I hate my life.
I hate this body.
I hate me.
I look into the bathroom mirror, steam still wafting off my body from the shower. I stare into those blue eyes, that two-tone white and violet mane, and most of all, that insufferable baby-pink coat.
Always pink. My eyes trace the feminine curve of my muzzle, developing into a mare’s face as puberty starts to mutilate this body.
I press my forehead against the glass and lock eyes on that bitch that ruined my life. She stares back into me with a look of cold contempt. Her ears droop, and she collapses like wet sand into a sobbing heap.
I don’t know how long I sat there, tears splattering against the marbled floor. How long I listened to Randolph knocking on the door, asking if something was wrong.
Thank Celestia the door was locked. I curled up into a shaking ball on the floor and stifled my sobs.
Randolph mustn’t know exactly just how wrong things are.
I stand up, wipe away the tears streaking down my cheeks, and throw on my old facade before stepping out the door.
I sink into myself as I listen to Mother’s lecture on how a proper young lady must act. How I am expected to act as the young heiress to the Rich family.
I could never dare tell her that I don’t want to be a proper young lady. I don’t know what she would do if I said that I hated this.
That I…
It was bad enough to hear her tirade about the lower class. How other ponies were beneath us.
But it was so much worse when she directed her ire towards ‘those transvestite freaks’. It was so much worse when she cut through me with her words. Like she knew. Like she was threatening me not to even think about stepping out of line.
She has always been clever. She’s driven the family business to new heights. She has an eye for detail. She has to know. How could she not know?
But what can I say?
I love her. I hate her, but I love her. And… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
I know what I want to do...
But I know what I must do.
I must be her proper little filly.
Daddy rests a hoof on my shoulder. I brush it off.
He asks what was wrong. I dismiss it.
He pleads from my door to let him help. I scream back.
I curl up on my bed and cry.
Nopony disturbs me.
How could he not know?
The one pony in my life who might be on my side, and he can’t even tell what’s wrong with me. The one pony who should be paying attention to me more than anypony else!
It’s not like I haven’t told him either.
Well… I tried, at least.
I couldn’t get far, but I did try.
The muted disgust he had at even hints. How he reassured me that I would always be his little filly, no matter what happened.
I hate it.
I could never really tell him what was going on.
He should have been able to figure it out with what I’ve told him! Why does he never, ever figure out what I'm hinting at!?
What I am.
No, no it’s good that he never caught on. Really, how could I be so stupid to hint at wanting to be a… a colt.
Freak.
Even if he did know, there’s no way he could be supportive of a freak like me. But daddy is a nice pony. Maybe he would? No, there’s no way he could. He would try to fix me. Show me how I’m just mistaken. Or insane.
Or would he abandon me?
Celestia knows Mother would.
I curl up, hug my pillow, and cry myself to sleep.
I watch as Silv scatters her new dresses around her room.
I watch her prance about in the soft, pastel-colored fabrics with a smile a mile wide spread across her face.
Why did I have to be born as a filly?
I look down at those same dresses with bile welling up in my throat.
I look at my best friend, so happy, and feel an overwhelming, burning envy at the happiness she is able to feel in something so simple. Something that I, apparently, was supposed to be happy about too.
Her smile slips. She asks what was wrong. Shoot, did I let my facade drop?
I brush her worries aside with a quick excuse and a joke.
She frowns and offers to let me try on some of her dresses. She seems to think that maybe I was getting jealous of her.
Absurd. I have nothing to be jealous of in this room.
I sigh internally and throw on some random dress.
Anything to keep Silv smiling.
Anything for my best friend.
I don’t want to lose her friendship. What else would I have left?
Would she hate me if she knew what I was?
I… can’t imagine that anypony would want to be friends with a freak like me.
I watch as those three blank flanks stamp away, huffing with fire and fury. I laugh alongside Silv. I felt good. Finally, some relief.
Lucky blank flanks. They can be whatever they want to be.
Their families would still love them if they wanted to be colts.
Heck, Scootaloo practically acts like a colt already!
Not like me, the picture-perfect filly…
With a pretty little tiara on her precious pink flank.
The perfect filly that everypony points at and says, ‘That! That is what a good, proper young lady is supposed to be!’
My breath speeds up. Deep, panting breaths as I stare at the dirt. I feel Silv place a hoof on my shoulder. I hear her call my name.
I hate that name.
I…
I stare into the mirror, as I have done so many times before.
I cry over the life I could never have. The life half of Equestria was so lucky to just be born with.
Colts don’t cry. Just more evidence that the pony in the mirror is just a stupid filly.
Look at how pretty she is, even with tears streaming down her cheeks.
I stare into her eyes once again, and my cries devolve into laughter.
Oh. That’s not good, right? Crazy ponies laugh when they’re sad, right?
I mean, I guess I am crazy, right?
Normal ponies don’t think about this sort of thing, right?
Just freaks.
I look at the cute little filly in the mirror and see just how impossible it would be for anypony like her to be a colt.
How hopeless it would be for me to become a colt.
What can anypony even do to start on that path?
Do you just dress up or talk with a doctor or—
A hoof collided with my face.
My own hoof.
No. I must not think about that.
I cannot do that.
My life would be over if I did that.
Stupid, spoiled brat. Has everything in the world — practically born with Equestria in the frog of her hoof — and what does she do? She whines and cries over how unfortunate her life is.
Worthless filly.
She should just be happy with what she has. She should just suck it up and live a good life, like she was destined to do since her birth.
That worthless filly looks into the mirror and bores into her reflection.
Everypony is treating that worthless filly like she was made of glass, with how much she has been crying. With how pathetic she has been acting.
Spoiled brat.
That worthless filly slugs herself in the face again.
No, she can’t continue doing this.
She can’t continue pining after a crazy fantasy she'll never be able to grasp.
From now on, she is going to be the little filly everypony expects her to be.
She is going to bury this self-centered, absurd longing deep and never entertain the thought again.
The filly in the mirror’s ears pull back, her eyes drooping.
With a resounding ‘crash’, that worthless filly smashed her hoof into the mirror.
It felt good — watching that part of her die.
No, it didn't.
But it was the right thing to do.
She must hoist her head high and hold herself with proper decorum.
She must be the proper young filly everypony expects her to be.
She must be the young heir of the Rich family.
She must be Diamond Tiara.
That can’t be a mistake…
… right?
