Changing Your Tune

Chapters

Chapter 1: The Has Been
Chapter 2: The Starving Artist
Chapter 3: The Broken Record
Chapter 4: The Cover Song

Chapter 1: The Has Been

“I guess the question we should be asking ourselves is, does she even have an audience to return to at this point?”

The radio in the corner cracked as a burst of static muffled the next bit of what the announcer was saying. Vibrant Tone closed her eyes, waiting restlessly for the connection to reestablish itself - it taking a bit too long for her liking.

There was probably a spike of magical energy nearby causing some interference, and Vibrant had no way of knowing how long it would take for it to dissipate. She couldn’t help grumbling to herself about how this never would have happened a few years ago—back when she would stay in the hotels of uptown Manehattan, surrounded by the glitz and glamour of the city. Those hotels had radios with reinforced wiring so meticulously engineered that they would have probably managed a clear signal straight through Princess Cadenza’s Canterlot Wedding.

By the looks of it, her current radio could be taken out by a unicorn foal levitating a ball outside the window.

“I mean, they’re calling it a comeback album, but at this point she might as well be starting from scratch,” a voice said, the radio signal coming back to life. “No new music for years, no appearances? No concerts? No shows?”

“Not that her last performances were anything to write home about either,” said a deeper voice, causing Vibrant to grimace. She remembered those performances all too well. She knew they were correct in their assessment.

“Right, so, bad last impression, then silence for years while the rest of the music world has kept on moving. Songbird Serenade and Sapphire Shores have been on fire the last few years, not to mention Coloratura dominating as both the Countess and Rara. And that’s without getting into the explosion of music genres and collaborations like “Symphonic Music Machine” by DJ-Pon3 and Octavia Philharmonica. I just don’t think there’s anything for her to come back to at this point.”

“See, that’s where I disagree,” that second voice jumped back in. “You have to be curious about this new album right? I mean, she’s taken years to write it and it’s already been delayed twice. You may say no one cares, but we’re on air right now talking about it. If anything, I think this album has a lot to live up to in terms of hype.”

A dry chuckle escaped Vibrant at this.

“If there’s so much hype, then explain to me why no one is bothering to buy tickets to her show at the Rustic Stable tonight?”

“That dive bar? That’s your answer right there. That’s a warm up performance at best. A trial run. No way we’re going to see any new content tonight. No, the show to look out for is going to be her performance at the Manehattan Theater for Luna’s Festival of the Arts Celebration a month from now. A bunch of singers, each performing a single song? A chance to perform for a bunch of mixed audiences, especially those who came to see someone else? If she’s going to generate hype for her album, that’s where it’s going to happen. I’ll bet you anything.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, let’s take some calls. Are you excited for the return of Vibrant Tone? Do you think that her new album is ever going to actually come out? Or are you just confused about who in Equestria we are talking about? To call in, attune your messages to—”

The radio abruptly shut off, a sharp click resounding through the room as Vibrant turned the radio knob with her magic.

She used to love listening to the people call in. In fact, it used to be her favorite part of the radio appearances, getting to sit there in the studio and read the messages as they came in, but listening to them over the radio was almost as good. Or at least it had been in better days.

Now she could hardly stand to listen.

And it wasn’t so much that she feared negative commentary or even the apathy that was honestly more likely to arrive. No. Even positive comments were hard to listen to.

They reminded her too much of better times.

A phantom hunger rippled through her stomach and she clenched her teeth as her hoof rested on her abdomen. And yet it disappeared as soon as it started.

Of course it did. She hadn’t actually been hungry in quite a while.

Nope, not going there, she thought, finally sitting up in her bed.

The simple action was enough to bring everything back into focus. The scattered papers all over the floor, the smell of alcohol that permeated the room (mostly coming from the pile of empty bottles in the trash can), and the stack of mail resting on the vanity desk by the mirror. Outside she could hear people yelling, laughing, and despite the closed blinds plenty of light still managed to permeate into the room.

By her estimation, it was probably close to noon. She had slept in. But hey, part of her hadn’t been planning on waking up at all so, in some ways, she had woken up early. Chalk it up to the radio being left on overnight, she mused.

Deciding to deal with her natural needs first, she began heading towards the restroom.

The light flickered as she turned it on. The room was cramped. She was pretty sure there was mold on the shower wall. She shuddered.

“When did things get this bad?”

You know when.

She violently shook her head to clear her thoughts. She then took care of her business as quickly as possible. After washing her hooves, she splashed some water on her face to little effect. She sighed.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she was forced to confront the room again. Her instinct to burrow somewhere and hide in shame was strong.

The radio ponies had said that her new album had a lot to live up to. If they could only see it now, scattered across half written pages all over a cheap carpet floor—trampled underhoof as she walked within the confines of the hotel room. The pages were tattered. They were dyed by spilled drinks. And, more than anything, they were worthless.

Back in the day she would have filled each of these pages, front and back, before carefully filing them away in folders. Back in the day the ideas would not stop flowing, and it was all she could do to contain them, to capture them, to keep them from spilling out and going to waste. Back in the day she had been hungry, starving even. And that hunger had driven her to lengths most artists could not even imagine.

That hunger had led her to sky-rise condos and sea-side villas. It had led her to the top of the charts and the finest of tables. It had opened doors to contracts and sold out stadiums. It had paved a road lined with comfort and luxury—and hunger, yes; but the hunger had earned its keep.

That was a long time ago, she reminded herself looking at the peeling paint by the door.

She hadn’t been hungry in quite some time.

Looking over the letters, she couldn’t help but think as well that she never used to let the mail pile up this much either.

Stop it, she thought.

One of the letters was already opened, the one from her label letting her know her reservation details for this hotel.

That had been an awkward meeting, more of a dance than a conversation. Vibrant had once learnt that, in dealing with record labels, you had to pay more attention to what went unsaid than what was said. There was plenty to pay attention to that day.

The hotel had been booked due to its closeness to the Rustic Stable for her convenience. The fact that this squarely put the hotel in the “wrong side of town” definitely went unsaid, as did the fact that the label was unwilling to spend any more money on her than absolutely necessary anymore.

Their understanding at her need for a second extension for the album was stated, their unwillingness to grant her a third was not.

They even brought up how eager they were to see her performance at the Manehattan Theater, while failing to mention her contract re-evaluation two days after that.

And yet, everything that went unsaid was understood by Vibrant Tone. Each message was abundantly clear. Not that it had helped to motivate her any. Not that anything could anymore.

She began opening the rest of the letters.

One was from her bank, letting her know she was dangerously close overdrafting again.

Nothing new there.

Another was from the Manehattan Theater, letting her know about the load-in times and itinerary for the day of that performance. There was one from the hotel itself, reminding guests about their rules, including their most often violated ones: no parties in the hotel, no drugs in the premises, no loud noises after 9 pm - the usual crap. There had been one earlier with the details for tonight’s performance, but that had been discarded the day before. 10 pm. 35-minute set. Show up 30 minutes early to set up.

Which left the fan letters.

Ever since the announcement of her new album over a year ago, letters had started coming in again. At first they had arrived in bunches of thirty at a time. Over time that number began to dwindle to where now she could reliably expect to only get two or three a week, probably due to her never responding.

In her defense, it was hard to answer letters when you never opened any of them.

Vibrant picked up one of the unsealed envelopes at random and scanned it.

No stamp. No return address. Just a handwritten scrawl on the face of the envelope

To: Vibrant Tone

From: Honeysuckle

Not even a mailing address, Vibrant remembered thinking when she had first received this letter, a sign that the envelope had been hoof delivered to the record label building. The letter had looked different when it had first been forwarded to her, lacking the stain that was either beer or vomit, the creases from traveling from place to place, and the small tear at the top right corner where Vibrant had once begun to open the envelope before stopping herself. That had to have been over a month ago.

Vibrant Tone was, of course, no stranger to fan mail. She still remembered her first letter and the burst of energy that came from reading the words of love and admiration held within. She had memories of rushing home on mail days, knowing there would be a pile of letters waiting for her, ripping into them with gluttonous abandon. She remembered writing back. She remembered meeting the fans who wrote to her. She remembered. She remembered. She remembered.

Shrippp

A small yelp escaped her lips as the sound of paper ripping startled her from her thoughts. In her hooves was the now torn-in-half letter, envelope and all. It took a moment further for the anger to really settle into her skin.

That was something else she had lost. She had met fans since then. Read letters since then. And she had gotten nothing out of it, just the same complacency that followed her day in and day out through her mediocre existence.

As she tossed the scraps of paper to the floor, she decided she would not be reading any fan letters today. She would not be reading this letter at all.

She took a glance at the clock. 12:50. Still too early. And with the way her mood was going, it was only bound to get worse from here.

You should be songwriting.

The stray thought stopped her for a second before she turned on a dime and began to rummage through the bags laying at her bedside. From within she pulled an unopened bottle of whiskey and a pill container.

Her choices at this point were to try to spend the day writing, to spend her day chasing a spark that had long since faded, or to go back to sleep.

Not really a choice when one stopped to think about it.

She dry swallowed a hoof-full of pills, as she had done many times before, and began chasing them down with a few swigs of the whiskey. The alcohol bit into her throat but she stifled her reaction, letting the burn slowly settle within her stomach.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wishing she could feel the effects of what she had just done, but there was nothing. Probably by the same virtue of physiology that stopped this same act from being dangerous for her, she was unable to experience the feeling of being drunk and the feeling of being high. In some way, she figured it balanced out. All it would do is knock her out for a few hours. She would probably wake up at around 8 or 9, feeling worse for wear but overall ok.

That said, she had just woken up, meaning it would take a bit more than usual to put her to sleep. And so, she continued drinking.

Slowly she felt a haze begin to cloud her mind and blur her vision. She could tell it was working. However, the haze did not arrive alone. Along with it came a stream of memories of things that had once been.

Memories of pushing herself to be the best. Of staying up for days to finish a composition. Of playing a show at a different city every single night for months on end and looking forward to the next stop. Memory after memory after memory flashed across her visage in quick succession as tears began to form.

The world then began to tilt and she knew it was coming.

She caught a flicker of movement and a flash of light at the corner of her vision. She turned to look and found the mirror in which she saw the tell tale signs, as embers of green flame danced around her. The flames licked her mane and features before the spell failed altogether, revealing not the cream colored unicorn with a caramel mane, but rather the changeling concealed within.

In seeing herself, Vibrant Tone could not help but to feel frustrated that her last moments of consciousness would be filled with anger and disappointment.

She studied her reflection with disgust, her lemon-yellow carapace, the lack of fangs making her feel toothless, defenseless. And those eyes...

Oh, how she hated those eyes.

So sad. So full of pity. Devoid of purpose.

Devoid of hunger.

Author's Note

Once again, y'all can blame/thank Krickis for getting me into writing again. I wouldn't have the motivation without her support.

Chapter 2: The Starving Artist

As Arista came to consciousness, she was only aware of two things.

The first was that the world was ending. The second was that she was dying.

The woods that surrounded her were actually surprisingly tranquil and still. Her crash landing had spooked most of the surrounding wildlife, scattering them from the area, meaning there was an eerie lack of chirping and rustling in the leaves and undergrowth. The wind itself was calm, removing the rustling of branches from the equation. Instead, a stagnant air settled in through the area, oppressive and motionless—a sharp contrast to the cacophony in her mind.

The hivemind was shrieking.

Too dazed to disconnect from it, Arista was forced to listen on as howls of agony and anguish traveled across great distances directly into her.

One voice, then three, then ten, thirty-seven, fifty-five; a rising chorus of voices mangled together each pleading for attention and aid.

Those were the lucky ones, the ones that cried out like sirens and murmured like whimpers.

It wasn’t even getting into the ones that flashed like a candlewick and were then muted mid-beg.

The volume was too loud. The pressure was too immense. The meaning of it all—overwhelming.

Please help me!

My legs are gone!

I can’t feel my wings!

Did we lose?

Kill me!

Make it stop!

Arista shook her head, screaming, crying, adding her voice to the collective, reaching through her instincts for a way to disconnect; all to no avail.

And then, suddenly, there was silence.

Arista lay there, panting, and though the sound had all been carried through the hivemind directly into her mind, a phantom pain made her ears sore and tender. Droplets began to splatter beneath her muzzle and she feared herself deafened. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t blood from her ears, but tears.

The relief was short lived. With the hivemind now somehow silent, the changeling could instead focus on her more immediate pains. Sensations of agony from her dislocated limbs, her tattered wing, and her broken ribs overwhelmed her senses, filling the void the noise left behind.

She was on the brink of passing out when a new voice entered her mind.

Attention remaining forces, the voice rasped out. I have disabled your connection to the hivemind in order to mitigate the noise, but I still hear you. You are not alone.

Focusing on her Queen’s voice grounded her. She sounded rough. She sounded hurt.

It was disconcerting.

You are hereby authorized to tap into your love reserves as needed to ensure your survival, the voice then continued. If you are in the southern parts of Equestria, make your way to the hive. If you are too far to travel safely, integrate to a nearby town and await further orders.

The hive... the cracking of the Queen’s voice rang out through the hivemind, the hive has been defeated. For now, your number one directive is to survive at all costs. The rest will come later.

Arista waited for a moment more but no other words followed. Closing her eyes she expended as much love energy as she dared at once, grimacing as the magic realigned her bones and reattached her chitin. Flash after flash of green energy illuminated the clearing, a small yelp accompanying sharp pops and clicks as her body mended.

When it was all done, she was left exhausted, drained, and hungry.

I’ve exhausted more energy than I thought I would, she mused to herself, feeling faint. She attempted to stand and found herself unable. Looking around for the first time, she noticed the true depth of the crater she was in, the broken branches leading up to her resting place.

I shouldn’t be alive. Not that she had much life left at this point. Whatever love energy was sustaining her still would be drained before too long. Sure, she had her orders but, at this point, no one would be able to tell whether she gave up and died or whether the hunger finally overtook her.

Starvation was a bad way to go, but she had now felt worse.

Hunger, she thought. She could feel it growing, even now as every other sense dulled and faded. Her oldest feeling, the first for any changeling, was that of hunger. Canterlot had been a way out of this hunger. Fitting that this is how I should go.

She closed her eyes and held her stomach.

And yet, the hunger did not take her. As it grew and grew, so did the ache in her body. Her core wept for relief, for food, for something. Without noticing it, a hoof moved forward, then another. Her body was weak, her limbs shook, but they supported her weight—that was enough for now.

She crawled out of the crater.

“Oh now, don’t be like that.”

Candy pouted the same way she always did when her girlfriend was being difficult—cheeks puffed out, brow furrowed, but a dancing playful gleam in her eyes betrayed her emotions.

Avoid eye contact. Awkward cough. Tilt head. Stop walking. Answer with self-deprecation.

“I just don’t want to torture the other ponies there, love,” Mirror Image said. “Karaoke is one thing. Everypony’s drunk and I’m guaranteed to find a worse singer than me. Open mics though?”

Candy rolled her eyes and used her magic to nudge the pegasus in the direction of the concert hall.

“It’ll be fun though,” she whined. “Everyone knows it’s just for fun, so no one’s going to judge us too harshly. And we’re basically here already.”

Roll your eyes. Show annoyance. Keep moving anyway.

“Yeah, go figure.”

“Besides,” Candy said, stopping unexpectedly. “Ponies are going to love you. You have a very good singing voice, and the songs you write are super good. At least, I really think so. Just make sure you choose one I haven’t heard before, ok? I want to be surprised.”

Candy gave her girlfriend a quick peck on her cheek and continued walking, but Mirror remained frozen in place.

She was good at singing and writing songs? She wrote songs at all? This was news to her.

She had been planning on going in and singing a cover of that Sapphire Shore song that came out earlier last month. And Mirror Image had a good voice? Since when?

How did I miss that?

Through the rest of their walk, Mirror pondered the situation in silence. Even as they sat down and signed up, she struggled for a solution. Her training told her not to turn down information directly from her mark. Her instincts, however, told her something was off. She was sure she was right, so where was the mismatch?

If only I had more time.

“Up next we have Candy Apple,” a voice said, causing the excitable mare to begin jumping up and down next to Mirror.

“It’s my turn! It’s my turn! Wish me luck!”

Mirror watched as the mare ran to the stage without giving her a chance to do as requested, but that was to be expected.

Good to know some things still made sense.

The song Candy chose was, to no one’s surprise, a love song. Through the entire performance, she maintained eye contact with one specific mare in the audience and Mirror could not help but bask as the love energy radiated invisibly into her body.

She truly had been lucky to find Candy when she did. Baltimare was a tough place in which to find food, but hunger was a powerful motivator. Mirror Image just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. One month of observing the couple, a grocery trip gone wrong for Mirror, and now she had all the food she wanted.

Well, all the food I need, Mirror mused as the song ended. She felt her energy replenish. She felt sustained. But the hunger was still there, as always. No helping that.

Candy left the stage and rushed over to give Mirror a hug, filling her with an extra dose of love. Mirror tried to congratulate her on a great performance but was cut off by an announcement instead.

“Next up, we have Mirror Image.”

Polite applause followed the announcement and she felt herself getting nudged once again by Candy's magic.

And still no answer on what to do.

Out of time and out of desperation, Mirror tapped into her love reserves to subtly enhance her abilities—a temporary boost to brain functions, vocal cord modifications, and improved cardiovascular control.

She viewed the mic with trepidation, taking a calming breath to reorganize her persona.

Mirror Image had a good voice. Mirror Image was a songwriter. Mirror Image would deliver a good performance.

Mirror tapped into the memories of a former life, Accomplished Verse. He had written a lot of lyrics before, many of which would never have been released to the public. No chance of somepony recognizing them here. He picked his favorite song from his time as a lyricist and pulled it into Mirror Image, cementing it in her mind.

She began to sing.

Immediately, she was aware that something was wrong.

No, not wrong.

Emotions were flowing to her, like a gentle river or stream. The song she had chosen was a sad one. A song of loss and thus so were the emotions. She had at first confused them with sadness at her performance, but she now recognized the phenomenon. It was empathy.

Note for note the song continued and the gentle stream flowed on. Every eye was on her. A nervous chill ran through her fur, the improved control over her heart rate being the only thing that kept her composed. She persisted.

When the song ended there was a bit of silence as the river seemed to dry up, followed by a torrent that threatened to bury her in its tide.

Clapping, cheering, whistling, sure; but the noise could not in any way compare to the outpouring of emotion Mirror was receiving. It was love. Love for her singing? For her writing? She couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t matter. Here was an ocean, freely given and so unrelenting she thought she might drown in it.

Almost like…

The image of an expanding pink bubble of concentrated love flashed through her mind causing a slight recoil. If not for her enhancements, she might have visibly panicked. Instead, she managed to blink the memory away.

It was similar though, she thought, drinking in the affection as she walked off the stage, ponies continuing to offer her congratulations. She took in as much as she could. Her hunger would not abade but it didn’t matter. There didn’t seem to be a limit to how much love she could consume.

So much love at once, if I could do this more regularly? If I could get a bigger crowd? Then maybe...

“Mirror?”

She turned around, finding Candy Apple staring at her. There was a frown on her face again but this time the playful gleam in her eyes was gone, replaced by genuine confusion.

“I’ve never heard you sing like that.”

Mirror took in Candy’s aura. Unlike everypony else, there was no warmth here—no sharing of feelings. She was closed off as if talking to a stranger, which in some ways she was.

“I’ve been practicing in secret,” Mirror said, avoiding eye contact, “I was going to show you during our anniversary but, I didn’t wanna make a fool of myself so it sort of came out now. Pretty good, don’t you think?”

Candy nodded, unsure. Surprised.

Mirror felt some of the emotions start flowing again and knew that in time she could fix this little mishap. She could fix this relationship and ensure she had her constant supply again.

If she wanted to.

But she was hungry and now she knew there was more food out there to be had.

“You sure you don’t want to come out with us?”

Mic Stand looked around in surprise as all ponies around him reacted to his question with a mix of chuckles, groans, and the shaking of heads, and he couldn’t help blushing as he realized he’d probably asked another obvious question.

Vibrant Tone let out a chuckle of her own.

What can you say? He’s cute for a roadie.

“Cut the kid a break everyone, he doesn’t know,” said Clef Note, the band’s bassist, before addressing Mic directly. “Vibrant isn’t one for the party scene, kid. Too busy writing songs and working hard to make sure we all have jobs to pay our bills.”

“And to pay for Clef’s alimony checks,” some older roadie shouted out.

“I’ve just never seen her take a break since I joined on,” Mic said, looking in awe at Vibrant who was still sitting at her writing desk in the hotel room. “What’s tonight? Eight shows in a row? And after all of them she gets back to work? And on the bus she’s always writing too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sleep. Aren’t you afraid of burning out?”

And like that, the laughter and merriment was snuffed out.

Vibrant continued writing for a bit but watched her crew out of the corner of her eye. The more superstitious of the ponies were glaring at Mic Stand for uttering the words as if he had invoked some ancient curse upon them all. The rest of the roadies and musicians were staring at her with an air of nonchalance, waiting for her response. It was an act though. Sensing their emotions, she could feel their fear, their apprehension. She’d need to set them at ease.

“That interested in watching me sleep, huh?” she winked at Mic. “Ask Fast Riff, it’s not that exciting. I snore something fierce and my bedmane is something to behold.”

A snort, a crack of laughter, a stammering roadie, and the tension dissipated as fast as it started in a chorus of hysterics.

“Can confirm,” Fast Riff said in between howls of laughter. “Being a guitarist gives you a glimpse into the glamorous side of the music biz, but that ain’t it.”

“At least she doesn’t snore as loudly as Brass Tone,” Clef Note said of their former drummer. “When he left, I couldn’t sleep unless somepony in the room was yelling for about 3 months.”

Satisfied at the shift in the atmosphere, Vibrant allowed the ribbing to last for a bit longer before she decided to address the other part of Mic’s comment.

“As for the other thing,” she began, “burning out is for amateurs. I couldn’t relax right now if I wanted to. We all have things that drive us. For Riff, it’s getting drunk and partying after a show. For Clef, it’s finding a third ex-wife. For me, I need to keep writing and performing. So, go have fun for me. Ok? And make sure you’re ready for tomorrow’s show.”

Vibrant had to physically stop herself from swaying as waves of admiration rolled off of Mic Stand and unto her, his eyes widening with each obedient nod of his head.

Behind him, Clef Note rolled his eyes.

“Artists,” he muttered, before yelling to the rest, “allright, you heard the boss lady. Let’s go test the local bars and see if they’re as well stocked as they think they are!”

A loud cheering replied to him and the group of performers and technicians all excited the room, the last of whom closed the door behind them.

Vibrant took a deep breath.

Mic Stand’s right, she thought. The pace has gotten a bit too relentless again. I need to slow it down.

Ever since she got started, it had been her work ethic that had set her aside as a musician. First it was the sheer number of shows she played, one every day of the week at a different venue. No breaks, no days off. It was unheard of and certainly a way to make a name for herself. Any other band or artist would have exhausted the local scene; and yet, it seemed like she always had new songs at every performance. Every show was different and ponies took notice. As she grew from a local act to a national one, her relentless nature turned into non-stop touring and back-to-back albums. She was always in the studio, at a venue, on her tour bus, or at a hotel.

No one could keep up.

Even her own group struggled at times.

Her band and road crew were actually two different groups of ponies formed out of sheer necessity. Ponies liked their off time and this was the only way to ensure they got to see their families. They would switch every leg of a tour or so and take shifts on studio time to keep the load evenly distributed amongst them all, a solution they’d arrived at after Brass Tone announced he couldn’t handle the nonstop schedule anymore.

The only one that stayed on tour full-time was Vibrant herself.

As for her competition? No one could dream of keeping up.

Nopony could keep to her work schedule. Of course, that was because no pony was capable of doing her schedule.

She felt herself grow tired and tapped into her reserves of love for another dose of energy, burning more than was probably responsible. She had already burnt a lot during the performance, after all; enough that she still had a huge dent in her reserves, even with the massive amounts of love she had managed to syphon through the show.

I do have another performance tomorrow though, she shrugged.

As the magic took effect, she felt herself become alert again, felt her muscles heal from the fatigue and soreness. Mic had been right in that she almost never slept anymore, but love could regenerate her mind with a simulated sleep effect—a tactic learnt as a means of prolonging patrols in defense of the hive.

This is how she’d lived for the past few years. An eternal cycle of gaining love and burning magic, chasing a goal that at times seemed tantalizingly close.

Maybe the next song. Maybe the next show.

A knock sounded at her door, which opened almost immediately afterwards.

“Clef? Don’t tell me you got rejected already? You lot just left,” Vibrant said, addressing the bassist standing in the doorway. Or rather, the thing pretending to be her bassist. The more she looked at him the more details seemed off: the lack of emotions coming from him, the passive stare, the rigid stance, the lack of alcohol smell. There was no question about it, changeling.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Clef said, taking a seat on the room’s couch. “Your friend is safe and sound at the bar, flirting with some waitress. Drones will alert us should any of them leave with enough time to avoid awkward encounters.”

“Why are you here?” Vibrant asked, studying Clef for signs of aggression. He shrugged.

“You disconnected from the hivemind once the Queen re-established it,” he said, “made a face-to-face meeting the only choice as far as talking. As for why, the Queen is about to mount a coup of the whole Equestrian government. She tasked us with recruiting any willing changelings to come back in preparation for it.”

“Willing?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “We have no intention of ripping you away from your facade against your will. That said, we do want to give you the opportunity to be part of the hive again as we rise to power. There is much to be gained here should you join us.”

“If I have a choice in the matter, then no,” Vibrant shook her head. “This is sounding like another Canterlot Wedding scenario, and we all saw how that turned out. And speaking of that, the amount of love at that wedding? That’s at my shows, every single night, there for me to syphon. So no, thank you.”

“We have taken note of your achievement,” Clef nodded, though he made no movements other than that. “The amount of energy present at your shows is indeed impressive, but, there is a limit to how much you can syphon on your own isn’t there?”

There was.

“Not to mention how much energy you burn per performance,” he continued. “I imagine that’s why you went with a unicorn disguise. I could actually see the magic burning off of you mid-show. Your band probably thinks it’s all visual flair but, you’re burning love just to keep moving aren’t you? The amount you burn in a show could feed a changeling for a week. Not a very efficient energy model.”

She had been rather cavalier with her magic.

“But I guess, even with all of that, it would be worth it if you finally got rid of that hunger,” he said. “So, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Rather than gloating or pressing his advantage, Cleff nodded sadly.

“That’s a shame.”

“Does the Queen have a plan to make the hunger stop?”

“No, but her plan will give us options.”

Vibrant stopped to consider this. With changelings in charge, there would certainly be more at their disposal as far as what they could try to cure their hunger. And yet, as she closed her eyes, flashes of tree branches and solid earth, of broken limbs and howling cries crossed her consciousness.

“I can’t,” she said finally. “I wish her the best of luck. But I have a good thing going here. I think I’m close to something. Like... if I can just syphon a bit more, spend a bit less, get a larger crowd, I’ll finally sate the hunger. I want to try this on my own.”

Clef looked at her with pitying eyes, but said nothing to dissuade her. Instead, he nodded.

“For our sake, I hope you succeed,” he said. “Your victory here would mean our victory as well. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

“And you as well,” she responded. “When is the attack to take place?”

“Five days from now.”

“I’ll be listening.”

Without another word Clef stood up from the couch and left the hotel room. There was no more to say after all. For ten minutes after the encounter, Vibrant stared at the door Clef had walked through, gathering her thoughts.

Five days, huh? I have a show that day. Should be an interesting one.

A yawn escaped her lips and she cast a longing glance at the bed. However, the all-familiar ache from her stomach soon reasserted itself, shaking her from her weariness. Tapping into her reserves once more, she gave herself yet another jolt of energy, continuing to write into the morning light.

Vibrant Tone was alone in her hotel room and she was scared.

The day before had been just like any other. Travel. Set up. Perform. De-Stress.

There were only two main differences. The first was that, unlike normal, no one had wanted to go party after the show, choosing instead to hang out at the hotel room with Vibrant until they finally went to their own rooms to sleep. The second was that a coup of the Equestrian government had happened.

News didn’t travel particularly fast in Equestria, but for better or worse there had been no mention of any life changing incidents happening the day before. One option was that the coup was successful and that the government was now being run by changelings, in which case the news would never arrive. Another option was that the coup had been thwarted in such a way that a cover-up was preferable to stoking a panic. The third was that tomorrow’s headline would be very interesting.

Of course, Vibrant had a direct line to finding out how things had gone but had been, at first, delayed from establishing a connection by her band. Now, she was scared.

A hoof reached up to her ears and she flinched as they made contact. She spent a bit of energy to increase her pulmonary control as a means to stave off the oncoming panic attack.

She didn’t want to connect again. But she needed to know.

Vibrant Tone closed her eyes.

A small yelp escaped her mouth as the connection was established and she recoiled in preparation for the oncoming noise.

She had hoped for the calm voice of the Queen noticing her presence and explaining what had happened. She had prepared for the wailing and pleading of the dying. She had not anticipated the cheering.

We are saved.

We are free.

The hunger is gone.

Vibrant dropped to her knees as the voices mounted. One voice, then three, then ten, thirty-seven, fifty-five; a chorus rising with a singular message, not of anguish but of triumph.

The hunger is gone.

Each repetition of the phrase overlapped with the others to where they became white noise in Vibrant’s ears. As it rose, so did the aching in her stomach, a dull ache that permeated her whole being.

I missed it, she lamented. Their hunger is gone and I missed it.

Anger flared through her body, reaching into her love reserves and bursting out in the form of a concussive blast. Glass was shattered. Furniture was overturned. A nearby mirror was cracked. Papers containing her latest works were singed, slowly floating down onto the floor around her.

She watched them land with detachment, only mildly aware that they were the ruined work she had poured hours of her life into, when the door to her room opened. There, in the doorway, stood Clef Note. He had been the first band member she had hired, the one with the most logged hours on-tour, and now the first one to check up on her.

No wonder the changeling had chosen him to imitate.

“What happened!?”

Vibrant looked around as if just noticing the state of her room.

“I think I’m finally burning out,” Vibrant said, turning to fix an upturned table. “I think we finish off this week and then we postpone the next week of the tour. Everyone wanted a break anyway.”

“Are you okay?” Clef asked. His tone was steady but Vibrant could feel the waves of worry stemming off of him. She could have fed off of him for weeks, but she was tired of feeding.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. There’s just somewhere I need to go. I think it’ll be good for me. Yes. In fact, I’m sure I’ll feel much better once I get back.”

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.

Chapter 3: The Broken Record

“Open up, this stuff’s heavy!”

The incessant pounding of hoof-against-door triggered a matching pounding inside the changeling’s mind, waking her from her slumber.

Disoriented as she was, it took a couple of seconds for her to manage to stand up, by which point the pounding at the door had stopped. In its place, muted laughter and music permeated her adjacent wall, signifying that the knocking had not been intended for her.

Her headache was indifferent to this fact.

It took her a moment further to gather her bearings, taking stock of her location and the state of her messy hotel room.

Didn’t make it to the bed, she noted, eying the spit-stained papers next to where her head had surely been. The smell of alcohol drew her attention to where the empty bottle of whiskey now lay, a small puddle of leftover drink pooling into the carpet. Oh good. That stuff was expensive too…

She moved forward to pick up the bottle but caught sight of herself in the mirror again. She frowned. In a bright flash of green flame, Vibrant Tone reappeared, glaring at her reflection. Using her magic she lifted the bottle, placing it atop the pile in the wastebasket, only for it to fall off onto the floor once again.

Even that feels wrong, she mused. The changes were always more noticeable after she dreamed, the memories throwing into sharp contrast the differences in her physiology. It wasn’t just her looks, but the very core of how she interacted with the world that had been affected.

Before, picking up a bottle like she had just done would have required her to burn through some of her love supply, a miniscule amount she would have innately been able to determine. The feeling of burning love to cast magic was as intimate to her as that of breathing. But magic wasn’t the same anymore. This energy was her own and access to her love supply was completely barred from her.

If I even have a love supply anymore.

She closed her eyes and tried to grasp at the sensation that still lingered from her memories of feeling the warmth deep within her core of stored energy, bristling and ready for release. As was often the case, however, the more desperately she clutched at it, the more the dreams faded away like grains of sand through dragon claws. In the end, she ended up as she had been ever since her change.

Not hungry, but empty.

Looking at the clock, Vibrant realized she was running late for her performance. Still, she took her time heading out the door.

There’s no rush.

The lights dimmed as Vibrant and her band for the evening took their positions. Normally this would be the point where the dull hum of conversation would disappear in anticipation. Instead, the gentle murmurs of speculation intensified.

Vibrant surveyed the scene as best as she could from the stage.

Attendance for the show was a bit better than Vibrant had expected—sixty patrons packed into a room that could hold two hundred, so not a bad draw all things considered.

It certainly helped that the venue had anticipated the low-turnout and had preemptively shut down some of the side areas, forcing everypony into the main barroom where the stage was. This both helped the staff keep their employees from needing to spread too thin, and gave the illusion of a more filled room by creating a more intimate experience. Vibrant even had a hunch that the various tables scattered about had been temporarily placed in the room to fill up some of the space but, having never been to this venue before, could not confirm her suspicion.

That said, even the sixty-patron turnout was a surprise.

A few were obviously regulars who came to get drinks at their favorite watering hole, regardless of who was playing that particular night. Some were here to support the opening band, easy to pick out thanks to their enthusiasm during that band’s set. The rest though… It was clear that they were indeed there to see her.

I should probably thank that radio station, she mused.

She nodded to the drummer, some young earth pony she had met earlier that day, to start the count. The first notes of “Candied Tears” played, causing an immediate reaction from the crowd. The somber song might not have been the obvious choice for a set starter, but the way it built in intensity would lead well to the rest of her catalogue. That and it was certainly recognizable.

Even now, less than a minute in, the crowd was singing along—lost in a wave of nostalgia and emotion. And yet, for all that she tried, Vibrant Tone could not stay in the moment.

For starters, there was the band. Long gone was the group she had hoof-selected, hired, and assembled. Missed shows, delayed albums, it all added up. They had bills to pay and families to feed. Some had bigger aspirations than backing a washed-up singer. The fight with Clef hadn't helped things either. So now, she had a new band at every performance; hired for one gig only, contracted by the label—mercenaries.

The effect was that, while the music played fine, there was always something off about it.

The guitar is soaked with too much reverb. Where are the snare ghost hits? Clef would cut the note short here, she thought, bitterly. Not that I’m doing much better.

Without her love supply to assist, Vibrant couldn’t afford to buff herself up before a performance the way she used to, couldn’t make on the fly changes to compensate and adjust to how a show was going. Her new magic wasn’t as strong. It drained too quickly. It replenished too slowly.

Missed a note. Need to move faster. Losing my breath.

Still, Vibrant sang, masking these thoughts and the rising frustration. They were nearing the end of one of her most popular songs. Even with just sixty people, she should have been drowning in their collective emotions.

Unconsciously, she channeled her magic into her horn as she had done thousands of times before, the familiar process triggering in her mind. The spell complete, she should have begun syphoning the love energy from the air, breathing it in and drunkenly savoring its energy. Instead, the spell failed, misfiring into a blast of light that lingered over the audience.

Vibrant stopped singing, examining the crowd before her as they picked up the refrain.

One mare in particular caught her attention.

She had a gold-tinted white coat, a soft amber mane, and verdant green eyes that glittered in the arcane lighting. And it was those eyes on which Vibrant focused on. Whereas everypony else was looking at her with excitement or joy, this mare was looking at her with hope and admiration. As if this performance, this song, this moment could somehow save her from whatever problems she faced in her daily life.

Vibrant almost missed her cue for the next song, caught up as she was in her shame.

The soft drizzle that accompanied her walk to the hotel room did little more than further dampen Vibrant’s spirits.

The rest of the performance had been adequate by all technical standards. She had been training for her comeback and it showed when compared to her last shows before her hiatus, where the sudden lack of hunger and love proved too much to adapt to. If not for her dream earlier that day, she might have even been willing to be mollified by the modest cheering of the crowd and the celebratory attitude of the band members.

“Pathetic,” she bitterly growled instead, her voice a lone counterpoint to the sound of her hoofsteps on the cobblestone and the echoes that followed them. The band members would probably be at the venue for hours still, laughing and drinking, guzzling up the attention from those present as if it was liquor from a bottle. In some ways, she envied them. They were unconcerned with how lackluster the performance had truly been, how mundane. They were similarly uncaring for how low the expectations had been for this show and how tempered the feedback was as a result. All they saw was the cheering. It was all they needed.

They were more changeling than she was now.

Unlike them, Vibrant had been unable to face the crowd, unable to stay in the venue to be cheered and celebrated knowing how far she had fallen. Worse, she could hardly think of a greater torture than being forced to endure affection of which she could not partake in, like watching food go from grocer to waste bin. And so, she had left.

Not that it had been hard.

Exchange pleasantries. Nod to the bassist. Wink at the waitress, she remembered thinking as she had skillfully navigated her way towards the exit. Keep your head down. Walk behind him. Keep an eye out for her.

Her steps faltered as the image of green eyes framed by an amber mane flashed through her mind.

What was your story? Vibrant pondered, focusing on the memory. She wasn’t sure she’d even been stared at like that before, with such intensity. She’d dealt with lovestruck fans, stalkers, admirers, and even ponies she attempted to date short term, but she’d never been stared at with such desperation and reverence.

Vibrant’s hoofsteps slowed.

She knew she’d be wondering what the deal was with that pony for the rest of the night—probably for days. In her defense though, it was hard to learn about ponies when you didn’t talk to them.

Vibrant had been scared of this mare, avoided her as she made her exit. Whatever problems she was running from, Vibrant couldn’t offer her respite. Vibrant Tone was but a fragment of what this pony saw in her, of what she expected. This was a mare who was dying of thirst, staring up at the rain in wonderment. And the storm cloud flinched.

Shame was a new emotion for Vibrant when it came to music. Before, there was just the hunger, leaving no room for doubt or self-reflection. When something wasn’t perfect, it would be good enough. When something wasn’t good enough, the next thing was on the horizon. When something was indeed perfect, the hunger drove her to the next task.

Now she had time to think and the thoughts weighed her down more so than the humid weather.

“At least, I’m back,” she mumbled, rounding a corner to arrive at her hotel door. Using her magic she levitated her key up to the latch. “Now I can—”

“You know, you could have said something before leaving.”

Vibrant dropped the key, turning around and lighting her horn, concussive blast at the ready.

“Woah! Woah! It’s me,” said the mare from the show, looking as terrified as Vibrant felt. “Yikes, I didn’t realize you’d be so easily startled.”

Vibrant cancelled her spell, taking a deep breath as old instincts reignited.

Her reaction is incongruent with that of a fan. Fix incongruity. Respond to familiarity. Dig for information. Roll with it.

“I’m so sorry,” Vibrant chuckled, avoiding eye contact. “I was lost in my own head for a bit.”

“Seems like it,” the mare responded, smoothing out her mane. “I know it was my idea to follow from a distance, but I probably should have stuck closer to you. Probably way more suspicious that you almost attacked me, than us leaving together.”

“You couldn’t have known how I’d react,” Vibrant said. “I’ll say, you’re far stealthier than I thought you’d be. Probably why I forgot you were following me.”

The mare let out a laugh.

“You didn’t make that easy,” she said. “I saw you avoiding me so I was starting to think you weren’t interested in hearing me out. I didn’t realize until a bit later that you had left and then I had to figure out which way you went without coming off as some crazed fan. Couldn’t very well go up to your bandmates and ask ‘where is your lead singer staying?’ now could I?”

“Not that they could’ve helped you with that anyway,” Vibrant replied, mirroring the mare’s friendliness. “They don’t know where I’m staying.”

“Good thing flying was an option for me then,” the mare said, flicking her wings wide for a second, wings that Vibrant hadn’t noticed until that moment. She took the movement as an excuse to inspect the mare’s features. Studying her face did nothing other than reinforce that she did not, in fact, know this pony. With no identifying clothes to study, Vibrant discreetly shifted her gaze to the mare’s cutiemark—a flower with golden petals, trumpetlike atop a stem.

Oh.

Oh no.

“I’m just really glad things worked out,” the mare continued, staring at the floor and unaware of Vibrant's discomfort. “I was stressing about it all month long. It seemed like such a longshot. I just don’t really have anyone else to turn to and I didn’t really have other options. That said, when I said ‘just leave when your performance is over,’ I didn’t mean the second it ended.”

Vibrant took a shaky breath as the mare continued talking.

Okay, she just thinks you’ve agreed to a one-on-one meeting. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Explain the mix up. Send her on her way. Begin reading fan mail again to stop this from happening.

“Listen, Honeysuckle—” Vibrant interjected, but stopped just as suddenly. At her name, the mare in front of her had turned to look at Vibrant with those same piercing eyes she had seen from the stage. Or rather, almost the same eyes. For a brief moment, Vibrant could have sworn she’d seen those verdant eyes flash a deeper emerald.

Another calming breath.

Vibrant thought back to that moment on the stage, visualizing the mare she’d gone out of her way to avoid. She couldn’t quite recall her having her wings. And with how stealthy she was...

“Yes?” Honeysuckle asked, clearly made uncomfortable by the prolonged silence and staring.

“I think we better take this inside.”

The cold water was bracing as it splashed against Vibrant’s face, tearing some of the tiredness from her mind.

She seriously considered trying to cast some endurance enhancing spell but, tired as she was, there was no guarantee that the spell would hold. She knew she’d need her wits about her and dealing with the side effects of a flubbed spell would severely affect her abilities.

Better not risk it, she decided, drying her face on a towel before stepping into the main room of the hotel room.

Honeysuckle was still there, examining the room and looking through the pages that littered the floor. Vibrant looked from her to the bottles of alcohol, reflecting on how embarrassed she would feel for a fan to stumble upon the realities of how she lived. That said, this wasn’t a fan.

She knew that now.

“Word of advice?” Honeysuckle said, noticing Vibrant’s arrival. “You really should read your fan mail more often. I guess this explains that whole scene at the door?”

Honeysuckle extended a wing, placed in which was half of the letter Vibrant had ripped earlier that day.

“Don’t take it personally,” Vibrant offered. “I’ve been going through some stuff.”

Honeysuckle wrinkled her nose.

“Apparently,” she said. “And yet, you let me into your hotel room. Either you figured me out or you got the wrong idea entirely.”

“Which one is the one where you’re a changeling?”

Honeysuckle smiled.

“Ok, you do know what’s going on,” she teased. “How’d you figure it out? I mean. I wasn’t hiding it or anything but…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Vibrant replied. “It was your eyes. They flashed to our flame’s green for a second. That and I don’t think you had the wings at the venue.”

“I had to keep up with you somehow,” Honeysuckle confirmed.

“How did you know I was a changeling?”

Honeysuckle paused for several minutes before answering.

“You were fairly well known in the hivemind,” she finally said. “No one really thought your experiment would work, but the concept itself was solid. They hoped against hope that you’d find the cure. Of course, you separated yourself from the hivemind before that, so there was no way for you to know. Your stage name though, we all knew you were one of us.”

Vibrant nodded, thinking back to Clef’s impostor.

We have taken note of your achievement, he had said. She really shouldn’t have been surprised.

“So… as you clearly saw, I didn’t read your letter,” Vibrant said. “Why seek me out? What do you need?”

“Can you show me?” Honeysuckle asked, ignoring her questions. “Your changeling form I mean? You don’t mind, do you?”

Vibrant grimaced. She did, actually, mind quite a bit. However, she was not about to admit to a fellow changeling that she felt more comfortable in her skin than her chitin nowadays. Steeling her resolve, she let her disguise drop in an emerald blaze.

“Woah,” Honeysuckle exclaimed, catching Vibrant off guard. “It looks so beautiful up close.”

Before Vibrant could voice her confusion, Honeysuckle dropped her disguise.

Standing before Vibrant was a changeling with fangs and tattered wings, turquoise eyes shining bright against her black chitin.

Thoughts. Questions. Feelings. These fought frantically within Vibrant’s mind, willing themselves to be heard. And yet, when one finally broke through, it was not the one she would have expected.

She’s starving.

Even within chitin it was easy to see the emaciation ravaging the changeling before her. Memories of a crater, the hungriest she’d ever felt, flooded Vibrant. These were followed by the cold realization that this changeling might have been living like this for weeks. A pang of pity rose within her core.

To her eternal shame, a pang of envy was present as well.

“How long has it been since you last fed?” Vibrant asked softly. Honeysuckle, who had been marveling at Vibrant’s hooves, dropped her gaze.

Too blunt.

“It was actually a week ago,” Honeysuckle muttered. “I was never cut out for infiltration work. I worked in the nursery before my banishment. Since then… Well, I can get food for a week or so, maybe a month before the cracks in my guise start to show.”

A pensive look crossed her face before noticing the pitying glance that Vibrant was throwing in her direction.

“It’s not as bad as I look though,” she added hastily, a quick chuckle at the ready. “I’m used to the hunger. You remember what that’s like.”

Did she? She guessed she did.

“So, banishment?” Vibrant asked, making her way to her bed. Her hooves suddenly felt heavier than they had in months.

“Yeah. Thrown out, cut off from the hivemind, all that,” Honeysuckle replied sullenly. “Overused a simulated sleep effect without enough love to back it during one of my shifts. Was unconscious for a full day. When I came to, five hatchlings had escaped the hive. We found their bodies in the badlands. It was a fair punishment for my neglect.”

“You do know you could go back now, though? Right?” Vibrant pushed. “I doubt King Thorax held onto any of the Queen’s decrees after she was deposed. He’s big on the second chances thing, as well.”

“It was a fair punishment for my neglect,” the changeling repeated.

Vibrant nodded slowly, offering no further thoughts on the matter.

“So what do you need me for?”

Honeysuckle sat down on the floor, suddenly looking as tired as Vibrant felt.

“It’s been frustrating,” Honeysuckle began. “There has been a cure for my hunger, out in the open, with no way for me to get to it. When the news broke of Queen Chrysalis’ fall and the reformation of our race, as they’re calling it, I figured it would only be a matter of time before I figured out how to do it myself. But no one reported on what caused the change. Not only that, but all the changelings I knew of returned to the hive. The knowledge was inaccessible.”

A pit of dread began to form in Vibrant’s stomach, but she stopped herself from interjecting.

“There may have been changelings that came back to the lives they left behind, but all of them were under disguise. Or maybe none came back at all. I have no way of knowing,” she shrugged. “I was beginning to lose hope but, a few months ago, I heard about your comeback and I saw an opportunity. Your hiatus had started shortly after Queen Chrysalis’ fall. I knew they were connected. You had to know the secret. A month ago I dropped off that letter asking to speak with you. Three days ago I arrived in Manehattan.”

“You want me to help you change.”

“More than anything.”

“Why?” Vibrant asked.

The silence that followed was deafening. Seconds dragged in the stillness, as Vibrant watched the desperation grow in Honeysuckles eyes. She remembered the music that had permeated the walls earlier in the day, the sound of the radio earlier than that, and she longed for either as a way to cut through the tension.

“‘Why?’ What do you mean ‘why?’” Honeysuckle whimpered. “You’re not seriously going to let me starve are you? I know I don’t have much to offer you, but I can do favors. I can do something!”

Vibrant shook her head, standing from her bed. Was I really ever this desperate?

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Vibrant said as calmly as she could. “The reformation is a curse. The changeling you become… it’s not the same as—”

Vibrant gasped as a concussive blast blindsighted her from the side, more shocking than painful. She turned in anger just in time to watch as Honeysuckle collapsed unto her knees.

“How dare you!” Honeysuckle exclaimed in between pained gasps. “I’m starving. I’m dying. And you’re going to deny me this information because you’re unhappy?”

The last word came out raspy. She staggered up to stand, but fell into a sitting position instead.

She burnt too much energy. Vibrant walked towards her attacker.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “When the reformation takes place, you lose the ability to syphon love. You lose your connection to your love reserves and the potential held within. You lose that drive to survive that pushed us into almost conquering Equestria twice. Our struggle makes us strong. Without it, you become mediocre, empty, and numb.”

Vibrant attempted to help Honeysuckle stand, but was brushed off with a guttural growl. Vibrant figured that it was a lack of energy and not some newfound restraint that maintained the changeling’s silence.

“I can get you love energy,” Vibrant offered. “You can feed at my shows. There’s certainly enough energy there to sustain you. I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I made. I don’t want to be a part of it.”

At this, Honeysuckle hung her head and the two sat in silence for minutes on end. When Honeysuckle spoke again, it was with a voice filled with detachment.

“You’re right. I don’t understand you,” she admitted. “I didn’t live the way you did. I didn’t lose all that you lost. I don’t know how the reformation has affected you. But you should be able to understand me. You should remember the hunger as more than just a motivator. Surely you remember the feeling of never being satisfied? The feeling of falling short no matter how hard you try? Don’t you?”

Vibrant closed her eyes, considering the questions being asked of her, and found that she, in fact, did remember.

She remembered Candy and Clef, a lover and a friend, either of whom could have fed her for the rest of her life. She remembered sold-out concerts that allowed her to do feats most changelings could never hope to accomplish. She remembered a crater.

Being unsatisfied. Being unsuccessful. These were the rites of a changeling, it seemed.

Vibrant looked around her room at the scattered pages, thought back to the concert earlier that night, and came to a sobering thought. Not only did she remember. She never stopped living it.

I guess I’m still a changeling after all.

“You have no right to make this choice for me,” Honeysuckle said, cutting through the silence again. “If it’s a mistake, then it’s mine to make. I’m tired of surviving. Living, being normal, this is what I choose. Changelings by nature change. You cannot keep me from this one.”

Vibrant sighed and walked over to the mirror.

Changelings by nature change, she repeated in her mind, weighing the words as she did so. Staring at her reflection, the same sense of disgust and frustration surged through her body.

“Not all changes are good though,” she mumbled.

“Then you change again.”

Then you change again, she considered. Is that something I could do? Could I really change again?

She made to turn back but before she could do so, the letters on the table caught her attention—one opened letter in particular. Suddenly, Vibrant’s mind began to race as various ideas clicked into place, one after another.

“This could work.”

“Hm?”

Vibrant turned to look at Honeysuckle again, who at this point looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Still, when she met Vibrant’s eyes, her gaze was strong and resolute.

“I’ll help you,” Vibrant said.

Honeysuckle blinked.

“You will?”

“I will,” Vibrant nodded. “But I’m going to need something in return. A couple of favors, nothing too big or dangerous. And in exchange I will give you the secret to reformation.”

Vibrant expected Honeysuckle to be angry or bitter about the strings attached to the offer, some comment about how selfish she was being or something of the sort. She did not expect tears to well up in the changeling’s eyes.

“For this,” she said, “I’m willing to do anything.”

Author's Note

If you've looked closely at the cover art, then you already know that the next chapter will be the last chapter. I hope you're excited for it.

At this point I'm done writing and editing everything, so I'm excited to share it with you.

As always, thank you all for reading and may you all keep changing!

Chapter 4: The Cover Song

“Don’t you think it comes off as a bit desperate?”

The radio backstage at the Manehattan Theatre hissed for a moment before reestablishing its connection, an impressive feat given the amount of magical interference in the surrounding area.

“I mean, consider this. Her last show flounders with a low turn-out. There is no marketing or anything for any future shows or projects. We haven’t heard anything about her next album still, which has many speculating that there’s nothing ready to release. All she’s got is this one performance, her last shot to make an impact. And suddenly we have this ‘leak,’ out of nowhere? It’s pretty standard gossip news fodder if you ask me.”

Vibrant leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.

He does make a good point.

“Only if it’s not true,” chimed in a deeper voice.

“You can’t seriously believe it?”

“I’m just saying, there’s more to consider,” the second voice said placidly. “If Vibrant Tone really was trying to use this as a publicity stunt, shouldn’t she be out there denying it? Public statements stoke up speculation but she’s been completely silent on it. All her label said is that they haven’t had a chance to ask her about the allegations. Not really a coordinated PR strategy if I’ve ever seen one. The timing matches up too. Her first missed shows happened around the time all the changelings ‘reformed.’ We never did get many details on that but it was probably a very painful process. It would certainly explain a lot.”

“Confirmation bias.”

“Confirmation bias?”

“Yeah, you’re making things fit in retrospect,” the first voice dismissed. “Yes, it would explain the first bit, but what about the rest of the missed shows? The delays? Wasn’t the whole reformation thing supposed to be a good thing?”

“Far as I can tell.”

“Right, so it’s been years since the changelings transformed and Vibrant Tone still floundered for a while before disappearing through most of them? No, this whole changeling thing is just a way to drum up interest for her performance tonight, a last ditch effort to buy some time while she salvages what’s left of her career.”

The changeling chuckled. If Vibrant Tone had a career left after tonight, she needed to get in for an interview with that pony. The most amusing part was the fact that it wasn’t just the changeling thing he was wrong about. This whole leak business was less a master plan and more of a lesson learnt about thin hotel walls and middle-of-the-night conversations.

“Well, intentional or not, it’s working,” the deeper voice added. “The show was already sold-out, but it seems that all anypony can talk about is this rumor and how it will affect Vibrant’s performance. The spotlight will certainly be on her tonight. As for whether the rumor is true or not, it will be hard to get any form of official confirmation.”

“Yeah, especially since King Thorax, who is in attendance tonight, has refused to comment on rumors surrounding ‘private citizens.’”

Thorax didn’t out me? That was nice of him. The two radio announcers kept on talking, moving their conversation onto the other artists performing at Luna’s Festival of the Arts Celebration that night, but Vibrant tuned them out.

So Thorax is here, Vibrant contemplated. That will be an awkward conversation. Doesn’t really change the plan any, I don’t think. A little too late to modify things, in any case.

“You sure you should be listening to that?”

Vibrant was snapped from her thoughts. Next to her was a pony with a dark indigo mane and kind opal eyes. Her coat, a soft gray with hints of aquamarine, was covered by an exquisite black dress. Vibrant focused on her smile.

“Are you Rara tonight? Or should I call you the Countess?”

The mare laughed.

“Rara is fine,” she said. “And you didn’t answer my question. You sure you should be listening to that?”

Vibrant focused on the radio again, where messages were being read from ponies voicing their opinions on the whole leak thing. Vibrant shrugged.

“I’d already tuned it out to be honest,” she said, using her magic to turn the radio off behind her. “It’s been like this for a few days now. I kind of already heard all that has been said on the subject.”

“Is it bad?”

“No, actually,” Vibrant shook her head. “Those who think I leaked the rumor for attention are a little annoyed by it, but they’re the same type that love gossip so they’re not too upset, if that makes sense?”

Rara nodded.

“Right,” Vibrant continued. “And those who believe the rumors are true are actually pretty supportive once they’re over the shock. Changelings aren’t really the big scary monsters they used to be, so most wouldn’t really be upset, even if I was a changeling.”

“My friend AJ and her friends have done a lot to ease things in regard to other species with that school of theirs, though it probably does help that changelings all look so cute now. Pretty coats. Shiny wings. The princesses vouching for them. It all adds up, I’m sure.”

Vibrant nodded. Though Rara didn’t say anything else, she didn’t leave either. It was easy to guess what was on her mind, however, and thus Vibrant decided to steer the conversation for a while.

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” she asked. “Mingling with the fans. Hanging out in the green room with other singers and musicians? Posing for pictures?”

If she was taken aback by the change in conversation, Rara didn’t show it.

“Probably,” she admitted. “I saw somepony out there, though. Somepony from my past. I would rather not have to deal with him right now. Or at all.”

Rara grimaced.

“So, you’re hiding?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m not really scared of him, but I don’t want to see him if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you picked a good place to hide,” Vibrant smiled. “Plenty of space and good company.”

“I see that,” Rara laughed softly. “Certainly a better place to be than all alone in my dressing room. But, since we’re on the subject, what are you hiding from?”

Oh, she’s good.

“The future, I guess?” Vibrant said, hanging her head. “This performance is going to change things for me. I have something planned... Something big that will change the way things go for me from here on out. And it’s not like I really have much to lose at this point. But things will be different and that makes it a big risk. It’s been a while since I let myself take any of those.”

While she didn’t hear Rara stepping closer to her, there was no missing the hoof upon her shoulder.

“Take it from somepony who’s had to change once or twice,” she said kindly. “As scary as it might be, change is most oftentimes a good thing—in art as much as in life. The important thing is that you make changes you feel you need to make, not one’s that are expected of you. If it feels right to you, then things will tend to work out, come what may.”

“You should tell my label that.”

“You’ll find your audience. This new you, I mean. And the you that you become after that will as well. If your label can’t see that, the next one will.”

Vibrant nodded.

“One can hope.”

The two talked for a while longer after that, sharing stories of past performances, tricks of the trade, and memorable anecdotes as a way to pass the time. Eventually, however, a stagehand politely made his way to the pair, informing Vibrant that she was needed at the side of the stage.

“Best of luck out there,” Rara said, hugging the mare.

“Thank you, Ms. Headliner,” Vibrant replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s somepony I need to check in with real quick before I go on.”

As she began to walk away she heard Rara call out to her one last time.

“Vibrant Tone! Not that it matters at all but, are the rumors true? Are you really a changeling?”

Vibrant looked back with an unsure expression, but then chuckled at the sight of the singer’s sheepish demeanor.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The roar of the crowd was hard to ignore as Vibrant walked center stage to the sound of some ambient music provided by the house band. Behind closed curtains, her bandmates for the evening threw a glare in her direction, before returning to study the sheet music she’d provided them with for the song they’d be performing.

Last minute changes are seldom appreciated, she supposed. At least they look more annoyed than nervous.

She made it to the microphone just in time for the music to fade away into nothingness, the curtains opening a moment later. Vibrant stared out into both blinding lights and a sea of darkness behind them.

She could still hear the whispering.

Last chance to run.

Instead, she levitated the microphone in her magic.

“This is a new song I wrote especially for tonight. It is called ‘Somepony Underneath.’”

Taking this as their cue, a running bassline kicked off the song before being joined by other instruments. Taking a deep breath Vibrant did her best to clear her mind.

You have a limited amount of energy. Be precise. Be purposeful. Do not miss a cue.

She lit her horn, enveloping herself in an emerald glow which exploded into a shower of sparks that faded into the darkness.

She then began to sing.

Those who were present that night would talk much about this performance after the fact, though some details would get more coverage than others.

The way the song started, bruske and unapologetic, a rarity in such a venue, never seemed to warrant much of a mention, for example. Sadly, neither did the lyrics, heartbreaking lines about Vibrant’s struggles with identity and purpose. When pressed, some would comment on how impressive the vocal arrangement was, how strong a performance, though it was clear their memories were focused on other aspects of the show.

For most, the parts worth discussing really started during the chorus, when the mare was surrounded by a wave of green flame—disappearing from the stage. In her place appeared a lanky stallion with a blue coat and a ragged mane who kept singing in Vibrant’s voice, his visage somehow more fitting for the words than the polished singer before him would have been.

The musicians, to their professional credit, kept their composure—the song never faltering. The crowd, however, could not contain their exclamations. The rumors had been confirmed.

As the chorus ended another flash of green flame enveloped the singer, turning her back into Vibrant Tone for the duration of the second verse. As she stepped forward towards the edge of the stage and raised her horn into the air, the crowd watched as a green glow enveloped her whole body again, lighting her without the need of a spotlight. The glow lasted for a few seconds before absorbing into Vibrant’s body, ending in time for the second chorus, at which point whatever hints of tiredness the singer had been showing disappeared without a trace. Vibrant shifted again.

The crowd’s cheers mixed with the roar of the flames as the singer disappeared into them, this time returning as a pegasus mare with a commanding presence. Whereas the previous guise gave the chorus an air of weariness and exhaustion, this new persona gave the lyrics a feeling of heartbreak and loss. The crowd stomped their hoofs to the rhythm.

As the chorus began to repeat a third time, another shift occurred and Vibrant Tone was back, this time remaining as a pegasus who rose into the air alongside the song’s keychange. With the final repetition of the chorus at its end, the instruments faded away. And yet, the song was still not over. Vibrant landed center stage, singing acapella into the microphone which she fitted into the mic stand.

One by one the lights faded as well until Vibrant Tone was lit by nothing more than a solitary spotlight in the darkness.

Moment of truth.

One final flash of green flame. One final refrain, sung into the void. Gasps ringing out throughout the theater.

Standing center stage was a changeling, black carapace shining in the spotlight, turquoise eyes staring out at the audience with resolve.

There she stood in silence, unmoving, for a second. Then two. Then five. There was no clapping. No yelling. No nothing. Just the whispering. But that was fine by her.

Taking a bow, she turned around and walked offstage, passing by several band members, the host for the evening, and various members of the stunned security team. Nopony made a move to stop her.

Now how’s that for a statement?

“Nopony can see her.”

“You have an unreformed changeling inside of there. She needs to be secured, or at the very least questioned!”

“Probably, but not by you. I need official orders to let somepony through. Come back when you have something official.”

“Miss, as the owner of this theater, I demand you let my security team in.”

“I am sorry but, until you get some sort of warrant that overrides her diplomatic immunity, she is staying where she is.”

A moment of silence passed, followed by another.

“She does not have diplomatic immunity.”

“She most assuredly does. All changelings do, in accordance with the treaty after their kingdom allied with Equestria. King Thorax is here tonight and I really don’t want to be responsible for a diplomatic incident. If you want to be the one to cause a scene, then be my guest. Until then, I am not moving.”

The changeling leaned against the wall of the dressing room she had holed herself in, hoping to hear more of the exchange, but nothing else came through. Near as she could figure, Honeysuckle had finally driven the theater owner away, but really there was no way to be sure.

She must be as tired as I am, she thought, heading back to the chair. I really do need to thank her once things calm down.

The hours after the performance had been chaotic to say the least. Luna’s Festival of the Arts Celebration was certainly still happening, but the showrunners probably had their hoofs full.

The silent shock that had followed Vibrant Tone’s performance had only lasted a few seconds after the changeling had made it backstage, at which point the pandemonium started. Yelling, screaming, running. Everything happened too fast for her to really process. All she really remembered was that at some point Honeysuckle, in her earth pony disguise, had joined her in running away from the noise. At another point, Rara had intercepted them and offered her dressing room as a place for them to hide. And now, she was here.

Everything else that had happened that night was up for interpretation.

Knock Knock Knock

She stood up and made to answer, but found the door opening before she could reach it. In the doorway was standing her assistant for the night. Behind her was a very unexpected guest.

“They um… They found someone official,” Honeysuckle mumbled, staring at the ground.

She stepped into the dressing room and to the side, clearing a path for the other visitor to step through as well, which he did.

“Arista, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Actually, King Thorax,” the changeling swallowed hard. “It’s Vibrant Tone, if it’s all the same to you.”

Thorax nodded.

“Vibrant Tone,” he amended. “You caused quite a bit of ruckus tonight and a lot of confusion atop of that. It’s left ponies asking questions that I simply don’t have the answers to.”

Calm your breathing. Maintain eye contact. Keep things conversational.

“That must be quite frustrating.”

“A bit, yeah. I didn't even know you were a changeling until ponies started asking me about the rumors, and then I was under the impression that you had undergone the reformation process. As you can imagine, it has been quite confusing being out the loop the way I have been.”

Vibrant Tone nodded.

“Strangest thing too,” he continued. “There are a lot of changelings who can verify that you arrived at the hive a week after the fall of Queen Chrysalis. They seem to claim they saw you reform before their eyes. The idea that you found some way to undo the process. That there is a way to undo it at all… Surely you can understand why it would make us nervous.”

“Probably doesn’t help that I’m not connected to your hivemind, does it?”

“It probably would make things easier if either you or your assistant were, yeah,” he said, causing the mare in the corner to flinch. “Don’t suppose you’ll let me take a peek?”

Vibrant hesitated.

“It would do a lot to help me figure this out,” Thorax pushed further. “You’d be able to prove your intentions and I’d learn a lot about what exactly is happening here.”

On the one hoof, it was a simple request borne out of understandable concerns. It would certainly be a quick and easy way to clear up a lot of the misconceptions that had arisen in the past two hours. And yet, a familiar sense of panic began to grow in her gut. She could almost swear she could hear a ringing in her ears and what sounded like distant screams echoing through her memories.

“I—”

“That will not be necessary.”

Standing outside the dressing room, visible through the still-open-doorway was a cream coated stallion with a coral pink mane wearing a sharp blue suit—his brown eyes commanding the attention of the room from behind blue spectacles.

“My client has done nothing wrong,” the pony said gesturing towards Vibrant Tone. “I’m not sure how things are done in your kingdom, your majesty, but here in Equestria there would normally need to be a reason for such an invasive form of questioning as that of ‘mind reading.’”

“Your client?”

“Quite,” the pony pressed on, taking a moment to wipe at his glasses before continuing. “I am a representative from Vibrant Tone’s label and I do believe that this whole ‘hivemind’ business could and would infringe upon some of our intellectual properties. Unannounced concert dates, business dealings, her whole new album—I’m afraid that we just can’t allow this without going through the proper channels first, especially without proper justification.”

Well that seems like a bit much.

“I don’t mind,” Vibrant lied. “It’s really not that serious.”

“No, that’s alright,” Thorax said, waving her off. “He does bring up a good point. You two probably have good reasons not to be connected to the hive. It was kind of rude of me to just ask you to put that aside. As far as I know, you’ve been living amongst ponies without incident for years. That should be good enough for anypony unless you’re accused of something specific.”

“I’m glad you were able to see it that way,” the label pony responded.

Vibrant looked between the two, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Just like that?” she asked.

“Depends. Are there any crimes I should be aware of?”

All eyes turned to look at her, with the pony at the doorway making a motion across his neck with his hoof.

“Um… Nothing since the end-of-conflict pardons, at least?” she said nervously.

“Then yes, just like that,” Thorax said, after a moment of consideration. “You’re an Equestrian as much as a changeling and you are entitled to your privacy. Besides, we wouldn’t want to breach any type of ‘diplomatic immunity.’”

At that, he winked at Honeysuckle, causing the mare to fluster further. He chuckled.

“Yes, yes, very well,” the suit-wearing pony interjected. “If that is all, I will ask you for some privacy with my client. We have some business matters to discuss.”

“Ah, all right,” Thorax chuckled good naturedly. “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr…”

“Svengallop.”

“Svengallop.” Thorax nodded to the mares as he turned to walk out of the dressing room, slowing down for a moment as he passed by the stallion. “Do take care of my changelings.”

As he left, Honeysuckle moved up to stand next to the singer.

“That went well,” she said. “Any particular reason you didn’t let him into your mind? I mean, I know why I wouldn’t want him to but…”

“Yeah,” Vibrant responded. “Connecting to the hivemind kind of freaks me out. Tell you about it some other time. Still, we should probably explain the whole deal to him. It’ll make him feel better at least, and he seems nice.”

“Cough Cough.”

Both mares snapped their attention towards the stallion at the doorway.

Right. Him.

“You know, you are welcome to come in,” Vibrant offered. “I have a feeling this talk will take a while.”

“I’m very much not, actually,” Svengallop replied wryly. “Irregardless of how long the conversation is, it’s been made very clear that I am not to set hoof into that dressing room. I would appreciate it if you could come talk to me out here.”

Well that’s interesting.

As Vibrant Tone walked towards Svengallop with Honeysuckle following behind, she could feel his eyes studying her wings, her carapace, her fangs and frame. As she reached him she offered him a smile that showed a bit more of the fangs than was probably polite. He didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

Huh.

“So,” Vibrant began. “You’re not one of the usual suits they send out. I’m guessing you drew the short straw?”

“More you like you drew the longest one,” Svengallop replied. “I’m a new manager at the label, so it’s no wonder you haven’t seen me before, and as of yesterday I am your manager.”

“You picked up a client mid-scandal?”

“I picked you because of the scandal,” the pony smiled. “I thought the changeling thing might be true and decided to roll the dice on it before anypony else saw the same opportunity I did. Between the free promotion, the marketing angles, it’d be a guarantee that I’d be able to make your career restart in some way. Imagine my surprise at finding not just an unreformed changeling but an actual singing talent. This is certainly going to pay in spades for both of us.”

“That’s all well and good,” Vibrant said hesitantly. “But—”

“Yes, well and good,” Svengallop continued. “Anyway, as you heard a moment ago, my name is Svengallop. I wanted to introduce myself, as I will be representing you in the upcoming contract re-evaluation meeting in a few days.”

Vibrant waited for a moment before speaking.

“That’s all well and good, but I feel like I should warn you that I’m about to be fired from the label.”

If the news shocked Svengallop, he did not show it. However, Honeysuckle let out an audible gasp at the news.

Oh right, I probably should have told her earlier.

“I highly doubt you’ll be fired after tonight’s performance.”

“I’m sure I left an imprint,” Vibrant admitted. “But that performance was supposed to burn what was left of my bridges. I have no album at the ready. I’m out of extensions. I’m not ready for a tour. Not really much to offer during negotiations.”

“Oh I see,” Svengallop sighed. “That is tricky. How long do you think it would take you to finish the album?”

“Not long at all!” Honeysuckle interjected, surprising both of the ponies with the interruption. “The song we— I mean, the song she performed tonight, it was written in one night. And she has tons of notes and things laying around. I’m sure if you give her a few months…”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Her name is Honeysuckle,” Vibrant answered for her. “She’s been my assistant for the past few days. A temporary arrangement. She… she helped me finish my song. She also did some work tonight to… to help my performance run smoothly.”

“It doesn’t have to be temporary.”

Svengallop looked between the two.

“Right... So with her help, how long do you think it would take you to finish the album and be show ready?”

Vibrant hesitated to come up with an answer as she stared at Honeysuckle. It had been close to two and a half hours at this point since the performance and she still looked exhausted. The last few days had to have been tough on her. And yet, her eyes showed a determination that Vibrant couldn’t ignore.

Vibrant raised an eyelid. A question.

Honeysuckle nodded.

“Two months,” Vibrant said, addressing Svengallop. “Two months for the album. Touring will take a bit longer. I would need to put together a band. We would need to practice. I probably need to revamp my whole routine and repertoire to include the whole changeling thing.”

“Brilliant,” Svengallop exclaimed, the fire back in his eyes. “Make it three months for the album, we want to make it perfect. We’ll worry about touring and all that after the album gets approved and we get a single out. For now, start thinking about what demands you’re going to want to negotiate for at the meeting. I’ll need to know what they are, going in. Anything you think you might want is worth mentioning, no matter how unimportant it might be.”

“I want Honeysuckle to be a contracted part of my team,” Vibrant said immediately, causing the mare beside her to nod. Svengallop rolled his eyes.

“Naturally, but think bigger. Think practical but also lifestyle wise. You’ve done this before, think about non-negotiables and perks that we can take or leave depending on how things go.”

Vibrant Tone nodded.

“Good,” Svengallop nodded back. “Between tonight’s performance and having me on your team, I’m sure we’ll be able to get at least eighty-five percent of whatever we request. Although, in the interest of transparency, my services do not come cheap. They won’t be a cost to you, of course, but there will be some non-negotiables I’ll be discussing with the label for me as well. I need my perks to keep the job exciting."

Wait a minute, Vibrant thought as the puzzle pieces of the night began fitting into place.

“You’re Rara’s old manager!”

Svengallop winced.

“Ah yes, I guess Countess Coloratura would have mentioned me. I’ll have you know that despite whatever negative stories she’s spreading about me, I have always carried myself with the utmost professionalism.”

He said a few things after that, but Vibrant wasn’t really listening anymore.

“Do you still have those vocal enhancement things?” she asked. “The collars she said you developed? Can you make more of them? Do they have more functions? Can they be modified?”

Svengallop looked surprised at the questions.

“I did not develop the collars,” he admitted. “However, they were custom made and I still have contact with the manufacturer. We could definitely procure some that produce a variety of effects as long as the label was willing to pay for it.”

Vibrant’s mind began to race with the possibilities. Turning to look at Honeysuckle, it was clear that she saw the potential as well.

“In any case,” Svengallop said, snapping them from their thoughts. “If that is all, I believe I will be taking my leave. I will stop by your hotel room in the morning the day of the meeting to discuss our strategy. We can walk to it together afterwards. Just make sure you think about your demands before then so we can make the best proposal possible.”

“We will,” Vibrant answered, already beginning to make a mental list.

Seeming satisfied, Svengallop smiled and waved goodbye. “You should head home as well. Oh, and if I were a changeling, I would think changing my look to that of a random pony would make for a better way to hide than barricading in the headliner’s dressing room, but that’s just me.”

Svengallop didn’t look behind him as he walked away, and thus missed both Vibrant and Honeysuckle look at each other, close their eyes, and sigh.

Two unicorns walked into a familiar hotel room, exhaustion coursing through their every step. One of them used their magic to light a bedside lamp. The other closed the door behind them.

Once the door was closed, Honeysuckle dropped the unicorn disguise reverting to her changeling form. She then made a beeline for the couch, flopping unto it with a fatigued grunt.

“Ugh” she groaned. “So today happened—”

“Shhh!”

Honeysuckle lifted her head from the couch to look at the unicorn who was at that very moment glaring daggers into the wall.

“Ah, right,” she said. “Eavesdroppers.”

The unicorn nodded and lit up her horn. The glow then spread to encompass the offending wall, after which point the energy was absorbed into the paint. The soundproof spell was cast, but not without a cost.

A second passed, then two. Then the unicorn collapsed, amidst flickers of green flame.

“Vibrant!”

As the flames faded, they revealed her lemon-yellow carapace and lime green wings flush against the hotel carpet.

Must’ve used more energy than I realized, she thought idly while admiring the carpet’s density. The sound of her name being called repeatedly caught her attention and she turned to look up at the aquamarine changeling looking down at her, or more specifically the orange eyes filled with both exasperation and relief.

“You’re absolutely hopeless,” Honeysuckle said, helping her up. “You know that right? I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.”

“In my defense, I used to not use as much energy in a day. I got a bit excited.”

“I can tell,” Honeysuckle snarked. “Well if you’re done being reckless, I’m going to go to bed. We can talk about everything tomorrow.”

“That sounds good, though I’m thinking of staying up for a bit. You go ahead though.”

Honeysuckle hesitated.

“If you’re going to stay up, let me give you the rest of my energy.”

Vibrant widened her eyes in surprise.

“Now who’s being reckless?”

Honeysuckle shrugged.

“Look, I appreciate it, but you’ve given me a ton of energy already,” Vibrant said, hanging her head. “The all-nighter writing session, the boost at the show from backstage, the one mid-performance… you’re exhausted.”

“I’m going to replenish my energy as I sleep and, as I said, I’m going to sleep right now,” Honeysuckle argued. “Besides, if you’re stuck like that all night, you’re going to whine and complain about it non-stop and I don’t want to deal with that tomorrow.”

Vibrant looked down and her colorful hoof and couldn’t disagree with the assessment. She nodded.

Wasting no time, Honeysuckle lit up her horn, gathering a mass of emerald energy. The same glow then enveloped Vibrant absorbing into her body and restoring her strength. Honeysuckle yawned.

“You should have enough charge for like… two more shifts? So do try not to waste them before tomorrow.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Honeysuckle nodded, heading back to the couch where she lay and immediately went to sleep. Barely a minute passed before her soft breathing filled the hotel room.

Vibrant smiled and took a deep breath, feeling recharged, if briefly.

I really should thank her when she wakes up.

Looking around the room, Vibrant couldn’t help but note the stark difference between how the room looked now and how it had looked earlier this week. The bottles of alcohol were in a plastic bag, gathered in the corner of the room. The papers were no longer scattered throughout the floor, but rather were in a neat pile next to her unopened fan mail—or rather, her mostly unopened fan mail.

Vibrant looked into the mirror, studying her reflection while the disgust and self-hatred grew. Once the anger began to boil, she shifted in a blaze of green flame to reveal a different changeling form, one with a black carapace and turquoise eyes. Like a salve, the anger cooled and she regained her calm and composure.

Vibrant took another deep breath and looked into the mirror again.

I’m certainly not the changeling I used to be, she thought as she studied herself. Yes, she looked the part with the fangs and the black chitin, but the eyes were still wrong though—were still hungerless. She would never again be able to rely on her hunger to drive her forwards anymore. It was something she’d have to come to terms with. And yet, somewhere along the way she had developed a drive of her own. She knew that now.

She looked at the papers on the desk, countless attempts by a changeling to carve a niche in the world of ponies, artifacts to a drive she herself had believed dead. That night’s performance, the previous one, this hotel room, it all stood as proof that she could still crawl out of a crater of her own making.

Honeysuckle’s reflection was visible just over the papers. Vibrant turned to look at her sleeping form directly.

Vibrant had lost her love supply during the reformation, her skills and powers thought forfeit. And yet, her performance that night had still happened. With Honeysuckle’s help, she’d finished a song, pulled off the show. It had been as if nothing had changed.

All without syphoning love.

Vibrant had lost her internal love supply and had thought the answer was to just “make do without.”

How foolish of me, she chastised herself. Still, it’s not like it was a perfect system.

Honeysuckle had run herself ragged supplying Vibrant with the energy she needed. That had not been fair. But with Svengallop’s enhancements? More training? More ponies? Perhaps the burden could be shared, her love supply taking the form of those she kept near her. Perhaps they could sustain her?

Honeysuckle grumbled in her sleep. Vibrant chuckled.

Something to consider at least.

For the first time in a while, Vibrant Tone felt excited about the future. Sure, this wasn’t the path she’d predicted, but perhaps it could still be a road worth traveling.

This was a new way of gathering energy. A new way of finding motivation. It was certainly going to be a new way to perform and present herself now that she had changed one life for another. And yet, it is a changeling’s nature to change. And Vibrant Tone was nothing, if not a changeling.

Okay, I’ve got a lot of demands I’ve got to plan tomorrow, she mused. Honeysuckle being contracted to my team, access to the vocal enhancements to ease the need for buffs, creative control on all performances, nicer hotels, the ability to hoof-pick my band…

At that thought her mind sort of wandered to distant memories of better times, things she couldn’t really appreciate when she lived them, things she had missed since they’d been gone.

And if I’m trying to build my network with ponies who’ll support me—

Vibrant Tone sat down at her desk, pulling out a piece of paper on which she began to write a long overdue letter.

Dear Clef Note,

It’s been a while hasn’t it?

Author's Note

And thus ends this short little story.

I hope you enjoyed it.

For those of you who care about the behind-the-scenes sort of stuff, I've written a blog post talking about some stuff in regards to this story and my feelings on it now that it's over. However, if this is the last I see you, I just want to say thank you for sharing this small journey with me.