier for the poor dear to remember.”
"Of course," Madame Jewel chuckled, "Saffron is just about your age, dear."
"I'm like three years older than him," Saffron scoffed with a roll of his eyes.
"Saffron was just telling me how much he would just LOVE to have a playdate with his cousin."
"With him?! But he's a baby!" Saffron whined.
"Sounds like a wonderful idea," Madame Jewel chirped, glancing down at Mix-Up, "it would be nice to see him with colts his age."
“We’ll plan for some time soon I hope!” the other mare smiled.
“Oh of course, now that the harvest season is over with, our schedules are freed up until the holidays,” Madame Jewel replied, “oh but I do go on. My young gentlecolt here was eager to show me how his dance lessons are going along. Isn’t that right, Citrine?”
Mix-Up’s face lit up. She read his mind! “Yeah!”
“Then we won’t keep you then,” the other mare bowed her head with a smile, “until next time, Madame Jewel.”
“Always a pleasure, Madame Spice,” Mix-Up’s mom replied. She then took Mix-Up by the hoof and allowed him to lead the way out of the buzzing crowd and onto the dance floor.
Charging out onto the floor at just about the same speed as he went when he first saw mommy, Mix-Up excitedly scouted out the area for the perfect dancing spot. He ended up bringing his mother near the center of the hall, where party guests were more than generous to part out of the way for the eager gentlecolt.
As the strings started up another song, Mix-Up hopped up to his hind legs and got into position. Thanks to the nanny’s dance lessons, he knew just what to do during such a song. He checked the spacing of his back legs, positioned his forehooves so that one rested on his mother's hip and the other to the side in the air, and finally waited for an opening to the beat of the music.
Meanwhile his mother allowed her young colt to lead. Whenever he seemed stumped on what to do, she was there to give him subtle hints that would guide him back onto the path of proper etiquette and gentlecolt like behavior. She was certainly a more cooperative dance partner than the nanny. Where the nanny would scowl and scold, mommy helped follow through any fumbles or missteps the younger pony made.
The gentle and mellow music flowed through the air as it conducted couples into a floating waltz around the hall. In the grand scheme of things, the music guided the crowd in a heavily choreographed pattern that swirled them around the center of the room. Couples of classy stallions and stylishly dressed mares circled around Mix-Up and his mother, looking fondly upon the cute scene. It must have been such a precious sight to watch the matriarch of the household dancing with her well dressed son.
The preciousness of the scene was all but lost on Mix-Up as he focused more on getting his dance moves right. In all honesty, he spent more time looking down at his legs than anywhere else. Occasionally he would look up at his mother, receiving an encouraging smile before going back on focusing on the task at hand. The nanny had been practicing the waltz with him for weeks and he was dead set on not messing that up.
When the music finally ended, the ponies around the room applauded the quartet for their performance. Mix-Up, too involved in getting the routine just right, only noticed the music had ended when his mother joined in with the applause. He followed shortly after, but was more fixated on getting back to the dancing. Before the next song could start, however, he found himself being gently chauffeured away from the dance floor and back to the sidelines where the nanny stood in waiting.
“My sincerest apologies, Madame,” the nanny said among the fading music, “I had thought a diaper bag wouldn't be necessary.”
“We’ll just take him back to his room then,” he heard mommy say.
Mix-Up perked up at this remark and finally took the time to take stock. Craning his neck backwards, he found his dress pants were now completely soaked in the back, clinging to the back of his legs. An undeniable mark of a little colt who peed his pants.
“Best get these pants off and washed before they stain,” his mother said as she pulled his pants off, revealing the swollen, saggy diaper underneath. Something a proper gentlecolt wouldn’t be caught wearing, that was certain.
As he was rid of his pants, he took a self conscious look over the crowd. Most of the party’s guests didn’t even notice his shame and those who did gave him a polite and understanding smile. “Accidents happen,” he could hear their assuring glances say. Still, his ears drooped with disappointment. He didn’t feel so grown up anymore.
“You’ll just have to go without them for a little bit,” his mother continued to say as she helped thread his back hooves out of the bunched up fabric and handed off to the nanny.
“B-but I was supposed to be a proper gentlecolt today,” Mix-Up found himself whining, despite there obviously being a number of other things he should have been concerned about right now.
“There’s always next year, my dear,” his mommy replied, “let us go back to your room and we’ll have you cleaned up.”
With a slump and a defeated sigh, Mix-Up followed his mother out of the party. He kept his head down low. Not because of shame or embarrassment, but because of self-reproach. If he was a proper gentlecolt, he wouldn’t have wet his pants. Gentlecolts don’t wet their pants! His disappointment in himself overshadowed any shred of embarrassment he might have felt from being caught in a very public place with a very wet diaper. He even failed to notice the dozens of eyes that stared at his humiliation as he waddled through the party.
What mattered to him, and his surprisingly easily distracted mind, was that he blew his chance at being a grown-up.
Author's Note
While working on this chapter, I realized just how difficult it is to describe music in writing. Sure you have the blunt verbs and descriptors like "the music was loud" or "the music had heavy brass", but capturing the FEEL of the music or properly describing the atmosphere the music provides is incredibly difficult. Because music can be more than just vibrating noise waves.
I still don't think I captured exactly what I was aiming for. I did however find Johann Strauss's Emperor Waltz quite fitting to the atmosphere I was looking for.
A shrill school bell rang overhead, shaking Mix-Up awake. A bead of drool on the tip of his muzzle dribbled onto the desk below as he pulled himself upright. A blurry scene of a classroom stung his drowsy eyes as he straightened up. He rubbed his eyes into focus and did his best not to stretch his hooves in the air out of instinct. He was never the biggest fan of mornings. Then again he was having trouble sleeping lately.
It didn’t help that Mrs. Hackney’s World History class was the first class of the day and was probably the most boring class any high school student could imagine. Her lectures were always long winded, she presented the material with a dry and monotone voice, and she gave out homework assignment after homework assignment with no end in sight. Staying awake enough to absorb any of the material she covered in such a class was a challenge all its own.
Still, he had to at least pretend to be interested. More importantly he had to look like he WASN'T fighting the urge to fall asleep. Mrs. Hackney loved to prey on students who weren’t paying attention. The moment it looked like you were distracted, she’d call you out and make you answer impossibly difficult questions in front of everyone else. The old bat seemed to revel in it.
Another yawn slipped out of his muzzle as he tried to shake the hazy fog that loomed over his head. He needed to focus! Another loud bell screamed in his ear, signaling to any student still in the hall that they were late for class. It was fortunate for him he had arrived early. Still he kind of wished he could have slept in this morning.
For a fleeting moment he wished for a lot of things. More sleep, no history class, maybe even a nice snack to tide over the morning. He wished he didn’t even have to worry about school and could just stay home. At least if he felt tired at home, he could just take a nap. Maybe even a nice bottle of milk to help him sleep. Mommy would always like to...
Like a light switch, an eye widening reality started to dawn on him. The fog on his mind immediately lifted like a memory ice bath. The dance lessons and the banquets, all those meals spent in a high chair and all those diaper changes. Nanny and mommy. All that wasn’t real. THIS was real!
Now everything was REALLY coming back to him. He wasn’t some heir to some richly estate. He had never been to a fancy banquet ball in his entire teenage life! He didn’t need to wear diapers. He was in high school! Yes, he was starting to remember it all now! The dream felt so real until he had finally woken up!
“Hey,” a sharp whisper pined for his attention, derailing his entire journey through self realization. To his left sat a familiar face, doing his best to stealthily grab the other pony’s attention. Good ol’...well he couldn’t quite remember his name right now, but the two of them were good friends! ”You still doing that haunted mansion thing Friday?”
“‘course,” Mix-Up whispered back without thinking. As he thought more about it, plans were conjured up in his mind about this upcoming Friday. He was so occupied with staying awake this morning that he hardly had time to think about such things, but once he started thinking about it more, there it was. His plan to...well he certainly had a plan to do something. That was for sure.
“Lotta the guys are saying you’re gonna chicken out and run off in the first hour.”
“I’m not chickening out,” Mix-Up replied, “you can tell them once I do it, they can look forward to-”
“Citrine!” the teacher called out from the front of the room.
Mix-Up snapped to attention and answered the shout with a panicked, “yes?!” Only seconds after responding, he struggled to understand why he even answered at all. His name wasn’t Citrine...right? It was...Mix-Up? Why didn’t that name sound right?
Mrs. Hackey stood at the head of the class with a snarling scowl, staring Mix-Up down from across the room. “Do we have a problem?” The old mare spoke with a sharp tone, raising her eyebrow at the unwelcomed interruption.
Now other students were starting to look back his way, looking forward to one of the teacher’s famous tongue lashings. Mix-Up felt like he was being singled out, marked as Mrs. Hackney's newest victim.
“N-no, ma’am,” Mix-Up stammered back.
“Then maybe you can tell the class who it was who invented the printing press.”
“O-of course!” Mix-Up replied, partially relieved. He was confident in knowing THAT. “A properly dressed gentlecolt!”
A loud silence fell over the room as the teacher paused. A few stifled laughs could be heard from distant corners of the classroom as her brow furrowed a puzzled furrow. “A...what?” she asked, caught rather off guard by such an unexpected answer.
Mix-Up felt the foundation of his confidence begin to shake as the teacher raised an eyebrow at her answer. He was sure that that answer was correct. He was so sure of it! He shrunk back a bit in his seat as he repeated his answer that he was so confident in seconds ago. “a...properly dressed gentlecolt...?”
Now the stifled laughs turned into giggles as the class was stirred by the exchange. Even Mrs. Hackney had to stifle a laugh as she cleared her throat and turned back toward him. “The printing press was invented by...a properly dressed gentlecolt?”
Mix-Up shrunk back even deeper into his seat as his ears drooped. Now he wasn’t too sure about his answer. Did he get it wrong?
“Alright, Citrine, maybe that one was a little hard for you,” Mrs. Hackney sighed, “what were the first words transmitted by the telegraph?”
“Mommy, I need a diapee change?” Mix-Up mumbled from his seat. He was less confident about that answer.
The answer agitated the rest of the class into an uproar. Now they were outwardly LAUGHING at the pegasus. That just made Mix-Up scowl. He was confident his answer was right this time.
“But I DO need a diaper change!” Mix-Up shouted at the class, “I do!”
“You need a diaper for that!” his friend next to him said.
Hearing this, Mix-Up looked down and found himself wearing a pair of blue jeans which was...normal for him to wear, right? A warmth was suddenly starting to fill his crotch, not soaking into the denim, but instead inflating it like a balloon. The warmth continued to inflate his pants before a gush of water began spraying out the pants’ waistline. The water then rushed out across his lap, pooling on his chair before pouring over and splashing loudly against the linoleum floor.
The water continued to pour off the chair, seemingly unending as the students seemed to surround poor Mix-Up with their laughter. Soon the torrents of splashing mixed with the laughter as both sounds rose in strength and volume. More water rushed by as laughter turned into high hysterics. Before long the two sounds swirled around Mix-Up, overpowering every other sense.
The world around the pegasus grew dark as his vision was overwhelmed. Touch and smell became mute and all that could be parsed was the laughter and the water.
The sounds grew even stronger until there was nothing else left.
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
Citrine woke up with a start. Seconds after waking, the ridiculous high-school scene evaporated in his mind and he returned to reality. Wooden bars surrounded him as the soft crinkle of his diaper reminded him of his comfort. The only thing left from it all was a fast beating heart and worried sweat on his brow.
He sat up to catch his breath and regain his bearings. His head felt like it was swimming. He was still in his crib, he was still in his diapers. He hugged his soft sheep plushie against his chest and took in deep breaths. It was just a dream...But it felt so real.
Or was this the dream? He was still trying to wake up, but this thought managed to break through the fog. Was he supposed to be sleeping in a crib and wearing diapers? All of that certainly felt right to him. It all felt comforting at least. Laying there in the dimly lit room, what little he could remember of that high school felt so strange to him. It felt so alien and so ill fitting. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, whatever it was.
“Good morning, little one,” the beaming smile of Madame Jewel appeared over him like the morning sun.
“G’morning, mommy,” he reflexively replied as he rubbed his eyes. A smile grew on his muzzle as he stretched his waking limbs in a mess of directions. He felt happy to see his mommy and above all else, THAT felt real. This surely wasn’t the dream. All that school nonsense must have all been some strange nightmare. The more he thought about it, the less such a situation made sense. Why would he go to school when he already had lessons with his nanny? But at least his mommy was here. He never had nightmares when she was around.
He propped himself up with shaky hooves and took a look around. Past the bars of his crib stretched a nursery. His nursery. There was the changing table - his changing table - along with his toys and closet and dresser. Everything was where it should be. Even his sailor suit he wore to the party gathered in a neat and folded pile on a chair - minus the pants - seemed to be in its proper place.
Then he remembered with a gasp. “The party!”
“The party was last night, little one,” Madame Jewel replied, “you were so tired from all that dancing that I hardly got you changed before you fell asleep.”
Changed. Dancing. The words hung over Citrine’s head like storm clouds as the brittled excitement melted off his little feathered wings. “Oh...”
“There’s no need to feel so glum, my dear,” Madame Jewel cooed, “accidents happen.” She gave the colt a reassuring pat on the head. “Besides, I have some fun games we can play today that’ll take your mind completely off of last night’s mishaps.”
Madame Jewel helped Citrine out of his crib and then helped him out of his night time diaper. The heavy diaper hung off his waist like a weighted reminder as his waking mind pieced together last night. It was supposed to be his chance to prove to mommy that he was a grown up and not a baby. In his mind he hoped that maybe he had finally earned his big boy pants. Afterall, he had been pining for big boy pants for...weeks? Or was it months? Years? However long, he had been doing his best to act like a proper gentlecolt, but last night ended all those hopes and dreams.
Still, it felt nice to be rid of that cold and clammy nighttime diaper. Once his mommy changed him out of it, the stale whiff of old urine was replaced by the fluffy scent of baby powder. He may not have graduated to gentlecolt status, but at least mommy was there to clean him up and get rid of that uncomfortable clinginess. He found comfort in that at the very least.
“I’ve already set the table for our first game,” Madame Jewel cooed as she helped him off the changing table, “we can play tea party!”
Off to the side of the room sat a squat round table with four stout chairs around it. The table was dressed in a bright pink table cloth that had a frilly fringe. Pearly white tea cups, plates, and placemats were set for four. In the center sat a round, pink hued tea pot accompanied with matching sugar bowl and creamer pitcher. To Citrine, it almost looked like an actual real tea party if it wasn’t for the plate of freshly baked cookies that sat next to the tea pot, which he honestly didn’t mind the addition. One of the seats was already occupied by a purple rabbit plushie that stared back at Citrine and Madame Jewel with glossy black eyes.
“Tea party?” Citrine repeated and mulled over the words. Did he like tea parties? Was that something he usually did? He wasn’t sure.
“And I’ve picked out just the most darling outfit for you to wear to our little party!” Madame Jewel chirped as she revealed the outfit.
It was a frilly dress with a low hemline, something that looked like a princess dress to Citrine. Primarily made up of pinks and whites, the well made dress had many layers of lightweight fabric making up its flowy bottom half while its upper half was form fitting with poofy sleeves. And it was just his size.
"B-but I usually don't..." Citrine's words trailed off as he momentarily lost track of what he was saying.
"Let's just pretend for today, sweetheart," Madame Jewel swooped in and said, "today we'll play princesses and tea parties! Just for a little bit, alright?" She smiled at the colt, a smile so lovely and glowing that after a while Citrine couldn’t help but reciprocate.
“Okay,” he replied with a bashful smile.
“Wonderful, then let’s get you ready!” his mommy replied, ushering him over to a nearby large mirror.
In the mirror stared back a beautiful mare dressed in a loose green day gown and a young colt in nothing but a diaper. Citrine blushed slightly at the sight of his reflection. Seeing himself in such an infantile state really drove home the fact that he wasn’t as grown up as he had hoped. Even his wings seemed small and frail these days, incapable of supporting his weight if he even knew how to fly. The more he looked at the weak feathered limbs, the more he hugged his sheep plushie to his chest for comfort. With a gentle squeeze of the soft toy, he felt less and less concerned with how not grown up he looked.
“What's your little friend’s name?” Madame Jewel asked as she eyed the stuffed animal that the colt had held idly against his chest this whole time.
Citrine looked down at the sheep plushie and only needed a second to answer. “Wooly,” he replied. For a moment he could have sworn he still needed to come up with a name for the toy, but now it all suddenly materialized in his mind as if it had always had a name.
Madame Jewel just smiled down at the colt. "Well then I’ll just put Wooly over here and he can join us when you’re all dressed, alright?" she gently pulled Wooly out of Citrine’s arms and carried it over to the tea table where he joined the purple rabbit.
“Mhmm,” was all Citrine replied with. That sounded nice. Wooly really liked tea parties.
Moments later he watched himself in the mirror as his mommy dressed him up. Piece by piece the outfit of pinks and whites were assembled around his body, cloaking his boyish frame with feminine fabrics and lace. His mommy took great strides ensuring everything was tied up neatly, every seam was straight, and every new part of the ensemble was delicately added.
“Absolutely adorable! You make such a good little girl,” Madame Jewel complimented, stepping forward to plant a kiss on the colt's forehead.
Guided by the hoof, Citrine was led back to the tea table where the plushies and plate of cookies waited. He carefully sat his poofy, princessly dressed behind at a vacant chair. His mommy, on the other hand, took her place opposite of him.
“Oh where are my manners,” Madame Jewel broke the silence with a chuckle, “allow me to introduce you to our guests! You’ve already met Sir Wooly, but this is Madame Bunbun Cottontail.” She gestured down to the little bunny plush, presenting the toy like she would any other noble. “Sir Wooly and Madame Bunbun Cottontail, this is Princess Citrine.”
Citrine blushed bashfully at this glowing introduction. He did feel rather proud to be introduced with such prestige. “H-hello, Madame Bunbun,” he shyly said, feeling kind of silly talking to a toy.
“She much prefers Madame Bunbun Cottontail,” Madame Jewel cooed.
“S-sorry...Hello...Madame Bunbun Cottontail,” Citrine replied.
“She would be honored if you had the first cookie, Princess Citrine,” his mommy went on.
Citrine happily obliged, eagerly snatching the first warm cookie from the pile and taking a big happy bite into its freshly baked deliciousness. In his haste he had almost forgotten something. “Th-thank you, Madame Bunbun Cottontail,” he nodded to the purple plushie who didn’t seem to mind that he spat a few crumbs her way.
“Very good,” Madame Jewel praised. As the colt enjoyed his treat, she turned to the tea pot and filled each cup with cold milk.
Obviously Citrine was expecting tea to be served at this tea party, but milk was a welcomed improvement and he oh so happily enjoyed gulping it down to wash the crumbs of his first cookie down. He munched down the first cookie in only a few bites and then - with his mommy’s permission of course - gleefully helped himself to another. It seemed that his mommy allowed him to have as many cookies and as much milk as he wanted so long as he engaged with the other guests at the tea party.
Despite his initial reservations, playing tea party with his mommy was an incredibly fun experience. He felt silly at first, having to pretend to sip milk like it was tea and talking to the seated stuffed animals like they were real, but as time went on that all seemed to evaporate. Not having the pressures of being a properly dressed gentlecolt had a relaxing effect on him. Conversation with the stuffed animals, no matter how one sided they might have been, was much more stimulating to the young colt.
He found that tea parties were easier when it came to etiquette and manners. Compared to last night's regal ball, the guests had less about them that you could get wrong. Stuffed animals didn’t seem to mind if he giggled too much or spilled milk on his dress. They didn’t give him any strange looks and he didn’t have to remember a seemingly endless list of procedures and rules of being a polite pony.
None of that mattered here. Just last night he had the pressures of being heir to the Jewel estate and had a whole family’s worth of expectations on his shoulders. Because of that he was rigorously trained to walk without slouching, taught how to dance to dozens of songs, and learned the difference between countless different types of silverware. All that knowledge and expectation took its toll on the young pony.
But none of that mattered around the tea table. All he had to do was enjoy himself.
Soon he found himself holding full fledged discussions with Sir Wooly and Madame Bunbun Cottontail and enthusiastically slurping the pretend tea like it was a fine vintage. He was starting to really enjoy himself. Good company, good cookies, plus mommy was playing with him. Things couldn’t’ve been better,
About half way through his fifth cookie, however, Citrine was suddenly overcome with a terrible cramp and his body suddenly focused on the strong urge to push out this building pressure that was starting to swell in his lower gut. It didn’t matter that he had the other tea party guests as a captivated audience, instinct had won the battle of wits. He hardly had time to even put down his cookie before hopping up to his feet and squatting.
It was over as quickly as it started. One moment he was refreshing Sir Wooly’s drink and the next he was soiling himself in front of the party guests. When he was finally able to pull himself up from the embarrassing squat of his, a heated weight now tickled his backside. A squishy, semi-firm lump that made him feel rather unprincessy.
He looked up to see his mommy staring back at him, their eyes locking for a moment as color drained from his face. This was bad! This was bad! Citrine knew that messy diapers were a very bad thing for him to do! He should have done something about it! He should have gone to the potty or told his mommy about it! ANYTHING but what he just did!
He was going to get punished for this. He just knew it. His nanny always told him colts his age shouldn’t mess themselves like he just did. Colts his age shouldn’t have accidents. Colts his age should use the potty. And he just knew his mommy was going to be just as strict. He just couldn’t predict what sort of punishment was deserving of such a terrible thing. No dessert for a week? Three hours in the corner? Five hundred spankings over the knee?! Terror slowly dawned on the pony as he started to dread what his mommy had to say.
“Oh dearie me,” Madame Jewel said to herself.
“I-I’m so sorry!” Citrine exclaimed, very nearly in tears. “I-it was an accident! I swear! I’m sorry!”
“Shh shh shh, calm down sweetie,” Madame Jewel consoled the colt, “it’s just a stinky diaper,”
Citrine was taken aback. ‘Just a stinky diaper’? Now that was certainly strange. He could recall a time when a stinky diaper was more than enough reason to get a spanking and sent to his room with no dessert. At the very least he was sure he was supposed to be scolded for such a thing.
But Madame Jewel didn’t seem all that upset with him. In fact, after the initial shock, she all but ignored his messy diaper and returned to sipping her little tea glass of milk like everything was all copacetic with the world. When he managed to overcome his dread and worry, Citrine did his best returning to the party as well.
It felt strange sitting back down and rejoining the festivities after his accident. He returned to his place at the table even as a sticky muck oozed against his backside underneath his dress. He could swear Sir Wooly and Madame Bunbun Cottontail could smell his messy diaper from their seats, but they never said anything about it. They were either too polite or weren’t all that concerned about it. And after a while, Citrine felt less concerned about it as well. Afterall it was just a stinky diaper.
It was tough to say how long they played. After Citrine’s accident, the party went along much like it did early that morning...or was it the afternoon... Either way, Citrine was allowed more cookies and more milk just like before, even if now he asked for such things with an earthy stench wafting out from under his dress. The cookies were still fresh and soft and the milk tasted just as good. Maybe even better knowing that he was indulging in such a treat while wearing a stinky diaper.
After a while, the cookies started to run out and the milk was running low. As he finished his last cookie, Citrine let out a yawn and was suddenly very tired. Even in the daze of his delightful sugar crash, he found this rather strange. It felt like he had just woken up. It was only late morning...or early afternoon...or maybe late afternoon, but he suddenly felt like he was in dire need of a nap. He let out another yawn.
“I think some little princess needs a diaper change before their nap,” Madame Jewel finally said, gracefully setting down her tea cup.
Citrine couldn’t help but agree. “But...I just woke up?” he mumbled between sleepy yawns. Even he didn’t feel all that confident in such a claim.
“Frequent naps are important for a growing colt,” his mommy assured him, "we can play some other time.”
With that, they once again returned to the changing table. Citrine was then meticulously undressed, leaving him once again in only a diaper. Now the stench of his messy diaper was undeniable and even made his nose instinctively curl at such a strong smell. Yet his mommy didn’t bat an eye. She didn’t gag or plug her nose, she just helped him out of his cute princess dress and onto the changing table like it was all so routine for the two of them.
The diaper change was just as routine. Once the young colt was guided down onto the table, his diaper was whisked away and the area was cleaned up before a fresh one was taped on. One moment he was wallowing in a mucky, smelly, plastic shelled garment and the next he was wrapped in a soft, fresh one that smelled of baby powder. Clearly it was something his mommy did quite regularly.
“Weather’s getting a little cold outside so I have one more little surprise for you,” Madame Jewel smiled as she unfolded a footed sleeper, revealing it to the colt with showy flare.
The sleeper was made of a soft gray fabric with little drawings of sheep scattered all over it. A metal zipper ran across its back while little snapping buttons lined the backside and inner thighs of the legs. It was an adorably infantile cross between a sleeper and a costume and even had cute little lamb ears stitched into its attached hood.
“You’ll stay nice and warm all snuggled up in this!” his mommy went on, opening the outfit up.
She took the lead in dressing the young colt up in the new outfit. Citrine meanwhile obediently complied as his mommy threaded his hooves into the soft confines of the new sleeper. The ambient cold around them - which he somehow didn’t notice until now - was quickly chased away as he was dressed. With one final pull of the outfit’s zipper, he soon found himself wrapped in the ever so soft fabric
He was now all set to go to sleep. He felt sleepy. He felt relaxed. He felt...safe. He felt like he never wanted to take the sleeper off ever. Already he was yawning more than he had in the past hour. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was apparently.
Taking his mother’s lead, the mare helped him off the table and back into the crib that felt just as warm and inviting as it was when he crawled out of it earlier that morning...or was it yesterday.
“Have sweet dreams, little one,” Madame Jewel cooed as she kissed the colt’s forehead and pulled the crib’s gate up into place.
“G’night,” Citrine tried his best to say, but was constantly caught off guard by groggy yawns and a sluggish mind. He wanted to say more than that. Maybe even play a little, but as he snuggled into the many layers of blankets that filled his crib, he felt more and more sleepy.
Tomorrow...or later today even...was a brand new day for the young colt. He would just have to try again tomorrow.
Author's Note
Betchya thought I forgot about this story, huh? For some reason I just had trouble getting this chapter finished and finalized. My muse just wouldn’t cooperate and I had to really force myself to get this chapter finished. After mulling over the notes I had for it and trying to add to it more and more every time I looked at it, I'm just happy to finally be done with it.
Look forward to maybe another chapter or two before I can call this story complete!
