You show up with Nick and a smile. You leave him in the front and go hopping through into the back. You hit the ground on four hooves and trot energetically into those stately hallways. Not seeing any changelings right away, you head to where you're likely most needed.

The door opens for you, thanks to your magic. "How are things going?" You step inside to see a patient already being cared for.

You hurry over the sickly troll spread on the bed. "What happened?" You look towards Pigi, the rabbit looking a bit tired.

"I think he ate something he shouldn't." She sighed out, leaning back on her chair. "He may be sinking into bedlam, and there's not a lot I can do about that..."

That sounds... bad? You sit on your haunches. "Catch me up? Bedlam?"

Pigi raises both her hands. "One side, cheer and iminagination and wonder, yay." She switches which hand is highest. "Balance in all things." She rocked one hand up and the other down, back and forth. "But..." She lowers one hand dangerously. "Uh oh..."

She switches which is down. "Oh no... Either way is bad. Eating what you find in the dreaming can push you..." She lowers both hands to rest in in her lap. "The only real cures, if he's really in it, is to give him a big boot." She kicks at the air for emphasis. "Bad times."

You consider the sleeping person. They were too far on the dreaming side? They were... full of fantasy? Flights of fancy? You rear up and reach over to give him a prod on the face. He catches your incoming arm, eyes snapped open instantly. "They've sent assisans? I'll never surrender!"

With a squeak, you bounce back, reclaiming your arm.

"Why am I laying here?" He sits up. "The quest yet awaits me, beyond the gate." He starts to stand up, just to slump over, passed out.

Pigi lets out a sigh. "Yep... That kinda proves it. I'll get the boot." She rises to her feet.

You aren't ready to give up on this person, even if you just met them. You reach out gently, taking hold of his head between your hooves. "Be at peace," you whisper, rubbing slowly in circles on his temples. "Peace..."

You have no idea what you're doing, but you're just not willing to give up.

Warmth begins glowing from your hooves as you massage the troll's temples, radiating healing energy. His tense expression relaxes, the frenzied light in his eyes dimming, which was more of a feeling you had than what you're seeing, his eyes closed.

"There now, just rest," you murmur. Focusing your intent, you visualize drawing out the chaotic excess, restoring harmony within him. The righteousness of compassion fills you.

Gradually his breathing evens into a natural rhythm. You sense balance and clarity returning in place of turmoil. At last you release him, swaying slightly from exertion but smiling.

"How do you feel?" you ask gently.

The troll blinks, gazing up at you in wonder as he awakens anew. "I was...lost in dark dreams. But you brought me back." He carefully sits up. "The visions are quiet now. My thoughts are clear again. Your magic is a blessing."

He bows his head gratefully. Beside you, Pigi lets out an awed whistle. "No one's ever talked a bedlam case back from the edge before. At least not that I've seen. You continue to impress!"

She checks the troll's vital signs, nodding in satisfaction. "He'll need rest and future care, but the worst danger has passed. Thank the stars you stopped in today!"

Your patient voices fervent agreement. As Pigi prepares a hospital bed for him, you exchange parting words. The troll clasps your hoof, emotion shimmering in his eyes. "I owe you my life and sanity. Should you ever require aid, you need but ask."

Promise made, he departs to heal. Pigi gives you an admiring pat. "You have a healer's true calling - meeting suffering with compassion. I'm blessed to work alongside someone so gifted." She winks suddenly. "Or I'm about to be out of a job, damn..."

Touched by her words, you respond simply, "I'm grateful my gifts can be of service. Especially to my new friends here."

Pigi smiles, a glimmer of curiosity in her gaze. "Speaking of new friends...now that you've saved Toric from bedlam's brink, you could explain the wings?"

Wings? You look over your shoulder to run snout-first into a fluffy, feathery wing. The wing flutters in reply. It's your wing. You just ran into your wing. When did you... "Did I walk in here with these?" You try spreading your wings, and they obey. They are your wings.

Pigi's ears twitch on her head. "Are they surprising to you too? Huh!" She hops to her feet with a giggle. "Well, since we're exploring." She reaches out and casually starts feeling your wings from the base to the tips. It all... It's new, it's sensitive, and she's just doing it.

You scramble a few steps back, hooves striking the wood floor. "Stop that."

"Sorry." Pigi grins impishly. "But nice wings. Seriously though, why? Do ponies do that?"

Not any pony you'd seen... aside yourself that one time. You bat at your pendant with a hoof. Was it to blame? "I'm glad Toric's alright..."

"So, don't know, huh?" She flopped back onto the chair. "The glowing butt's a nice touch too."

Wrenching your head around, you can see that symbol has returned, the embraced heart. You were... ponying it up pretty hard. "I don't know what that means."

Pigi inclined her head. "Then you should go see the viscountess. Bet she wants to chat!"

The butterflies in your stomach awaken as Pigi recommends facing your superior about these startling developments. What will the viscountess make of flaming cutie marks and spontaneous wings? But the pooka is likely right - this merits investigation from someone more knowledgeable than yourself.

Thanking Pigi for her discretion, you make your way toward the viscountess' office, garnering a few double-takes from passersby. Knocking tentatively, you call out, "Your ladyship? I...have something curious to discuss."

The door opens sharply, framing the viscountess' impatient glare. "This better be...good..." Her annoyed expression shifts to outright astonishment. "Bloody hell?! What's all this then?"

She ushers you hurriedly inside, closing the door for privacy. Circling with incredulous mutters, she takes in every impossible inch. "Start talking, fuzzball. The long story, not the short."

Drawing a bracing breath, you explain the bedlam patient and how, in curing it, you ended up that way and the theories it might connect to your amulet. She listens intently, eyes sharpening at mention of the relic. "Well, that's muddled as all get out. An alicorn out of legend, a witch's bauble...next you'll tell me elf knights are real!" She snorts at that. "That is a joke, of course they're real."

Your nervous chuckle elicits wry head shaking. "I am not a horse." She prods you in the center of your fuzzy chest. "But I have one as an associate, and I have been reading since I met her. It's time to stop running away, even if that's a pretty horse thing to do."

You reach a wing towards her. "Okay, not running. What do I do with these?"

"Fly?" She shrugs at that. "I don't think it's much of a matter of what you do with them, directly. It's more a matter of what they mean." She reaches for the amulet, but pauses. "May I?"

The viscountess was asking you permission? You push it up with a hoof. "Sure?"

She curls her fingers around it, inspecting it, then turning it towards you, even with your eyes. "Butterflies."

"Yeah?" You look back at your wings. "Wrong wrings."

"Still wings." She releases it to fall against you. "You've been up to a lot... Getting your little hoofs deep in all kinds of trouble... Fine medic... Oh, you did it again, by the way."

"What'd I do?!" You glance around as if it may become clear if one just looked hard enough.

"You did the impossible. Yanking someone back from bedlam without the soul-crushing banality bath? That's a trick..." She snaps her fingers. "One thing seems clear to me. You need to lean into the wings, and that." She points to your hovering symbol at your rump. "I've seen that a few times now."

Leaning on her desk, the viscountess fixes you with an intense stare. "Here's my read, pony - you're getting tuned to a destiny frequency most of us can't hear. Forces are moving through and around you whether you invited them or not."

She jabs a finger at your wings. "So damned well use them! Whatever hand you've been dealt, play the blasted cards!"

Rising to pace, she continues, "Wings mean mobility, elevation, perception. That mark means purpose. Together they say 'action'. So get active!"

Wheeling back to you, she concludes, "I'm sending you to see some people. Eyes and ears in places I don't have the reach. If answers exist, they will know or find them."

She scribbles something on parchment, sealing it with wax. "Take this to the Crimson Masquerade. Ask for the farseer twins. Just tell them old Razzmatazz sent you."

Handing you the scroll, she firmly steers you to the door. "I can't unravel this knot, but I'm now invested in the pattern that's weaving. Don't fail me, pony."

With a final inscrutable smile, she sees you off. You emerge blinking into the hall, message in hoof, wings fluttering nervously...yet also with anticipation. Forces have conspired to set you on this course without consent. But the viscountess is right - folding your cards helps nothing.

It doesn't help that it hasn't faded away. All the other times, that symbol, and those wings, had gone away about as quickly as they came. You still have both. They were... you? You rise up to two human feet. The wings are gone. You hurry to a restroom and have a peek.

There, on your rump, the mark. It's engraved there like you went to a very high quality tatoo artist. Feeling over it, it wasn't swollen or bothered, just... marked. You were branded.

In color, no less. It was a wonderful bit of art, that you didn't ask for. "Destiny?" The word had been mentioned. Had destiny put a cold iron on you and left that mark? It felt as likely as anything else... You let your pants snap back into place and step out onto the hallway, striding towards the exit. Another day, another time you were sent off without working a proper shift.

If you weren't retired, you'd be annoyed at the missing pay... They wouldn't stifle your ward, would they? That felt unlikely... She was the one sending you around. You're still doing what she asked!

Your mind swirls with destinies and portents as you make your way out of the freehold, viscountess’ mysterious missive in hand. Lost in thought, you nearly collide with a figure hurrying through the candy shop entrance - a familiar face.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that!” Nick steadies you with a grin. “Was just coming to grab you for lunch. Everything alright?”

You explain the shocking developments as best you can along the way - healing wings, persistent cutie mark, veiled summons. Nick lets out a low whistle. “You don’t do things halfway, do you? What’s next then?”

Checking the parchment, you relay your assignment to visit the Crimson Masquerade and seek out the “farseer twins” at the viscountess’ behest.

“Crimson Masquerade...” Nick muses. “Swanky joint downtown. Guess we’re going clubbing!” He nudges you playfully. “After we fuel up. All this destiny business works up an appetite!”

As you walk to lunch, laughter eases your tension. But mysteries loom ahead at this insider haunt. Who frequents such an establishment? And what might the twins discern about the unusual forces swirling around you when even you cannot grasp their import? For now, you take comfort in simple companionship. The road ahead can wait...at least until after dessert.

Author's Note

No to the dreaming... But a lot of the other options sound nice...

As life gets more and more wild, it's nice to have a friend, right?

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