Pockets Full of Posiesby OfTheIronwilledChaptersCutie MarkRarity's WingsReformationWhat Remains of Flutter ValleyCHANGELINGSLooking in the Mirror Following "Bats!"Breezie Flower"Fluttershy"Illustration of an Ancestral HomeQuestions for the Shy ParentsSome Sort of ContentmentCutie MarkShe sits with a smile in that fresh new world called “ground”. A blue flower blooms. Rarity's WingsOf morning dew and gossamer, they glitter in the Icarus sun. Colors bleed from them like summer, they’re paper-thin, angel-spun. Fluttershy watches as her friend performs, her eyes on those color-splotches, and her smile transforms. Because from the vision of those wings, something buried long ago, a feeling birthed from forgotten things, an ache she’s come to know. Why does Fluttershy feel this way? Who’s to say? ReformationFluttershy looks in the mirror hoping to see a little clearer some version of herself she doesn’t hate; maybe then this hollowness will abate. And as she stares into the reflection, seeing every imperfection, she’s struck with an image of the changelings’ colorful new visage. And like Rarity the unicorn following her horn to her destiny of a rock, Fluttershy feels a shock. She thinks of the Breezies’ blue flower, and of love given power. She thinks of her friends, and finally her self-hatred ends. She looks again in the mirror to see… something new: Wings of petal-pink, jewel eyes of blue, carapace yellow as a bee, topped with two teal antennae. She doesn’t know what she is but she loves herself now no matter what. Still, before this ends, Fluttershy will have to tell her friends. So she gathers them all In Twilight’s great hall and shows them her new self; Twilight, of course, goes to the bookshelf. Rainbow Dash says, “Fluttershy, that’s so cool!” and Fluttershy feels a bit like a fool, as all of them, Rarity, Pinkie, Applejack, each has her back. How could she have doubted them? Thought that they would ever condemn the real her? Foolish thoughts, that’s all they were. Eventually Twilight comes out from her nook, held in her hoof a very old book; hidden there amongst the pages was a tome, detailing what used to be the Flutter Ponies’ home: Flutter Valley. What Remains of Flutter ValleyAll of them, including Discord, travel there in a flash, holding Fluttershy tight. At once, they notice the ash, the clouds obscuring the night. No fields of emerald green, or glittering gems of honey-amber sun, just the oily sheen of tar on the grass; no sign of anyone. Fluttershy can’t help it: she yells ‘till her voice is hoarse, searching for a soul amidst the gray grit. (But nopony comes, of course.) They do find, in a glade of sunrays piercing through the silt, a pocket of gentle warm shade, a place where a nest of some kind was built. There in the golden patch, hidden behind a gnarl of gorse, a bed of turquoise petals, a flower that can hatch, a floral crib the size of a small horse. “It’s the only thing left,” one of them mutters. Fluttershy, bereft of spirit, stutters. She leans into Discord’s touch, as he curls around her, holds him tight as a crutch, as her vision starts to blur. But in the honeyrays of Celestia’s golden light she catches a blaze of sun glinting off her hoof amidst the blight. She looks at herself once more, gazes at the beautiful shell, and allows herself to feel a glow in her core: No longer is her body a Hell. She knows who she is. She has answers. And her soul, at once, is aligned. CHANGELINGSCan the other’s feel it? Heaviness in the chest, a feeling like you’re not yourself? Guessing and second-guessing, ever-wondering, lost? I feel that way now gaping at those swarming monsters. Looking in the Mirror Following "Bats!"That thing in the glass is more than just a fruit bat. What have I become? Breezie FlowerCome drift with me and be my friend, wander to home, Breezie Hollow: purest water and fields to tend. All you need to do is follow. Together we will reunite with family not seen in a fortnight; we’ll laugh and play tonight! How sad that you must go soon, huh? Take this flower of earth and dew, blue as your eyes, sweet as nectar. May it forever be with you, our oh-so dear, sweet protector! May it remind you of our trip through those harsh winds, as well as this: We shall always feel a kinship! Now off we go to our earned bliss. "Fluttershy"This body is not mine. It never has been. My flesh and soul do not align. My whole life has been a sign, a quiet Tartarus to live in. This body is not mine. I look to the skyline And think of what I really am within. My flesh and soul do not align. I must be a changeling who lacks a spine, forever living in another’s skin; this body is not mine. Or maybe something less equine, not at all of pony kin? My flesh and soul do not align. This idea, “myself”, I can’t define except to say: I am broken. This body is not mine. My flesh and soul do not align. Illustration of an Ancestral HomeFlutter Valley: a grand flower kingdom of blues and pinks and floral scents, teeming with life; bury the seed, and from that sprout may come the beauty of foal’s breath come morn’. Water as clear as crystal ice, flowing between such lush pastures: lilies, poppies and roses too. Pink mountain caps looming above like coral earthen walls, so strong. And there, the queen, Rosedust, overlooking castles of petals and sweet morning dew, shiny horseshoe grasping such blessed seeds, singing the magic song to grow her home. (And Fluttershy to herself thinks: yellow and pink body, like mine, like me, oh gosh.) The sunlight dies on the next page, shadows of ink overtaking the bright blue hues, purple and black. Then, bracken shielding them from the oncoming storm. Then, nothing else. Blank. Questions for the Shy ParentsWhat must they have thought of that tiny bundle a gift wrapped in petals and leaf mold down there helpless on the ground cold alone and crying? And didn't they think one day that she might want to know the truth? If Fluttershy weren’t so angry she would ask. But she can’t breathe and she’s quite frankly peeved. So she doesn’t. Not yet. Some Sort of ContentmentThe anguish eases. Fluttershy looks to her friends and finds her true self.
Rarity's WingsOf morning dew and gossamer, they glitter in the Icarus sun. Colors bleed from them like summer, they’re paper-thin, angel-spun. Fluttershy watches as her friend performs, her eyes on those color-splotches, and her smile transforms. Because from the vision of those wings, something buried long ago, a feeling birthed from forgotten things, an ache she’s come to know. Why does Fluttershy feel this way? Who’s to say?
ReformationFluttershy looks in the mirror hoping to see a little clearer some version of herself she doesn’t hate; maybe then this hollowness will abate. And as she stares into the reflection, seeing every imperfection, she’s struck with an image of the changelings’ colorful new visage. And like Rarity the unicorn following her horn to her destiny of a rock, Fluttershy feels a shock. She thinks of the Breezies’ blue flower, and of love given power. She thinks of her friends, and finally her self-hatred ends. She looks again in the mirror to see… something new: Wings of petal-pink, jewel eyes of blue, carapace yellow as a bee, topped with two teal antennae. She doesn’t know what she is but she loves herself now no matter what. Still, before this ends, Fluttershy will have to tell her friends. So she gathers them all In Twilight’s great hall and shows them her new self; Twilight, of course, goes to the bookshelf. Rainbow Dash says, “Fluttershy, that’s so cool!” and Fluttershy feels a bit like a fool, as all of them, Rarity, Pinkie, Applejack, each has her back. How could she have doubted them? Thought that they would ever condemn the real her? Foolish thoughts, that’s all they were. Eventually Twilight comes out from her nook, held in her hoof a very old book; hidden there amongst the pages was a tome, detailing what used to be the Flutter Ponies’ home: Flutter Valley.
What Remains of Flutter ValleyAll of them, including Discord, travel there in a flash, holding Fluttershy tight. At once, they notice the ash, the clouds obscuring the night. No fields of emerald green, or glittering gems of honey-amber sun, just the oily sheen of tar on the grass; no sign of anyone. Fluttershy can’t help it: she yells ‘till her voice is hoarse, searching for a soul amidst the gray grit. (But nopony comes, of course.) They do find, in a glade of sunrays piercing through the silt, a pocket of gentle warm shade, a place where a nest of some kind was built. There in the golden patch, hidden behind a gnarl of gorse, a bed of turquoise petals, a flower that can hatch, a floral crib the size of a small horse. “It’s the only thing left,” one of them mutters. Fluttershy, bereft of spirit, stutters. She leans into Discord’s touch, as he curls around her, holds him tight as a crutch, as her vision starts to blur. But in the honeyrays of Celestia’s golden light she catches a blaze of sun glinting off her hoof amidst the blight. She looks at herself once more, gazes at the beautiful shell, and allows herself to feel a glow in her core: No longer is her body a Hell. She knows who she is. She has answers. And her soul, at once, is aligned.
CHANGELINGSCan the other’s feel it? Heaviness in the chest, a feeling like you’re not yourself? Guessing and second-guessing, ever-wondering, lost? I feel that way now gaping at those swarming monsters.
Looking in the Mirror Following "Bats!"That thing in the glass is more than just a fruit bat. What have I become?
Breezie FlowerCome drift with me and be my friend, wander to home, Breezie Hollow: purest water and fields to tend. All you need to do is follow. Together we will reunite with family not seen in a fortnight; we’ll laugh and play tonight! How sad that you must go soon, huh? Take this flower of earth and dew, blue as your eyes, sweet as nectar. May it forever be with you, our oh-so dear, sweet protector! May it remind you of our trip through those harsh winds, as well as this: We shall always feel a kinship! Now off we go to our earned bliss.
"Fluttershy"This body is not mine. It never has been. My flesh and soul do not align. My whole life has been a sign, a quiet Tartarus to live in. This body is not mine. I look to the skyline And think of what I really am within. My flesh and soul do not align. I must be a changeling who lacks a spine, forever living in another’s skin; this body is not mine. Or maybe something less equine, not at all of pony kin? My flesh and soul do not align. This idea, “myself”, I can’t define except to say: I am broken. This body is not mine. My flesh and soul do not align.
Illustration of an Ancestral HomeFlutter Valley: a grand flower kingdom of blues and pinks and floral scents, teeming with life; bury the seed, and from that sprout may come the beauty of foal’s breath come morn’. Water as clear as crystal ice, flowing between such lush pastures: lilies, poppies and roses too. Pink mountain caps looming above like coral earthen walls, so strong. And there, the queen, Rosedust, overlooking castles of petals and sweet morning dew, shiny horseshoe grasping such blessed seeds, singing the magic song to grow her home. (And Fluttershy to herself thinks: yellow and pink body, like mine, like me, oh gosh.) The sunlight dies on the next page, shadows of ink overtaking the bright blue hues, purple and black. Then, bracken shielding them from the oncoming storm. Then, nothing else. Blank.
Questions for the Shy ParentsWhat must they have thought of that tiny bundle a gift wrapped in petals and leaf mold down there helpless on the ground cold alone and crying? And didn't they think one day that she might want to know the truth? If Fluttershy weren’t so angry she would ask. But she can’t breathe and she’s quite frankly peeved. So she doesn’t. Not yet.
