Twilight Derealized

Hours later, the disowned unicorn lay on the attic floor, Applejack’s threadbare coat providing little defense from grimy wood nor loneliness. She stared at a stack of old boxes as she contemplated how easy it was to be replaced.

She was the same pony she’d always been. But just like the cardboard crate, all one had to do was write a different name on its surface and the contents were perceived differently. Now Twilight’s friends considered her a changeling, and suddenly she was a box of long-forgotten pornography unearthed during family renovations. All familiarity denied and regarded with suspicion. Even Spike, her closest friend since foalhood, had fallen for the impostor’s ruse and refused to flip through her lewd pages or delight in the intimate psyche that lay at her center.

The unicorn felt neglected and used up. Her sticky pages left latched together and handled only through a layer of tissues. Regarded with suspicion, and probably left behind by a former tenant.

Twilight’s unhealthy meditations were interrupted by the sound of the attic door banging open, followed by squishy steps as though an overgrown sea sponge were sneaking upon her.

“Hey, lazy bones, get up,” the fossilized voice pierced the silence as a shriveled hoof prodded Twilight.

“Huh-wha? Nu, go away,” the unicorn mumbled, attempting to feign the wonders of unconsciousness.

But Granny Smith was far too acquainted with sleep to be fooled by a fledgling. “How could you do that?” she persisted, agitating Twilight’s ribs with a pruned, prune-smelling hoof.

No choice but to rouse, Twilight faced the disturbance with a frown. “Do what?”

“You won the race,” Granny Smith accused, now shaking her appendage for lack of anything better to do with it. “Just what in Tartarus got into you?”

“Celestia’s brazen balls, why do you even care?” Twilight pressed her face back into the crumpled jacket.

“I care because if this operation fails, it is as much my thorax on the line as yours.”

“What?” Twilight allowed the word “thorax” to settle over her for a moment, “Oh horse christ, it’s you from the woods. Sorry, but no. Please give my regards to Chrysalis the next time you see her.”

“Do you think this is a game? All ye had to do was keep hurdling and pray you stumbled more than the real Twilight.”

“I don’t think you're fully grasping the extent to which I am not interested in having this conversation,” Twilight replied, wishing she had a real bed and covers to squirm down into and disappear.

“We don’t have time for your famous lone wolf act here. Obviously, you don’t know Twilight as well as you thought you did, and it very nearly cost us the whole game.”

“Got it. You’re great, I’m not, hail the Changeling master race,” she grumbled into the coat, still refusing to turn and acknowledge the thing wearing Granny Smith’s face.

“Fortunately, the other Twilight doesn’t know her role too well either. So we’re still in with a shot, but you’ve got to make up a lot of ground if we’re to replace the other one. They’re going to suggest some sort of knowledge test tomorrow, which you’re as likely to fail as you’ve failed everything else so far. So, I’ll do what I can to slow them down and cover for you while you perform some research.”

“I--” Twilight paused. That might be a good idea, but she was, once again, being told to do things by this creature.

The changeling was already disappearing out of the attic, when Twilight shouted after it, “I’m not doing these things because you’re telling me to do them.”

“Whatever,” it muttered.

“I am a free pony and I make my own decisions, which just happen to coincide with the orders you imagine yourself to be giving me. But you’re not. Because I don’t work for you! And I’m not going to do it the way you expect me to do it.”

It wasn’t until after she was alone and the cold was setting back into her bones that it occurred to the lavender mare to wonder what Granny Smith had meant by the phrase, “other Twilight.”

A few moments later, just as Twilight was realizing that she could use the coat as a way of keeping warm, she was awoken from the ragged edge of slumber by the sound of a hissing voice.

“You awake?”

“No, thank you, I am perfectly capable of baking my own cookies.”

“I’m not here for that, silly. Although, I never did understand the fillyscouts myself,” the warm laughter of the pink earth pony flooded the attic, illuminating it.

Twilight gripped her blanket to her as she pulled herself up, “Pinkie, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to warn you that not all is at seems.”

“I figured that.”

“Really, good, because this next part is going to be hard to believe,” Pinkie Pie began, her normally rapid patter slowed by the gravity of the approaching event horizon.

“You’re a changeling and there is a huge conspiracy afoot here in Ponyville,” Twilight deadpanned.

Pinkie’s jaw dropped to the ground with an audible thud.

There was a long pause as several dust specks settled into a perfect image of the face of Celestia. Really miraculous, but you had to be there, I guess.

After the party pony had collected her various exaggerated body parts, she said, “you’re really good at this.”

“Sweet Celestia,” Twilight nearly collapsed from the horror of it all, “you really are a changeling.”

“Yes, but it isn’t like that, see-”

“You’re a good changeling.”

“How are you doing that?” The pink pony leaned over beside the unicorn, “did you see the script too?”

The unicorn contemplated whether it would be faster to jump off the roof or hang herself with an extension cord. Which would be better befitting the indignity of it all? But, it is one of the greatest disappointments of Equestrian society that ponies don’t wear clothes, and therefore have neither shoelaces or a belt on hoof when they need one.

Pinkie was still staring into her eyes conspiratorially, and Twilight realized there was nowhere to go but forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

“We picked you up in the woods a couple days ago, gibbering some kind of nonsense about spells or whatever. So, we built this model Ponyville to confuse you. Chrysalis thinks she can convince you that you’re out of your mind by setting you up in these rigged contests. Once you’re at your wits end, we’ll ‘extract’ you and use you to infiltrate Canterlot. You’d be the perfect spy, because you’d be the real Twilight.”

Twilight stared with a raised eyebrow. “Fine, let’s pretend for one moment that I believed any of the words coming out of your mouth. What do you gain from telling me any of this?”

The changeling wearing Pinkie’s skin pawed at the ground for a moment, “Um, it’s difficult to explain to a non-changeling, but ... it is like emotional feedback. When I saw the look on your face as everyone went running over to that imposter. I’ve been Pinkie Pie so long, been with you, playing the role, and I needed ... you’re ... I can’t let this happen to our friend.”

Twilight glanced up in surprise, then let her gaze once more settle on the floor as she considered this for a long moment. Eventually she asked, “Then how do I get out of here?”

“I’m not sure. We don’t really make plans on the ground, you know? That’s Chrysalis’ job, but she’s been quiet ... since ...” Pinkie shook her head. “We introduce a little chaos into the system. The next thing they’re going to try is a friendship challenge, test what you know about your friends.”

“Like that show from Trottingham?”

“Exactly like that show from Trottingham, but we’ll beat them at it.”

Twilight felt a trickle of something warm like hope or the sensation of just having wet the bed. “So what are the right answers?”

“I don’t know.”

The warmth of hope turned icy and unhygienic with disappointment. Both of their faces fell as they again contemplated the pattern on the floor. Unfortunately, the face of Celestia had been disfigured by additional dust molecules, miracles are short lived.

“But I think Rarity does. I’m pretty sure she’s the changeling in chief here.”

It did seem to carry a grain of truth. Nopony could deny that the shifting mane styles looked good, but it was not normal to her Rarity. Even the Element of Generosity wasn’t that generous with her hair.

“I’ll keep everyone busy tomorrow while you sneak around. It shouldn’t be too hard, a town full of changelings doesn’t produce much food, so we’re all getting pretty lethargic.”

For the second time that night, Twilight was left alone with the crates and her analogy about pornography. She kind of liked it. The analogy, that is, she found most pornography distasteful in the way it neglected the beauty of the ponies and parts involved.

Twilight paced the floorboards anxiously, now restless and deriving no small amount of passive-aggressive pleasure from the thought that her hoofsteps above their heads might be keeping the Apples awake.