False Face

This is what I've been missing for the past several days! Snuggling into my bed in my room with my mother singing me a lullaby as she tenderly tucks me into bed. Sometimes she gently brushes a hoof on my cheek to wipe away a few strands of hair.

As she sings, I see her above me as she gazes down with a face radiating the warmth of love. I see tears in her eyes because I can tell she missed this too. My mother doesn't always sing me to bed because sometimes either one of us is not in the mood.

But, after the separation we suffered from in the recent past, both of us feel like we need this right now. It's like crawling through a desert while nearly dying of dehydration then finally being allowed to get a drink of water within a discovered oasis.

My sister and I have always been very strong and independent but we've always known that our parents would be there for us when we need them, changeling shenanigans notwithstanding. That's probably why my sister and I boldly moved forward with such confidence in our hearts. It is because we've always known, deep down, that we have a dependable safety net beneath us to always catch us during the worst of times.

But, at this moment, I realize something that my parents probably concluded a long time ago, and that is how much we need each other to feel complete. They need to have a foal in their lives right now to sing to and tuck into bed. Their need for that is almost as great as my need for that to happen to me.

My father remains at the entrance to my room. When my mother finishes and my heavy eyelids drift asleep, tears blur my eyes as I watch my mother drift to my father at the entrance of the room. There they hug each other in mutual need then simultaneously glance towards me.

“Goodnight, Sweet Heart,” my father tells me warmly just beyond the entrance to my room.

I yawn tiredly before I reply, “Goodnight, Dad.”

“We'll see you in the morning, Sweetie-kins,” my mother bids me as she uses her magic to slowly close my door. “I'm so glad you're back.”

“We are glad you're back,” my father quickly corrects.

I'm too tired to reply with anything more than dimly and tiredly smiling at them, and yet that tiny smile is filled with the warmth of a radiating sun.

Then my door to my room is shut which extinguishes the last of the light in my room other than the soft glow of moonlight peeking through the curtains which slightly rustle in a gentle breeze.

This feels nice! I'm finally happy again.

“Sweeeeeeeeeeeetie Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelle,” says a sinister whisper through my room.

My eyes pop awake. Considering how relaxed and cozy I felt just a second ago, I am honestly surprised how instantly alert I feel now.

But it kind of makes sense. I think that's the voice of the changeling inside of me who seems finally ready to talk to me. Whatever he has to say might be of critical importance, too. Maybe even life or death importance so I cannot afford to ignore this.

If, instead, it happens to be his original self and not the clone, then what he has to say might be even more important.

After all the effort my mother used to gently and lovingly tuck me into bed, part of me feels sad to ruin her work by using my magic to peel off the covers most of the way. By then it is enough to easily crawl out of bed. I proceed to light my horn a bit so I don't stumble about too much in the dark even though this is a room I am intimately familiar with.

I make my way to the mirror above my dresser. Between the soft moonlight and the dim illumination of my horn, I see my reflection clearly enough to recognize the fact that it is indeed not my reflection but rather that of the changeling clone. The interesting thing is the fact that his horn is illuminated too, but it is casting a deep green rather than my own soft green. When I see that, I am not convinced he needs to do this to “see” where he is going. Instead, he's only doing it because he has to since I have ignited my horn. He is my reflection, after all, so maybe he has to follow me to some extent.

“I was worried you wouldn't talk to me,” I say very quietly to the changeling on the other side of the mirror. “That I made a mistake so huge that you'd shun me from then on.”

“And is that what's most important to you right now?” the changeling says with disgust. “Are you afraid that you upset a new, 'friend'?” he asks while surrounding the word “friend” with quotes as if mocking the term. “Oh please! Spare me your insipid delusions. Ponies are food to my kind, not friends.”

“Then why are you talking to me right now?” I ask him. “Oh, and by the way, what is your name?”

He briefly opened his mouth a bit in order to answer my first question but he freezes in surprise when I suddenly added my second question. That freeze holds for a few seconds before he narrows his eyes at me as he asks me, “What makes you think I even have a name?”

“What?” I blink in surprise. “All creatures have names. Even changelings and I know that for a fact. Queen Chrysalis has a name. King Thorax and his brother have a name. Ocellus has a name so don't stand there and tell me that you don't have a name, so what is it? I'm tired of just thinking of you as, 'the changeling clone'.”

He waves a hoof sideways as he admits, “Yes, the rest of the hive has a name because they have lower standards, but the Ghosts abandon their name when they join our secret and elite organization.”

I widen my eyes as I ask with shock, “Really?”

He nods as he says, “My name is whatever mask I wear from moment to moment. We, who wear infinite masks, are meant to have no true sense of self-identity other than our loyalty to our Queen and the tenets of the Ghosts.”

For a moment he transforms into the image of Princess Twilight Sparkle. When he does, he says in her voice, expression, and friendly mannerisms, “For instance, right now, my true name is Princess Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship!” I see him gaze at me with an eerie friendly sparkle in her eyes as if she is genuinely delighted to see me. “I just love to read and watch as all my friends around me grow closer with the tight bonds of friendship. To see you now before my very eyes while wearing your true form puts a smile to my face and a loving glow in my heart.” He presses a wing to the image of her chest as she says with gratitude, “Thank you, Sweetie Belle, for being my dear and very special friend.”

“Okay, okay. Stop it! You made your point,” I express with a shudder. That performance is so accurate that it's creepy because I also know it doesn't come from a place of true authenticity.

As I request, he changes back to his true form. The moment he does, he slouches a bit and his shoulder blades tighten closely as if he's getting ready to pounce on me at any moment.

“Master shapeshifters do nothing and are nothing more than whatever ties us to each identity we disguise ourselves from moment to moment. True professionals, such as ourselves, give no meaning to our sense of self other than the mask we wear because that is our true identity! We are the masks we wear. It isn't acting, it is truth. By remaining a blank slate, we can color our souls with whatever color we need to from moment to moment.”

“Alright, but you did have a name before you joined?” I check.

A dull look cascades on his face as he shrugs and says, “Yes, but that is irrelevant. That name died when I officially joined the Ghosts.

“Besides, even if you press me, I have to tell you that I genuinely do not remember what that name was, nor do I care. I am one of the Ghosts now. That means I must remain a phantom. A nameless myth whispered fearfully in the dark.” He said the last word with a fearsome gurgle and a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Ah . . . okay. Fine then. How about I come up with a name for you?” I compromise.

He shrugs carelessly as he asks, “You wish to give a name to one of the infinite masks I wear? Well fine then. Go nuts.”

“Okay.” I look up as I think back. As best as I can recall, the first time I met him in my dreams, he presented himself to me as a raven. I think his original self did likewise in the Everfree Forest. I don't know why, but he seems to enjoy that form for some reason. Maybe it has to do with tactical mobility, subtle countenance, and perhaps a shade intimidating.

A raven who is black as night. A smart and mystical bird who squawks riddles in the shadows. A bird who enjoys being mysterious and tricky.

I look back at the changeling as I declare, “I am going to call you Raven.” I smile at my cleverness as I add, “Agent Raven. A changeling spy with a mysterious and chilling past.”

For five silent seconds, Agent Raven just stares at me blankly.

“What do you think?” I ask brightly.

“You . . . are such a foal,” Raven proclaims with dry disgust.

“Yes, I am!” I agree proudly as I puff out my white fur chest. “Because I am Sweetie Belle. That's how I roll.”

Raven groans in annoyance then shakes his head as he says carelessly, “Whatever. It doesn't really matter.”

“Yes it does,” I disagree. “A name is very important. Having an identity of your own marks who you are. You are not really the masks you wear, you're simply you who chooses to wear a mask from moment to moment.”

“I wouldn't expect you to understand,” he replies dryly.

I give a brief sigh before saying, “Maybe not. I didn't grow up in a cold and cruel environment like you did. Thank Celestia.

“But just because you no longer have a name before doesn't mean you can't acquire one now. I just gave you a name like my parents chose for me.” I shake my head as I say, “I didn't have a chance to argue with it when I was born. I was too young to dispute or agree with it back then. Instead, I view it as a gift that my parents gave me. They gave me life then gave me a name. I cherish them both for it.”

“You and I grew up in vastly different worlds,” Agent Raven acknowledges. He shakes his head slightly before he goes on to say, “But all of that is irrelevant. What I came here to talk to you about tonight is the repercussions of your actions earlier today.”

I frown as I say, “I know, I know. You've come to tell me that I've been a very foolish girl today and that I should have listened to and obeyed you.”

He grins a bit as he says, “Actually, what I've come to tell you tonight is that your emotional blunder may work in our favor.”

I immediately brighten as I ask him, “Really?”

“Be that as it may, you acted in character with yourself and my original would know that. You also didn't deliberately leak the secret and my original self should catch on to that as well. You behaved in accordance with your natural personality. We can at least accept that and calculate the repercussions in accordance with your actions.”

Raven gives me a devious grin as he goes on to say, “The fact of the matter is I don't think what you've done complements his plans. You are an anomaly he was forced to deal with because of your fortunate circumstances. Clone or not, he didn't want to harm you because he considers our species very endangered. That, in turn, meant he was kind of stuck with you. He tried to intimidate you into silence as best he could, but the secret slipped out anyway just because you behaved naturally and others caught on to that fact.” He points towards the direction of my window from his end of the mirror as he goes on to say, “Diamond Tiara figured out the secret on her own. That's not your fault, and the only reason you confessed the fact you are now a changeling to the rest of your class is because she pressured you to do it and you knew she could have told it in your place if you didn't. Like it or not, she pushed you into a corner.” He shrugs. “By then it was too late for you to do anything. You had to play the cards you've been dealt with.”

He lifts a hoof as he goes on to say, “The important thing here is the fact you derailed his plans. Like an outbreak of a plague, the situation has grown exponentially beyond his ability to properly and silently contain the situation. Too many ponies know some of your secrets, now, so he's forced to roll with it which means you forced him to accelerate his plans before he was fully ready to execute them with flawless precision.”

His evil smile grows as he goes on to say, “That, in turn, means he's much more prone to make a mistake now. A mistake we might be able to capitalize on.

“Remember, I told you that the only advantage we have is for us to maintain the element of surprise.” He shakes his head a bit. “Now, so far, you haven't done anything that is so revealing that it hints you have me silently whispering you strategic secrets from the shadows of your mind. As long as he doesn't know that, you won't become a primary target.”

“So what exactly do we do then?” I ask anxiously. “It's nice to know that what I've done has provided an accidental opportunity, but now what?”

Raven nods at me slightly as he says, “That's the other thing I've come to tell you tonight. I have to explain to you why I'll be silent to you from now until the moment we need to strike.”

“Uhhhhhhhh . . . What?” I ask with a blink.

“Protecting secrecy, the element of surprise, means using a need-to-know base system. Any secret I tell you now you might accidentally leak to the enemy if I reveal it too soon so it is better for us if I keep you in the dark until the right moment when we need to strike.

“So, from now on, I'll be shunning you, exactly as you feared, except I want you to know why so you don't pester me too much in the interim. That, in itself, might lead you to make another mistake in your desperation.

“For now, above all, he must not know that I lurk within you and am plotting against him. For that to happen, you need to continue to behave naturally without the taint of my influence. For as long as you don't seem to be getting outside guidance that can actually threaten him, he should be convinced that you're not a priority target.”

Agent Raven suddenly narrows his eyes at me as he warns me, “But be warned, Sweetie Belle . . . your actions will have consequences that I think you won't like. By forcing his hoof to accelerate his plans, he may be forced to advance his in a way that could be messier with your friends. Acting with precision means doing what he needs to do without anypony becoming aware of it. If, however, he is forced into an accelerated pace then he might have to accept some casualties along the way.”

“What?!” I ask with horrified shock.

“Shhhhhhh,” he hisses. “Keep your voice down.”

“How is that an advantage?” I ask fearfully. “Now I know my friends are in danger.”

“They were in danger regardless,” Raven reminds me coldly. “At least this way it gives us a greater chance to circumvent his plans.”

I start to cry as I object, “But . . . but . . .”

“This is war, Sweetie Belle!” Raven growls at me tightly. “There are always casualties in war. The trick is to make sure there are fewer on our side, not none, for that is an unrealistic goal. More importantly is that, in war, we have to aim for victory, otherwise all of our efforts are for naught.”

I frown as I look down sadly.

“Some of your friends consider themselves heroes,” Raven reminds. “I think that means they'd gladly accept some sacrifice if it meant protecting their friends from enslavement. They'd gladly lay down their lives to prevent that fate and you need to accept that, Sweetie Belle. They might die, but it is important for us to ensure their deaths have value and meaning, or else their sacrifice will be in vain.”

He shakes his head before he says, “Conflict is inevitable now, Sweetie Belle. You ensured that but that's a good thing. It is a blessing in disguise. Before this, he was going to slip into control and firmly entrench his position before he ever revealed himself. Had that happened, none of you ponies would have stood a chance.”

Tears drip from my muzzle.

“Cry all you wish, you pathetic foal,” he sneers coldly. “None of that derails our plans because it's expected of you, although don't make the reasons too clear. Just follow your sniveling and weak little heart just as you have always done. Do whatever comes naturally to you. For now, that's the plan until he gives us a better opportunity for action.”

He lifts his head up straight as he proclaims, “Until then, we shall not meet again.”

He extinguishes the light from his horn. As a result, he fades away which replaces his reflection with mine. When that happens, I cry out in panic, “WAIT!”

But, of course, he does not. I now stand in silence as I stare at my own reflection.

Until my bedroom door bursts open.

“Sweetie Belle, what is it?” my mother cries out anxiously while she's still in the middle of floating her nightgown on. My father rushes up behind her mere moments later.

“I, ah . . .” I look at them painfully for a moment. I want to be fully honest with them but the mistakes I have already made might be too dire as it is, so I look down in shame. “Nothing, Mother,” I lie. “It was just a bad dream.”