After taking a deep breath, I try to reach up my black, hole-filled hoof up to the door of my parents’ place but, when I do so, I notice my own hoof shaking. I knew I was nervous but I didn't realize it would be that visible.

“It's okay, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom tells me encouragingly. “We got ya back.”

“Yeah! You can do this, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo tells me in an equally encouraging voice.

I hate to let them down, but I lower my hoof from the door.

“This feels so weird to me,” I tell my friends. “I have never come to my home . . . or rather, my parents’ home . . . feeling this nervous to enter.”

I look over my shoulder to see my friends. I'm additionally comforted to know that Ocellus also hangs a bit further back. I feel as if Starlight is right. Having one extra creature here that the town trusts to vouch for me does feel comforting, but I also feel guilty that my problems seem to be putting her life on hold for the moment. She's done nothing to deserve this burden. My main consolation is the fact she seems happy to help, though I do sense some conflicting feelings within her as well. Most likely it is because of the form I have which brings back bad memories for the young changeling.

“There are some times in the past that come close to this, though,” I admit to my friends. “Like the times I came home with a bad report card or less than stellar results on an important test. I felt pretty nervous to return home then.”

“Your parents don't strike me as that harsh,” Scootaloo says to me with a wince while rubbing the back of her neck. “To me, they seem pretty easy-going.” Scootaloo looks around at the others here as she asks aloud, “Am I the only one to think like that?”

I shake my head at Scootaloo as I say, “No. You're right. My parents are pretty easy-going. Maybe I take advantage of that too many times. Maybe I'm spoiled.” I look down with worry. “Still . . . I hate to disappoint them. Because I love them so much, I can't stand the thought of looking up at them and noticing I made them sad or angry somehow.” I look back at my friends. “Maybe it is because it is so rare, it hits me so hard when it finally does happen.”

I see my friends look at each other sympathetically. Both of them have some painful issues with their parents. In one case they are frequently absent and, in the other case, they are downright dead. Despite that, they both feel keenly aware of how they would have felt in my place.

As for Ocellus, she seems to have a hard time looking me in the eyes right now. Part of me kept expecting her to share some sage advice at some time because she is older than me and my friends, despite my current appearance. But, instead of that, she seems painfully shy. Nervous, even. It's as if she has no idea what to say to give me any comfort in this situation.

When my eyes finally do meet with Ocellus, she gives me a shy expression and a shrug. It is an apologetic look that seems to say, “I'm sorry. I wish I could be more helpful right now.”

Ocellus is not just older than us. She channeled the energy of Harmony more than once. It's easy to assume she should be an expert at friendship because of that, but the original Elements of Harmony, including my older sister, is certainly not without faults. I learned the hard way during a soapbox derby race that adults are not always right.

But since I've never been an adult before, except during that one time I was magically transformed into one (which, in hindsight, probably shouldn't really count), it's so easy to take for granted that adults can be flawed. They are older than us foals. Those extra years seem like it should cause us to assume that adults are simply better than us foals. If they remain capable of making mistakes, don't they make them less often? Since the answers seems to be yes, I still feel like I have to trust them by default.

I have to remind myself that Ocellus isn't an adult even by the standards of her race. Older than me, yes, but she's still not quite there yet. And, even after all her time here, she's still learning pony ways. When it comes to years of experience with our culture, I actually am older than her, which is weird to think about.

I sigh again as I attempt to regather my courage. When I finally feel I'm ready, I reach up to knock on the door with a more steady hoof.

But I grow surprised when I notice the door unlatching before my hoof has a chance to rap on the door. Were they standing on the other side or is this just a coincidence?

Well, based on the magic color that surrounds the doorknob of the house, I already know this is my mother answering the door. So, when I see her after the door fully opens, I am not surprised. I am also not surprised to see her surprise in seeing me either. Her attention lingers on me longer than I care for, but eventually she does widen her attention enough to notice my friends standing here too.

“Uh . . . Hey there, Missus Cookie. What's sup?” Scootaloo asks in order to inject some casualness into this awkward moment. “Ah . . . may we come in?” she asks further before my mother has a chance to answer her last question.

My mother blinks as she says, “Oh! Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. Welcome.” Her delight sinks into concern as she goes on to ask. “Where's Sweetie Belle? I had assumed she was with you two.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” Apple Bloom pauses as she spares a look to me before returning her gaze to my mother. “. . . we need ta talk. It's all important-like.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, come in,” my mother invites us as she steps aside and sweeps a hoof into our home followed by the comment, “Make yourselves at home.”

“Thanks, Missus Cookie,” Scootaloo says before we all trot into the home.

As we proceed inside, I notice my mother's gaze lingering on me wearily. After we all step inside, I then notice my mom sweep a look outside of our home as if expecting one more pony to enter. Probably me, in this case. She has no idea her daughter already entered. I'm not used to this reaction from her, but I can't blame her either. Right now I'm not even a girl let alone a pony entirely.

“We just recently had dinner,” my mother announces before shutting the door. I notice a bit of worry linger on her face as she does so.

“By 'we', Ah assume ya mean ya an' yer husband?” Apple Bloom asks. “So Ah guess that means Hondo is home too.”

“In that case, we should speak to him as well,” Scootaloo advises.

“He's reading the paper right now,” my mother informs us in a slight tone of objection. When she says that, I realize she's probably right. My father often likes to do that after having a meal.

Scootaloo lifts a hoof as she says, “Trust me, this is important, Missus C.”

“Oh.” My mother's worried look deepens as she puts a hoof to her chest. “Alright. We can talk in the living room. It's right over-”

“I know the way,” I interrupt my mom then make my way there.

Behind me, I notice awkward silence descend which I struggle to ignore. Being here under these circumstances is already taxing all the courage I managed to gather.

Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, of course, also know the way. They follow me with no problem.

After I arrive and sit down in one of our comfy couches, I notice how Ocellus's gaze is wandering around the living room. Only in that moment does it occur to me that the young changeling has never been in our house before, at least that I'm aware of. She appears to have a look to her face like she's exploring an alien world that she doesn't feel threatened by. More like delighted. If I had to judge her thoughts based on her expression alone, it probably would go something like, “Oh wow! I can't believe they invited me into their home! How cool is that? And look at all the wonderful stuff they have!”

This reminds me of Silversteam's former fascination with stairs which I used to think was strange until she explained that her race never required them underwater.

Occasionally there is a look of confusion on the blue changeling's face as if she couldn't identify some of the things we have in our living room. That strongly gave me a “fish out of water” vibes.

That, in turn, is fascinating for me to observe. Because of their shape-shifting abilities, one would think that a changeling could potentially fit in anywhere, but that doesn't explain the expression I'm seeing on her face now.

That feels strange to me, too. When I look around this living room, all I see is something very familiar. This is the kind of place I grew up in all my life. I couldn't possibly be more native.

“Alright. What's this about?” grumbles my father as he trots into the living room. He is shortly followed by his wife. “Oh hey, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. I thought Sweetie Belle would be with you.”

“Ah . . . no,” Apple Bloom answers with a sheepish look on her face.

“Speaking of Sweetie Belle, I got a bone to pick with you two,” my mother informs my friends with a look of minor annoyance.

“What did we do?!” Scootaloo asks with a startled voice.

My mother lifts a hoof as she says, “Now you know I don't mind Sweetie sleeping over at either one of your houses, but I'm afraid I must insist to be informed before it happens so that I don't worry. That way I'll at least know which one of your places she's off to.”

“And we know she's not at her sister's place,” my father added. “I know because I checked with her after work.”

“How is Rarity?” I ask with hope in my voice, but in truth, I'm kind of tempted to change the subject a bit.

“She's . . . fine,” my father answers me hesitantly as he gives me a strange look as if asking me, “What's it to you?”

My discomfort grows. I am really unaccustomed to the look I am receiving from my parents right now. It's actually scarier than when they are mad at me. I don't feel good when that happens either, but at least there is also love and recognition in their looks. I'm so accustomed to that that I couldn't imagine, before today, what they look like when they gaze at me as if I'm a stranger.

Worse still, I look like a potentially hostile stranger.

As I observe this, the cold feeling in my chest increases.

Eventually I see my father shake his head as he finally decides to address the elephant in the room. When he does that, though, I am hurt to notice him look at my friends as he asks them instead of me, “I'm sorry, but who is he?”

I wince at that question for two reasons. Number one, the lack of recognition. Number two, being referred to with the pronoun “he”. A feeling of wrongness sinks deeper into me and makes the emptiness within me ache.

I'm a girl, for pony's sake! This shouldn't be happening to me!

“Well, you see . . .” Scootaloo pauses as she winces and rubs a hoof behind her neck with discomfort. “. . . that's what we came here to talk to you about.”

I'm having so much trouble finding my voice right now. Part of it is the discomfort of hearing a stranger’s voice speak whenever I use it. I don't want anything to confirm the reality I am in any deeper than it's already happened. That's why I feel like I have to rely on my friends now far more than I usually do. I am so grateful that there are here to support me.

However, when I look over at them, I notice them glancing at each other as if each of them wishes the other to deliver the bad news. I sigh and gain a dull look when I notice that. I suppose I should have expected that and I can't really blame them.

Meanwhile my parents are looking back and forth anxiously between both of my friends. Sometimes they look at me too but they don't spare more than a quick glance. It's as if they don't wish to acknowledge my presence.

My pain grows deeper.

“There was ah . . . a sort of accident yesterday,” my earth pony friend bravely tries to explain.

“Yeah!” Scootaloo confirms. “What she said.”

“Accident?” my father asks me in alarm. After he asks that, I notice my parents reach a hoof out to each other. They might have done that unconsciously.

“Is this about Sweetie Belle?” my mother asks my friends nervously.

“Well . . . yeah,” Scootaloo admits very nervously then looks at her yellow earth pony friend and nods as if to say, “You tell them the next part.”

“Is she hurt?” my mother asks with rising concern. “Will she be okay?”

“That's, ah . . . complicated to explain,” Apple Bloom says with strong discomfort.

“Complicated how?” my father challenges them. “Tell us where our daughter is!” he suddenly demands with rising fury which is obviously caused by worry.

“Well, Sir, she's right . . . um . . .” my pegasus friend begins but has a hard time finishing. She does look at me to give them both a visual hint of where I am, but I quickly notice my parents took it the wrong way.

“What? Are you telling me this changeling is responsible for our missing daughter?” my father asks as his fury continues to increase. “Where is she?” Next, my father startles me by stomping his way to me and demanding, “TELL US WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW!”

I shrivel at my father's furious gaze at me. I have never seen this side of him before. Sure, I have seen him mad before, but it was mixed with love. This time, however, it is pure fury mixed with fear instead of love. I'm not even remotely accustomed to that. Most of the time, at our house, I am surrounded by a casual sense of familiarity.

“Honey,” my mother says a little timidly.

“WHAT?!” my father roars at my mother. When he sees her wince, he immediately regrets his tone of voice with her. He shakes his head in an effort to calm himself down then tries again with a much softer tone, “What is it, Beautiful?”

My mother gulps before answering, “I think we should give them a chance to explain before we toss around accusations.” She looks at me before she goes on to say, “They trust him enough to invite him to our house so he can't be all bad, right? And we know,” she says as she now regards Ocellus, “that not all changelings are bad.”

Now I look over to Ocellus as well. I am quick enough to notice a look of pain mixed with understanding and sad acceptance sink into her giant bug-like eyes. When I see that, something tells me she admitted to her friends in school that she was warned to expect some prejudice against her race for a while after everything that happened. In response, I am guessing that they advised her to stay strong and stick with the program. After all, the longer she is exposed to this village in her true form, the more ponies will grow accustomed to seeing her race as good now. After all, promoting friendship is the entire reason she was invited to that school.

I grow sick to think about that. I hate that “us versus them” mentality. I hate the thought that we could be stuck on one side or another of a potential war simply because of what race we're born as, but I also have to admit that it is difficult for a herbivore-like race to ignore danger instincts when it shows up. It might be a gradually outdated thing now but those instincts were probably there for a very good reason at one time or another.

This reminds me of the tale that pony tribes used to be against each other, too. That pegasi, earth ponies, and unicorns used to see each other as enemies simply because of minor differences. Had that attitude continued, I never would have been blessed with the friends I have today.

And yet, near the date of Twilight's coronation, I was extremely startled to notice that fear and prejudice rear its ugly head again so strongly that it once again invited the evil windigo's back. I had horrified disbelief at the time but then later asked myself, “What other myths out there are also true? My goodness, our world is so much more dangerous than we thought!”

“Well, um, to answer one of your questions,” Scootaloo spoke up when she finally found her voice again, “the good news is Sweetie Belle's condition is stable. It won't get any worse than it already is.”

“And the bad news?” my father asks her fearfully.

“Well, um . . .” She looks at me. “You can ask her yourself.”

My parents both blink at us for a confused moment, then my father asks, “What do you mean?”

“Go on, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom whispers to me as she also nudges me. “Tell 'em who ya are.”

“Also add something that only you would know,” Scootaloo adds in the same volume.

“What are you two whispering about to that . . . thing?” my father asks us cautiously.

I know what my friends are getting at, but there's something else that's been bothering my mind lately. Something I have to know.

“Um . . . Mom, Dad,” I begin in a fearful voice. I hear my voice shaking and it still feels so weird to me to hear a stranger’s voice when I speak. Every time I do I feel like I have an itch I need to scratch but I don't know how or where to scratch.

I notice my parents narrow their eyes at me, but I press on. I have to know!

“Are you two changelings too?” I ask as bravely as I can.

Everyone in the room appears taken aback by my question, but I had to ask because of something I remember Starlight Glimmer had said. According to her, something was already amiss before she even began her magical experiment with me. Also there is the fact she had already done this experiment with Sunburst and it didn't have nearly the same results.

But the aghast expression on my parents’ face reveals to me that I may have missed my mark.

“What?” my father asks me as his fury gathers again. “First you all come to our house to tell us something is wrong with our daughter, a problem that you probably have something to do with.”

Well . . . he's not wrong. I do have something to do with my apparent “disappearance”.

“And now you dare to accuse us of being changelings?” my father goes on to ask.

“I-I just . . . I wanted to-to kn-know if-” I stutter fearfully but am blown away by my father's interrupting reaction.

“GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE NOW, YOU FILTHY MONSTER!” my father roars at me.

I am so numb with shock that I can't even think. That's why my mind is barely processing when my mother rushes in front of me as she begs, “Please, good Sir, please take pity on us! Please tell us where Sweetie Belle is and what you've done with her. We won't get mad. We just want her back! If you have any pity left in your heart, you'll tell us where she is.”

I stare at my mother unblinking as I see her weep in front of me.

“Please! She's our precious little girl. I'll do anything you say. Anything! Do you want my love for her? Then take it! I give it to you freely. I'll give you so much of my love that you'll be stuffed for moons.”

No one else is speaking either. I'm guessing they are as shocked as I am, but I can't tell for sure because I am not looking at them. I only know that they are not speaking up either. It seems we are all at a loss for words.

But around that time I notice a peculiar sensation I have never noticed before. Now that my mother is this close, I can smell something off of her I have never smelt before. It's a sweet fragrance, whatever it is. For some reason, it makes me hungry. At the same time, the cold emptiness in my chest flares with especially painful intensity.

Before I even realize it, I open my mouth and loudly hiss at my mother. It is a gruntal, monstrous-like tone that is terrifying to hear even to my own ears. The fact that it is coming from me would have horrified me more if my mind wasn't already so numb with shock.

Everyone around me is startled and shocked into silence.

Before I speak again, I jam both of my hooves in front of my mouth to contain this unexpected reaction. I then look around and notice how everypony, plus one changeling, is looking at me with horror.

My mother backs away from me and flees to my father's forelegs for protection. She is shaking and whimpering within his chest. He, in turn, is holding her protectively. For a moment he looks at her sympathetically before glaring daggers at me.

As for my mom, I notice her shivering with pain which makes my own pain bleed. I could never imagine myself capable of causing her so much pain.

My mother . . . the mare I love.

Panic explodes within me. All the warmth I usually feel in this house now feels like I'm sitting in an oven that is baking to four hundred degrees. I'm burning in here and I can't breathe! I have to get out of here!

Without warning, I burst from the couch, race out of the living room then charge out the door. My disgusting green changeling magic barely has time to fling open the door before I could crash into it. As it stands, the door does slam against a wall beside it so hard that I might have damaged it, but right now I don't care.

“SWEETIE BELLE, COME BACK!!” both of my friends yell out to me simultaneously.

I can't do that! I have to get away from that house. I don't know exactly where I am going and, right now, I barely care. All I know is my stubby legs just keep racing beneath me but I am not used to my new sense of equilibrium and it quickly gets worse. Before long, I am stumbling forward more than galloping. I struggle against it but I manage only a few more paces before I finally crash into the . . .

. . . Actually, fortunately for me, I crash into a pile of hay that's on the ground for some reason. It cushions my fall, but my mind barely registers that.

I can't get that image out of my head. The expression of my parents and their horrified reaction. Horrified at me! ME . . . a monster! Daddy said it himself.

The thing is, what if he's right? What if I'm a deluded changeling who got hypnotized into thinking I'm Sweetie Belle? That's the other theory that clung to my mind like an icy claw and just refuses to let go.

All of my memories . . . my whole entire life . . . what if it's not real? What if these memories were forcefully shoved in me somehow? Does that mean I'm not the real Sweetie Belle? Am I really a monster?

Existential horror aside, there is one terrifying conclusion I reach if that theory turned out to be true. If I'm the real monster that got deceived into believing myself to be Sweetie Belle, then what happened to the real Sweetie Belle? Is she still out there? Is she captured? Is she hurt?

SWEET CELESTIA! What if she's dead?! Does that mean her parents and friends that I care about so much will never see her again? Will I never see her again? Am I stuck with her memories and never know who I am either?

I close my eyes and cry as I roll into my back in the hay. I also rest my right foreleg just under my crooked black horn.

I am scared. I am so scared right now. For the moment I care what may have happened to the real Sweetie Belle, but if I gain my true memories back as a horrifying monster then I might lose that compassion later. I might forget how to love anyone.

I don't want to forget! I don't want to forget who I am! I don't care if I ever get my true memories back. I always want to think I'm Sweetie Belle!

In my mind, my life scrolls through by at a significantly slower pace than a flash. I remember how I, and the rest of the Crusaders, keep high hooving each other in victory. I remember our songs. I remember our camping trip to Winsome Falls. I remember proudly showing my parents pictures I've made with macaroni. I look up at them as the picture hangs in my mouth while desperately looking for signs of approval on their faces. Despite the fact I always find what I seek whenever I check in a situation like that, some part of my mind stubbornly worries if they won't appreciate it this time. After all, I put so much work into those pictures. I poured my heart and soul into them every time. I did it all for some small token of affection and love.

I remember how I felt when they shared their approval. I remember how much I felt a glow inside. Is it really possible for memories to feel this intense and still be fake? Because, if so, I can't be certain of anything anymore.

When I feel that sense of doubt within me, the coldness grows colder and blacker within me. Unexpectedly, brief flares of anger also lash out of that darkness. During those flashes of anger, horrifying scenes are shown that I can barely comprehend, nor do I want to understand. The thought of blood and guts dripping from the ceiling and walls is enough to cause me to violently shove those horrendous thoughts and feelings back down the deep recesses of my soul.

“Sweetie Belle . . . may I join you?” I hear Ocellus kindly request with much sympathy and understanding in her voice.

“Go away!” I whine to her. “Just leave me alone!”

“I can't. You are hurting,” the changeling replies. “And, as a friend, I cannot abandon you in your hour of need.

“Besides, there is something I think you need to hear. I came here to tell you I understand what you are going through.”

“You . . . you do?” I ask with rising hope. I finally open my eyes and sit up enough to look at her. That's why I can see her nod.

“Yes,” she says along with the nod. “I've seen enough to know changeling hunger when I see it. I grew up with it most of my life. I grew up seeing that hateful hiss in plenty with my brood mates . . . and also within myself when I looked into the mirror.

“You know,” Ocellus resumes as she bends down and tucks her legs beneath her in order to be more eye level with me. “before now, I used to wonder if you're still a pony who got disguised as a changeling, or if you really are a changeling now.” She shakes her head. “I am no longer wondering that. That hiss is all too familiar.”

My ears go flat. I frown as water rises in my eyes. I ask, “So . . . I really am a changeling now? I really am a monster?”

Sometimes the bug-like eyes of Ocellus makes it difficult to tell where she is looking at. There are no eye pupils in there. They are all just one big color. Nevertheless, somehow I can tell she was looking at the ground a moment ago then shifts that look to me. After a long pause, she replies, “Yes.”

My frown sinks further as I look down.

“What's more, that's the evil changeling hunger,” Ocellus informs me. “I'm quite familiar with that, but the good news is I also know how to hoofle it.”

“How?” I immediately ask, feeling desperate. “Please tell me. Make this pain go away.”

“The best way is to run towards your friends, not away from them,” Ocellus answers. “To be surrounded with warmth and affection. And, if you can't do that, then at least draw upon your memories of such warmth and affection.”

I sniff before asking, “Do you really think that will work?”

Ocellus gives me a look as if to imply, “Remember who you are talking to.”

“Oh. Right,” I say sheepishly.

“Close your eyes,” Ocellus instructs.

I do so.

“Think of your friends and loved ones,” she continues.

I do so.

“Any memory could do as long as you feel that warmth of affection.”

The first memory I instinctively draw upon is the day I got my cutie mark. I remember how my friends and I slapped our hooves together when we decided to dedicate our lives to helping other ponies find their cutie marks. Before then we struggled so hard to find it ourselves.

But, when that happened, magic sparked between our hooves. After that, I remember floating as I asked myself, “What's going on?” My friends later told me the same thought crossed their minds, too.

After that, a magical feeling floated up from within me. My body floated too, but it felt like a side effect of the rising feelings from within me.

When the experience passed, we settled back onto the earth. I was dizzy, confused, and disoriented. I wondered what happened because I never experienced that before. One of us asked what happened to us. In response, Diamond Tiara replied, “It's your cutie marks! They're amazing!”

Excitement flared within me as I thought to myself, “What?! Really? It finally happened?”

With no further hesitation, I checked my flank. The surprise I felt at my own cutie mark was somewhat overshadowed by the realization that my friends got their marks too, and I also noticed, with even further rising excitement, how similar theirs were to my own.

“WE GOT OUR CUTIE MARKS!!!” we cried out in unison before slamming our flanks together. “CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS FOREVER!!!”

That explosive sense of pure joy had filled me. I well recall that.

“How do you feel?” Ocellus checks.

“Joy,” I answer in a daze.

“Not cold or empty?” she further probes.

I snap my eyes open when it occurs to me that she's right! While I reminisced about the joy I felt with my club sisters on that day, I completely forgot about my hunger and pain.

Then I snap my attention onto Ocellus when she applies a hoof on my shoulder before telling me, “That is how you do it. That is how you forestall the hunger, at least for a time,” she informs me. “But the only way to do it more permanently is to transform into a more evolved form. Until then, the struggle with the hunger will be constant.”

“What?” I moan as my ears go flat again. “Then . . . how do I transform?”

There are many reasons I want to know.

The moment I ask, she seems to privately realize something startling. After a while she admits, “I, ah . . . really not sure how to explain that one. A changeling's ability to change is something we always had. Something we grew up with and are accustomed to thinking it's normal. It happens instinctively, kind of like a reflex. As such, we never have to explain it to the rest of the pack. Even grubs figure it out without the need to explain.”

“But I'm not a changeling! Or, at least, I didn't grow up as one that I know of.”

“I know. That's a tricky dilemma,” Ocellus admits. “I'm just hoping you figure it out naturally because that's what worked for us. I might be able to walk you through it a little. Like . . . how it feels and such. But, in the end, you'll have to figure it out on your own.”

Then she smiles at me as she says, “But the good news is you are surrounded by love and affection in your life.” She shakes her head. “The rest of the hive in my life didn't grow up like that. That's why it took so long for us to figure out how to evolve our forms.” She shrugs. “Obviously Chrysalis did nothing to encourage this discovery, but I think even she didn't know about it. If she did, she deprived us of that knowledge on purpose, probably so that we'd stay subservient to her.”

“Then what should I do in the meantime?” I ask worriedly.

“Stay with your friends and loved ones,” she encourages me. “Few in the world can ever know our burden. How we are forced to stay with our friends and family to avoid starvation. It is a necessity that will always chain us to each other, but the good news is it can be supplied by any creature. We can feel affection for each other as changelings just as well as any other creature can supply that role.” She points a hoof behind her. “That's why I'm doing so well here with my new group of friends besides the fact that the changeling hunger has greatly diminished ever since my transformation.”

“But the need has not withdrawn completely?” I check with surprise.

Ocellus looks momentarily uncomfortable. Before answering, she checks to see if the coast is clear. Upon confirming it is, she leans forward, puts a hoof beside her mouth, and whispers, “Yes, but that is a secret the hive swore to conceal.”

“Why?” I ask with a confused blink.

Ocellus lowers her hoof as she answers in a more normal tone, “Because that is a weakness which remains with the hive. The changeling hunger for love remains, but it is greatly diminished and we surround ourselves with so much love now, we hardly notice it.

“Conversely, the need for water and food actually increased as if to replace our previous needs.” She sighs before explaining to me, “You have to understand that our race has always survived on anger, fear, and paranoia before. We've become more friendly now but we're not eager to admit our weaknesses yet just in case we get locked down in a war later. It's actually common sense if you think about it.”

“Oh. Right,” I agree in understanding before looking at her in concern. “In that case, are you really getting enough affection from your new friends here to sustain you?”

She smiles at me brightly as she happily reports, “Oh yes!”

“And do they know about this continued need of yours?” I probe further.

Ocellus shook her head as she says, “I swore to Thorax and the rest of the hive that I'd protect this secret for reasons I already stated. I haven't told anypony else other than you because of your situation right now. You're technically a changeling for the moment so you needed to know that, but the others don't need to know.”

Then she looks down as she rubs her hoof on her chin as she muses aloud, “Though I get the feeling Smolder and Gallus suspect the truth. They are pretty shrewd and observant.” She looks back at me as she lowers her hoof. “Sand Bar might also suspect, but I never asked any of them to confirm this theory.”

“And let me guess . . . you want me to protect the secret too?”

Ocellus sighs as she looks down while thinking for a moment, then looks back at me as she says, “I won't insist, but . . . as my friend, I think you'll know what to do and not do. I trust you to make a moral decision. Professor Rainbow Dash and Applejack both agree that it is important to have faith in your friends.”

“There you are, Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo exclaims as she rushes up to me. “Me and Apple Bloom have been looking for you all over.”

“Where is she now?” I ask Scootaloo.

She shrugs as she says, “Beat's me. All I know is she's looking for you too. You shouldn't have galloped off like that.” A little bit of pain and worry cracks to the surface of Scootaloo's face as she confesses, “I must admit, you really had us worried.”

I look at Ocellus for a moment as I realize she'll probably not share any more changeling secrets with me now that Scootaloo is back, but what she said so far makes me very fascinated and concerned. I want to learn more about her race but now is probably not the time.

“What about my parents? Are they still mad at me?” I check with Scootaloo.

Reluctantly, she nods yes, then explains, “They're just scared, kind of like we are. You also have to know that the entire motivation for that fear is actually love for you. They just don't realize that you are Sweetie Belle.”

“Oh. I see,” I say despondently as I look down.

“They also told us that, for as long as we foolishly think you are Sweetie Belle, the longer it will take for us to search for the 'real’ you.”

“What if they're right?” I ask with concern as I look back up at Scootaloo.

Scootaloo winces as she asks, “Excuse me? What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is . . . what if I'm not the real Sweetie Belle? What if I'm a deluded changeling who got hypnotized into thinking that I'm Sweetie Belle?”

Scootaloo shakes her head as she says, “I don't know what you are talking about, and frankly, I don't want to know. You are the real Sweetie Belle. End of story, and I don't want to catch you thinking like that again.”

“But-” I complain.

“No buts!” Scootaloo interrupts insistently. “I know who Sweetie Belle is. I grew up with her for a long time now. I even gained my cutie mark with her. We've been on many adventures together. I can tell her apart from a fake, and sister . . .” she points at me firmly, “you ain't no fake . . . so stop talking like that! I mean it!”

“Scootaloo,” I say as my eyes shine with tears.

Scootaloo shuts her eyes tight as she complains, “No. Please don't cry either. You're going to get me started if you do.”

“Then what's our next plan?” Ocellus checks as a means to change the subject.

“Um . . . right,” Scootaloo says before sniffing and wiping her nose. “First we need to find Apple Bloom and regroup.”

“Okay,” I agree with a nod then listen for the next step.

“Then I think we should check with your older sister and see if she'll be just as stubborn as your parents,” Scootaloo proposes. “And speaking of your parents, I think we should let Starlight Glimmer hoofle them next. She does have counseling experience, after all. In fact, I'm surprised she didn't think of it in the first place.”

“Trixie is a counselor too,” Ocellus reminds us.

“Yeah. She is,” Scootaloo reluctantly admits then says no more. She didn't want to admit to a lack of faith in Trixie's abilities as a counselor. She shakes her head before saying, “Anyway, we should go before you attract too much attention.”

I sigh before agreeing, “Right.”

Author's Note

I bet most of you knew that some kind of further conflict would arise because of Sweetie's situation. Maybe you have even foreseen this specific problem coming.

One person I talked about this story with on Discord completely didn't forgive Sweetie's parents in this chapter, but I hope the rest of you see now that nothing is too cut and dry with this chapter. It's a complex social dynamic with no easy answers. Maybe you can see some antagonists in this chapter but there are no true villains. Only victims.

That's the nature of conflict. When people are challenged with it, it doesn't always amount to success the first time. None of this changes the characters' inherent nature to each other. It just adds a layer of confusion and misunderstanding which results in bitterness since it's such a senetive issue.