Chapter 1: Fairytales
You know those old stories about fae? The ones where tricksy little critters from beyond the pale come out to haunt your dreams, trick you into awful fates or just generally mess up people's lives? Yeah, those ones. The type of story where the hero comes across a pair of shoes that makes them dance forever until their legs are worn to the bone. Charming stories aren’t they? Full of danger and fear and untrustworthy creatures of the night.
Breezies were on that list for a while. So were Thestrals. In fact, pretty much anything that wasn’t a normal pony was at least an honorary fae at some point in history. But the biggest, most faery fae of the lot? The one that every creature across all the world has stories about? Changelings.
Shapeshifting, evil bug monsters that steal foals in the night and eat them whole before replacing them with their own young like particularly vicious cuckoos. Always preying on foals that misbehave, on the rowdy, the rambunctious, the willful, the loud and the irreverent. The troublemakers. And the idiots too, people love that one. Keep your grades up or the changelings will get you! They’ll take you away and syphon off all of your….dumbness, I guess?
Of course, anyone who tells you these stories is also probably extremely tired of you and just wants some peace and quiet. Parents who want their kids to stop squabbling will tell them that the evil insects will swoop in and nab them if they don’t stop. Monsters outside of our control.
It’s a lovely distraction tactic, really.
Works great, to pretend that the real monsters are things that lurk at the edge of the night. It’s more comforting than knowing that the real monsters are always sitting in normal houses with normal faces talking about normal things.
It’s easy for them to say that a changeling is a monster.
Because they’ve never seen a real monster before.
I have.
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I blink the sleep out of my eyes and stretch, slipping out of the bed and trudging over to the mirror, my hooves making little thumps against the carpet as I gaze woozily into my reflections eyes. I like those eyes. The rest makes my ears fold back. Short shaved mane, messy, unkempt coat, flat muzzle. A little colt. I know it’s my reflection, but it’s never felt like mine. I’m six years old. I don’t even have my mark yet.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Daddy says so. He doesn’t like it when I let my mane grow long. Says it makes me look like a filly. But I like it that way. It looks better. I pull my sweater on. It keeps most of me covered, like a big old blanket. It means I don’t look so bad. I brush my mane, even though it’s so short it won’t do anything, it helps me feel a bit better. I give the parts of my coat that the sweater doesn’t cover a good brush too. I make sure that the sticky out bits are all flat before I put the brush back by my mirror. The stairs outside my room are a little high, but dad says it’s a good way to get a little workout in the morning. I hop down them sideways, since the last time I tried going down headfirst I smacked my nose into the bookcase that used to be in the hallway across from the bottom step. Mom moved it after I hit it. Dad said she shouldn't have. They yelled at each other. Dad left and Mom went up to their room. I heard her crying. I don’t like it when I make them fight, but it’s been getting worse lately. They fight more. He comes home angry sometimes, and he talks all funny and he smells weird. Mommy said it was because he was drinking. I dunno what he was drinking, but it smells nasty.
I hop up onto the stool I sit in at the breakfast bar, and mom slides me a bowl of Apple O’s. I like them a lot, but mom keeps telling me not to eat them every morning, cause they have stuff in them that will make me feel bad. Only if I eat too much though. I wonder how much that is? She never told me.
I don’t have any siblings, so mommy comes to walk me to school.
I don’t like going. The other colts make fun of me. They call me names a lot. One of them shoved me into a locker too. It was….It hurt. And I was really scared. I cried until the teacher came and got me out. He told dad I needed to stop being such an easy victim. Dad was angry at me then. Mommy yelled at him.
I have to run to keep up with mommy as we go. It feels like forever until we get to the school. It’s exactly the same as every other day. Bristle comes over at lunch and takes my sandwich. I don’t like him very much. He says something I don't listen to, and I feel his hoof smack my nose when he realises I’m not paying attention. He doesn’t do anything else. He just walks away, laughing with my sandwich while I sniffle a little. It’s okay. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. He doesn’t come over again, so I’m pretty happy about that. None of his friends come over either. One of the fillies in the room tells the teacher on him. He glares at me though. I think he thinks I asked her to tell on him. He’ll try to get me for it later. Just a few more hours. Then I can go to the woods.
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The last bell rings and my hooves move fast. They clatter across the schoolyard with my saddlebags bouncing against my sides before the other foals can even reach their lockers. That’s one thing my daddy is proud of. I may not be strong. I may not be brave. But I am fast.
The wind rushes through my mane, all two inches of it, and it hits my ears like someone’s using their wings to blow on them. I flap mine with a whoop as I gallop full tilt out of town and into the trees. Finally, I can be me. This is my favourite time of day, because for one, brief hour, I’m left alone. Well. Almost alone.
The trees rush past me in a blur. I’m panting now, and sweaty too, but I don’t care. I’m beaming. Grinning. Full teeth and everything. It’s rare. I love it. I don’t feel weird when I run. I just feel like I’m where I’m meant to be. Doing what I should. Doing what I want to do.
“You gonna keep running there, filly?” The voice is cheerful, playful, and competitive. I know that voice well. Rose. The only pony I can be myself with. She has wings and a horn, and she doesn’t see a colt when she looks at me. She looks at my mane and tail, and with a grin, does my favourite thing. Her horn lights up, and I feel the weight on my head and rear grow just a bit. It’s not too much, a basic bob cut and a few more inches on my tail. But it’s more than it was, and it feels much more like me. Rose says that if she tries to do too much her magic will go haywire, and I’ll grow a mane that’ll cover half the town, or maybe just fall out- or even turn into flowers! Mane magic is hard apparently. Rose drops properly into view as she stops flying and runs next to me. She’s a much better flyer than I am, ‘cause she actually can fly. Unlike me. My wings are still too wimpy. “Did Bristle do that?” She’s looking at my nose when she says that part. I look away as we start slowing down.
“No.”
“You’re a bad liar, Shock.”
I wince at the accusation and turn away even more now that we’ve stopped. “‘M’not.”
“Are too! Here, you’re hungry. Sit down and I’ll take a look at it.” She reaches over her shoulder and into her saddlebags, pulling out a few snacks and offering them to me. I gratefully accept them and sit down as she examines the bad aide sitting on my muzzle. She pulls it off gently with a glimmer of magic, winces at the cut she sees, then digs back in her saddlebags and pulls out some kind of cream. “Let’s get this on ya so you can get back to lookin’ pretty.”
I blush at her, but Dad hates it when people indulge me. “‘M’not.” I mumble again. Rose’s hoof drags my head up to meet her stern gaze.
“What did I just say about lying, filly?”
“Daddy does-”
“Doesn’t know his own daughter. I know what you are. Your mom knows.” Rose’s stern look breaks into a smile. I love that smile. She’s a few years older than me, so she knows more about the world than I do. The big sis I never had. Well, I sort of have her anyway. Not like a real sister, but, I think of her like a sister anyway. She treats me like I think a sister would. “And you know.” Her voice is what my teacher calls earnest. “C’mon. Say it with me. You know you want to.” She looks at me expectantly as the new band aid goes on the cut on my nose. “You’re a pretty little filly.”
I mumble. It’s always like this, but I know she’s going to win. I want her to.
“Louder.” She hops up onto her hooves and spreads her wings for emphasis. “You’re a pretty little filly!”
“I’m a pretty….little filly…”
“C’mon! You can do better than that! Gimme another one!”
“I’m….I’m a pretty little filly!” I stumble over the first word, but I get it out at a normal talking level.
“LOUDER!” Rose grins as she yells at me. Usually I hate people yelling, but Rose gets to yell all she wants when she’s telling me stuff that makes me feel better about myself.
“I’M A PRETTY LITTLE FILLY!!!” I hate that I sound so much like a colt when I yell that loud, but Rose is teaching me to talk like a girl. It’s weird, but I think I’m getting better at it.
“YEAH YOU ARE! SAY IT AGAIN!”
“I’M A PRETTY LITTLE FILLYYYYY!!!” I scream. We're so far away from school that no one's gonna hear me over the other foals waiting for their parents and playing in the schoolyard.
Rose and I fall over laughing, and she rolls over to give me a hug. “Never pretend to be what you aren’t, sweetie. You’re too awesome to do that.”
“I know Rosie. It’s hard though. Everypony keeps telling me it’s bad. That I shouldn’t feel the way I do.”
“Buck ‘em.” Rose snaps. I gasp at her using that word and clap my hooves over my ears.
“LA LA LA LA LA L-Mpphhh!” Rose’s hoof slaps over my mouth and she smirks at me.
“I know you’re just a foal, but honestly, they don’t get to tell you who you are. Only you get to do that.”
I look down at my hooves, wrapped over hers as she pulls me in closer and gives me a light squeeze. She smells like lavender and fresh oats. “Not even my daddy?”
“Not even your daddy.” She says, and starts using her hooves to weave my now longer hair together into a very short braid. “Or even your mommy. But she loves you as you are, so she won’t try and tell you who to be anyway.”
I do think I love mommy more than daddy. He’s kinda mean most of the time.
“Seriously kiddo, how did you get a caterpillar in your mane?” I hear her ask. There’s a gentle pulling sensation, so I know she’s pulling it out. I catch a quick glimpse of the wriggling green thing before it goes flying away, hitting a leaf on a bush at the edge of the path we’re sitting next to. Rose watches it go with a nod, then turns back to my mane, starting a second braid. “He’s gonna get angry at you again for this.”
“He’ll cut it off again.” I don’t want to sound so miserable, but my voice comes out as half boyish and half girly whine.
“And then I’ll grow it right back.”
I hear mom calling for me, and look sadly up to Rose. “Can…..can you stay this time? I want you to meet my mommy. She’ll like you.”
I don’t like how quiet Rosie gets. She seems torn about whether to stay or go, but she frowns, and I see a familiar glint in her eyes. “Y’know what? I will.”
“Static! Static! Static Shock!” Mom calls. I hate that name. Well, the Shock bit. Static’s fine. “Where are you, sweetie?”
“Over here mom!! I’m hanging out with my friend Rosie!” I call back, and I beam up at Rosie. She’s tall for her age. At ten, she’s already taller than most colts five years older than her. I blink, looking at her sides, and the wings she should have, but doesn’t. “Uh, Rose? Where’s your-”
Rose looks quickly down at me, and shakes her head. I stare back at those familiar eyes. My friend. She’s got a reason to not want to tell me why her wings aren't there anymore. I trust her. I stop asking.
Mom appears at the bend in the trail we’d run past, and beams happily at the sight of me. “Oh, sweetie, you look lovely. Did your friend Rose do this?”
“I did, miss.” Rosie says, politely. She smiles at my mom. She sounds a bit different than normal, as if she’s….I don’t know actually. It’s just a little different than I’m used to. She’s talking a bit higher, as if she were a little younger. “Your daughter is a real sweetheart, and a great friend. She had a bit of a rough day today, so I wanted to cheer her up.”
Mom looks at my nose with a sad smile, and she leans down to kiss it better. She’s great like that. “Thanks mom. It feels better already.” I know she doesn’t quite believe me, but it makes me feel a bit better to say it, as if saying it makes it true somehow.
“Well, Rose. My husband is out for a work due tonight. If your parents are alright with it, I’m sure Static would love to have you over for dinner tonight!” My eyes light up, and I’m squealing in delight at the idea before Rose even has a chance to say yes, bouncing up and down as high as my little legs will let me, while my wings buzz faster than a fly’s. “I swear, she’s part Thestral with the noises that come out of her mouth sometimes.”
Rose laughs. “I’d love to come over, miss.”
“Just call me Page, dear. Everypony else does.”
“I’d love to have dinner with you both, miss Page.”
Now mom laughs. I’m still squealing, so I don’t hear mom tell Rose where our house is and when to come. I’m still squealing as I wave her goodbye so she can go home and ask her parents. Mom looks at me and shakes her head. “Do you ever stop to breathe?”
I keep squealing all the way home. So no. Apparently I don’t ever stop to breathe. Breathing is for babies. And now everything is going-
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So, mom spent the next few seconds attempting to carry me back up to my room since I managed to knock myself out for a second out from over excitement. So, I do need to breathe after all.
Once she’s satisfied that I’m actually going to be fine, she goes to start on dinner while I put on all the things my daddy would never let me wear. He keeps taking my stuff away, but he doesn’t know about mom’s secret stash. I grab it from the box mom hid behind the loose boards in the basement stairs and carry it back up to my room. Slowly…. After I trip eight times. No one saw. There’s no proof. Stop asking. No, that isn’t mommy trying not to laugh downstairs. It’s not.
I get back to my room and put the box up next to my mirror, and open it up.
Staring up at me are some clip on earrings, which I happily pick up with my wing feathers and start the long task of putting them on with my clumsy hooves. Once they’re in place, I pull out the big red bow that contrasts my mane and tail just right, and make sure it’s holding my mane up in a cute little bun.
I never get to do this, but I look more and more like I always wished I did. It’ll never be quite right, but it’s something. Mom takes a break from cooking to help me with the makeup, and I stare at the mirror at what she does. I’m jealous of how easily she uses the powder and the lipstick. She laughs and kisses my cheek, and I kiss hers back with the girliest giggle I’ve ever giggled before. She finishes up with some mascara and some sparkly blue eyeshadow that highlights my eyes. It fades into an almost green before my brown fur takes back over. Once she’s done, I’m staring in the mirror again.
What was a stubby, coltish muzzle now has just the right touches of makeup to make it look a little more rounded, more….elegant? Yeah, elegant. My longer mane is done up into a bun that my bow holds in place, which lets my face shine. My eyes are big, my lashes are false, obviously, but for once, with the mascara on, they look almost like they’re real. The eyeshadow is simple, but it’s lovely. Mommy knows how to make me look pretty. She does work at a salon part time, so that is definitely why. I can feel my eyes starting to tear up a little. Looking back at me is a filly. Like I always imagined.
I look right. I still don’t feel quite right, but….for the first time in a long time, I feel more right than wrong. I….I really am a pretty little filly. Oh, oh Celestia, no! I can’t start actually crying!! Mommy spent ages helping me with this! I have to spend a good few minutes thinking about normal, boring stuff like homework and mister Heisenhoof’s dull, flat voice in history class before the tears stop threatening mommy’s work. I’m waving a hoof at my face throughout to try and speed up the makeup drying. I dunno if it’s working, but it’s helping me stay a little calmer.
I hear the knock on the door, and rush downstairs. Mom is opening it when I get there, and Rose is on the other side. “YAY!! You made it!”
“Like I would miss dinner here?” Rose smirks. “Hanging out with you is pretty cool too, I guess.” She hadn’t really been looking at me properly when she said it, still hoofing over a bottle of something to mom. When she sees me though, she stops stone dead in place, before she starts vibrating on the spot, a high pitched noise bubbling up from her throat. Before I can blink, she’s swooped me up in a big hug, squealing a lot like I did earlier. “OHMYGOSHYOULOOKSOCUUUUUTE!!! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”
Mommy shakes her head while my Best-Friend-Sorta-Sister-Forever tries very hard to crush me to death. She brings out a camera after she stops hugging me, what feels like eleven minutes later. “I know we probably want to keep this to ourselves, but do you think we could…?” She asks, her eyes sparkling with joy and hope that even my mom can’t say no too, even after years of experience dealing with me.
“Alright, but you don’t show this to anyone.” Mom says, before we all head into the dining room, leaning in around the table with bright, cheery smiles and a steaming casserole on the table, Rosie holding the camera up with her green magic. “Say cheese!” Mom calls.
“CHEESE!!!!” I yell, giving my biggest, happiest smile ever.
It’s the best night of my life.
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