I race through town as fast as my new legs can carry me and through the dark of the night, no less. Since they are longer legs, I'd almost call this faster if it weren't for my balance issues. I keep wobbling and almost stumbling many times. Sometimes I do crash into the wall just to avoid falling to the floor only to push out from the wall and resume fleeing.

I don't really have a destination in mind. Raw panic propels me to flee onward. It's all I can do. I can't think right now. I don't really want to think either.

Instead, all that is left of my true conscious thought is busy fighting to deny this reality entirely. I keep expecting and hoping I'll wake up from this horrible nightmare soon.

Weird sensations gradually start to seep into my conscious mind anyway. In particular is the alien sensation of the wind passing through the new holes in my legs. Not even my subconscious mind should be able to imagine what that is like. A pony born blind should not be able to dream in visual details. Likewise, a pony should not be able to see a color in a dream that he or she never saw in real life.

What is happening to me?!

Finally my new hooves hit something. I stumble then crash face first into the dirt. I slide a few inches after that. Moments later I register the fact of how much this sensation hurts! In particular my snout, chest, and neck area.

If this is a dream then the pain should have woken me up by now.

Whimpering, I roll onto my back. I rest a hoof on my forehead just below my now jagged horn as it dawns on me that I'm no longer wearing my saddlebag. If I were then I should have felt them as I rolled over. If they are indeed missing, likely because of that magical explosion, then I'm missing all the contents within them as well, including the home remedy books that I should be delivering to Missus Cream Heart.

I clearly have bigger problems right now but my thoughts linger on my missing saddlebags anyway almost as if it's a psychological defense mechanism.

As much as my present situation frightens me, letting down some other pony that is counting on me remains a surprisingly strong priority.

The tears in my eyes blur the image of the stars above me. As I gaze out at that wide, expansive universe above me, I find myself calming a little. It is enough to restore some of my critical thinking.

In hindsight, I am shocked I managed to get away from Starlight Glimmer. If she wanted to stop me, she easily could have accomplished that. Float me in her magic aura, teleport to me or me to her, trap me in a magic bubble, create magical force chains to wrap around my hooves, transform me into a newt.

The point is there is so many options available to Starlight. Why didn't she use any of them to stop me? She sounded motivated enough to do so at the time.

The only explanation that dawns on me also frightens me. The most logical explanation is she couldn't stop me at the time. Maybe she was too drained of her magic because of the mishap of the magical experiment. A worse possibility is her horn got damaged in the mishap. This makes me worried for her. I hope she's okay!

As it stands, however, I suppose I should count my blessings. Starlight viewed me as a potential hostile back then. If she could have commanded her full power, she might have used it to harm me since she doesn't realize that this new form is me.

And if that's true, I might encounter the same problem everywhere! I can't go home now. Not while I look like this!

I close my eyes as I try to think back to when I last saw a form like this. I know it's familiar. I've seen it somewhere before, but where?

I think for about a minute before my eyes pop open when my memories report a startling revelation to me. I remember now! I remember the last time I saw a form like this. It was a bunch of years ago during a wedding in Canterlot between Princess Cadence and Shining Armor. What we didn't know at the time, however, was that a changeling queen was impersonating Cadence.

But, shortly after the queen got unmasked, her minions torpedoed their way down into the city like flaming green meteors raining destruction down from the sky. I was one of the flower girls, along with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, who desperately tried to flee from the scary monsters that rained down upon the city. In the end we did get captured with pathetic ease, but I can't expect much from foals of that age.

The thing is I remember! I remember what those monsters looked like. They kind of had the shape of a pony in general configuration such as four hooves, one torso and one head, but I remember the differences too like glassy eyes, bug-like wings, hard carapace torso, all-black hide, and holes in their legs. Their tongues forked out of their mouths in an overly long, nightmarish ways. They were trying to scare us, and boy, they succeeded well.

But that was also the last time I beheld the form of the bad changelings. The next time I saw them, they were colorful bug/reindeer. That was during a ceremony right here in Ponyville commemorating Trixie, Thorax, Discord and Starlight Glimmer for their heroic efforts of redeeming the changeling hive. During that same ceremony I beheld the reformed changelings for the first time. Suffice to say, I was far less intimidated by them that time. I even thought they looked kind of adorable.

Yet here I am in the form of a bad changeling that I haven't seen in many, many years. Of all the horrifying things I've seen and suffered through tonight, that one thing seems oddly random. There is no way I could have predicted that coming. If there was anyway I could have foreseen this, I would do everything in my power to stop it.

But the important question is what now? Where do I go? Everywhere I go, I might get attacked by others who now think I'm a horrible monster!

As I mull this over, my mind locks on to one place that might be sanctuary for me, at least for tonight.

Tiredly, I wobble my way back to my unsteady new legs.

I am so exhausted which is the reason my journey to my destination is so arduous. Not only am I trotting with a body I'm unfamiliar with, but I feel like I'm trotting with legs made of solid iron. I've been through a lot on this day, too. I would normally be exhausted anyway after all I went through before the accident, but now I have so much physical and emotional fatigue on top of that.

As I proceed, there were so many times I question if I'm going to make it. When I do, I pass something that indicates some progress and I keep telling myself, “Just a little further.” It feels so tiring to have to say that to myself so many times, but each sign of progress is new. For example, the smell of the apple trees that fill the air.

Then, finally, I make it to the Crusader's clubhouse. By then, I feel so tired that a part of me is concerned if I'll ever wake up once I go to sleep this time. Is it really possible to die due to fatal amount of fatigue?

The clubhouse . . . my home away from home. One of the few places I feel like I really belong to. A place of great accomplishment, having fun with my friends, and also a place of sanctuary for me. The irony of that is how I felt when I first beheld this place. I still remember it well.

“It just needs a little, uh, T-L-C,” Applejack told us encouragingly when she first introduced us to the clubhouse during a time when it was a rundown dump.

“T-L-C as in 'Tender Loving Care' or Totally Lost Cause'?” Scootaloo quipped with a skeptical expression.

Back in the present, I giggle a little bit for that comment until I notice how weird my voice sounds again. Another reminder of that feels like a slap in the face.

Still, considering how broken down this place once was, I am so surprised how much Apple Bloom fixed it up later. In hindsight, I'm kind of surprised she didn't get her cutie mark for that right then. She really did a great job.

It runs in the family I guess.

I enter the clubhouse.

As I expect, the clubhouse really does have sparse furniture. Maybe my sister is right. This place really does need a fainting couch. I wish it had something to sleep on instead of just the floor. There isn't even a blanket or pillow in here.

But it is still a roof over my head, there's no pony in here to chase me out in fright right now, and I feel so exhausted that I probably could sleep anywhere. Even on the floor here.

I don't settle on the floor so much as fall on it. I don't even notice that happen. My eyes simply drift closed then, when I open them, I discover I'm already laying on the floor. I didn't feel myself fall or hit the floor. Instead, I'm just suddenly there.

I best get used to this because I know there's no way I'm going to be able to pick myself up from the floor this time. It took beyond my maximum strength just to get here. I really don't know how I did it. I remember the struggle. It seemed too difficult to succeed to the degree that I did.

But here I am. Lying on the floor without a plan in the world. Maybe without a friend in the world.

I close my eyes as I feel warm tears trail down them. I wasn't sure, before now, if changelings had the physical capability to cry. I especially questioned that from the evil kind. They certainly never did it back then. Not when I first and last saw them.

A wave of dizziness and vertigo overcomes me. I really can't recall the last time I've had to struggle this hard to stay awake, but a part of my mind keeps urgently pointing at my situation and practically saying, “But wait! Before you go to sleep, you have got to fix this! If you don't, it's going to remain a problem later on, too. It might even grow worse!”

But what can I do when I don't have the strength to? Not physically, not emotionally, and not mentally. Every part of me is drained. There is simply nothing more I can give. Like it or not, the only option I have left to me is surrender into sleep.

My worry lingers. What if I don't wake up? What if these are my final thoughts in life?

Questioning compels me to review the life I've lived so far except the images, sounds, and overall sensations of my memories are badly faded due to the sheer fatigue in my mind. Still, most of the memories I review are largely positive. My adventures with my friends in our efforts to discover our cutie marks especially come to the forefront of my mind. We scaled mountains, swam in the lake, put on stage plays, entered the Foal-Free press. I was very proud of the stage play that I wrote, directed, and acted in with my friends, but to be honest, my sister's costumes ended up the best part.

So I have lived a very good life. If I die now, I know I at least have that much but a pang of pain clenches my heart at the thought of it ending now. There's so much I want to do in the future too! So much to live for. I'm young. I'm still a foal! I don't want it to end now.

My thoughts drift off since I'm unable to keep myself awake.

It's dark. I can barely see my muzzle at the end of my face. The stars vaguely light up the sky, but there is so much cloud cover that they are next to useless.

On top of that, oddly enough, the street lanterns aren't working as they should. The streets of Ponyville has rarely been more scary.

But, on top of that, it is deserted. The only other sound I hear out there in the dark is the sound of slow hoof clomps chasing after me.

“Hello?” I cry out in the dark, feeling frightened. “Is there anypony out there?”

The hoof clomps I heard earlier pause for a moment. When it resumes, the only open acknowledgment to my call I hear is the sound of casual whistling.

Oh NO! Not that pony again! Anypony but that pony again!

He followed me! He followed me all the way to Ponyville.

Or she. I really can't tell, but my instincts tell me it's a guy. Largely I can tell from the sound of the whistle.

In fright, I gallop on away from the sound of the hoof clomps and whistle, but it is so scary to gallop away while I can't see where I'm going. At this reckless speed I could gallop into any object like a lamppost. At this speed it would hurt a lot.

But I can't help myself. I'm just too frightened to hold my ground.

I continue to gallop until I notice the receding sound that is following me is now ahead of me.

Didn't that happen before? It's as if this pony can teleport, or at least fly.

I can't reject either possibility. As rare as the teleportation skill is, it has been known to happen.

I never knew, till now, how scary that talent can be. When that skill is in the hooves of a stalker, it makes the threat feel inescapable and unavoidable.

What am I going to do?

I feel like crying out. That's my default reaction to dangerous situations like this, but part of me is afraid that the only thing that will accomplish is attract that menacing stranger to me. No pony else seems to be here. No pony else who could rescue me.

I'm all alone!

I yelp, startled, when a pale greenish light ignites behind me. I whip about to behold who is there. The pony I see is . . .

. . . myself? How can that be?

At first this doppelganger of me is looking down, but when she slowly looks up at me, I notice something about her that clearly distinguishes her from me. She may appear to be me in every physical way. Same hide color, same mane color, same mane style, same eye color, and even same magic aura color which she is using to ignite her horn to fill the area with soft green light. However, despite all of that, the one thing that is different is the expression on her face that is devoid of all of my usual innocence. Instead I see a wicked gleam in her eyes and a slight crook to her lips. It's as if she knows an insidious secret. I've seen my own expression in the mirror plenty of times, especially while I'm brushing my mane, and I have never seen an expression like that staring back at me. I have never looked that blatantly evil.

Seeing that deeply frightens me because it makes it so obvious to me that I'm beholding a wicked stranger that is wearing my face like it is merely a mask.

A false face.

My face!

The thing that frightens me even more about this concept is the idea of what this wicked pony plans to do with my identity. Other ponies will look at her and think it's me, but it's not. It's some evil stranger that will probably use that deception to cause great harm to my friends.

I widen my eyes in terror when I behold this stranger nod yes to me as if to confirm my frightened thoughts.

Then, after that, she turns the light of her horn back off which plunges her back into darkness. When that happens, I finally notice that I was staring at her through a window of a shop. When her light goes off, the reflection of the window becomes more clear to me. It is only at that moment that I notice I'm not wearing my own face, either, but that of some wicked changeling.

Oh my Celestia! We switched bodies! I don't know how or why, but we did.

So now I look like I'm the evil changeling, but I'm not. The evil changeling looks like me, but she's not. Both situations present a very serious problem to me.

I've got to warn everypony that she's an impostor! I've also got to warn them that I'm the real Sweetie Belle! If I don't, there's no telling what wicked thing she'll do as me.

“There you are!” Scootaloo proclaims behind me in a very tense way. “We've been looking for you.”

“You have?” I ask as I spin about. Once again I wince when I notice how foreign my voice sounds and feels to me now. That is such a painful revelation.

Once I turn around, I notice both Scootaloo and Apple Bloom ahead of me, but they do not look too happy to see me. In fact, they look downright angry to see me!

“Of course we have!” Scootaloo says tightly. “And we won't let you hurt anypony else again!”

“Yeah! What she said!” Apple Bloom agrees beside her orange friend. “We told our big sisters on ya. They'll be here at any moment.”

“And when they get here,” I grow extremely startled to see the impostor of me approach then stand behind my two friends. At first she's looking down but then glances up at me with an expression as if not trying to hide the fact she has a wicked plan. “they'll make you sorry you ever tried to harm anypony here in Ponyville,” she finishes saying with that same wicked glint in her eyes and crook to her lips.

“But . . . but . . . I'm not the changeling! She is!” I warn my friends then again wince. I'm never going to get used to that alien new voice of mine.

“Oh sure! Like we'd fall for that!” Scootaloo snaps. “I mean . . . just look at you! You can't tell me that you're obviously the changeling.”

“But I'm Sweetie Belle!” I cry out to my friends as tears rise to my eyes. “You got to believe me! We're best friends!”

“Can it!” Apple Bloom barks back at me harshly. “That kind of lie is just a can of rotten apple sauce.”

“But it's true!” I wail as I collapse to my knees in fright. “I'm Sweetie Belle! Somehow the changeling switched bodies with me.”

“A likely story,” Rainbow Dash says skeptically as she flies down at me from above. She continues to hover in the air as she crosses her forelegs across her chest and stares down at me with harsh judgment in her eyes. “You'd say anything to protect yourself and your wicked ways.”

“An' the fact that ya accuse Sweetie Belle, of all ponies, of being a wicked changeling is just rotten to the core,” agrees Applejack as she trots up and looks down at me harshly. “Ah kay'ient stand dirty, rotten liars!”

“Won't somepony please believe me? I really am Sweetie Belle!” I cry out desperately and painfully.

I feel so small and crushed by their harsh judgments right now. I look around for any kind of salvation. My chest ignites with a brief amount of hope when I see my sister, Rarity, trot up to join us.

“You believe me, don't you? You have to! You're my sister!” I plead at Rarity. “Look into my eyes! You have to believe me!”

“What? Sister? With you? A wicked changeling?” Rarity says in disgust. “Don't be ridiculous, darling. My sister isn't some repulsive bug-monster.”

“Yeah! You tell him!” my wicked doppelganger agrees as “she” steps beside my sister.

“Get away from her!” I snap at my impostor.

“Help me, Rarity,” my impostor pretends to be frightened but hardly makes any real effort to seem so. She buries her face into my sister's chest. “I'm scared,” she says calmly with a voice empty of all emotion. “Please protect me.”

“There you go! You're scaring my precious baby sister!” Rarity accuses to me. “I'll never forgive you, you . . . you wicked brute!”

I cover my face with my hooves and weep. This can't be happening! Is this how it will all end?

And this fate is not just bad for me, either. If they think the wicked changeling is me, she'll probably set them into a deadly trap later on. Their lives are at stake, too.

I start to feel Appljack's rope tie me up, but I keep my eyes firmly shut as I desperately fight to reject this reality.

“There ya go. All dressed up like a turkey,” Applejack proclaims in satisfaction.

I scream!

Author's Note

*Note: The story has now earned the new genre tag "body-swapping" and "dark".

Poor Sweetie Belle! After all this trouble she's suffering through, don't you just want to leap into the story somehow give her a hug?

If you do, then I'm doing something right because that's how writing for children should feel like. They're very powerless individuals so they need help. Situations like this overwhelm them. Maybe you remember what it's like to be a child during similar times, or perhaps you have children of your own that you feel driven to protect.

Let me know what you think.

It is interesting and apropos that this story gets posted on 9/11 of 2021. I didn't specifically plan that out, but eh.