When A Filly Finds Him(her?) Self
This is Pain.
You're not new to pain though. You've experienced it before. A scrape here, a cut there. A broken bone or two, stomach aches, toothaches, and the like. The pain that you're feeling now isn't a new pain either. The headache you have now is a kind you've experienced more often than you can remember. It's your bodies' way of telling you that you had way too much to drink last night.
The incessant throbbing of your temples is the first thing to stir you from your slumber. Coupled with this pain is a sense of mild confusion. You don't remember getting into bed, or getting home for that matter. You can hardly think with how much your head is throbbing. In all honesty, you've probably never been this hung over in your life. Your head feels like it is going to explode. You thought you had experienced hell on earth before, but this level of hurt is making you reconsider that.
At least you made it to a bed, and you didn't have to open your eyes to know it wasn't yours. It was much to soft and comfortable. The caress of the soft silky sheets wrap you in a warm embrace. It's pleasant, but still doesn't do much to alleviate your pain. You wish you could just lie here all day. Or, at least until the pain went away. Deep down you know that isn't rational or feasible. In fact, finding some pain medication should be your top priority. And water, your throat is parched. "My Kingdom for a Horse," but in your case, a glass of water. You agonizingly grunt and rustle around in sheets in a futile attempt to will the pain away long enough to embark on your aquatic quest.
"Ugh...Fuc-!"
You cut yourself off mid-curse. Something doesn't feel right, or sound right for that matter. Your voice... its very wrong. It feels like someone else's voice just came out of your mouth, but you know you spoke the words yourself. It's a little jarring to say the least. It's absolutely not you. It sounds more than just a few octaves higher. It sounds... feminine. How much did you have to drink last night, and how bad is it fucking with your sense of reality right now? You try to piece together the events of the previous night in your head, but that proves to bear no fruit. They are the least of your worries right now anyway.
You try pulling the covers off of your head, but your arms don't seem to be working. Your entire being feels foreign to you, as if you're just piggybacking in someone else's body. A feeling that would leave any sane person ill at ease, and you certainly don't feel at ease. A sense of dread fills you as you begin flailing in an attempt to escape the capture of the sheets. It is a struggle, but you manage to get the covers off of your face, and take in a breath of fresh air.
A sunlit morning pierces its way through windows wrapped in sets of vibrant purple curtains that line the walls, and you soon find yourself squinting in pain without the protection the bed sheet previously offered you. You make a mental note that you're never going to drink again. With eyes shut, you do the best you can to get the bedding off of your body and sit yourself up. By the time you can stand to open your eyes, you wish you hadn't.
You're greeted by the sight of green fur. Green. Fur. And its on you.
What the hell is this? What the hell is going on? Are you hallucinating? Did someone spike your drink with a little something extra? That would probably explain a lot. You move your arms up and down to test them, but you're greeting by a complete lack of hands. In their place is a pair of green stumps. Now you're officially freaked out. Where the fuck are your hands? As you look in a state of shock, you can't help but notice they look like...
"Hooves?"
You gasp in surprise as the foreign voice leaves your throat. You hope this weirdo trip ends soon. Hearing a voice other then your own coming out of your own mouth is unsettling. You attempt to flex your fingers, but watch as nothing happens with your new appendages. It is simultaneously frightening and fascinating. You clap your new hooves together, and they make a mild clopping sound.
You're broken from your limb observing trance by the click of an opening door. Quickly glancing up, you see the ornate door to your temporary bedroom opening, and a strange creature walking though the doorway. It looks like a walking lizard with purple and green scales. That isn't the strangest thing about it though. Its wearing a pink apron, and carrying a feather duster. And humming a tune. What the fuck. Before you can process what the hell you're seeing, your eyes meet.
"O-oh! I didn't realize Twilight had company! S-sorry I barged in." It stammers.
It quickly does an about face and scurries back the way it came, closing the door behind it.
Who, or rather what the hell was that? You feel your jaw hanging open, and close your mouth in realization. Something is seriously not right here. Part of you is convinced you're actually lying in a hospital bed tripping out on a myriad of medicinal treatments. You look around the room in an attempt to verify your suspicions.
The wall opposite to your bed is lined with curtained windows, with various ornate pieces of furniture. A dresser, a table and chairs, bookshelves, a vanity, and an armoire populate convenient places throughout the room. One doors flanks the bed in the center of the wall to your right, with another dominating the wall to your left. The walls seem to be made of a crystalline texture, patterned in a way that reminds you of a tree trunk. It feels like the room was carved out of the trunk of a massive crystal redwood tree. You're actually surprised that your drugged mind has such an exquisite imagination.
Your gaze meets the vanity mirror that faces the bed on the opposite wall, and that's when you let out the girliest scream you thought you could ever have mustered.
