Twilight Derealized

One fine morning, Twilight awoke to find herself victim of a series of small distresses. First in her list of complaints was the absence of the comfortingly familiar wooden ceiling of her bedroom, with its graceful whorls of living wood. The second was the absence of her warm comforter and purple blankets, still styled with a pattern of stars befitting a young mare who had never fully abandoned the joys of childhood. The third was the absence of her mattress, stuffed with luxuriant pegasus down, the sole extravagance in her otherwise spartan quarters. The fourth was that she was laying on the ground in the middle of a forest completely exposed and alone, with no memory of how she had gotten there.

Yet all of these paled in comparison to what Twilight was inclined to term the greatest distress of her young life, the changeling looming over her with an admonishing smile.

“Sleeping on the job, dearie? For shame,” it’s voice hissed between boney mandibles.

“What you am where why here are is I?” Twilight sputtered, her first questions jumbling together.

“Settle down, you need to get used to using that dreadful pony tongue,” the changeling chirped. “Although,” it paused to look over her over her plump, sprawled body, spread out over the fallen leaves, “if you have to have impersonate an inferior species, Twilight isn’t the worst possible specimen.”

The lavender mare noticed the roving eyes of the creature and surged to her hooves, instantly regretting the surge between her ears. “What do you mean impersonating? I am Twilight.”

“Yes, yes, just like that. You’ll do great,” replied the mysterious changeling.

Twilight narrowed her eyes. She may not have had any idea who she was talking with or what was going on, but that was no excuse not to be disagreeable. “No, I’m not doing anything and it won’t be great!” she stomped a hoof in emphasis.

“Well, you’ve got the pig headed, quarrelsome nature down, but Twilight can’t stomp with that much force. Even for a pony, she’s an enfeebled being.”

“She’s been spending more time outside lately,” the unicorn stuttered and corrected herself, “I ... I have been ... Forget it, what are you talking about anyway?”

“Am I the only one who reads their briefings? And also the briefings of my fellow operatives?” The changeling sighed, “you infiltrate Ponyville pretending to be Twilight--”

“Which I am.”

“Yes, yes, I know, dearie. While you’re there, get into the real Twilight’s head. Convince everypony that she’s an imposter who has stolen your place--”

“Not much a stretch from the truth,” Twilight muttered.

“Look, are you going to keep interrupting me? The real Twilight isn’t this mouthy.”

The unicorn merely fumed silently this time.

Satisfied, the dubious changeling continued, “turn her friends against her, make her doubt even herself. Then, in a fit of existential panic, Sparkle will convince herself she doesn’t belong and flee Ponyville like the stressed out loony she is,” the uncanny stranger explained, rubbing her hooves. “And that’s when we nab her!”

Twilight gazed at her incredulously. “Okay yeah, uh, just one question.”

“Shoot.”

“How hard did Chrysalis fall off the wagon this time? How many drugs is she on? Right now, at this moment, how many illicit substances would you estimate are coursing through her veins and/or digestive system? Because this is her worst plot yet, and as an Element of Harmony, I've seen plenty of plots."

A changeling’s eyes naturally bulge out, preventing them from expressing rage in such a way, but this one made a game attempt. "How dare you speak about our Queen's plot that way!"

"Just saying, I've seen better in my time."

“It is a wondrous plot that impotent grubs like us would never be capable of conceiving ourselves. And you’ll never get the chance either, because the Queen already did it.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say she’s expecting?”

“Consarn it! Look, you have your orders. Hurry over to Ponyville and maybe we can get this job over before the weekend. I’ll be in touch.” And with a flash of smoke, the mysterious changeling disappeared, leaving only a carton of Junior Eye-Spy Smoke Bombs™ in her wake.

Well that was a mess. Twilight’s mind continued its slow rattling circuit in her skull. As much as she wanted to resist Chrysalis’ scheming plans on principal, she could see no other direction. There would be time for revenge later, first she had to deal with this other Twilight. Well, first, she’d have to find her way out of the forest. Then, struggle to open the library door--she always seemed to forget she could just use magic to do that--and then step inside. But after doing those other things, the first thing she’d do would be to confront the impostor.

Assured of her plan, Twilight next took the time to observe her surroundings in depth and gain a clue where she was. Just like Sherlock Hooves would do. Damn it! She knew she’d forgotten a step in her plan.

So, first she’d have to take in her surroundings, then find her way back to Ponyville, then struggle to open the library door--Spike will have forgotten to grease the hinges again--and then step inside. Then, the first thing she'd do would be to confront the impostor.

Grinning at her cleverness, the sharp-eyed mare carefully examined the scenery: A dull woods with pesky weeds and ugly trees. So pretty much anywhere outside.

Okay, not so great an idea. But she had other tricks up her sleeve for she was Twilight Sparkle, personal pupil of Celestia, and she read books. Among her many talents, the unicorn was also an armchair astronomer and it didn’t even take that for a pony to know the stars are readily available as a guide wherever you are. Beaming with pride, Twilight looked up to the sky ready to detect any recognizable constellations or star patterns.

Well, better put a pin in that. The sun was still up, shining and most inconsiderately obliterating the stars. No wonder Luna flipped her lid, that’s just grandstanding.

Twilight cursed, but it was alright, that wasn’t the extent of her knowledge. She was stocked up with the wilderness skills that only staying indoors staring at paper for long hours could provide.

Moss only grew on the north side of trees. Or was it south? East? Twilight trotted over to the nearest tree and examined the pattern of moss on bark, noting it resembled an abstract painting she’d once seen. And just like her interpretation of the painting, all she had to do was improvise by comparing this moss to the others. Simple enough. Except, the bookish mare remembered, what she’d read about using moss as guide was that it was a myth.

This was going to be an ordeal.